The King of Curses sat upon his throne, and yet you had no issue glaring up at him. As if it were your stare that could cleave. Your hands that could ignite his shrine into blitz and ember.
Bundled in a silk blanket and babbling up at you with eyes as ruby as her father's, your daughter chewed on her thumb. Blissfully oblivious to the tyrant from which she came.
Sukuna refused to hold her.
It was subtle, at first. When she was born, he claimed that it was vital for a baby to stay close to its mother. For warmth, food and comfort.
It had been four weeks, and your husband hadn't so much as grazed her tiny pinkie.
"Why?" You asked, anger blooming in your throat like the flowers he had planted in the gardens for you. He would sully his knees in the soil and his hands in the mud for your benefit, but couldn't bear to hold the life that he had created?
Sukuna's face was hard in a scowl. Each maroon eye glaring into your soul.
A beat of silence.
"I do not want to."
You flared, clinging your baby closer. "Are you ashamed? Ashamed of the life we created?"
"No, damnit woman—"
"Then why!?"
"Because I will mar her!"
The shrine shook as he shoved himself out of his throne. Standing now. It was at his full height that you recognised the being thousands feared. Four arms, two faces, and a stature that rose from hell.
His glare burned, but it wasn't anger. Face twisted in an emotion you hadn't seen enough from him.
"I will— hurt her. Is that what you want?"
Vulnerability.
Your daughter startled. Sniffling at the booming voice that rattled the floors. You watched her face squish and her lip quiver, before a broken, hiccuped sob filled the air.
His shoulders sunk. The fight seeping out of him. You watched his eyes swell with many things you'd never seen before.
Guilt, sadness.
Fear.
Rocking your startled baby, you held her close with soft shushes, but her sniffles soon turned into wails. Sukuna's stood frozen, sullen.
You understood, now.
Cradling the small girl, you stepped forward. Up the stairs to the platform of his throne. Even as he took a step back, you persisted.
"Sukuna. . ." You called to him. Soft in the way that only you were capable of being with him.
He almost flinched.
"This child, she's ours. Our daughter, made with love."
You stood right in front of him now. Taking in his wound up muscles and squared shoulders. Looking more like a deer ready to sprint than a father.
A father who feared that his hands were too rough, too evil, to nurture his own child.
"You won't hurt her. Because she's ours." Reaching forward, you held out the sobbing bundle. Watching his face and the several shades of uncertainty it turned.
You had never seen him so. . . frightened.
You pushed past his hesitancy, carefully placing your daughter into a set of his hulking arms. She was tiny compared to him. Seemed he was processing that too.
Aiding his position, you slipped one of your hands to tenderly hold him by the bicep as he, for the first time ever, held his daughter.
His breath was hitched. All of his eyes gaping at the small bundle in his arms. Watching her as if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain.
Your daughter's sobs stirred into sniffles, then hiccups, until. . . silence.
As big, ruby eyes stared up at her father. Taking him in. His face, his warmth.
And then, she beamed a toothless smile.
Sukuna tensed. A shaky breath hitching.
"She's— she's smiling. Why is she smiling?"
He quickly looked to you. Brows pinched. Looking lost, looking scared.
You offered him a smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Because she knows that her father loves her." Tickling her neck, you hummed as she squirmed a bit and giggled, pressing more into him.
He instinctively held her closer. Eyes unblinking.
You watched as Ryomen Sukuna, The King of Curses, melted. His heart swelling as he stared at his daughter. Even bringing one of his fingers closer to her, so that she could grab at it. Hugging around it with that big, bring smile.
His mouth quirked at the corner. Faint, but tender.
"Yeah. . ." He whispered, voice thick with emotion. Centuries worth of affection for his child, his daughter.
"Your father loves you. More than anything. More than life."
The salt spray hit your face as Geto gunned the jetski forward, the engine roaring beneath you. His chest pressed firm against your back, one arm looped around your waist to keep you steady while his other hand twisted the throttle. The Mediterranean stretched out endless and glittering under the July sun, the coast of southern Italy a hazy line of cliffs and hidden coves behind you.
“Faster?” he asked, voice low and rough against your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. Water droplets clung to his long dark hair, some of it plastered to his neck and shoulders. He wore nothing but black swim trunks that sat low on his hips, and you could feel every shift of his abs as he leaned into the next turn.
You nodded, gripping the handlebars tighter. The speed pressed you back harder into him, your bikini top doing little to hide how your nipples had already tightened from the cool wind and the heat of his body. His hand on your waist slid lower, fingers splaying over the soft skin just above your bikini bottoms.
“Been thinking about this since we rented the damn thing,” he muttered. The jetski cut through a small wave, bouncing you both. His palm pressed between your thighs, rubbing slow and deliberate over the thin fabric. “You, dripping wet, ass right here against me.”
You gasped as two of his fingers pushed the bikini aside and slid along your folds. The machine kept surging forward, engine vibrating up through the seat and straight into your core. Geto circled your clit with practiced ease, not gentle—never gentle when he got like this.
“Suguru—” you started, but he curled his fingers and pushed one inside you, the stretch immediate and slick.
“Stay still,” he ordered, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Don’t want to flip us.”
The risk made it hotter. The open water, bright daylight, anyone on a distant yacht possibly watching. His finger pumped in and out, thumb working your clit in tight circles while the jetski flew over the surface. Your thighs trembled, hips grinding back against his growing erection trapped between you.
He added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching you open. The wet sounds were almost lost under the roar of the engine and the slap of water. Your head fell back against his chest, mouth open in a moan that the wind stole away.
“Greedy today,” he laughed darkly, curling those fingers against the spot that made your vision spark. “Already soaking my hand. You like being out here like this? My dirty little slut on display?”
“Yes—fuck, yes,” you managed, clenching around his fingers.
He pulled them out abruptly, leaving you empty and throbbing. You whined, but he was already slowing the jetski, guiding it toward a small rocky inlet half-hidden by overhanging cliffs. The water calmed as you entered the sheltered cove, turquoise and clear enough to see the sandy bottom.
Geto killed the engine. The sudden quiet was filled only by lapping waves and your heavy breathing. He spun you around on the seat so you faced him, legs spread over his thighs. His cock strained hard against his trunks, the thick outline obvious.
“Take it out,” he said.
You didn’t hesitate. You tugged the waistband down, freeing his heavy cock. It slapped against his abs, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. You wrapped your hand around the base and stroked once, twice, watching his jaw clench.
Geto grabbed your hips and yanked you closer until your bikini bottoms rubbed against his length. “Off. Now.”
You lifted enough for him to peel the soaked fabric down your legs. He tossed it somewhere behind him on the jetski. Then his hands were on your ass, spreading you as he lined up.
He thrust up at the same time he pulled you down, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke. The fullness punched the air from your lungs. You were so wet he slid in easy, but he was thick—always so fucking thick—and the angle had him pressing right against that perfect spot.
“Shit,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “So tight. Always so fucking tight for me.”
He started moving, hands guiding your hips in a hard rhythm. The jetski rocked beneath you with every thrust, water sloshing against the sides. Your tits bounced in the tiny bikini top until he yanked it down, mouth latching onto one nipple. He sucked hard, teeth scraping, while his cock drove deep again and again.
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into sun-warmed skin. Every thrust made wet, obscene sounds between your bodies. His balls slapped against your ass. The sun beat down, sweat mixing with sea spray on your skin.
“Harder,” you gasped.
Geto growled and obliged, fucking up into you with punishing snaps of his hips. One hand left your ass to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite down the column of your throat.
“Look at you,” he panted between thrusts. “Riding my cock out in the open like you don’t care who sees. You want them to watch me ruin this pussy?”
The dirty words sent heat spiraling through you. You clenched around him, and he cursed, pace faltering for a second before he doubled down. The stretch, the drag of his cock, the way his pelvis ground against your clit on every downstroke—it was too much.
You came suddenly, thighs shaking, a broken moan tearing from your throat. Geto fucked you through it, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive.
He didn’t stop. He lifted you off him, ignoring your protest, and turned you around again so your back was to his chest. This time he bent you forward over the handlebars, ass up. He slammed back in from behind, even deeper now.
“Again,” he demanded, one hand reaching around to rub your swollen clit. “Come on my cock again. I want to feel it.”
The new angle had you seeing stars. His thrusts were relentless, hips snapping, balls slapping loudly. Your second orgasm built fast, brutal. You pushed back to meet him, chasing it, and when it hit you screamed his name, body locking up tight around him.
Geto groaned loud, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. Thick pulses of cum flooded your pussy, leaking out around his cock with every shallow thrust as he rode it out.
For a moment you both just panted, his arms wrapped around you, cock still twitching inside. The gentle rocking of the jetski felt soothing now.
But Geto wasn’t done.
He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your used hole into the clear water. Then he sat back on the seat and tugged you down onto his lap again, facing him.
“Ride me,” he said, voice still husky. “Slow this time. I want to watch your face while you take every inch.”
You sank back down onto his half-hard cock, feeling him thicken again inside you. The stretch was deliciously filthy now that you were full of his load. You rolled your hips, grinding more than bouncing, savoring the way he filled you.
Geto’s hands roamed—squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples, sliding down to grip your ass and spread you wider so he could watch himself disappear inside you. The sun glinted off the water, warming your skin, and the distant sound of waves against the cliffs made everything feel lazy and endless.
You leaned in and kissed him, deep and messy, tongues sliding together as you kept riding. He tasted like salt and summer. His fingers found your clit again, stroking lazy circles that had you whimpering into his mouth.
“Gonna fill you up again before we head back,” he murmured against your lips. “Want you dripping my cum down your thighs the whole ride home.”
You moaned, picking up the pace, bouncing properly now. The wet squelch of his cum and your arousal echoed in the little cove. Geto’s grip on your hips tightened, helping you slam down harder.
“Fuck—right there,” he groaned when you clenched around him. His head tipped back, dark hair sticking to his forehead, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
You rode him until your thighs burned, until another orgasm crashed over you, weaker this time but longer, pulsing around his cock. He followed right after, pumping another load deep inside with a low, satisfied growl.
This time when you collapsed against his chest, he held you there, stroking your back. The jetski drifted slowly in the calm water. Sunlight danced across the surface, and for a while neither of you spoke, just breathing together, skin sticky with sweat and salt and sex.
Eventually he kissed the top of your head. “Ready to head back? Or you want me to bend you over those rocks first?”
You laughed breathlessly, clenching around his softening cock. “Rocks. Definitely the rocks.”
zuko tries to hold out, the poor thing, he truly does but when he has you on your stomach, hips propped up with a pillow, he loses it a little bit. his hands on your waist tighten as he ruts faster, the pleasure shooting through him as he fucks your sopping cunt. you’re done, spent through and through, given all control to your husband as he desperately chases his own release but he wants just one more from you. another orgasm to rip through you as you clench on his cock to have him cumming with you but as you tilt your hips higher, and reach back to pull your cheeks apart to have the lewd display of him fucking in and out of you fully visible he loses all sense of control.
his movements stutter, his voice trembling with heavy breaths. “ohh fuck- spirits, i-“ he can’t look away, too entranced on the way you suck him in, the white cream that rings the base of his cock, the way your ass ripples with each thrust.
“sweetheart, i’m gonna-“ he can’t even make it through the sentence before he is stilling in you, cumming so heavy and deep you feel warmth fill your belly. you can feel him twitch inside you, emptying himself out to you. he never wants to leave the warmth of you, wants to live within you forever and ever and he does, to a certain extent, he lets himself soften within your gummy walls, lets his heart return to a normal rhythm, his skin to cool back into neutrality and then and only then does he slip from your heat. he watches as a mix of his and your cum oozes from within you, thick white globs sliding down your puffy lips. he should fuck it back inside, push it so deep within you that he knocks you up but instead he drags a finger through, collecting it on the tip of his index.
“open.” he instructs, lifting his hand towards your face as if he were presenting a sweet treat and not evidence of your debauchery. you follow his command opening your mouth to lick the digit clean. his chest tightens.
“Can I see what’s underneath your blindfold?” you asked softly.
It was random, but the thought had always lived quietly in the back of your mind.
Gojo looked up from his phone, brows lifting slightly. “What?”
He was sitting across from you, leaning against the headboard, one long leg stretched out as he pretended he hadn’t just been caught off guard.
You laughed, a little embarrassed. “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”
You had always known of Satoru Gojo, but now that you were actually enrolled at Jujutsu High—actually around him—the curiosity only grew. Especially in moments like this, when it was just the two of you, sharing silence over open textbooks and scattered notes.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” he said. “It’s just… no one’s ever been bold enough to ask me that.”
“Really?” You shifted onto your knees. “I’d think everyone would want to know.”
Gojo shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Most people don’t take the time to really ask.”
Your heart skipped a beat, there was no denying that Satoru Gojo was breathtaking. Even the smallest of his gestures made something restless stir inside you.
“C’mere,” he said, waving you closer. “You can take it off.”
For half a second your mind betrayed you, and you shook the thought away quickly, cheeks warming. You crawled over toward him, stopping when you were close enough that your noses almost brushed.
Your hands trembled as you reached up, carefully pulling the white bandages down his face — slowly, reverently — until they slipped past the bridge of his nose.
A soft gasp escaped you.
His eyes were impossibly blue. Not just bright — luminous, like pieces of the sky had been trapped inside them.
His smile widened at your reaction.
“They’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your hand lifting to cup his cheek. Your thumb brushed his skin as if to make sure he was real. “How are they even that blue?”
He let out a quiet laugh, tilting his head down a little, suddenly shy. “I don’t know.”
You lightly swatted his arm, grinning. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I’m not embarrassed about that,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours. His expression had changed — softer, heavier. “I’m embarrassed about my thoughts.”
You hesitated, pulling back just a little. “What thoughts? You want to murder me or something?”
“No.” His voice dropped, warm and honest. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
The words hung between you, heavier than either of you had expected.
You really want to kiss me right now.
Your breath caught. For a moment, neither of you moved. Gojo’s hand hovered at his side like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to reach for you, and you stayed frozen, heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
“…You don’t have to,” you whispered.
“I know.” His voice was gentle, not teasing for once. “I just wanted to be honest.”
That somehow made it worse.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not saying no.”
His eyes softened, something unguarded flickering across his face. Slowly, like he was afraid you might disappear, Gojo lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. The touch was feather-light, a question more than a claim.
You leaned into it before you could overthink.
That was all the permission he needed.
Still, he didn’t rush. He leaned in inch by inch, close enough that you could feel his breath, close enough that the world felt too quiet. His forehead rested lightly against yours.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
You shook your head.
So he kissed you.
It was soft — hesitant — like he was afraid of breaking something precious. His lips barely brushed yours at first, a careful test, before lingering just a little longer. When you kissed him back, his breath stuttered, and his hand came up to cradle your face as if he’d been holding himself back for far too long.
The kiss deepened, slow and tender, all unspoken longing and gentle warmth.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead stayed pressed to yours.
“…Yeah,” he whispered, smiling faintly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
a/n: thank you for all the love on this story! i love you guys so much🥹
a/n: i just want to say thank you for the kofi donations! if you don’t know im trying to save up for a computer! so thank you guys for even clicking! you don’t have to but if you want here’s the link.
a/n: i love interacting with you guys. yall are so funny. i genuinely check my phone 24/7 to see who commented or sent something to my mailbox. i love you guys !!
Yuta POV
“Get up!”
My lips were mere inches away from touching Maki's.
My shirt collar was suddenly yanked upward, catching me completely off guard and forcing me to stumble backward. I'd been so focused on Maki that I hadn't even noticed someone approaching behind me.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. Pain shot through my tailbone as I hit the pavement, and the rain came down relentlessly, drenching me within seconds. Raising an arm to shield my eyes, I looked up…and immediately regretted it.
Standing over me was my sensei.
Satoru Gojo.
He crouched down to my level, a deep scowl etched across his face."Why the hell do I have to come all the way back to Tokyo just to drag your ass to Osaka for a mission?" he snapped. "I've gotten thousands of phone calls about this drama, Yuta."
He jabbed a finger at my chest. "You should've been in Osaka hours ago."
My eyes flickered toward Maki before returning to him."Sorry. I got caught up." My voice sounded weak even to me. "I was heading there, but I wanted to see (Y/N) first..."
Gojo slowly lowered his glasses, revealing piercing blue eyes that felt capable of seeing straight through me. His gaze shifted toward Maki, lingered for a moment, then returned to me. "That's not (Y/N), you idiot."
"I kno—"
Before I could finish, his hand shot forward, grabbing my collar again and slamming me back against the nearest wall. The impact knocked the air from my lungs. I immediately grabbed at his wrist, trying to pry him off, but it was pointless.
Gojo was rarely angry.
Annoyed? Sure.
Sarcastic? Constantly.
But genuinely pissed?
Almost never.
Which meant I had seriously screwed up. I felt like a teen again, but not in a good way.
“Maki, go home.” He says without looking at her. “I need to deal with Yuta myself.”
~~~ (y/n) pov~~~
The drive was long, but thankfully quiet.
At some point, the anger that had consumed you during your argument with Yuta had settled into something heavier. The betrayal was still there, lodged deep in your chest, refusing to fade. If anything, it had only grown stronger after he left. After he walked away. After he didn't turn around, even when you were screaming his name.
He ran to Maki.
Maybe he would never admit it out loud, but you knew where his mind had been. If he had wanted to, he could have stopped. He could have taken a breath, cooled off, and talked to you the way a husband should. Instead, he did what he always did.
He ran.
Yuta had a habit of running from his problems rather than facing them, and this time was no different.
You let out a tired sigh as your car slowly made its way down the road leading into the Zenin Estate. It had been years since you'd last been here, probably not since you were a teenager.
Megumi had never been the type to enjoy having people over. After the downfall of the Zenin Clan, he had spent years rebuilding it from the ground up. Honestly, he never struck you as the type to become a clan leader. He was too laid-back, too uninterested in status and tradition.
Yet somehow, he'd excelled at it.
While Megumi preferred to keep a low profile, he was involved in every aspect of the clan's restoration. Under his leadership, the Zenin Clan had been completely modernized, blending tradition with practicality in a way few people could have managed. It was honestly impressive.
The car finally came to a stop.
