hawaii (maui) — gojo :: you sign up for surfing lessons hoping for a relaxing summer activity and instead get stuck with the most insufferable instructor on the island. By the time your final lesson arrives, saying goodbye feels a lot harder than falling off a surfboard.
You signed up for those surfing lessons on a whim, thinking it’d be the perfect low-stakes way to kick off your Maui summer. Turns out it was the start of something you still can’t quite explain.
You’d moved to Honolulu a few months earlier for a teaching job that kept you buried in lesson plans, grading, and parent emails most of the year. Summers were your reset—two full months off to actually breathe. The city was fine—palm trees, good poke, that constant warm breeze—but it felt like you were still unpacking your life in slow motion. So when the school year ended, you booked the ferry to Maui on impulse for the first couple weeks. One duffel bag, a beat-up pair of flip-flops, and zero expectations. You figured you’d lounge on the beach, eat too much fruit, and maybe learn to stand on a board without eating sand. Simple.
The surf school was a small operation tucked behind a row of rental shacks near Lahaina. A hand-painted sign read “Maui Wave Riders – No Experience? No Problem.” You showed up fifteen minutes early on the first day, sunscreen already sweating off your arms, and joined a group of five other beginners milling around on the sand. Two college guys from California, a couple on their honeymoon, and a woman in her forties who kept checking her watch like she had somewhere better to be.
Then Gojo showed up.
He jogged down the beach carrying three boards under one arm like they weighed nothing, white hair shoved under a backward baseball cap, board shorts hanging low on his hips. “Morning, wave warriors!” he called out, voice loud enough to scatter a few nearby seagulls. “Who’s ready to get absolutely destroyed by the ocean today?”
The group chuckled nervously.
He dropped the boards with a thud and clapped his hands once. “Alright, quick roll call. I’m Gojo, your ridiculously talented instructor. I’ve been surfing these waters since I could walk, so trust me when I say I’ve seen worse than whatever you’re about to do out there.” His eyes skimmed the group and landed on you. “New face. You from Honolulu? You’ve got that city-girl posture.”
You blinked. “Yeah. How’d you—”
“City girl it is,” he said, already moving on. “Let’s get you all suited up before the sun decides to cook us alive.”
The first hour was mostly on the sand. Gojo demonstrated pop-ups with exaggerated slowness, then yelled corrections while everyone practiced on dry land. He was everywhere at once—fixing the honeymoon husband’s grip, teasing the California guys about their “mainland form,” and somehow remembering the watch-checking woman’s name after hearing it once.
You kept falling during the pretend pop-ups. Your arms shook, and sand stuck to the backs of your thighs in gritty patches.
“Easy, rookie,” Gojo said, appearing beside you without warning. He placed one hand on your waist to steady you as you tried again. His palm was warm, calloused from years of paddling. “Bend your knees more. you look like you're waiting for a bus”
You wobbled and dropped back to the sand. “I feel like a newborn giraffe.”
“Giraffes can’t surf,” he shot back, grinning. “You’re doing better than that guy over there.” He jerked a thumb toward one of the college dudes who’d just face-planted dramatically. “At least you’re not dramatic about it. Yet. Come on, try it without looking like you’re about to file a complaint with HR.”
By the time you actually got in the water, the sun was high and relentless. The waves were small, beginner-friendly, but they still felt like they held personal grudges. You managed to stand up twice—brief, glorious seconds—before the board shot out from under you and you ate it hard. Saltwater burned your nose. When you surfaced, coughing, Gojo was already paddling over on his own board, laughing.
“Ten out of ten for commitment,” he said, offering a hand to help you back onto your board. “Zero out of ten for grace. Classic city girl move. You fall like you’re texting and walking at the same time. Or maybe you’re just trying to hug the ocean. Either way, entertaining.”
“Stop calling me that,” you grumbled, but took his hand anyway. His grip was firm, steadying.
“Can’t. Forgot your actual name already. Too many new people.” He winked, then paddled backward. “Try not to drown. I don’t get paid enough for lifeguard duty. Though I’d look great doing it. Sunglasses and everything.”
The rest of the lesson blurred. Gojo flirted shamelessly with everyone. He told the honeymoon wife her form was “elegant as hell” and fake-pouted when her husband splashed him. He called the California guys “bro” every other sentence and pretended to steal one of their boards. With you, the teasing kept coming. After your third fall he yelled from twenty feet away, “Nice splash! You training for the Olympics or just showing off for me? Wait, don’t answer that—I already know it’s the second one.”
You wanted to throw your board at his head. Instead you paddled harder and ignored him, muttering under your breath about cocky instructors who talked too much.
After the last wave, everyone dragged their boards back to shore. Your legs felt like jelly. Sand caked your knees and there was a suspicious amount of it in your bikini top. Gojo tossed you a faded blue towel from the pile near the shack. It hit you square in the chest.
“Dry off before you attract every crab on the beach,” he said. Then, without asking, he reached over and tugged the strings of your bikini top tighter. “This thing’s loose. Don’t need any wardrobe malfunctions on my watch. I’ve seen enough of those this season.”
Your face heated. “I can tie my own—”
“Clearly not tight enough,” he interrupted, already stepping back. “There. Now you won’t flash the tourists. You’re welcome, city girl.”
The group dispersed slowly. You sat on the sand, wringing out your hair, when Gojo dropped down beside you holding two plastic cups of shaved ice from the nearby stand. He had sauce on his shirt from something he’d eaten earlier, and his cap was on crooked.
“Peace offering,” he said, shoving the red one toward you. “Cherry for the newbie who ate the most waves today. Don’t say I never did anything nice.”
You took it, the cold cup instantly numbing your fingers. “Thanks. You don’t have to—”
“I know.” He spooned a massive bite of blue ice into his mouth and spoke around it. “But you looked like you were about to melt. Or cry. Or both. Figured sugar would help. Plus I already paid for it so don’t waste it. I’m not made of money, you know.”
The second lesson started late because Gojo showed up fifteen minutes after the scheduled time, half a breakfast burrito in one hand and sauce on his chin. “Traffic,” he mumbled around a bite, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a smear. “Or maybe I hit snooze. Who remembers? My bad. Summer schedules, right?”
He spent the dry-land warm-up doing handstands for no reason, sand flying everywhere. “Watch this!” he yelled, then immediately toppled over laughing. Sand went everywhere, including into your water bottle. You snorted despite yourself.
“Child,” you said, shaking your bottle.
“Proud of it,” he replied, upside down for a second before collapsing. He shook sand out of his hair like a dog. Some of it landed on your leg. “Your turn, surfer girl. Impress me with those city moves.”
“No thanks. I’m trying to survive the actual surfing part. And you got sand in my drink.”
In the water he was still talking too much. Every time you wiped out he had a comment ready. “That one had style! Too bad style doesn’t keep you on the board. Maybe next time aim for the wave instead of the sandbar.” One joke about your paddling form landed so flat that the honeymoon husband winced and changed the subject. You paddled away and focused on the waves instead, wondering why you’d signed up