You stepped outside and were immediately greeted by the relentless rain. The cold droplets soaked through your clothes within seconds. Pulling your arms over your head in a futile attempt to shield yourself, you hurried up the stone pathway and sprinted toward the estate's front steps.
The moment you reached the door, the locks clicked one after another before it swung open from the inside. A woman with a warm smile greeted you from the doorway. You barely had time to knock on the door.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"I'm here to see Megumi."
"Oh!" Her face immediately brightened. "He's been expecting you."
You stepped inside, slipping off your shoes as you spoke. “Thank you.”
She stepped aside to let you pass before motioning for you to follow. "Come with me. I'll take you to his room."
You nodded and followed her through the estate, taking in the familiar yet strangely different surroundings. The traditional architecture remained, but modern touches had been woven throughout the halls—a reflection of Megumi himself. Practical, efficient, and completely uninterested in preserving tradition for tradition's sake.
"He's been expecting me?" A small smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
The words lingered in your mind as you followed her through the estate. It was strange. You couldn't quite explain why that simple phrase affected you so much. It wasn't romantic or profound, it was such a small thing.
Yet it made something in your chest soften.
Maybe it was because someone had been looking forward to seeing you. Maybe it was because your arrival mattered to someone. Or maybe it was because, after months of feeling alone in your marriage, it was nice to know someone actually wanted you there.
The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.
For so long, it had felt like you were fighting for scraps of Yuta's attention. There was always something else demanding his focus, a mission, a problem, another responsibility. And when things became difficult between the two of you, he pulled away instead of drawing closer.
You'd spent months standing out in the cold, waiting for him to meet you halfway. So hearing that Megumi had been expecting you shouldn't have meant anything.
And yet, somehow, it did.
It felt warm.
A warmth you hadn't realized you'd been missing until now.
The woman led you deeper into the estate before stopping outside a large wooden door. "He's inside," she said with a small smile.
You thanked her quietly and turned your attention toward the door, your hand hovering over the handle for a moment before you finally knocked.
Without giving yourself another chance to overthink it, you knocked on the door.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then you heard movement from inside—the faint rustling of footsteps and shifting furniture. A second later, the door opened.
Megumi stood in the doorway.
The moment he saw you, something in his expression softened. His eyes brightened, and a small, lazy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I thought you would've canceled."
"No." You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your emotions from spilling over. "I needed to get out of that house."
Understanding flickered across his face. Without another question, he stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Well, you're always welcome here." His voice was gentle, reassuring. "If you ever need a safe place to go."
The sincerity behind his words made your chest tighten.
"Thank you."
You offered him a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes, and stepped inside.
The room was far different from what most people would expect from a clan leader's private quarters.
It barely felt like a bedroom at all.
Instead, it resembled a spacious office that happened to have a place to sleep.
A large couch stretched along one wall beneath an expansive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the estate's gardens. Despite the rain outside, the view was still beautiful, the greenery swaying beneath the storm. Across the room sat a massive desk covered with neatly organized documents, folders, and stacks of paperwork—evidence of the endless responsibilities that came with leading an entire clan.
The space was clean, practical, and completely free of unnecessary decoration.
Very Megumi.
You found yourself glancing around the room for a moment longer than necessary, appreciating the quiet atmosphere. For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosened ever so slightly.
“Hungry?” Megumi asked, glancing over at you. “I can have someone make you something.”
You sank onto the couch and pulled one of his pillows into your lap, hugging it against yourself. “Ramen would be nice. That rain was freezing.”
Megumi nodded as he sat down beside you, pulling out his phone. “Anything else?”
“No.” A soft, breathless laugh slipped past your lips. “I’m just happy to be out of that house. I know I keep saying it, but…” You shook your head. “It’s nice not being constantly reminded of everything.”
Megumi's thumbs paused over his screen. He looked up, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before dropping back to his phone.
“I don't want to come on too strong,” he said quietly, “but if you need somewhere to stay for a few days, you're welcome to stay here.” He glanced back at you. “I can have a room prepared for you.”
Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at the raven-haired man. Was he serious?
A warm feeling spread through your chest, small but undeniable. There had been so many nights when you felt completely alone, convinced there was no one you could turn to or confide in. But now, sitting here beside Megumi, that loneliness didn't feel quite as overwhelming.
A smile tugged at your lips. “I might have to take you up on that offer.”
“Really?”Megumi's own smile appeared as he set his phone down beside him, giving you his full attention for the first time since the conversation began.
“Just so you're prepared,” he said, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice, “Yuji's been staying here too.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “So it'd be quite the reunion.”
Megumi laughed. “It would be. He's in the middle of moving into a house, so he'll be here for a while.” A small grin tugged at his lips. “It'll be fun. Almost like we're in high school again.”
You laughed softly, your mind immediately drifting back to those days.
Back when it was just you, Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara.
The four of you would spend entire afternoons together, eating greasy burgers and staying up far too late. Well, "telling ghost stories" was a generous way to describe it. Most nights consisted of Yuji desperately trying to scare everyone while the rest of you sat there completely unimpressed.
Still, they were some of your favorite memories.
Back then, everything felt simpler.
You had friends—real friends. The kind who showed up when you needed them, who understood you without explanation, who made even the worst days feel manageable.
Then Shibuya happened.
And after that, everything changed.
Yuji left the country to focus on his mental health. Megumi threw himself into rebuilding the Zenin Clan. Nobara moved back to the countryside. She still visited whenever she could, but it wasn't nearly as often as before.
As for you, you found yourself growing closer to your seniors.
Yuta. Maki. Panda. Inumaki.
Somewhere along the way, friendship with Yuta became something more. Months of dating turned into marriage, and for a long time, those years felt like the happiest of your life.
You had been a wife.
You had built a future with him.
And while everyone had drifted onto different paths, you always believed the bond between all of you would remain intact.
Life had changed, but the friendships survived.
At least, that's what you thought.
Now, sitting on Megumi's couch with your marriage falling apart around you, you couldn't help but wonder when exactly everything had started slipping through your fingers.
“(Y/N), get out of your head.” Megumi's voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You're only going to spiral.”
You leaned your head back against the couch and let out a quiet sigh. “Actually, I wasn't thinking about Yuta.”
Megumi glanced over at you. “No?”
You shook your head. “I was thinking about us.”
His brows pulled together. “Us?”
You turned to face him, a small smile tugging at your lips.“Our younger years. Back when we were all ridiculously close. Remember when we'd randomly show up at Gojo's house and end up sleeping in his living room?”
A faint laugh escaped him.“I remember. Back when nothing really mattered.”
“Exactly.”
The conversation faded, leaving a comfortable silence in its place. Together, you stared out the large windows as rain streaked down the glass. Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. Instead, you sat there reminiscing about simpler times, days filled with late-night conversations, stupid arguments, and the certainty that no matter what happened, you'd all find your way back to each other.
The memory settled warmly in your chest. It was a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time.
Megumi's phone suddenly buzzed, startling both of you. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. “Your ramen's ready.”
A genuine smile spread across your face.“I can go grab it. You've already done enough for me, Megumi.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” You pushed yourself off the couch. “Just tell me where the kitchen is.”
Megumi nodded.“Go straight down this hall until you reach the end, then make a right and keep going until you hit another hallway. The kitchen's at the very end.”
“That sounds unnecessarily complicated.”
“It probably is,” he admitted.
You laughed.
“If you get lost, just ask someone,” he added. “Everyone here is pretty friendly. They'll point you in the right direction.”
“Good to know.”
With one last smile, you headed toward the hallway, following Megumi's directions as the smell of warm broth already began to drift through the house.
Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, a text message from Yuta. That same anxious feeling that was in your chest this morning returned. Fuck, you stared at the screen, debating if you should open it. Was it worth it? I mean, you had finally found some sense of peace with everything.
Too busy with your phone, you had bumped into someone. Your eyes glanced up at the person, “Maki…”
You both stood in the hall frozen, staring at one another.
You didn't even see the slap coming. One second she was standing there, and the next, the sharp sting spread through your palm. You glanced down at your hand. Your skin was red, throbbing from the impact. Your body had moved before your mind could catch up.
You had slapped her.
And honestly? It felt good.
This was the first time you’d seen her since Nanami's party. Funny, considering she always seemed to know exactly where Yuta was. Even funnier was the fact that she'd never once apologized for everything she'd done, especially for confessing her love to my husband.
Your jaw tightened, my fingers curling into a fist. Part of you wanted to do a lot more than slap her. The collective gasps echoing through the hallway pulled you back to reality. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. Maki stood frozen, one hand pressed against her reddening cheek where you had struck her. Shock flashed across her face.
You took a step closer, a strange sense of confidence settling over you. “If you thought for even a second that I wouldn't put my hands on you, then you're sadly mistaken.” Your voice came out cold and steady. “I should beat your ass right here in front of everyone.”
You paused, letting the words hang in the air. “But I won't. I'll let karma handle that for me, Maki.”
Brushing past her shoulder, you started walking back toward Megumi's room. You appetite was completely gone. After a few steps, you stopped. A bitter laugh escaped you as you turned slightly. “And if you honestly think Yuta loves you, you're wrong.”
The hallway fell silent.
“If he did, he would've chosen you. He would've married you.” You shook your head. “Maybe you knew him first. Maybe you shared things with him when you were younger. But there are parts of him you'll never have.”
Your eyes locked onto hers.“You'll never know the version of him that comes home to me. The version that trusts me with his fears, his dreams, his heart.”
A humorless smile tugged at your lips. “You can spend the rest of your life chasing what we have, but you'll never get it.” You turned away again. “Because at the end of the day, he chose me.”
“He’ll never make love to you the way he makes love to me. You’ll never get that side of him. You’ll never experience his love at its purest because he gave it all to me, Maki.”
“Funny how you’re using this time to have him replaced. You’re not better than me. You can’t wreck a home that isn’t a home.” She shouted. “It was never yours to begin with.”
“That's funny coming from the woman who had to settle for being someone's secret.” You stopped walking, shaking your head. “You keep talking about what was mine, but at the end of the day, he stood in front of me, not you. He chose me, not you. If the home wasn't real, then why were you spending all this time trying to break into it?”
“But if that's true, then congratulations. You spent all this time fighting for something that was never yours either.” The smile faded.“Because a man who belongs to someone doesn't cheat. And a man who cheats doesn't belong to anyone.”
“What the fuck do you know!?” Maki sneered, and she stormed up to you, mere inches away from your face. “You don’t know anything.”
“Back off.” You said quietly. “I know that Yuta keeps me around, unlike you. He tossed you away pretty fast to marry me.” You laugh, stepping closer to her. “I’d be pissed too if I wasn’t getting fucked by Yuta.”
The left side of your face stung as Maki's slap landed. For a moment, everything went still. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have. If anything, it only fueled the anger already boiling inside you.
Your hand shot forward before you could stop yourself, tangling in her dark hair. Maki let out a sharp gasp as you yanked her head back, forcing her to meet your glare. The room seemed to narrow around the two of you. Every ounce of frustration, betrayal, and resentment that had been building for months surged to the surface.
Without thinking, you drew your arm back and swung. The impact snapped her head to the side.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Suffocating.
The kind of silence that came when there was no taking something back.
It lasted all of two seconds.
Maki pushed herself upright and came at you again. Her fist flew toward your face, but you managed to turn away just in time. The punch barely grazed you.
The kick was another story. You never saw it coming. Pain exploded through your stomach as her leg connected, knocking the air from your lungs. You doubled over instinctively, fighting to catch your breath as your abdomen throbbed.
Maki seized the opportunity. Her hand fisted in the front of your shirt, yanking you forward in an attempt to drag you to the ground. Your survival instincts kicked in before you could think. You drove your arm upward, forcing her to release her grip and stumble back.
Both of you immediately put distance between yourselves. Your stomach ached with every breath, but the adrenaline kept you standing. You straightened slowly, wiping at the corner of your mouth before fixing her with a cold stare. A humorless laugh escaped you. “For someone from the Zenin Clan,” you said, your voice dripping with mockery, “you sure lack curse energy. It would be unfair for me to use my cursed energy on you. It’ll be a waste to use it on you.”
A wicked smile spread across Maki's face. “Don't get too confident,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “We're just getting started.”
“STOP!” Megumi's voice thundered through the hallway.
Both of you turned as he stormed toward the scene, fury written across his face.
“Maki, what the hell is wrong with you?” he barked.
Maki rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed. “Stay out of it, Megumi. This has nothing to do with you.”
Megumi let out a sharp laugh.“Nothing to do with me?” He gestured around him. “You're attacking a guest in my home. It has everything to do with me.”
“She’s fucking insane,” you muttered, still trying to steady your breathing.
Maki immediately pointed at you. “Says the one who slapped me first.”
“Because you deserved it, bitch.”
Megumi dragged a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”
His gaze moved between the two of you. “(Y/N) go back to my office.”
You huffed, every muscle in your body still tense with anger. The only reason you were walking away was because Megumi had asked you to. If it had been anyone else, you wouldn't have listened.
Your stomach still ached from Maki's kick, and your cheek stung faintly from her slap, but neither compared to the fury simmering beneath your skin. The argument, the accusations, the audacity of her showing up here, it all replayed in your mind with every step.
You shot one final glare over your shoulder. Maki was still standing where you left her, looking just as furious.
She should consider herself lucky Megumi stepped in when he did.
Tearing your eyes away from her, you turned and headed down the hallway. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the estate as you tried—and failed—to calm yourself down.
A few moments later, you heard another set of footsteps behind you.
Megumi.
Neither of you spoke right away.
The silence stretched between you until you finally reached his office. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, immediately sinking onto the couch with a frustrated groan.
Megumi closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. His eyes traveled over your face, taking in the reddening mark on your cheek and the anger you were still barely containing.
Then he sighed.
“You know,” he said, crossing his arms, “most people don't start fistfights within an hour of arriving at my house.”
You stared at him for a beat before letting out a reluctant laugh. “Most people don't invite Maki Zenin into their house.”
To your surprise, the corner of Megumi's mouth twitched upward.
And for the first time since arriving, some of the tension in your chest began to ease.
or, you've had a bad day, and your boyfriend ends up taking the brunt of it.
pairings: gojo x reader, geto x reader
warnings: none, fluff
a/n: i have an aot and dc version of this post ready to go, and i'll be uploading them within the week :) i'm very excited to be writing, and i hope you all enjoy my first post!
satoru gojo
"Hey, baby, I'm home~" On normal days, the sweet words falling out of your husband's mouth have you rushing over to greet him, but you stay apathetically bunched up on the couch. There's no indication that you've heard him enter, either. You don't even look at him.
Okay, weird. But weirdness has never stopped Satoru Gojo before, so he makes his way over to you and plops down onto the couch beside you. Of course, instead of you melting into his side like you usually do, you shove him off with a disgusted scoff.
Okay. Really fucking weird. Satoru can be a diva, but he's willing to push it aside for you. Most of the time. When you come at him with a full-on attitude, though, he's only going to turn it up a notch. He reflects your energy right back at you, but it comes off as condescending when he does it.
"Y'know, I'm trying to be nice here, show you some affection. I missed you while I was gone. Didn't you miss me, too?"
"I didn't ask you to smother me the second you walked through the door," you retort.
"Right, well, remind me to keep my distance from now on."
With that, Satoru's picking himself up off the couch and strutting off to take a shower. You watch him disappear down the hallway and hear the water kick on moments later. The hollow in your chest that's been gnawing at you all day only gets wider and wider until you feel a chasmic ache forming from your heart down to your gut.
You don't know why you're upset. You don't know why you reacted the way you did, but the guilt at snapping at Satoru makes you feel worse and worse until you find yourself curled up on your side as you cry into a pillow. Your usual energy has left you, and the tears that have replaced it don't even have the decency to be dramatic. They're silent, quietly streaming down your cheeks as you sniffle and shake.
The absence of the water from Satoru's shower doesn't phase you. The creaking of the bathroom door swinging open doesn't catch your attention. You're lost in your own little world and guilty thoughts until a warm hand finds your cheek.
"Hey…" Satoru's gentle voice coaxes you into looking up, and you're met with a worried, baby blue gaze.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. All the fight has drained out of you, and you have nothing left to offer your husband except yourself, in all your fragile glory.
Satoru shakes his head and climbs onto the couch, pressing your back against the cushions and your front against his chest. "I know. It's been hard recently, hmm?"
Now that you're folded up in the warmth of Satoru's arms, the weight you've been carrying is so much easier to bear. As much as you hate placing your burdens on his already strained shoulders, Satoru's never complained about it. Being there for you is the one thing on this planet that's guaranteed to bring him solace.
"Just relax, sweets," he murmurs, rubbing slow patterns along your back. "Nothing's big enough to take my baby down. You're too strong for that."
suguru geto
Suguru Geto has the patience of a saint and the conflict resolution skills of a licensed therapist, skills you learn awfully quick when your best friend's name is Satoru Gojo. Those very same abilities have been honed and fine-tuned over the years and are currently the only things keeping him from snapping at you.
"Suguru, you're breathing too loud." He was sitting across the room from you, scrolling on his phone.
"Suguru, you're wearing the wrong kind of socks." What's so bad about plain white socks?
"Suguru, you're staring at me."
That one gets him.
"That's my job, pretty girl." He smiles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your hair, only to let out a sharp sigh when you smack his hand away. "You're abusing me."
"That's not what abuse is, you little—"
"What? I'm a little what?" Suguru looks you right in your eyes until you're unable to meet his gaze. "Don't be shy. Tell me what you were going to say."
Suguru tuts and reaches out to tilt your head toward him once more; however, his heart nearly stops in his chest when he sees the shiny tears pooling in your eyes. "Oh no…hey," he whispers.
"I'm sorry, 'guru. I've been feeling off all day, and I just—" Suguru cuts you off by squishing you against his chest. His big hands smooth down a few wayward strands of your hair, and he places a kiss to the top of your head.
"It's okay," he murmurs soothingly, the vibrations of his deep voice soothing your mind and your heart. "I can take it. Your anger, your sadness…if you need to show it someone, I'm right here. Always. Never feel as though you have to hide from me."
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters or images used above.
SYNOPSIS: It’s in your nature to hunt and hurt. Jujutsu sorcerers are meant for it: exorcising, butchering, acting without thinking. Suguru Geto is the only person who has ever told you off for it.
WORD COUNT: 7.5k
CONTENTS: suguru geto x gn!reader. angst. major character death (not suguru or reader). snapshot fic; spans moments between 2005 and 2017, following the canon timeline. violent imagery, compulsive violence and detachment issues (via reader). canon divergent; suguru survives. reader’s ct is described, utilized and a major part of the plot. open ended!
A/N: this fic was originally planned for christmas eve aka my dear blorbo’s death date…… it’s been sitting at 80% finished in my docs since january but here it is in its entirety! finally. i’m really happy with this fic and always delighted to write within jjk’s canon world…. the final part is a scenario i’ve had in the back of my mind for years and years, so it’s immensely satisfying to have put it onto paper :’) !!
The ringing in your ears has yet to subside.
It's been two, five, ten minutes since you and Geto split up. Twenty? You can't remember. It was the logical decision to make at the time: your cursed technique is suited for hunting, and his for cleaning up the swarm of curses that had been waiting to ambush you as soon as you stepped off the staircase to the second floor, festering around abandoned sleeping bags and rotten compost, reeking of bile and dried blood. All while your target dashed around the corner, clutching the talisman-wrapped object you're after with both hands.
It's still in his palm, half-secured by limp fingers.
Your knuckles keep the back of his head still, twisting the roots of his hair in a painful grip. Or it would be, if he could feel it, if he wasn't long unconscious— knocked out cold by the first of continuous rhythmic thuds as his tender skull kisses rough concrete flooring. Again, again, and again. The sound has grown sticky and sloppy, crimson seeping from the gap in his forehead and pooling on the floor below you, enough to illuminate your reflection above.
Hunched over, like an animal. Pupils coiled into slits, twitches in the muscles of your jaw, body thrumming in silent exhilaration. You look like you're hungry for something.
He's already dead, but you aren't stopping. Your fingers aren't letting up, twisting, tugging, moving in sweet, stanza-like tandem with the sound of bone being splintered. Adrenaline pumps through your body in sluggish doses. Until it doesn't— until those electrifying sparks begin to dull, your rapid heartbeat beginning to settle, your fingers gone lax. Only they're still moving. Time has lost you. It might have been an hour since you saw your classmate's face. It might have been five seconds. His skull meets the floor again, but you feel no impact. There's no resistance. No weight. How much of his face have you left intact? They won't be able to identify him at this rate. Yaga-sensei will yell at you, pinch his brow, exhale.
You don't know how to stop.
(Thud, thud, thud.)
"That's enough."
You're knocked onto your back before the voice reaches your ears, thrown off balance by a harsh tug at your elbows, something rope-like fastening your arms to your back; so tightly you couldn't break free if you struggled, which you're much too dazed to do. There's another thud, but this time it's your skull meeting concrete, your eyes gazing at the broken lights attached to the ceiling overhead, flickering like candle-light.
When Geto's face comes into view, you note only the clear displeasure in his features.
"… Did you snap out of it?" He crouches down, silky bangs falling like curtains past the ink-black of his brow. His eyes bore into you, weighty with reprimand, the amber of them sharper than usual. They have you mouthing yes— less because it's true, and more because you want that disappointed glint in them to go away. But it is true, ultimately. He did snap you out of it. Your mind is beginning to wake up to the consequences of its body's actions: a subtle but still present cramp in your fingers, the sticky warmth of blood seeping through your uniform where your knees were pressed flush against the floor. The dull, buzzing absence of blood sugar in your veins. Your palms ache from tripping over a box with left-behind equipment in the corridor just outside the room, having caught your fall well enough to still catch up to your target, inner palms scraped like you'd dragged them over the rough side of a rock.
… Said target is still limp behind you, skull cracked open. Inwardly, you wince.
Well, this mission was a dud.
"Good," Geto sighs. You feel his hands ghost at your shoulders, guiding you to rest on your stomach. Whatever tied your arms together loosens under his touch— slipping your limbs free and allowing you to drag your body into a half-hunched sitting position. Your joints ache under the pressure of what had to be cursed, crackling with oppressive energy, and when you look over at your classmate your suspicions are confirmed. There's a snake-like curse wrapped flaccidly around his arm over the sleek sleeve of his uniform: thin and blood-red, with scales that look like miniature knots of rope. Its eyes are shaped like slits, all-black, tail extending into tentacle-like threads and swaying like an irritated cat's. For a curse, it's almost cute.
"You need to show restraint." Geto's voice has a cool edge to it. Your head snaps up to meet his hardened gaze. "We were told to bring them back alive. The cursed object is important, but it's not all that matters. We could have gotten useful information about their organization."
… Your shoulders sink under the weight of his lecture. Part of you wants to speak— to defend yourself and your intentions— but there's nothing you could say that wouldn't just prove his point. There's nothing to tell. If you told him the truth he'd only fix his eyes at you longer.
(It was exhilarating to not have to think of the consequences. To not have to think at all.
"It felt good to listen to his skull shatter, because I knew I'd get away with it.")
… Instead, you nod your head.
His stare frays into your features. It pins you in place. You feel like a butterfly under glass, a taxidermied animal. One of those foxes your fourth-year Senpai drags around over his shoulder. Only when he breaks away and stands up can you do the same, on still-trembling legs, watching as his curse slips away and into nothing, back inside his stomach. Geto walks over to the corpse and untangles the small, paper-wrapped object from his fingers.
It's an organization that hasn't been active in years, is what the assistant manager told you during the debrief. They want to revive Ryōmen Sukuna. You've heard of him, right? I don't know what they teach you kids these days… They've always been regarded as an ambitious band of lunatics, but it seems they have some good fighters in their ranks now. Since they were able to steal one of the fingers Jujutsu High is in charge of, the people at the top are really pissed. Believe me, it's a witch hunt. You're next in line if you mess this up.
Tread carefully, you two.
"A piece of Ryōmen Sukuna…" Geto stares at it silently, the name quiet on his tongue; like it could wake him up. "Even holding it makes me feel like we're doing something we shouldn't."
He's smiling, though. Then he turns around and walks towards you, nudging your shoulder with the knot of his own. It's a gentle collision. Everything about him is like that.
"Come on," he beckons. "I'll have one of my curses bring back the body."
When you're sitting two seats apart from him in the car that'll bring you back to Jujutsu High, blisters on your palms and a plastic-wrapped corpse in the trunk, the silence between you a delicate thing— you think about his tense brow. The emphasis he put on the word restraint, his tongue dancing on the vowels like a tight-rope. Sunset-brown eyes cloudy in a way you didn't like.
Geto is just a classmate. Half a stranger. You've only known him for a little over two months.
His opinion of you shouldn't feel like such a heavy thing.
(It shouldn't bother you at all— even if he were to find you unsightly, dangerous,a lost cause—)
"Geto-kun," you call out, breaking through the quiet. "I'm not fit to be a sorcerer, am I?"
In the window seat parallel to yours, his posture shifts. The change burns at your senses. You don't meet his stare; eyes glued to the drying, darkening crimson staining your pants. You'll probably have to clean them by hand. Apply soap and squeeze out the blood-clot.
"That's not for me to say."
Rain begins to spark against the windows, slowly at first, then harsher, droplets racing down the glass with rapid steps. You follow their trajectory with your eyes. One of the front windows is open to let in fresh air: the car begins to smell of dew and summertime.
Geto exhales.
"You need a role, I think." He sounds like he's been mulling it over far longer than the seconds that just passed, far before you thought to ask. "Something to feel responsible for."
"Like you with non-sorcerers?"
There's a smile on his lips when you turn just enough to catch his expression, curiosity getting the better of you. "Not necessarily. But responsibility keeps you grounded. Level-headed." He pauses, lets the silence weigh. "It keeps you moving forward."
Responsibility. He puts emphasis on that word, too; the way you would a lover's name.
You simmer in the thought. "Gojo doesn't seem to need it."
Geto sighs. Heavier this time, weighed down with exasperated affection. "He does need it. He doesn't understand yet, that's all. Fighting for nothing is just…" he shakes his head, drawing his lips shut. "Insane. But it's all he knows."
You hum.
Gojo isn't like you— he's like Geto. Just as controlled. Maybe even more. Their motives may differ, but that's the extent of where they diverge.
You're the loose cannon. You know that already. You're the one who gets too violent while sparring, who loses their cool when there's a curse in front of them. When you were a child you'd break your toys playing too carelessly, beating their plastic limbs against each other, breaking porcelain dolls on the floor. Your mother said there must be something wrong with your head— something that made it too difficult to think with. Your father said that's just as well, since sorcerers work best when they aren't thinking about a thing.
But Geto wouldn't agree with that.
(He's the only one you know who doesn't.)
"You're strong," he says plainly. Something like pride burns in your chest. "Why do you think that is?"
"… Because I was born into a good family?"
He shrugs. "If that's how you want to look at it, sure. But I think that way of thinking is exactly why you're struggling so much."
Silently, you purse your lips.
The rain-shower has yet to pass, half-transparent webs of dew sticking to the windows and blurring the run-down apartments you drive past. Though the car still smells lightly of wet asphalt, the assistant manager has pulled up the window on his left to shield his shoulder from the downpour, dulling it. It's quiet. When you don't respond Geto continues, his voice like the conductor of an orchestra: steady, smooth, precise.
"Right now, your cursed energy and emotions are unstable. They feed into one another. Remember what Yaga-sensei told you? If you want to nurture your technique, you need steady footing in the areas you lack." His eyes are keen, but not callous. Guiding. "Figuring out what those are is the first step. Then it's just a matter of application. You get a sense of it as you go— but it does take reflection."
He meets your gaze, head tilted to face you.
"Do you get what I'm saying?"
"… I think so." You chew on your bottom lip. "I mean— yeah. I know I'm not clever."
That's why they sent Geto with you, you think. So he could hold your leash and call the shots. Your technique allows you to transform iron into cursed energy: as long as you've touched the target, or as long as their grade is below yours, you can turn particles of iron in the human body and pursue the trail that energy leaves behind. It's a technique particularly useful against humans, since curses aren't made of blood. But you're over-eager, too thoughtless to be sent on missions alone. Not when the goal is more than to hunt and kill. Yaga-sensei scolds you for it often, and Gojo always tells you you're thinking too small.
"That's not what I'm saying."
The firmness in his voice surprises you.
"It's not that you're not smart enough. It's that you haven't been taught anything different." What lines his tone isn't pity, but something sweeter; understanding, or the attempt of it, from a boy with gentle eyes and a gaze that cuts right through you. "Right now, your cursed energy is like a loaded gun. Since you resort to action so quickly, your body doesn't have time to aim it properly. So it misses."
"A loaded gun?" you echo, trying the words out on your tongue. Brows furrowed in thought.
Geto suddenly looks bashful. Or halfway there. "Bad metaphor. Satoru made me watch one of his Wild West flicks last night." He clears his throat. "But, still. You need to think before you pull the trigger, is what I'm saying. Stop what you're doing. Ask yourself if it's the right approach. If there's a better option. Even just a few seconds of recollection is enough."
His gaze is sincere. It makes you feel docile; pliant to the lesson he's trying to teach.
Think before you pull the trigger.
(At the end of the day, you aren't Geto-kun. Responsibility means nothing to you. It's fun to chase, and thrilling to catch, and it distracts you from the fear your body feels when you get hurt. It's as simple as that. Acting is easier than thinking, and violence without repercussions is cathartic in ways even he couldn't deny.
… That's what you think, and yet…)
"I want to be more like you," you admit, quietly, into the cramped space of the moving car. It sounds louder in the silence. He's sitting two seats away from you, but the proximity between your bodies is still sweltering. Marks your neck with a stare so intent you're surprised you don't burst into flames then there, reduced to ash around his tabi shoes, dirtying the floor.
Geto is smiling now. You hear it in his voice, though your gaze remains fixed on your knuckles.
A weary exhale. "Do you?"
"Mm… More solid." You lean your body against the window on your left, looking out at golden fields of wheat, shadowed by the wool-coated sky. Suddenly sleepy, your eyes flutter shut.
Silence. Then, in a voice as warm as the sun:
"We'll work on it, then." Geto breathes in. "Together."
The word weighs heavier than lead. It settles somewhere at the bottom of your throat.
The next time you kill a curse user, Geto doesn't scold you.
Your hands itch from the burning cold. The ache sparks at your fingertips and creeps inside your sweater sleeves, goosebumps rising up your arms and shoulder blades, burning into your pores. The air smells of frost, of nothing at all. You shift from one foot to the other.
In front of you lies a pale corpse, half-blanketed by snow. The tips of his fingers are blue with numbness, bleeding into blemished lilacs and violets, twitching with what little remains of his muscle response. Soon that too will numb.
(You're beginning to understand what Geto meant when he talked about application. The limits of your technique lie in your own way of thinking; there are methods to its violence that you've yet to understand, that you're only just seeing glimpses of. You altered the flow of iron in this man's body, just for a second, and he toppled to the ground in the shock of it.
Your fists did the rest— the broken bones of his back obscured by thick skin and winter-fitted clothing. Old habits die hard.)
Today's mission was a tragic one. When you turn your head to look at Geto it reflects clearly in his eyes, the amber smeared charcoal-black with conflict, what-ifs and grim realities. His face is set into hard lines.
He looks tired.
"What he did to those girls…." he exhales. Closes his eyes and listens to snow fall around you; it makes a low and ghastly noise, like screeching from the sky. "I'm glad you killed him."
It surprises you, the earnesty in his voice. Was it a slip of the tongue? Does he mean it, whole-heartedly? It doesn't matter. You swallow around the lump in your throat. It tastes like shame and gasoline, scorching-hot and oil-like, thick enough to choke you.
"… I lost control again." Geto turns to look at you, his gaze half-vacant. "I wasn't thinking straight. I just saw you— get hit, and…"
A jab of pain sears through your lip, welcomes the taste of iron. Your teeth sink deep into the flesh, trying not to remember his expression. Failing. For a moment, you thought—
"I just wanted him to die so badly," you blurt out. "And then he did. And then I—" You seal your lips shut, withholding the words weighing your tongue down. Head pointing downwards, as if anticipating reprimand. You've made progress this year. You've gotten better at thinking ahead, at not letting your trigger finger get the better of you.
But now you've undone it again.
"Do you regret it?" Geto asks.
Silence. You lift your head, slowly, to look at the corpse. A human, just like you. A curse user. He did awful things— to Geto, to Shizuku-chan and Haruka-chan. His veins used to beat with hot blood, but now it's gone cold. Now it's just a body. It'll never lift a finger against anyone.
It might have had a family. It might have had a heart bigger than yours.
It felt good to break its spine, after all is said and done.
"… No," you answer honestly.
Geto exhales. His breath turns into white smoke and curls past his jaw, like a dragon about to unlatch its maw and swallow around the world. There's something colossal there. "It's fine, then." He turns around and walks away: it's time to go home. You didn't rescue either of the missing girls, so the mission will be considered a failure. "You did the right thing."
(It'll haunt him more than you.)
Your eyes follow his wide shoulders, his broad back vast and ink-black like the night sky above you. Snowflakes fall like shooting stars and stick to the polyester of his uniform. When he says the word right, you sometimes wonder if it hurts him. Underneath his breath, he murmurs:
"Nobody will miss him."
Geto's voice is surprisingly cold. The crisp winter air doesn't sting in comparison.
Two pairs of shoes crunch against the snow lining the path towards the bus stop, revealing dying grass and gravel. You follow at a steady pace behind your classmate, and do not comment on the fury in his eyes.
Suguru is cursed by a demon called righteousness.
That's what you think when you walk in on him retching his guts up in one of the dormitory's bathroom stalls, knuckles white from how hard he's clutching at the edges of the toilet seat in front of him. His face is pale, and the skin under his eyes has rotted lilac-blue from lack of sleep. When the tremors and heaving subsides, he rests his cheek against the plastic lid.
You're sure he knows you're there. But he doesn't greet you, or ask you to leave.
He must be too tired to pretend to be alright.
"I'll go get water," you tell him, before he gets the chance to speak. "And that ginger tea you like."
Suguru doesn't respond. Only moves his head, barely-there, the ghost of a nod. Mouths something like I'm sorry.
Which you, of course, ignore.
He must have swallowed something terrible. Or maybe too many curses to keep down? You're not sure which would be worse. Recently, he's been all alone; you know very little about the missions they send him on, only that he looks just as weary each and every time he returns to Jujutsu High. They're so short on workers even you've been getting sent on missions alone recently. That would have made you bloom with pride if you were still a first year.
Now, though….
(It's an awful feeling.)
When you step out of the kitchen a rough ten minutes later, clutching a lukewarm cup of ginger tea with one hand— a glass of water in the other— Suguru is waiting for you on one of the benches in the hall. Wearing only his white undershirt and a weak, weathered smile.
"Thank you."
You watch him take slow sips from the cup, careful, as if one wrong swallow could have him keeling over and vomiting again. His face scrunches up at the taste. You probably shouldn't have let the ginger stew in there for so long. There's no time to berate yourself, though.
"Are you okay?" you ask.
"Yeah." He gazes into the cup, seemingly transfixed. You wish he'd look you in the eye. Suguru doesn't really do that very often anymore. "Today was just… a lot. I'll be alright."
A hum buzzes under your tongue. Your eyes remain on his face, his cheeks more sunken than usual. It makes unease fester in your gut, makes you press closer to him, unconscious, as if to mend the space between you. Even when your shoulders knock together, he doesn't push you away. That's as close to consent as you're going to get. Beggars can't be choosers.
"Did you get home safe?" He puts the cup down with a clink.
"Mm. I exorcised the curse."
"Good." A half-hearted smile; not as prideful as you'd hoped. Still, his warm voice soothes you. Even when it sounds like it's coming from another room. "You did well."
Because of you, you think. Because I wanted to hear you say that. The words stay locked in the barrel of your throat. Silence overtakes you, the kind that digs into your tender spots, molten iron burning human flesh. You want to speak, but you are tongue-tied, and there is too much to say.
A year has passed since Amanai died. Suguru is cursed by a demon called righteousness, and it wants him to suffer— you think that's why he can't forget about it. You think it did something to him, to carry such a colossal loss; no one to blame it on, not even you. You all lost.
All of you but Satoru.
(You think it burns, aches, grates at him, that his best friend did something he couldn't. You think, very quietly, afraid to say it out loud.)
Only a year has passed, but everything has changed. You're third-years now, the four of you, standing at the cusp of autumn, and the heat is unbearable. Satoru is never home, the pieces of your technique are finally starting to come together, Shoko hasn't left the morgue in twenty hours. Suguru is cursed. You are haunted. At least you think so. In dreams, in flashbacks, in the corners of your eyes: you see a girl with ink-black hair, a cheery smile, the grin of the man who took it from her. You see Suguru with an X through his chest, lying limp and lifeless, bleeding out on the ground below him. A sharp, metallic scent permeates the air and burns into the back of your eyes. You see your own battered body from a bird's eye point of view. You see people in clusters, dressed in pure white and clapping.
An itch you didn't scratch.
…
Suguru finally takes a sip of the water. It's nearly spilling over the corners of the glass, a few droplets dribbling down his chin. It's all you hear in the silence, his gentle, greedy gulps, the bobbing of his Adam's apple. You watch him drink, hesitant. Because when Suguru looks at you in disapproval— like he's disappointed— you feel like you're about to die. Because you know it's not right of you to feel what you are feeling. Seeing what you're seeing when you close your eyes at night.
But Suguru has never turned away from what you are.
So, silently, you part your lips.
"… Sometimes I dream about killing them." The admission is so quiet it feels more like breathing empty air into the room. Pulling the trigger, letting the treacherous words leave your lips, a secret shared between the two of you. "The Time Vessel Association."
…
Suguru doesn't turn to face you.
For a moment, you think that he will. You think you'll see the firm curve of his brow, raised in silent judgement— in lesson. You think he might scold you for bringing it up.
"Sometimes I regret telling you not to."
(His voice rings out, the curve of it sharp, a blade thudding down against a marble counter.
Thunder rumbles South of Tokyo.)
Your neck aches with the strain of craning itself to face what you'd rather not see, his eyes subdued in shadow, the circles around his pupils more pitch-black than honey-brown. Murky seas that you could wade right into, sink to the bottom of until there's nothing in your lungs but salt water. You wonder if he heard himself. You ask yourself if it matters, and find that you don't have an answer. Suguru still won't look at you, and that hurts more than anything.
Then why don't you tell me now? You want to ask. Why don't we go do it?
The question never makes it past your lips.
Because the longer you look at him, the more broken Suguru seems. Gaze fastened on the floorboards, on the cracks between them, arms resting on his bent knees. You don't want to see that expression anymore, surrendered, caved in on itself, too brittle to hold. You're not going to be the final push that makes his ceramic heart break, fall and shatter into pieces. It's only a matter of time: he can't keep going like this, not eating or sleeping, only taking in new breaths when his lungs are crying for it. No one else is here to treat Suguru with care, so that burden falls on you. It's one you'd gladly carry. Even if you're the least suited for gentleness of all.
His fingers are coiled tightly around the glass, as if he might break it. You won't ask him. You won't put that pressure on his conscience. You'll stay passive. You'll think it through, just like he taught you, until you're sure the path you've chosen is the right one to tread.
Neither of you speak for a long while.
Three weeks later his dorm is empty, and your heart lays skewered in between your battered ribs. There is one less mug in the kitchen cabinet, and Suguru is nowhere to be found. When you hunted him down, he told you to go home— turned to face you just to say it, braver than you'd seen him in months, then walked away without further explanation. He didn't leave any final words of advice— of acknowledgment— didn't tell you to join him. Didn't tell you why he didn't tell you what he was planning to do, and didn't reprimand you for not asking. He didn't say anything at all. You couldn't do much but listen to the blood cruising through your brain, dig your nails into your inner palms, wishing all the iron inside of you could turn to stone.
September burns beyond the windowpane, sputtering out under a bout of rainfall. It hits the grounds of the schoolyard and erases all traces of muddy footsteps from the months before. Long gone are the days of youth; the winter ahead of you will be the longest one yet.
(Silently, in a school struck by mourning a boy who isn't dead, you think to yourself:
If the gun I'm holding is always loaded, can't I just take the bullets out? Would you do it if I asked— dismember me for my own good? Isn't that what you've always wanted to do?
Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.
Would you soften my edges if I promised to let you?
—Since you're gone, you can't respond. I'm left with this bullet-sized lump in my throat.)
Right before the world ends, you lift the barrel of your gun.
The air smells of frost and snow, a long overdue year's end. The wide-mouthed light of a very long tunnel, stretching out before you, bowing at your feet. It's a cold Christmas Eve in the outskirts of Tokyo Jujutsu High, the afternoon sun yet to sink and slather the skies in colour. Only the beginnings of it, shimmering yellow, illuminate the battlefield ahead of you.
Battered buildings. Side-walks caked in dust and bloodshed. Two figures and a ghost.
Okkotsu Yuuta stands with his demon-bride, the hollow edges of his soul overflowing with resolve. The blind, devout kind, unthinking. You've liked him since you met him. A boy who can't help but destroy the things he loves most. It made you feel nostalgia for your old self— only Okkotsu doesn't like violence, has never enjoyed it, never had a choice but to let it linger in his life— so you aren't very similar at all. Now, for the first time, he is in full control of himself.
You're sure it's a blissful feeling.
Across from him stands Geto Suguru, your former classmate of three years, ex-classmate of ten, his figure framed by battle-worn robes. A cursed spirit stands proudly at his side, four eyes coiled into slits, clad in a beautiful kimono, her black hair pooling like spilled ink on the ground. You never got to graduate together, and you never got to show him the true extent of your technique. He left you when you were eighteen, declaring war on the world. Now he's back where he started, standing at the door to hell with a smile on his face.
You've been watching for the past ten minutes, star-struck by the spectacle. Neither of them have noticed you. Neither of them care for anything but settling this, come what may.
Think before you pull the trigger.
The phantom of his sixteen-year-old, yet-to-be-ruined voice haunts a ghosting touch behind your ear. His words echo through your mind, so loud they drown out everything else.
Think before you raise your hand.
But it's too late. You've already activated your technique, formed the necessary hand seals, stretched your lips around the chanting in the split second before the two figures lunge at each other— and Okkotsu has already fallen to the ground, eyes snapped wide open. He gasps for breath in a world that won't give it to him, every organ in his body failing simultaneously. You hear the wailing of his bride before it dawns on you that it's your hands pointing south-west, towards the battlefield, in the spot where the student stood. Before you feel warmth run down your face, blood trickling from your nose and pooling in your mouth, your stomach churning wretchedly in its attempt to process the abrupt changes to your body. You're on the brink of passing out, and yet you exercise the remainder of your strength in staying upright.
Before you know it, it's over. The feeling creeps up your spine, up the back of the world, the infinity between your bodies. After the war ends, and the dust settles: only this empty, harrowing silence.
(You always knew it'd feel this way.)
Your cursed technique can transform iron into cursed energy. As you've grown to learn, it's comparable to a blood transplant, and its potential doesn't lie in tracking or disrupting blood flow. It lies in robbing your opponent of the iron their body needs to transport oxygen.
Maximum Technique: Massive Transfusion Protocol is your magnum opus. Until this moment, you've never succeeded in performing it. Only by turning the iron your own blood-cells are composed of into cursed energy did you manage to pull it off, only because you're familiar with your target's body. Because you've sparred with him, grabbed his wrist, wiped his own blood off his face. Touched his blood-cells and acclimated them to your own cursed energy.
You could only have performed it against someone who trusts you.
Across the battlefield, Suguru finally meets your eye. His expression has twisted, disfigured with shock, as if struck by an invisible hand— as if he hadn't expected to see you here today.
And then,
horror.
You remember it well. Tense brows, tight lips, eyes stormy with thought. It's the one he always wore. You inhale until your lungs burn. Walking, stumbling towards him.
His expression doesn't change. Frozen in time. Only his pupils wavering, though you don't see it until you're close enough to reach out and touch him, moving on autopilot through the bursts of cold winter air shaving against your face. This moment is yours. All yours and his. Your head hurts, twists with the weight of the iron deficiency you forced upon yourself, your palms cold and shaky when you reach to wipe off the blood at your lips. But you don't stop walking until you're as close as you can get without thumping right against his chest.
Faintly, under the dust and drying blood, his robes smell of osmanthus and rainfall.
"Why?"
He says the word like it's a bullet. Like he's digging it out of his throat, pressing the pads of his fingers against the bleeding juncture of his neck. There are no words to say— nothing that could make him understand the depth of what you're feeling. Suguru has never looked away from what you are, but he's never understood you. Only now do you accept that.
(If he did, he wouldn't be looking at you like this. Wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.)
"He was going to kill you," you croak. Trying not to sputter on the blood in your mouth.
Suguru looks confounded. His lips part to form around your name, a familiar sound, one you've missed, the ringing of a bell-chime hung outside the window to your childhood. He says it like he's being haunted. Maybe he is. Maybe that's the price you pay for killing a child, maybe it turns you into a spectre. Okkotsu is still lying limp on the ground, his body cradled by his weeping bride. She's yet to attack. Suguru's curse circles her, determining her to be the greater threat between you, though he seems to have given her no order to strike.
"… He was your student."
"Satoru's," you correct. "I liked him."
He looks at you sceptically; horror slowly fading, giving way for clinical curiosity, or something akin to it. Observation. Reading between the lines of your face. He was always like that, just never this obvious about it. He's looking at you like he's trying to figure out who you are. As if something else could be wearing your skin, using your body to trick him.
It hurts. But you'll take it over having him not look at you at all.
"… I'm not a child anymore," you mutter. Squeezing your eyes shut, head hung so low your neck hurts, feeling blood flow to your brain at a gruelling pace. It's hard to breathe. "I know what I'm doing. I know what I just did. You may not believe me, but I've always wanted this."
"You betrayed Jujutsu High."
"Didn't you hear me?" you whine. "I know."
No sound. He must still be surveying you. Wondering what you're getting at, trying to find an ulterior motive that doesn't exist. He doesn't get it. He still doesn't get it. You know it's your fault, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. This is where your confession belongs: in the span of these few minutes. If only your throat wasn't clogged with bloodclot you could say it without straining, but beggars can't be choosers, can they?
"Suguru." You reach out to touch him, to ghost your fingers over his robes. Lifting your jaw to nose at his maw. Partially to keep yourself upright, knees nearly buckling under the weight of your exhaustion, and partially to keep him from running away, you clutch weakly at the silk-stitched fabric. "I've only ever cared about you. There wasn't really… anyone else."
Suguru, in turn— carefully, as if you're an oil-slicked lighter primed to burst— lets his palm fall to your lower back. He nearly flinches at the proximity between your bodies, but keeps you stable all the same. He's too nice for his own good. Dainichi Nyorai incarnate. If you said that out loud, he'd spit in your face.
"I've been wondering what I can do to make you understand that." You take a wobbly breath. It's hard to keep your voice steady. Vowels slur together when you fall into distraction, watching his face flicker like film, hunting for the lines you've rehearsed for this moment. They all escape you now. "I'm no good either. I'm just as bad. I tried so hard to be righteous without you, but it doesn't make me feel a thing." Ten years of trying. You really did try. You thought that if you tried hard enough to be good and responsible, to be principled, he'd eventually return. That if nothing else, it would mellow out the heartache.
In the end, it did nothing but make you want this. Carnage. Your mother was right all along.
"I can't be like you," you continue. "That's the reason you didn't let me go with you back then, right? Because I said that's what I wanted." Your gaze sears into his. You must look manic. That's just as well: a long time has passed since you thought yourself capable of becoming a normal human. "But I've changed my mind. I just want to be with you."
And that's that. Your heart is racing in your ears, the rushing of your own blood loud in the silence, drowsy as it is. You swallow thickly. Adrenaline is keeping the pain at bay, just as it's always done for you: but the ache at your temples is harsh enough to give you pause.
"With me." Suguru tastes the words, seems to mull over them. His face is set into firm lines. "Do you even believe in what I'm trying to accomplish?"
"Not really," you answer honestly. "But there's nowhere else for me to go. They'll kill me for helping you, you know."
"Then why did you?"
He sounds angry. Scolding. You must really be evil, down to the bone, in a way Suguru never was and never will be— because even in the midst of this brutality, you can only bring yourself to think that you've missed the sound.
"Because I only care about you," you exhale. The words ring in your head. "I said that already."
There's a pause. Vacantly, you dip your tongue out to lick at the trail of blood from your nose, already beginning to flake. Watching him intently. The movie playing on his face. Every muscle there is tense, like something out of a scene from Satoru's Wild West flicks. Something like the final standoff between sheriff and outlaw. Who is the sheriff between you, you wonder?
"You still haven't learned how to think before you speak, have you?"
Suguru's tone is dull. Brow perched high on his forehead.
"… Maybe," you concede. You have, technically, though it's mostly been for show. "But I mean it. I have nowhere else to go."
…
"Please, Suguru."
His eyes gleam gold and muddy-orange. Worn by rust, but still just as disarming as ever. Still so quick to falter under earnesty.
"Tamamo-no-mae Incarnate," he calls, finally, voice taut like a bow. "Finish her."
Rika doesn't resist. You wonder why. You'll never know. It's over in an instant: Suguru puts his hand out, twists her features, and turns the Queen of Curses into a globe on his open palm. He swallows it whole without flinching. It's a victory for Suguru Geto and the curse users— you know it to be true, and see it in his eyes. Something like disbelief. Nothing like the pride you were hoping for. He doesn't even look particularly pleased, but you'll take what you can get from this. When he licks his lips clean the barrier above you crackles, trembles, and finally shatters. You feel his presence before you register the sound of glass breaking.
Suguru meets the sheriff's eye over your shoulder.
"What did you do?"
When you turn around Satoru looks the angriest you've ever seen him, blue eyes bare and flashing with fury, confusion, cutting through the distance between your bodies to pierce into you. If looks could kill you'd be dead where you stand, butchered under the weight of the sorcerer world's treasury. His voice comes out so sharp it hurts to listen to it.
Mutual understanding. One look meets another. He's seen Okkotsu's corpse, and he knows which one of you killed him. You know, instinctively, that he is never going to forgive you.
Cold calm washes over you.
Suguru steps forward, standing rigid at your side. A marble statue come to life, the ends of his hair dyed ember-red by the sunset behind him: dragging its thousand teeth against the mountain-ridged horizon. His eyes carry resolve you could never have understood until today. "Satoru," his voice softens, near imperceptible. "You're late." There's an apology there, one he won't say out loud. You wonder if Satoru can hear it through the thundering in his skull.
"Did you ask them to do this?" he questions, strained. "Or did they do it on their own?"
"Does it matter?"
"Answer me."
Suguru glances at you. His eyes are world-worn, face lines accentuated under the bleeding sky. Long gone are the days he'd look at you with pity. "Well?"
"I made the call." You don't stutter when you answer. "Sorry, Satoru."
Dove-white streaks of hair tremble in the winter air, nearly pink under a sunset overdue. His brow threatens to twitch, but his expression doesn't waver, and his face doesn't contort. His eyes hold you steady, calculating, cobalt-blue brushing against the contours of your soul. It feels like being pried apart by the hands of strangers. None of you know how terrifying you are. Not you, not Suguru, not Satoru.
If he decides to kill you, that'll be the end of this. Even with Rika Orimoto in his arsenal, Suguru won't stand a chance. Definitely not after unleashing Maximum Uzumaki. You know it, and he knows it, and Satoru knows it better than anyone. The man that stands in front of you was your friend of twelve long years, and now the final gambit standing in the way of the ending that you've chosen.
If you survive this, it's because Satoru lets you.
Standing at the world's edge, with your heart sluggishly pumping blood to a head that can barely hold its own weight— you understand this perfectly. You're gambling with your lives, but that's always been the crux of your profession. And Satoru only has one weakness.
He glowers at you both. Steel-jawed, straight-laced, feet rooted into the ground of a school Suguru and Okkotsu demolished. Crimson stains dribble down the cobble-stone.
Everything in silent, and nobody moves. The world stills in grievance of the youth you lost.
Then, without saying a word, Satoru tips his jaw down to look at the ground. His breathing turns to mist, turns to smoke, turns to vapour. He doesn't look at Okkotsu-kun. He doesn't look you in the eye. He looks at dirt and gravel like it could tell him how to feel.
But he isn't that naive.
(Back then, he understood. He knew you were dangerous from the moment he set eyes on you. Suguru believed in you, but Satoru never did— never really. He told you as much when you killed for the first time. You're going to do it again, he said, as candid as ice. You're going to get him in trouble. Do as you please, but don't come crying to me if he starts hating you for it.
You wonder if he knew what you were doing to Okkotsu. You ask yourself, quietly, if there was someone else you could have killed to save him, someone less important to him.
You already know the answer.)
"Suguru," you hear yourself speak, though you put no conscious effort into moving your lips. All you taste is iron, iron, iron. When you hold out your palm, he tangles your fingers together. It's reluctant, but you'll take what you can get. You'll take this broken ending over one where you're robbed of your second goodbye, left with a cool-blooded body to hold. Suguru and Satoru share a look over your shoulder, unspoken, charged with one millenia of devastation: you close your eyes in awe of it. The world has ended, your trigger finger gone lax. "Let's go."
Behind you waits a curse. The bullet at the bottom of your throat tastes of hell-fire.
Like he’s so mean while giving you the best orgasm of your life, sitting you up perfectly in his lap, shaking uncontrollably and hanging onto him like he’ll stop and wait for you. Softly shushing your cries. “It’s okay…just a little bit longer..” and you would still sit in his arms waiting for him. Your vaginal walls only feel a warm boiling surge of cum churn in your stomach. And cum creamy out your pussy. Leaking so much white onto his fingers. The fluid of you. He takes his fingers from between your legs and then licks and sucks them off..but he looked down at you as he did it. Even moaning afterwards then kissing you as if sharing a sweet candy. Pulling away from the kiss then kissing your clit too. He’s a savory man of his meals and you come with that. Not just savoring your taste but the moment and the sight. He’s so suffocating and not in a bad way. Who would he be to deny his pretty girl a sweet orgasm? Then he eats you out. It feels so amazing. He eats you until you sob his name over and over again. Until you’re satisfied or if he’s satisfied. And if he’s not he keeps going.
Until your thrashing at his head trying to push his head away because your poor body couldn’t handle it. Reader I pray for your body sometimes cause he needs you.
tags/cw: fluff, mentions of suicide, anxiety, nerves, awkward teenage romance, crushes, yuji & nobara are good friends, megumi is awkward, maybe ooc, slightly ooc, kissing
desc: you have a crush on megumi
a/n will be at the end :)
The wind brushed gently through your hair whilst rustling the blooming petals from the trees creaking branches around you, cicadas buzzing in the distance, echoing the sound you feel that the constant heat brings. Birds whistle and sing talkatively to one another, singing in time to the flap of their wings. A scent of plum blossoms and pine wood is carried by the breeze, the notes of a cologne you’ve become intimately familiar with since starting as a student here.
Fushiguro. He must be nearby.
Looking up from your textbook, you watch the footpath at the top of stairs behind you, following as Megumi walks along it, hands in his pockets, slowing his steps for the sake of allowing Yuji to catch up with him. Glancing over his shoulder, he locks eyes with you for a moment, expression going soft for the smallest moment until Yuji pats his shoulder, pulling Megumi’s attention away from you and back to his best friend.
You’re wishing you’d done something. Waved, smiled, something. You groan in annoyance, turning back to the open textbook in front of you, trying to follow along with the paragraphs of what feels like incoherent gibberish.
“God! Stop pining after that loser” Nobara groans from across you, rolling her eyes so hard you’re worried she’ll burst a blood vessel.
“He’s just one of those moody, ‘I'm better than you because I don't talk’ types, don’t waste your time on him” She scoffs, flipping the page of her own textbook.
You sigh at your friend's strong and stubborn stance about him, knowing she won’t let up on that opinion.
A part of you is worried she’s right, that every conversation you’ve had with him, every shared glance, exchanged snicker and smile was never anything at all. The thought dampens your mood a whole bunch, so you tend to avoid it.
“You’re right” you close your textbook, knowing you aren’t studying anymore. “He’s not that special, it’s just a crush, I’ll get over it.”
“You better” Nobara huffs, crossing her arms in disbelief of your statement. “Or I’ll make you get over it.”
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
The bell signaling the end of the school day rings through the quickly filling hallways and you follow the lines of students eager to get to whatever plans the afternoon holds for them, keeping your head down as you do so.
Nobara had already left to go shopping. She had been talking about how good the first day of summer break sales were going to be. You planned to join her after stopping by your home to drop your bag off, wanting to get the literal weight off your shoulders and change into some nicer clothes.
Plus, the walk gave you a chance to think over, well, everything.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
Finally heading towards the city to meet Kugisaki for dinner and shopping, you look around you, admiring the cherry blossom trees and the fruitful bushes of hydrangea blooming brightly in the warm summer weather.
The flowering bush lingers in your vision whilst your feet continue down the smoothly paved walkway. The sweet but dull scent of cherry blossoms seems to slip between the more obvious notes of fresh, dewy greenery.
It’s a welcomed fragrance, reminding you of the boy you ought to start forgetting. Lively chatter from the approaching city can be heard faintly behind the sound of your music blasting through your headphones, reminding you of your waiting friend.
The reminder urges you to quicken your pace a little and you pull out your phone to text Nobara and tell her that you’ll be at the meeting place shortly. By the time you’ve pocketed your phone once again, you spot said girl waving and jumping up and down in the crowd, making sure you can see her.
Smiling, you wave back, setting your headphones back in their case.
“Hey!” Nobara beams at you as you approach, pulling you into a side hug, since it is all she can manage while holding the bags filled with her many earlier purchases. “Funny story, I ran into Yuji and Megumi while shopping earlier, they were hanging out together too.”
Nodding in acknowledgement of her story, you hum as she talks, ignoring the disgustingly joyous leap your heart makes at the mention of Megumi’s name. “So they’re doing well I assume? Did you guys talk much?” You ask, showing genuine interest in what she has to say.
“I’m doing pretty well, yeah!” A cheery, familiar voice says from beside you, making you whip around– Only to be faced with Yuji Itadori and his friend Megumi standing with his hands in his pockets a little behind the boy.
To say your mind went blank would be an understatement. All your thoughts ceased to exist as soon as you made eye contact with Megumi.
Nobara, seeing your very obviously surprised expression, rushes to save your ass from total embarrassment. “I ran into them!” She quickly explains. “Like I said! And I was just about to mention that I invited them to hang out!”
Reeling your shock back in, you try to smile welcomingly, though you’re sure it looks pretty horrific. “OH! Alright! That makes sense, sounds fun!” You force a small laugh, glancing down at your feet.
Yuji grins, not seeming to notice your very terrible job at trying to mend the situation, and hands both you and Nobara a bubble tea. She must’ve sent them to buy one before you came, which is actually really sweet. For her to think of that and for him to go do it. You forget how caring Nobara is at times.
Gratefully, you take the drink from him, feeling the flush on your face ease as you sip on the cold, sweet tea. Nobara clears her throat, diverting the conversation to another topic.
“So, what was everyone thinking for dinner? I could go for some hotpot right now, but I’m open to suggestions,” She smiles, glancing between the three of you for some input. Both you and Megumi shift on your feet, refraining from interfering with the decision.
Yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of hotpot, nodding eagerly in agreement. “I know a really good and affordable place! It’s nearby actually!” He says, grabbing Nobara’s wrist and pulling her ahead, assuming you and Megumi will just follow behind.
He runs off too quickly for you to keep up and you somehow manage to lose both of them in the crowds of people, even with Yuji’s vibrant coloured hair. The shifting and moving crowd does nothing to help.
“Shit” both you and Megumi curse once you’ve realised the predicament you’ve found yourselves in. Glancing beside you, Megumi looks towards you, annoyance etched on his generally unreadable features. However, the annoyance is not directed towards you and he’s somehow able to convey this through his expression alone.
“Any idea you know the place he’s talking about?” You ask with a soft huff of exasperation, hoping Megumi knows where Yuji and Nobara are headed. Your hopes are quickly trampled when he shakes his head, grabbing your wrist to guide you through the crowd until you reach the outskirts of the street, where you’re able to stop without being shoved into constantly. How had you forgotten about the summer festival?
Megumi’s eyes dart around once you reach the safety of the sidelines, trying to spot Yuji and Nobara even though you both know they’re long gone. “I’m going to punch him” He mumbles with a huff, pulling his phone from his pocket to text the boy. You mimic the action, sending a string of panicked messages to Nobara. They all fail to deliver. The amount of people must be interfering with the signal.
Megumi also seems to make this conclusion, shoving his phone back in his pocket, shoulders stiff with tension.
“No reception either?” You ask, also putting your phone away. He nods slowly in response to your question, trying to figure out the next step from here. He inhales slowly, standing up a little straighter.
“Come on” He beckons with a small wave of his hand. “We may as well get some food ourselves. I doubt they’ll show up anytime soon.”
Slightly flustered at the thought of having dinner alone with Megumi, you can’t argue with his reasoning. You nod and follow closely behind him, matching his quick pace, weaving through the bodies of people until he slows to a stop, causing you to do the same at a break in the crowd. Standing in front of a small mom and pop restaurant, you cast a sideways glance towards Megumi.
He’s quick to meet your gaze, nodding towards the building and starting inside, holding the door for you in a polite manner. The restaurant is filled with a warm, musky aroma. The unmistakable smell of incense fills your senses, covering the scent of smoky meat and mouth-watering vegetable steam that lingers beneath.
The waitress at the front door smiles in an inviting manner, seeming to recognise Megumi as she looks between the two of you. He shoots her a sharp look, which she giggles in response to.
“Good evening!” She greets, leading both of you to a booth. There’s a few other patrons in the store, but not so many that it’s loud or crowded. “Just the two of you?” The waitress asks, a subtle tease in the lilt of her sweet voice that makes you instinctively defensive of the assumption, as if you need to explain why it’s only the both of you.
However, before you can panic and blurt everything out, Megumi speaks; “Yeah, just us” He says, casually and dismissively.
Nodding, the waitresses eyes glint with mischief as she hands you both a menu and leaves you tableside. Scanning the menu, you read the meals offered, biting the inside of your cheek.
“She’s my sister” Megumi speaks up after a moment of busied silence. “Tsumiki.”
Oh. That makes a whole lot more sense. For some reason, your chest feels a lot lighter than it did five minutes ago. How odd.
“Oh, alright” you hum in response, glancing at him over the top of your menu. You want to talk, to say something interesting and make some sort of conversation. Nothing interesting comes to mind.
Pressing your lips together, you internally curse your terrible conversational skills. “A-are you and Nobara close?” You eventually ask, laying the laminated menu on the smooth, granite tabletop, following the chunks of iridescent shards set into the clear coating with your eyes, watching the lights from the restaurant gleam off them.
Megumi raises a brow at your (very random) question but purses his lips together to consider a response nonetheless, mimicking your actions in setting down the menu.
“I guess..” He responds after some consideration, gaze fixed out the window you were seated beside, watching the crowds pass. “Yeah. We are pretty close. I think Yuji would consider her to be more of a friend than I do, but I think she’s pleasant to be around.” He says, tone a little softer now that you were indoors. “When she isn’t shopping, that is” He adds with a brief exhale of a snicker.
You’re pleasantly surprised at the thought put into his response to your seemingly lackluster attempt at a conversation starter. “I see” You reply with a hum.
Megumi turns his gaze back to you, cocking his head in the smallest way, a subtle display of curiosity. He feels he should say something to you, keeping the conversation going and save the both of you from sitting in awkward silence.
Hesitating momentarily, he moves to speak, immediately gaining you attention. He’s surprised by your attentiveness, internally admiring the careful observation you give to life around you.
“What’s your deal with spirals anyway?” He asks, keeping his tone neutral but not uninterested. At least, that’s what he thinks he’s doing. It comes out a little harshly.
You flinch slightly at the perceived annoyance in his tone but answer him cheerfully nonetheless. You’re more than familiar with tone miscalculations, it’s a daily occurrence for you. Who’s to say he doesn’t have the same issue?
“Spirals? Oh yeah,” You smile, casting a brief look towards your spiral phone case and the various spiral jewellery you wear regularly. “My favourite book at the moment is Uzumaki by Junji Ito, have you heard of it?”
Megumi furrows his brows for a moment, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have. The name rings a bell, though,” He says, eyes fixed on you in genuine interest in what you have to say. Being under his intense gaze makes you shift in your seat ever so slightly.
“It’s good,” You smile, wringing your hands together under the table restlessly. “I’d recommend it, but I don’t want to spoil it by talking your ear off,” You chuckle a little nervously.
“I wouldn’t mind” He quickly adds, gaze searching your face until his eyes meet your own. “This is the most we’ve ever spoken, I think..” He trails off for a moment, looking to the window in thought. “I’m interested now, you can’t leave me curious.”
Megumi tries to reason nonchalantly, attempting to hide his actual interest in what you have to say. Your nerves settle at the reassurance he offers you just by telling you he actually cares about what you have to say.
You, oblivious to his internal battle, jump at the chance to talk about your current interests. “Well.. alright,” You smile, sitting up a little straighter and clasping your hands together on the table in front of you.
“Basically the plot follows this girl, Kirie, and her boyfriend Shuichi through a series of events that happen in their small coastal town,” You begin to explain, all your nerves and restlessness replaced with the desire to explain the plot of this story. Passionately.
“The first few chapters all continue off each other, and set the scene for the remainder of the book. The chapters at the start explain that Kirie’s boyfriend, Shuichi’s, father has become obsessed with spirals and the spiral shape. So much so, all he does is sit in his office and study, draw, and read about them.” You say, hands waving around as you talk to accentuate the feelings of passion you have towards this book.
“It gets to a point where, one day Shuichi and his mother return home and find Mr. Saito has attempted to contort his body to fit into a circular box as a spiral, killing himself in the process.” You continue, pausing to gauge the reaction Megumi has towards that disturbing detail.
Megumi’s eyebrows furrow at your last detail, the raw fascination in his eyes remains all the same. His posture is relaxed, leaning forward slighting in interest for the rest of the plot to follow.
He hates how easily you’ve captured his attention. And he hates how blissfully unaware of it you are. You’ve done nothing but be yourself this whole time and he’s completely fascinated by it.
You finish explaining the plot, taking a deep breath after talking so fast. During your incessant rambling, the waitress (not Tsumiki) had taken your orders.
Glancing up at Megumi, you eye him curiously. “Questions?” you ask, sensing the slightest bit of uncertainty in his expression.
He nods, sitting back against the cushioned seat in the booth. “Yeah,” he confirms with an exhale, staring at the table as he processes. “So.. you really like spirals because the symbol serves as a reminder of the uncertainty we as humans face when it comes to our own existence and the infinite flow of time we all eventually fall victim to?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and he repeats your words back to you. His tone is both teasing and somewhat confused.
Grinning, you nod. “Yeah basically!”
“Plus, it just reminds me of the book. Which is a simpler explanation,” You offer with a shrug.
“That's… not what I was expecting,” Megumi responds honestly, lips pursed in slight thought.
You can’t help but snort at the expression he wears, eyebrows drawing together in subtle confusion. “What did you expect my answer to be?” You ask curiously, resting your chin against your hand.
He looks vaguely surprised by your question, eyes narrowing briefly in thought. Hesitating momentarily as he mulls over a response. “I don’t know, actually” Megumi answers quietly. “I sort of expected something less.. Well, thought out. I assumed you just liked the pattern or something along those lines.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” You snicker with a teasing tone, playing with the spoon resting in your bowl of soup.
“Oh shut up,” Megumi grumbles, covering his face with one hand as his ears burn with embarrassment. This makes you laugh even more, earning a few glances from other patrons towards the two of you.
Megumi burns red, sinking into the collar of his jacket and beginning to eat a little faster.
You find yourselves leaving the restaurant shortly after.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
The sun is setting, the sky shifting from that warm afternoon blue to a gentle gold and yellow glow. You end up towards the summer festival, since you were planning to meet the other two there later once getting some signal and being able to call them.
The festival is busy, bustling with excitement and a sort of romantic atmosphere that you feel you could be imagining. The twinkling warmly lit lights adorning each ride and market stall make the event hum with an irresistible pull towards all the festival has to offer.
You give in, dragging Megumi towards anything that catches your eye. The stalls with a beautiful assortment of candles, food stalls, jewellery stalls, trinket stalls, fast rides, slow rides, mirror mazes, face painting, anything and everything. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much and your nerves from the beginning of the evening are completely gone, replaced by the sort of carelessness only a teenager in love can have.
It’s almost time to meet with Nobara and Yuji but to your surprise, Megumi gently grabs your arm and leads you to the ferris wheel, handing the employee a ticket for each of you and sitting down across from you in the small carriage. Your knees are touching from close proximity.
“The ferris wheel?” You ask Megumi with a soft laugh, face paint you had convinced him to get, an array of swirls and dotted spirals emerging from the outer corner of his eye in various shades of blue and white. You have a similar design, but in a purple colour scheme.
“I love ferris wheels, it’s always been a favourite thing of mine to look above the whole festival whenever I’ve come before,” he explains, tone fond as he reminisces, looking out over the glittering lights that illuminate the dark night sky as the machinery begins to move. The sun had set almost an hour ago.
“That’s sweet,” You murmur, following his gaze towards the festival that’s growing smaller beneath you. “I see why… It’s beautiful.”
Megumi looks over at you as you whisper this, gaze softening at the awe in your eyes. “Yeah..” He breathes out quietly. “It is.”
Looking up at him, his eyes already on you, you fidget, getting shy all of a sudden. The ferris wheel stops when you reach the top.
“Lucky us,” You chuckle, fidgeting with your hands in your lap, feeling heat flush your body.
“Hmm, yeah.” Megumi hums in quiet agreement, feeling the tension between you grow thick and desperate to be snapped. There’s a quiet pull, strongly tugging at your chest and making your stomach do flips.
You’re leaning closer to him subconsciously and he’s doing the same. Both your attention is completely on each other, the view that the ride provides is forgotten the moment your lips brush his.
He smells like plum blossoms and sandalwood, his lips taste faintly of miso from the dinner you just had. Your senses are overwhelmed with him and you can’t help but bathe in it.
Megumi leans in, gently tugging you a bit closer to continue to kiss, eyes closing blissfully as he breathes in everything you have to offer him with each delicate brush of your lips.
Pulling away almost feels criminal, but you part eventually, eyes locked on one another. Your heart beats so hard in your chest you fear you might pass out. Megumi’s hand gently clasps yours, thumb absentmindedly running over the bumps of your knuckles.
You both laugh shyly after a minute of silence, unsure of what to say after such an overwhelmingly enjoyable shared kiss.
“Can we do this more often?” Megumi eventually asks, face burning red once again, eyes averted from your own. “I.. really like you.”
Surprised by his honesty, you struggle to contain your enthusiastic response. “Yes please,” you laugh, squeezing his hand. “I like you too. A lot.”
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
The ride eventually comes to an end, but you’re still beaming with the memory of the kiss you shared and the hope of more to come practically leaves you glowing.
Meeting up with Yuji and Nobara, they quickly notice the shift in dynamic and tension. They exchange a knowing glance, smirking with pride. “Our plan worked!” They high five, cheering in unison.
“Plan?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing, you turn to Megumi, but he seems to have figured it out already, eyes narrowed in annoyance as he steps towards a celebrating Yuji.
Lifting his hand, he smacks the pink-haired boy on the back of the head, who just groans with deserved pain, pouting in response. “Told you I’d punch him.” Megumi murmurs, looking back to you with a slight smirk.
a/n: yo yo yo im back you guys but probs not 4 long, i got other shit going on unfortunately :/ thank you guys for all the support recently, its been so cool that we reached 200 followers! genuinely such an honour to have my fun little hobby be recognised and enjoyed by other people, so i'll try my best to write and post as often as I can manage with the constant bustle of life. i hope you guys enjoyed this longer(ish) one
also, i listened to 'everything is embarrassing' by sky ferreira on repeat while writing this idk why it just fit the vibe imo.
[𝝑𝑒] :: calling true form!sukuna by a nickname for the first time :: tags. fluff, sfw.
“ryo,” it rolls off your tongue naturally. as if you’ve called him that thousands of times before. you don’t realise it until he suddenly stops in his tracks.
sukuna narrows his eyes. you turn your head and look up, oblivious to your slip-up. the sorcerer doesn’t utter a word and instead glares down at your short frame. he looks irritated, or more annoyed.
“oh,” you realise why only a few seconds after.
you bow your head at him and try to explain yourself in a hurry. normally, you’d address him with respect like everyone else does. ‘my lord’, ‘lord sukuna’, or even ‘master’.
you nearly fall to your knees. you don’t know how or what sukuna’s going to do now that you’ve dropped the honorifics on accident and called him by a nickname.
you hold your hands together, “my deepest apologi—“
“again,” sukuna demands in a rough voice.
you freeze for a second before tilting your head back. you catch a glimpse of his expression; he’s amused, intrigued and perhaps still a bit annoyed. he repeats, “call me that again.”
sukuna isn’t annoyed by the fact that you’ve called him by a nickname for the first time. he’s annoyed, because your sweet voice makes him feel stuff he’s sworn to never feel for a regular human.
that warm feeling in his chest. . . he hates it. yet he yearns for it. from you.
you hesitate for a second, unsure if the firm tone in sukuna’s voice was a bad sign or not. you decide to just comply and hope for the best, “. . . ryo.”
sukuna grits his teeth. you think he’s mad, but in reality, he’s trying to eliminate the feelings of love from within him. your voice calling him so affectionately—so intimately; it makes him feel that warmth in his chest.
no one’s dared to call him anything like that before. everyone’s formal with him. it’s a must. sukuna’s used to everyone acknowledging his superiority in the conversations he holds. it’s a given.
no one refers to him so casually. no one dares to.
you’re the first one to break that pattern. the first one to make sukuna’s cold heart tremble. if it were anyone else, they’d be his dinner by now. but it’s you so it’s. . . fine, he assumes. an exception.
silence falls in the hallway. luckily, not another soul is around to witness the king of curses struggling to contain his own ‘foolish’ emotions.
sukuna clicks his tongue and sighs before continuing to walk ahead of you.
you scurry after him—keeping your head low. you don’t wish to upset him any further. you feel like you overstepped a boundary just now.
the silence continues for a couple seconds, both of you deep in thought.
sukuna’s the one to end the quiet atmosphere. his voice is as deep and cold as ever, though there’s no denying the subtle softness that creeps in whenever he talks with you.
he takes a deep breath and sighs. he keeps walking and doesn’t spare you a glance, however his words say enough;
“from now on, that’s the only way you’ll address me until i say otherwise, understood?”
sunlight peaked through the curtains of your shared apartment. it was early morning, but the exact time was unclear. you had woken up a few minutes ago and suguru was stirring beside you. you felt him first: his big arms wrapping around you, soft lips leaving wet kisses down your neck, and the hard tent in his pants pressing against your ass.
wasting no time, you slowly grinded against him, earning a low grown from the raven haired man. his soft lips ghosted over your skin while his hands gripped your hips. you instinctively opened your legs as he inched closer to you. the only thing you had on were your flimsy sleep shorts and matching tank top. suguru snaked his hand in between your thighs and tugged off your shorts. arching into him, you spread even wider so he could reach where you ached the most.
“already soaked so for me,” he murmured. using his fingers, he spread your slick across your folds a low hum. all you could manage was a small nod. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before slipping two fingers inside of you. you moaned into your pillow and shuddered. his long fingers reached where your own couldn’t. he curled them and you bit the pillow to muffle your embarrassingly loud moans.
he cupped your face and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “don’t hide from me. i wanna hear you.” your cunt fluttered at his words and you whimpered his name.
“you’re taking my fingers so well my love,” he cooed, picking up the pace a little. broken moans left your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. you didn’t hold back this time, letting him hear just how good he made you feel.
“my baby is so needy in the morning, isn’t she?” suguru pressed his lips to your neck. a soft cry escaped your lips, your thighs shaking as he curled his fingers again.
you shattered, the pleasure taking over you. you whispered his name quietly as you came down from your high. suguru pulled out his fingers with a wet squelch before bringing them to his lips.
“mmm,” he moaned shamelessly. you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he swirled his tongue to taste you. he smirked when he realized you were watching him, then pulled down his boxers.
precum was already oozing from his mushroom tip. you reached behind you and pumped the base of his cock, earning a low groan from him. as you glided your thumb across the head, he twitched in your palm and bucked his hips into your hand slightly.
after you teased him a bit, he did the same suguru teased your entrance, smearing your wetness with his length before pushing inside. you gasped at the stretch. he split you open as he slowly buried himself deeper and deeper inside of you. once he fully bottomed out, he began to move his hips slightly.
the angle was more agonizing than his pace. his thrusts were shallow, he barely pulled out before slipping back inside of you, but the way his tip nudged that spot deep inside made you shiver. your velvet walls clenched around him with each stroke, taking every inch.
“my pretty girl,” he whispered. you whined softly, too tired and too fucked out to think properly. "perfect, just perfect."
he rolled his hips slowly. you arched your back and grasped the pillow under your head. his dick bullied your cunt, making your brain go all fuzzy. the way he whispered sweet, yet filthy things to you wasn’t helping either.
“you take me so well, my love. the way you melt like putty in my hands drives me crazy.” he smiled into your skin. “milking the shit out of me as a ruin you. so tight, you’d think i never take care of you.”
but that wasn’t true. mornings like this with suguru were a reoccurring thing. he always found himself slipping inside of you, reaching where you needed him most.
Gojo’s massive cock is way too big for you to handle ♡
୨୧ — You had always known Gojo Satoru was larger than life in every possible way—his height, his presence, the way his Six Eyes seemed to pierce through your very soul whenever he looked at you with that infuriatingly playful smirk—but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer overwhelming reality of him when things finally escalated between you two. As his girlfriend, the one person who got to see beyond the cocky exterior and into the tender, possessive heart he guarded so fiercely, you’d shared countless nights of heated kisses and wandering hands, teasing promises whispered against your skin about how good it would feel when he finally took you completely. But the first time you truly tried, sprawled out beneath him on the luxurious sheets of his apartment, your body trembling with anticipation and a hint of nervous excitement, you realized with a gasp that his size was no exaggeration born from fanfics or whispered rumors. Gojo was massive, thick and long in a way that made your thighs instinctively press together even as he cooed soothingly above you, his blindfold discarded so those brilliant blue eyes could drink in every flushed inch of your form.
He was so gentle at first, the way only Satoru could be when it came to you—his large hands mapping every curve of your body with reverent touches, fingers slick with lube and your own arousal as he worked you open slowly, murmuring praises like “That’s my good girl, taking me so well already” in that low, velvety voice that sent shivers racing down your spine. You felt stretched just from his fingers, three of them curling expertly inside you while his thumb circled your clit with practiced precision, building you up to the edge again and again until you were a whimpering, soaking mess beneath him. But when he finally positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt, heavy head of his cock pressing against your folds, reality hit like a curse manifesting in the most intimate way possible. He was too big—impossibly so—the sheer girth of him making your breath hitch in your throat as he pushed forward inch by careful inch, your walls fluttering and clenching around the intrusion in a desperate attempt to accommodate him. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes not from pain exactly, but from the overwhelming fullness, the burning stretch that bordered on too much, your body protesting even as waves of pleasure mixed in from the way he filled you so completely, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed.
Gojo’s face hovered above yours, his usually cocky expression softened into something raw and adoring, brows furrowed in concentration as he fought every instinct to thrust deeper. “Shh, baby, breathe for me,” he whispered, voice strained with the effort of holding back, one hand cradling your cheek while the other gripped your hip to keep you steady. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his white hair falling messily into those glowing eyes as he sank a little further, only to pause when your nails dug sharply into his shoulders and a choked moan escaped your lips. You couldn’t handle it—not all of him, not yet—the way his cock throbbed inside you, so thick it felt like he was splitting you open in the most deliciously torturous manner, your inner muscles spasming around just half his length and leaving no room for anything else. He rocked his hips in shallow, gentle movements, never forcing more than your body could take, kissing away the tears that slipped down your cheeks and murmuring endless endearments: how perfect you felt clenching around him, how he’d wait forever if that’s what you needed, how he loved seeing you like this, all flushed and overwhelmed because of him. The intimacy of it was intoxicating; even in the struggle, the connection between you deepened, his cursed energy humming faintly in the air like a protective cocoon, dulling any sharp edges of discomfort into waves of building ecstasy.
Nights like that became a ritual of patience and passion, your loving boyfriend turning every attempt into an extended session of worship where he’d spend hours between your thighs with his mouth and fingers first, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you until you were boneless and dripping, your body as relaxed and ready as it could possibly be. Yet even then, when Gojo finally guided his massive length into your heat, you’d find yourself gasping and arching, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of him—veins pulsing along his shaft, the flushed head nudging so deep it pressed against your cervix with room to spare that you simply couldn’t offer. “Fuck, you’re so tight for me, sweetheart,” he’d groan, his voice breaking into that rare vulnerable tone reserved only for these moments, hips stuttering as he fought not to lose control. You’d wrap your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer despite the way your body trembled and fluttered, tears of overwhelmed pleasure streaming down your face as he worked you through it with slow, grinding thrusts that never went too far, always attuned to every hitch in your breath or twitch of your muscles. He’d pull out almost completely only to slide back in, the obscene stretch making wet sounds echo through the room alongside your mingled moans, his thumb never leaving your clit as he coaxed you toward release after release, proving that even if you couldn’t take every inch, the pleasure he could wring from you was boundless.
In the afterglow, Gojo would hold you close, his larger frame curling protectively around yours as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your neck, anywhere he could reach, whispering how much he adored you, how this—your shared vulnerability and the way your body responded so eagerly to his despite the challenge—was everything he’d ever wanted. He never made you feel inadequate; if anything, the size difference only fueled his playful teasing mixed with genuine affection, like the way he’d smirk and say, “Guess I’ll just have to train my pretty girlfriend a little more, huh?” before diving back in with his tongue to soothe the ache. You’d laugh through the lingering sensitivity, fingers threading through his snowy hair, knowing that with Satoru, every intimate moment was laced with love so profound it made the struggle feel like the sweetest kind of surrender. He was yours, entirely, and even when his cock proved too much for your limits, the way he cherished and adapted to you only made the bond between you stronger, turning what could have been frustration into an endless exploration of pleasure, trust, and the kind of heated connection that left you both breathless and craving the next time you’d try again, wrapped in each other’s arms until dawn.
A/N: So I saw that Zuko fics are making a comeback, and I thought maybe I should write for him too. When I first watched the series, I was only 5 or 6 years old, and I had such a huge crush on Zuko. I remember being completely captivated by the show when it was on TV. Now that I’m almost 20 and rewatching it, and with a movie coming out this year, I just thought, Oh my God, my childhood crush is going to be back on screen again.
By the time the sun slipped behind the Fire Palace’s red walls, Zuko was already one insult away from setting something on fire.
He kept his face carefully blank as he crossed the final corridor, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away to anyone who knew him well. His day had been a chain of disasters from the moment he sat down in the throne room.
The first advisor had complained about grain shipments.
The second had argued that the grain shipments were proof the Earth Kingdom could not be trusted.
The third had suggested a tax increase.
The fourth had brought up border security, as if saying the words louder would somehow solve the problem of three assassination threats before noon.
By evening, Zuko’s patience had worn thin enough to show in the way he snapped at a messenger and nearly burned a report to ash with one careless flick of his finger.
He hated that version of himself. The ruler who answered stress with anger. The Fire Lord who always looked one breath away from war.
All he wanted now was to reach your chambers, close the door, and be Zuko for a little while.
Not Fire Lord.
Not the face of a kingdom.
Just him.
He paused outside the door when he heard soft movement inside. The guards at either side of the hallway straightened, but Zuko barely noticed them. His hand rested briefly on the bronze handle before he pushed the door open.
Warm lamplight washed over him.
The scent of tea, cedarwood, and something sweet,jasmine, maybe,met him first. Then he saw you.
You were seated near the window in a low cushioned chair, a shawl draped loosely over your shoulders though the room itself was already warm. One hand rested over the gentle curve of your swollen belly, your posture carefully settled in the way pregnancy had taught you to conserve energy when you could. A book lay open in your lap, though you were not reading it. Your gaze had already lifted to him, and the moment your eyes met, the hard line of tension in Zuko’s body broke.
It always did, when he saw you like this.
At home. Safe. Radiant in the lamplight. Carrying the life the two of you had made together.
His breath caught.
You stood slowly, concern already softening your face. “Zuko?”
He did not answer at once. He simply looked at you,really looked,and something in him loosened so abruptly it almost hurt. You were well. Tired, yes, and a little pale, but well. Unharmed. Safe.
Relief hit him so hard that he had to look away for a second.
“Your Majesty?” you asked, gentler this time, though there was a hint of teasing in it.
That finally earned you a faint, exhausted exhale that might have been a laugh in another life. “Don’t start.”
You took a few careful steps toward him, one hand still supporting your belly. “That bad?”
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed. “If I have to hear one more noble tell me that peace will be maintained if I simply ‘project stronger authority,’ I might actually start projecting fire.”
Your soft laugh was immediate and warm, and the sound did something dangerous to his chest.
“You do project stronger authority,” you said. “Usually in the form of a glare that makes people rethink their own names.”
“That is not a strategy.” He pushed off the door and crossed the room toward you. “That is intimidation.”
“Effective intimidation.”
He reached you then, and the last of his restraint unraveled. Zuko wrapped his arms around you carefully, mindful of your stomach, and buried his face against your temple. You smelled like tea and the lavender oil you’d taken to using at night.
His whole body sagged with relief.
You made a quiet sound of surprise and then immediately softened, arms sliding around him with practiced ease. “You’ve had a terrible day.”
He nodded against you. “A terrible week.”
“You’re home now.”
Something about the way you said it made his throat tighten. Home. He had spent most of his life believing he did not deserve the word. Even now, years after the war, even after everything the two of you had survived together, some part of him still waited for the moment when peace would be taken away again.
But here, in your arms, with your hand resting over his back and the small weight of your child between you, it felt real.
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
And then he softened all over again.
You must have seen it in his face, because your expression changed immediately,your teasing ease fading into tenderness. “What is it?”
Zuko stared at you for a beat longer than necessary. “You’re tired.”
Your brows lifted. “That is not what you were going to say.”
“It is what I said.”
“You were about to say something dramatic and emotional, and then you backed out of it.”
He scowled weakly. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did.”
He tried to maintain the glare, but it failed almost instantly when your lips curved. You looked beautiful like this,tired, glowing, impossible. Pregnancy had changed you in ways he had not expected. Not made you fragile, not made you less of yourself, but somehow deeper, more grounded. There was a steadiness to you now that made him want to kneel at your feet and thank every spirit that had brought you into his life.
His gaze drifted downward before he could stop it, to the rounded shape of your belly beneath the fabric of your dress.
That was when the final crack appeared in him.
“You’re… bigger,” he said, and immediately winced at his own words.
You blinked. Then you laughed. “That is generally what happens during pregnancy.”
“I know that.” He looked almost offended by the accusation. “I mean,” He stopped, frustrated, and then tried again, voice lower. “I just noticed.”
Your smile softened in a way that made his chest ache. “The baby’s growing.”
His hand hovered, uncertain for a second, before he placed it gently over the curve of your stomach. Warmth spread through him at once, a quiet, almost sacred feeling. He could feel the life beneath his palm,not movement yet, just presence. Waiting.
His expression changed so quickly that you caught your breath.
All the hard edges from the throne room melted off his face. His eyes went wide, then softer, then impossibly tender, as if the sight of you standing there in lamplight had undone every wall he had built for the day.
He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that had ever made sense.
“Zuko,” you whispered, because there was no other way to name the look on his face.
He let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead briefly against yours. “I was worried.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” he murmured, voice roughening. “I spent half the day trying to decide whether the assassination threats were real and the other half trying not to imagine what would happen if they weren’t taken seriously enough.”
Your hand rose to his cheek. “We have guards.”
“I know.”
“You’ve increased them.”
“I know.”
“You’ve also canceled three public appearances.”
He gave a defeated hum. “I know.”
You waited, then said softly, “You still think something will happen.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment he said nothing at all.
Then, in a voice nearly stripped bare, he admitted, “Yes.”
The honesty of it settled between you.
You did not tell him not to worry. You had long since learned that such reassurance never truly reached the place his fear lived. Instead, you leaned into his touch and spoke with quiet certainty.
“Then let me help carry it.”
His eyes searched yours, as though he expected to find pity there and found none. Only love.
“You already do,” he said.
The words came out so quietly they almost disappeared into the room.
You smiled, slow and small. “Not enough.”
That drew the faintest curve from him, tired but real. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“I know,” you said. “But I want to.”
He looked away then, blinking hard, because there were moments when the fullness of your devotion made him feel dangerously close to breaking open. When he had been a boy, he had thought love was something that had to be earned through pain, through achievement, through proving himself useful enough to keep. The idea that someone could simply stand beside him and choose him every day still felt new in places.
You reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Come sit with me.”
He glanced toward the settee near the window. “You’ve been sitting.”
“And you’ve been standing like the world is ending.”
“It might be.”
You arched a brow. “Zuko.”
He sighed, though there was a reluctant warmth to it now. “Fine.”
He followed you to the settee and let himself sink down beside you with visible relief, finally removing the formal outer layer of his robes and setting aside the weight of his crown. The gesture itself seemed to change the air in the room. The Fire Lord vanished with the robe. The man remained.
You rested your head lightly against his shoulder, and he immediately shifted to make you comfortable, one arm settling around you while the other remained near your belly as though he could not decide which of you he wanted to protect first.
For several quiet seconds, neither of you spoke.
The palace beyond your chambers carried on with its endless chorus of footsteps, distant voices, and the muted clang of duty. But inside, the room was still.
Zuko closed his eyes.
“I nearly told the council to leave,” he admitted.
You hummed softly. “That would have been remembered for generations.”
“I know.”
“History would call it the Day Fire Lord Zuko Finally Snapped.”
His mouth twitched. “That would be a bad day for everyone.”
“For everyone except the historians.”
He let out a short, genuine laugh then, and the sound seemed to ease something in his chest. You felt it too, because your hand moved in slow circles against his back.
After a while, he said, “I saw your tea tray untouched.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I had soup.”
“Earlier.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “You are very bossy when you are worried.”
“I am always bossy when I am worried.”
“That is true.”
He glanced at you, one eyebrow lifting. “And yet you married me.”
“I did,” you said with complete seriousness. “A terrible personal decision, really.”
He stared at you for a second, then laughed again, a little fuller this time, and you grinned in triumph.
The sound faded slowly, leaving behind a tenderness that made his eyes lower to your face.
“You don’t have to look so calm all the time,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
He adjusted his hand over yours. “When I come in here, you always look like you’ve already decided to handle anything that happens. Like nothing can touch you.”
You were quiet for a moment. Then you said, “That is because you come in here carrying the entire world on your shoulders, and someone has to look steady.”
The honesty in your voice struck him deeply. He studied you,your tired eyes, your careful breathing, the softness of your body as it held his child,and felt a fierce, almost overwhelming tenderness rise in him.
“You are steady,” he said.
You gave him a small, incredulous smile.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “You make it easier to breathe here.”
Your expression shifted, touched by something too soft to name. “Then sit with me longer.”
He did not need to be asked twice.
Zuko settled deeper into the cushions, drawing you carefully against him until your body rested against his side. One of his hands remained over your belly, warm and protective, while the other traced absent patterns against your arm. He could feel your breathing slow to match his.
For the first time all day, the sharp edge in him dulled.
For the first time all day, he was not thinking about borders, councils, or threats. He was thinking about the quiet rise and fall of your chest. The small life waiting beneath your skin. The way you had softened without ever becoming weaker. The way you looked at him as though the man beneath the crown mattered more than the crown itself.
At length, you whispered, “You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
“I might.”
“That is allowed.”
He turned his head slightly and kissed your hair. “You’re too kind to me.”
Your answer came almost at once. “No. Just in love with you.”
That made him go utterly still.
Even after all this time, after all the years together, after every vow, every difficult season, every small and private joy, the words still had the power to unmake him. He looked down at you with the same softened expression he had worn when he first entered the room, only now there was something almost reverent in it.
His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “I love you.”
You smiled without opening your eyes. “I know.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, then pressed another kiss to your forehead. “I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Outside, the palace remained a place of power and obligation. Inside, with your hand resting over his and the baby growing between you, Zuko finally let himself rest.
For tonight, he was not the Fire Lord the world demanded.
He was simply a husband, a father-to-be, and a man fortunate enough to come home to the person who made him gentle.
PAIRING: Suguru Geto x BunnyHybrid!Reader x Satoru Gojo (Non-Sorcerer au)
CONTENT: Suguru is your gentle and strict owner while Satoru loves to get you all riled up [tw: Hybrid reader, non-con/dub-con touching of hybrid features, rough manhandling, spanking, humiliation, polyamory/shared ownership setup]
Suguru remembered the exact way you used to look in the university library. You were always tucked into the furthest corner of the archives, practically melting into the woodwork, your eyes wide and focused entirely on your books. You never spoke to anyone. You barely even looked up.
He had been utterly fascinated by you.
He used to choose tables just within your line of sight, watching the quiet, precise way you turned pages, the soft sweaters you buried yourself in, and the way you’d nervously bite your lip when a concept was hard to grasp. He’d never found the right moment to approach you because you looked like a fragile bird that would take flight at the mere sound of a heavy footstep. So, he had contentedly kept his distance, letting an obsession quietly simmer beneath his calm exterior.
Then, you abruptly stopped coming to campus. Days bled into weeks, and Suguru’s quiet world felt irritatingly empty.
Until tonight.
A sudden, freezing downpour had forced Suguru into a narrow, covered alleyway to shake out his umbrella. That’s when he heard it, a tiny, fractured gasp, followed by the wet, frantic rustle of a cardboard box tucked behind a row of industrial dumpsters.
Suguru froze, his sharp eyes cutting through the gloom. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice a low, smooth rumble.
A terrified squeak answered him.
Stepping closer, Suguru knelt, keeping his movements deliberately slow. He pushed aside a damp flap of cardboard, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was you.
But you were different. Shivering violently, stripped of your oversized sweaters and wrapped only in a threadbare, oversized shirt, you looked impossibly smaller. Curling out from your messy hair were two long, velvet-soft, snow-white rabbit ears, pinned flat against your head in sheer terror. A tiny, fluffy tail twitching against the brick wall completed the picture. You were a hybrid. In this world, freshly turned hybrids without registered owners were prey, hunted, abused, or sold.
Your wide, tear-brimmed eyes locked onto his. You recognized him from the library. He could see the faint spark of familiarity in your gaze, but it was quickly drowned out by your instinctual urge to hide. You buried your face in your knees, trembling so hard your teeth chattered.
"Hey," Suguru murmured. The sheer rush of possessiveness that surged through his veins was almost dizzying, but his expression remained perfectly serene, a mask of pure gentleness. "Hey, sweetheart. Look at me. It's okay."
"P-Please," you whispered, your voice a tiny, breathless thing. "Don't hurt me."
"Never," he promised softly, extending a warm, broad hand, palm up, leaving it a few inches away from you. He let you sniff the air, letting you catch his scent of rain, sandalwood, and safety. "You remember me, don't you? From the archives. You're safe now. I'm going to take you home."
You stared at his large hand. The cold was biting into your skin, and your bunny instincts were screaming at you to trust the large, warm predator who was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, hesitantly, you nudged your forehead against his open palm.
Suguru’s heart thudded. He closed his fingers gently around your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Good girl. Such a brave little thing."
Without another word, he shed his heavy, insulated trench coat and draped it over your trembling shoulders. It swallowed you whole, smelling heavily of him. Before you could even process the warmth, Suguru gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly against his broad chest. You let out a soft gasp, your small hands automatically bunching into the fabric of his shirt as you hid your face in the crook of his neck.
His apartment was warm, smelling of cedar and hot tea. The moment Suguru set you down on his plush sofa, you tried to curl into a tight ball, acutely aware of your new ears and how terrifyingly exposed you felt.
Suguru didn't press you. He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a basin of warm water, a soft cloth, and a fresh, incredibly soft sweatpants-and-hoodie set.
"We need to get you clean and warm," Suguru said, kneeling on the floor in front of you so he wouldn't tower over your small frame. "May I?"
You gave a small, submissive nod, your long ears drooping forward shyly.
Suguru was agonizingly patient. He gently wiped the grime from your face, your hands, and your scraped knees. When his fingers brushed against the base of your white ears, you let out a tiny, sensitive whine, your shoulders twitching.
Suguru paused instantly. His dark eyes softened, melting with an affection that ran terrifyingly deep. "Sensitive?" he asked, his voice a soothing purr.
"Y-Yes," you whispered, blushing furiously, your ears burning hot. "They... they feel a lot."
"I'll be very careful, I promise," he murmured. He didn't touch them again, respecting your boundary perfectly, though his gaze lingered on how incredibly soft they looked. He helped you into the oversized clothes, gently pulling the waistband of the sweatpants low enough so your fluffy tail wouldn't be squished.
Once you were wrapped up like a cocoon, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm, lightly sweetened oatmeal and a cup of chamomile tea. He sat right next to you, his large thighs brushing against yours, offering a grounding weight that your anxious instincts desperately craved.
"Eat, sweetheart," he commanded gently.
You picked up the spoon with trembling fingers, but your coordination was shot from exhaustion. A bit of oatmeal smudged onto your bottom lip.
Before you could wipe it, Suguru’s thumb was there, catching the stray bit of food. But instead of pulling away, his thumb lingered, gently pressing into your bottom lip, forcing your mouth to part slightly. His gaze darkened, a flash of his strict, possessive nature breaking through his gentle facade.
"You're making a mess," he whispered, his tone dropping into a low, firm register that made a shiver run straight down your spine. "Look at me."
You looked up, completely frozen, your pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.
"From now on, you belong to me. Do you understand?" Suguru said, his voice entirely devoid of malice, but heavy with an absolute, unshakeable authority. "No more running away. No more hiding in dark alleys. You stay where I can see you, where I can take care of you. If you are good for me, I will give you everything you could ever want. But you must listen to me perfectly. Understood?"
The strictness in his voice didn't scare you. It did the exact opposite. It drew a boundary line around you, keeping the cruel outside world out. It meant someone was finally in charge of keeping you safe.
You let out a soft, submissive sigh, your long ears flopping completely flat in surrender as you leaned your cheek heavily into his hand. "Yes, Suguru," you whispered, using his name for the first time. "I'll be good."
A blindingly sweet, genuine smile broke across Suguru’s face. The intense predator vanished, replaced instantly by the doting, caring man who had watched over you for months.
"Such a perfect little bunny," he cooed, wrapping his long arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. He began to stroke your back in slow, soothing lines. "Rest now. You're home."
The transition from solitary confinement in a damp alley to the suffocatingly sweet safety of Suguru’s apartment had completely rewritten your internal wiring. Months had passed, and under Suguru’s strict, doting care, you had blossomed into a thoroughly spoiled, utterly dependent creature.
Suguru liked you soft, compliant, and perfectly taken care of. He set strict rules: you ate what he made, you wore the clothes he bought, and you stayed inside where the world couldn't touch you. In return, he treated you like glass. You had learned that submitting to him brought absolute peace.
But it also made you incredibly lazy when he wasn't around to command you.
On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, you were sprawled across Suguru’s plush living room rug, laying flat on your stomach with your ankles kicked up in the air. Your white rabbit ears twitched lazily in sync with the rhythm of your chewing. You were eating strawberries straight from a bowl Suguru had left on the coffee table, letting a bit of the sweet juice sticky your fingers, completely ignoring the "no eating on the rug" rule because you knew he’d just sigh and clean it up for you anyway.
The click of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment.
Your ears shot straight up, pinning back for a fraction of a second before flopping forward in pure excitement. Suguru was home early from his university lectures. Abandoning the strawberries, you scrambled to your knees, a bright, eager smile breaking across your face as you scrambled toward the entryway. "Suguru, you're back..."
The words died in your throat.
The man standing in the doorway was entirely too tall, his broad shoulders practically blocking out the hallway light. He was casually tossing a spare set of apartment keys in the air, catching them with a metallic clink. He wore a heavy leather jacket, and slung carelessly over his eyes was a pair of dark sunglasses, though the blinding blue gaze piercing through them was unmistakable.
Satoru Gojo.
The university’s resident golden boy. The untouchable, impossibly popular, notoriously arrogant bully who used to track terror through the campus hallways just by walking down them. You had spent semesters actively hiding behind bookshelves to avoid even being perceived by him.
Your bunny instincts spiked into absolute red-alert. The cozy, warm apartment suddenly felt like a cage with a predator inside.
"Huh," Gojo voiced, his hand freezing over the keys. He tilted his head, his gaze sliding down from your wide, terrified eyes, over your trembling shoulders, and locking onto the long, snow-white rabbit ears twitching on top of your head. A slow, incredibly sharp grin pulled at his lips. "Well, well, well. So this is the little pet Suguru’s been keeping locked away. I thought he was just hiding a mountain of contraband, but you're way more interesting."
Panic made you stupid. Because you didn't feel the absolute safety of Suguru’s presence, your submissive facade completely shattered, replaced by a defensive, spiky wall of pure fear-induced attitude.
"Get out," you snapped, your voice trembling but laced with an uncharacteristic venom. You took a sharp step back, your fluffy tail twitching aggressively against your sweatpants. "Who gave you those keys? You can't be here."
Gojo’s grin only widened. He didn't look offended. He looked like a cat that had just watched a mouse pull out a tiny switchblade. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, strolling into the apartment with an agonizingly slow, confident stride.
"Oh, a feisty one," Gojo cooed, his tone dripping with mock delight. He stepped right into your personal space, forcing you to look up at his towering frame. He reached out a large hand, his long fingers aiming directly for your sensitive ears. "Let me see..."
Smack.
You slapped his hand away with a loud crack. "Don't touch me!" you hissed, baring your teeth slightly, your chest heaving. "Suguru is going to kill you if you touch me. Leave!"
Gojo froze, staring down at his backhanded knuckles. For a second, the sheer audacity of a tiny, fragile hybrid striking the most powerful guy on campus hung heavy in the air. Then, Gojo threw his head back and let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the walls.
"Oh, I get it," Gojo chuckled, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to reveal those piercing, electric blue eyes, completely unbothered by your hostility. In fact, his gaze was dark with a sudden, intense fascination. "Suguru thinks he bought himself a sweet, quiet little rabbit. But you’re a total brat, aren't you?"
"I am not!" you yelled, your ears burning hot with a mix of fury and terror as you backed away until your spine hit the living room wall. "I'm good! I'm good for Suguru!"
"Yeah, because you're terrified of him," Gojo reasoned, taking a casual step closer, completely trapping you against the drywall. He leaned down, placing one hand on the wall right beside your head, invading your space so completely you could smell his expensive cologne. "But with me? You're a little monster. I like that. I really like that."
"I hate you," you whispered fiercely, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face away, your rabbit ears pinning flat against your skull.
"Keep talking like that, sweetheart," Gojo whispered, his voice dropping into a low, teasing gravel that sent an entirely different kind of shiver down your spine. He leaned in close enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. "Suguru isn't going to be home for another two hours. And I think you and I are going to get to know each other real well."
The shift from terror to pure, unadulterated irritation happened the moment Satoru Gojo refused to leave. Under Suguru’s roof, you had forgotten what it felt like to be challenged, and Gojo was pushing every single one of your newly defensive boundaries.
"Get out," you snapped again, your voice shaking but sharp. "I mean it!"
Gojo didn't move an inch. He let out a low whistle, his piercing blue eyes tracking the way your long, snow-white rabbit ears twitched with aggression.
"Holy shit," Gojo murmured, a slow, realization-filled grin spreading across his handsome face. "No wonder you suddenly stopped coming to school. The whole campus thought you vanished off the face of the earth." He tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter with a loud clatter. "And here I thought Suguru was just losing his mind. Every now and then during lectures, he’d smirk and mention he got a 'bunny' to take care of at home. I thought he bought a literal pet, not you."
The mention of how Suguru talked about you made your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. Seeing the smug, knowing look on Gojo’s face pushed you entirely over the edge.
Thump! Thump!
In a sudden burst of pure, instinctual frustration, you lifted your leg and brought your foot down hard against the hardwood floor. It was a loud, aggressive double-stomp, the exact behavior of a wild rabbit warning a predator to back off. Your entire body was tense, your fluffy white tail twitching violently in a display of angry defiance.
Gojo actually blinked, his smug grin faltering for a split second. He stared down at your feet, then up at your flushed, angry face, completely caught off guard.
"Did you just... stomp your foot at me?" he asked, a look of genuine, shocked amusement washing over his features. The utter absurdity of a tiny, fragile girl trying to intimidate him by acting like a literal forest creature was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen. "Are you serious right now? Wow. You really are a brat."
"I told you to leave!" you cried out, completely humiliated by his laughter.
"Yeah, not happening," Gojo chuckled, his shock instantly melting back into pure, predatory delight. "In fact, now I definitely have to see what Suguru is dealing with."
Before you could scramble away, Gojo moved with terrifying speed. His large, heavy hands shot forward, catching you by your wrists. With zero effort, he spun you around and pinned your back flat against his broad chest, trapping your smaller frame securely against him. He used one arm like a steel band across your waist, lifting you just enough that your toes were barely brushing the floor, completely neutralizing your ability to stomp or run.
"Let me go! Suguru!" you shrieked, wriggling frantically in his iron grip, your ears pinning flat against your head in a panic.
"Suguru’s not here, princess," Gojo teased, his voice vibrating directly against your back. He shifted his weight, forcing you down onto the plush living room sofa, effectively pinning your lower half under his heavy thigh so you couldn't kick. "Stop squirming. I just want a look."
"Don't touch me! I'm not a toy!" you bared your teeth, turning your head to try and bite his sleeve, a total bratty display of defiance because you knew you couldn't physically overpower him.
"Feisty," Gojo hummed, thoroughly entertained.
With his free hand, he reached up and deliberately brushed his long fingers against the velvet-soft skin of your left rabbit ear. The moment his fingers made contact, a violent, sensitive shiver tore through your entire body. Your gasp was cut short as a warm, heavy sensation flooded your lower stomach, your ears burning bright red.
"Oh, wow," Gojo whispered, his tone dropping into something much darker, completely fascinated by how intensely your body reacted to the touch. He stroked down the length of the long white ear, his thumb gently rubbing the sensitive base. "They really are super sensitive, aren't they? No wonder Suguru keeps you hidden away."
"S-Stop," you whined, your bratty attitude melting into a breathless, shaky plea as the overwhelming sensation made your knees go weak, even while pinned.
Gojo didn't stop. His hand slid down your spine, his large palm smoothing over the fabric of your oversized sweatpants until his fingers brushed against the fluffy, round bundle of your tail. He gave it a firm, teasing squeeze.
You let out a loud, high-pitched squeak, your hands clenching into the sofa cushions as your whole body arched against his hold.
"Look at you," Gojo murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed the crown of your head, right between your twitching ears. He could feel your heart hammering like a piston against his chest, a mix of pure bratty outrage and physical overload. "You're a handful, sweetheart. I think I'm going to start visiting Suguru a lot more often."
For the next ten minutes, Satoru showed you absolutely no mercy.
To him, you were the ultimate toy, a tiny, furious ball of fluff and attitude that he could bend to his will. Every time you tried to claw your way out of his grip, he would simply laugh, catch you by the waist, and effortlessly shove you back down onto the plush cushions. He spun you around, roughly pinning your wrists above your head one moment, only to release you and watch you try to scramble away, just so he could grab you by your oversized waistband and drag you right back across the sofa.
"Come on, princess, you can do better than that," he teased relentlessly, his voice deep and breathless with amusement.
You bared your teeth, swinging a wild fist at his shoulder, but he caught your forearm with agonizing ease. With a sharp tug, he yanked you forward, his other hand coming up to firmly grasp the very base of your snow-white ears. He didn't hurt you, but the heavy, unyielding pressure on your most sensitive spot sent a violent jolt straight down your spine. You let out a ragged, high-pitched gasp, your legs instantly turning to jelly.
Before you could even recover, Satoru's large palm slid down, roughly gripping and squeezing your fluffy tail, pulling your hips back against him. The sensory overload was dizzying. You wriggled, you hissed, you tried to bite his leather jacket, but Satoru just handled you like a whirlwind, completely dominating your space until your muscles ached and your lungs burned.
Finally, the fight completely drained out of you. Your bratty defiance crumbled under the sheer weight of his stamina. You couldn't breathe, your throat felt dry, and your sensitive ears were burning a bright, furious crimson from how much he had touched them. With a soft, defeated whine, your body went entirely slack.
Satoru let out a low, satisfied chuckle, sensing the exact moment you gave up.
He slid back on the couch, making himself comfortable against the armrest, and hauled your limp, exhausted body right along with him. He hoisted you up by your hips, forcing you to straddle his lap. Your legs fell to either side of his broad thighs, and because your spine was completely tingling and spent, your back arched weakly as you collapsed forward. You buried the side of your face directly into the crook of his neck and shoulder, your hot breath fanning against his skin.
The silence in the apartment was heavy, broken only by your shallow, ragged breaths.
"There we go," Satoru murmured, his voice finally dropping the mocking edge, replaced by a deep, possessive purr. "Look at you. All worn out."
He didn't let you go. Instead, his large hands settled into a rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion. One of his long-fingered hands reached up, gently cradling the back of your head while his thumb and forefinger lightly stroked and flicked the tips of your velvet ears, soothing the ache he had caused. His other hand slid down to the small of your back, his broad palm cupping your fluffy tail, his fingers mindlessly swirling through the soft fur.
You let out a tiny, pathetic whimper, too tired to be angry anymore. You hated how good it felt, and you hated how safe his massive frame felt, even though he was a total menace. You just melted against him, your small hands weakly bunching into his leather jacket, entirely at his mercy until Suguru walked through the door.
Satoru didn’t stop moving his hands, and he certainly didn’t stop talking.
For nearly an hour, you remained hopelessly pinned to his chest, your body completely spent. He kept up a steady, low stream of murmurs right against your ear, a dizzying mix of condescending praises and sweet nothings that made your face burn.
"Look at how quiet you are now," Satoru whispered, his thumb lightly flicking the tip of your left ear, making it twitch. "So sweet when you're not trying to bite my head off. Such a good little bunny, resting so nicely for me. You like being held like this, don't you? Even if you're too stubborn to admit it."
You let out a soft, exhausted whine, your face burying deeper into his shoulder. You hated how the steady rhythm of his fingers stroking your fluffy tail was making you drowsy, completely clouding your judgment.
Suddenly, Satoru’s fingers went still against your tail. His head tilted slightly toward the entryway.
You were too dazed to notice the faint sound of a key turning in the lock, but Satoru's sharp senses caught it instantly. A slow, deeply amused smirk spread across his face. He didn't move an inch, keeping his large arms securely wrapped around your waist.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Satoru called out, his voice loud and dripping with mischief. "You're late, Suguru. Your pet and I already got real cozy."
The mention of Suguru’s name acted like an electric shock. Your eyes snapped open, your rabbit ears instantly shooting straight up in panic. You tried to scramble off Satoru’s lap, your heart hammering against your ribs, but Satoru’s grip tightened like a steel vise, anchoring your hips firmly against his thighs. He wouldn't let you budge.
Suguru stepped into the living room, his coat slung over his arm. His dark eyes swept over the scene, you, flushed and breathless, straddling his best friend's lap, while Satoru casually fondled your ears and tail.
Suguru wasn't angry with Satoru. The two men understood each other too well for that. Instead, Suguru’s gaze locked entirely onto you. His eyes narrowed, a cold, dangerous strictness replacing his usual gentle warmth. He noticed how relaxed your body had been just moments prior. He noticed the slight glaze of sensory pleasure in your eyes.
And it irritated him deeply.
For months, Suguru had treated you like the most fragile porcelain doll. He had intentionally avoided handling your ears or your tail with any real force, terrifyingly aware of how sensitive hybrid anatomy was, terrified of hurting his precious, shy little girl. Yet here you were, completely melted into another man's touch.
"Get up," Suguru commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a terrifying, heavy authority that made your entire body freeze.
Satoru finally chuckled and loosened his grip, allowing you to weakly scramble off his lap. You stood on the rug, trembling, your head bowed and your ears drooping completely flat against your skull in pure submission.
"Suguru, I-I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking. "He wouldn't leave, and he..."
"I don't want to hear it," Suguru interrupted smoothly, walking over and placing his briefcase on the table. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with a slow, deliberate precision. "I leave you alone for a few hours, and I come home to find you completely disregarding my rules. Not only did you let a guest touch you, but you look like you thoroughly enjoyed it."
"I didn't! He forced me..."
"You didn't fight him hard enough," Suguru countered, stepping directly into your space. He reached out, his fingers catching your chin and forcing you to look into his dark, unyielding eyes. "I have spent months being agonizingly gentle with you, treating your little bunny features like glass because I didn't want to overwhelm you. And this is how you repay my patience? By letting Satoru handle you however he pleases?"
From the couch, Satoru propped his chin on his hand, a thoroughly entertained smirk on his face as he watched the drama unfold. "Don't be too hard on her, Suguru. She put up a decent fight at first. Total little brat."
"Which is exactly why she needs to be corrected," Suguru said softly, his tone dripping with a strict dominance. He let go of your chin and sat down on the armchair across from the sofa. He tapped his thigh. "Over my lap. Now."
Your heart stopped. Your eyes darted to Satoru, who merely winked at you, enjoying your utter humiliation.
"S-Suguru, please," you begged, tears immediately welling up in your eyes. You were a submissive creature by nature. The threat of his genuine displeasure was enough to make you weak, but the thought of being disciplined in front of a witness was agonizing. "Not in front of him..."
"You should have thought about that before you let him treat you like a toy," Suguru said, his voice entirely devoid of pity. "Do not make me repeat myself."
Knowing there was no escape, you walked over with trembling steps. You lowered yourself over his lap, your stomach pressing against his thighs, your hands gripping his knee for support. Your fluffy white tail twitched in absolute anxiety.
Smack.
The sharp, loud crack of Suguru’s broad palm landing against your sweatpants echoed through the room. It wasn't meant to injure you, but it carried the heavy, stinging weight of his absolute authority.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat, and a fat tear rolled down your cheek.
Smack! Smack!
"You belong to me," Suguru murmured rhythmically, delivering the firm swats with a steady, unhurried pace. "Every part of you. If those ears are going to be handled, they will be handled by me. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes!" you sobbed, burying your face in your arms as the stinging heat bloomed across your skin.
Satoru watched from the couch, his blue eyes flashing with amusement, entirely unfazed by the display. If anything, seeing you cry and squirm under Suguru's strict hand only made you look more delicious.
After a dozen firm swats, your soft sobs filled the quiet apartment. Suguru finally stopped, his hand resting heavily on the small of your back, letting the heat settle. He let out a soft, heavy sigh, the strict disciplinarian instantly melting away, replaced by the deeply doting, caring savior who adored you.
He hooked his arms under your armpits and pulled your crying, shaking body up into his chest. He shifted you so you were sitting sideways on his lap, tucking your face securely into the crook of his neck.
"Shh, it's over. I've got you," Suguru murmured, his voice incredibly sweet and gentle now. He wrapped his large arms around you, rocking you slightly as you cried into his shirt, your tiny hands gripping his collar desperately. He reached up, his long fingers finally brushing against your sensitive ears, stroking them with the exact, perfect amount of gentle care you had been craving all along. "Such a sensitive little thing. You're okay. Suguru’s got you."
The room was dead silent save for your shaky, hitching breaths as you hid your face in Suguru’s neck. The sting from his palm was already fading into a warm, thrumming heat, but the heavy comfort of his arms around you made you feel entirely secure.
From the couch, Satoru let out a low, appreciative hum, shifting his weight as he leaned forward. He wasn't leaving. In fact, his intense blue eyes were fixed entirely on the way your white ears were twitching under Suguru's soothing strokes.
Suguru caught the look. He didn't pull away from you, but his hand paused on your back as his dark eyes lifted to meet his best friend's gaze. A heavy, silent understanding passed between the two men. Satoru loved a challenge, he loved the sharp, spitfire attitude you had thrown at him. And Suguru? Suguru loved your absolute surrender, the way you melted into his rules.
"You're looking at her like you want to take her home, Satoru," Suguru said, his smooth voice cutting through your quiet sniffling.
Satoru grinned, pushing his sunglasses up into his white hair so his piercing eyes were fully on display. "Can you blame me? She’s a total menace when you’re not around, Suguru. A little brat. I think she needs someone to rile her up every now and then so she doesn't get too lazy on your rug."
You stiffened slightly against Suguru's chest, your ears pinning back. You wanted to snap at Gojo to shut up, but the lingering warmth of your discipline kept you completely quiet, your fingers tightly bunching Suguru's shirt.
"Is that so?" Suguru murmured. He tilted his head down, kissing the crown of your head right between your ears. His grip on your waist tightened, a possessive finality settling into his posture. "Well, she isn't going anywhere. She belongs right here. But... if you’re going to be coming over here and making a mess of my hard work, you’re going to help keep her in line."
Satoru’s grin widened into something wicked and delighted. He slid off the couch and sank onto his knees on the rug right in front of Suguru’s chair, bringing himself down to your eye level.
"Look at me, princess," Satoru cooed, his tone dropping into that teasing, gravelly register that made your tail twitch.
Slowly, hesitantly, you turned your head, peering out from the safety of Suguru’s shoulder. Your eyelashes were still wet with tears, your cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed pink.
Satoru reached out, and this time, his large hand was incredibly gentle. He used his thumb to carefully wipe away a stray tear from your cheek, his touch surprisingly warm. "Look at those big, sad eyes. Did Suguru hurt you? Such a dramatic little bunny."
"Behave, Satoru," Suguru warned softly, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his broad chest anchoring you from behind while Gojo hemmed you in from the front.
"I'm always good," Satoru lied smoothly, his fingers sliding up from your cheek to lightly, playfully pinch the tip of your rabbit ear. You let out a tiny, involuntary squeak, leaning back directly into Suguru's solid frame. "I'll be back tomorrow, sweetheart. And you better have a better attitude for me, or we're going to have a repeat of today."
"She will be perfectly behaved," Suguru answered for you, his hand sliding down to firmly cup your fluffy white tail, offering a grounding, strict reassurance that you were entirely theirs. "Won't you, my sweet girl?"
Exhausted, completely surrounded by the two most powerful men on campus, and thoroughly overwhelmed by the intense, dual weight of their attention, you let out a soft, defeated sigh. Your ears flopped forward in total surrender as you nodded against Suguru's neck.
"Yes, Suguru," you whispered.
Satoru chuckled, leaning in to press a quick, teasing kiss to your hot cheek before standing up and pocketing his keys. As the front door finally clicked shut, you let yourself sink completely into Suguru's lap, finally safe in your warren, knowing your quiet life in hiding had just become a whole lot more chaotic.
The heavy doors to your royal chambers slammed open. Zuko stumbled in, face flushed, golden eyes wild with feverish need. Sweat already glistened on his scarred chest.
"My wife.." he rasped, voice wrecked as he locked the door and pulled you into a crushing kiss. "They spiked the wine with something. I'm so fucking hard it hurts. I need you—please, I can't take it."
"Zu.." You barely had time to answer before he was tearing at your robes. His thick cock sprang free, dark red and throbbing painfully leaking pre steadily.
He pushed you onto the bed, spreading your thighs wide. "Please baby, don’t deny me this pleasure."
"O-okay." you whispered to Zuko, giving him permission to take whatever he wanted.
"Thank you." he whispers needly, for a few minutes he worked you open with his fingers, scissoring and curling them deep while sucking marks into your neck and breasts.
"Zuko—ahh—please.." you moaned, hips rolling. He barely started yet you already felt so overwhelmed. "I need more."
"Such a sweet girl, begging so sweetly." he groans, finally replaced his fingers with his cock, he pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, groaning deeply at your tight heat.
"Gods....you feel so good," he breathed, bottoming out. He stayed buried for a moment, savoring it, then started fucking you with long, deep strokes—rolling his hips deliberately so you felt every ridge and vein dragging against your walls.
He kept that steady, devastating rhythm for what felt like forever, grinding against your clit with every thrust, kissing you messily and whispering how much he loved you. Your first orgasm came quickier than expected, judging the fact he'd been teasing you just moments ago, you were already on the brink. You cried out, clenching around him as your pussy gushed.
Zuko whimpered loudly and fucked you through it, hips never stopping. Only after your orgasm faded did he bury himself deep and cum for the first time, flooding your insides with thick ropes of hot seed.
But he didn't soften—fuck was it an aphrodisiac?
Zuko pulled out briefly, flipped you onto your stomach and slid back in from behind without warning He fucked you with slow, powerful thrusts, gripping your hips and pulling you back onto his cock again and again.
"Fuck—you're so full of my cum already," he panted, voice strained. "But I need more."
He kept going, pace gradually picking up until the wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly. You came a second time, moaning into the sheets. Zuko followed right after, pressing deep as he pumped his second heavy load into your already cum-stuffed pussy.
Zuko whimpered, his voice cracking as he stayed buried inside you. He rolled you onto your back again and folded you into a tight mating press, knees pushed to your chest. "Fuck, I can't stop—it won't go down. I need to keep fucking you."
"Ah—Zu..too much—" you whined, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face as he used you.
He started thrusting again—desperate strokes that made your belly bulge slightly with every push. Seeing your belly bulging turned him on even further. His eyes darkened as he watched you, something suddenly primal awakening in him.
"You want me to put a baby in you?" he asked suddenly, eyes feral. "You want your husband to breed you full tonight?"
"Z-Zuko.." you moaned, still trying to form words.
But he was losing control. His thrusts grew faster, more erratic, while his voice turned whiny and needy. "Answer me," he begged, voice trembling as he pounded into your cum drenched pussy.
"You want me to knock you up? Want me to fill you until your womb can't take anymore?"
Your mind was already beginning to melt from the relentless deep fucking, his words turned you on way more, your pussy dripping around him. "Y-yes—ahhn—breed me baby..please."
That was all it took. Zuko let out a broken whine and started railing you harder, hips snapping with pure animal need.
"Yes—yes, I'm gonna put a baby in you," he panted, voice whiny and desperate. "Gonna fill this pretty pussy over and over until you're swollen with my child. You're gonna look so fucking good carrying my heir."
He kept fucking you fucked you in deep, punishing strokes mixed with grinding that rubbed your clit perfectly. Your third orgasm built slowly, then slammed into you. Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as you completely lost the ability to speak properly.
"F-fuuu—hah—Zuuu. too deep—!" you babbled incoherently, drooling as your pussy spasmed and squirted around his cock.
Zuko groaned at the feeling, tears of overwhelming pleasure in his eyes. "Fuck—you're squeezing me so tight. I-I can't—"
He slammed in to the hilt and came hard, pumping even more cum into your overflowing cunt. He kept fucking you through both your orgasms with sloppy, desperate thrusts.
"Need more—'nt stop," he whined pathetically, pressing his forehead to yours.
"Your pussy feels too good. I'm sorry baby.. "
He kept you folded and railed you for another long stretch, the wet squelching sounds absolutely obscene as his cum was fucked deeper into you with every thrust. Your fourth orgasm left you a twitching, babbling wreck.
"Guh—'m cumming again, nngh—daddy please!"
The word 'daddy' broke him. Zuko whimpered like he was in pain, hips stuttering as he came again, flooding you so full that cum squirted out around his cock with every thrust.
"Fuck—call me that again," he begged, still pounding into you. "You're gonna make me a daddy aren't you baby?"
You could barely respond, reduced to broken moans. "Mmm..yes, oh god please."
He switched positions again, pulling you on top but immediately fucking up into you frantically, gripping your hips and bouncing you on his cock while whimpering.
"Look at you, all fucked dumb on my cock," he panted, voice cracking with need. "Such a good wife taking all of me..let me breed you one more time, cum with me."
Your orgasm hit you like lightning for the millionth time. You screamed broken, wordless moans as your body convulsed. Zuko followed with a loud, desperate whine, pumping another thick load deep into your womb.
His thrusts finally slowed but still deep and grinding inside you—never stopping.
By the time the aphrodisiac finally began to fade, you were a cum soaked, blissed out mess, mind blank except for soft, incoherent whimpers.
Zuko finally softened and collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms and kissing your sweaty forehead with trembling lips.
"Sorry baby..you're so good to me." he whispered hoarsely, still gently grinding his softening cock against your messy pussy. "Thank you for letting me breed you like that, my love."
“Zuko—fuck—” you gasp, grabbing the headboard for balance as his tongue immediately drags a thick, wet stripe through your folds. He’s so fucking pussy drunk, eyes fluttering shut as his nose presses right against your clit while his tongue pushes inside you, fucking in and out in messy strokes.
You look down between your legs and the sight nearly ruins you—Zuko’s face shiny with your slick, cheeks flushed dark, hair a complete wreck from how hard you’re gripping it. His golden eyes crack open just enough to lock onto yours and he moans louder when he catches you staring.
“Ride my face,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak before diving right back in, tongue flattening to lap broad strokes through your folds. “C’mon, princess—use me. Ride me.”
Your hips start rolling on their own, grinding down against his tongue as he sucks and licks. “Zuko—right there—fuck—” You whine as you start riding him harder, smothering him with your soaked pussy.
His hands slide up to grip your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down even tighter against his mouth. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbles right against your clit, the words vibrating through you. He sucks the swollen bud between his lips, flicking his tongue fast and sloppy while you rock against his face. “Taste so fucking good… keep going, just like that.”
You’re practically bouncing on his tongue now, hips rolling in sloppy circles while he laps at you. You’re riding his face with zero shame now, “Zuko—I’m—fuck, I’m close—” you whimper, one hand fisting tighter in his hair while the other braces against the headboard.
Your juices are everywhere, coating his cheeks, his tongue, while his hands spread your ass wider, one thick finger teasing your tight little hole. Your thighs clamp around his head as you grind down one last time, gushing all over his tongue and chin.
“Fuck, princess,” he rasps when you finally slump forward, giving your slit one last soft kiss. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but it doesn’t do much. “C’mere I wanna watch you ride my cock.”
You stare down at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. Your fingers are still tangled in his messy hair before lowering yourself onto his hard thick girth and begin to bounce.
There was one thing you did want to know though…and that was, “So Zuko, where’d you learn how to eat pussy like that?”
Yeah, there was no way he was gonna be able to talk himself outta this one.
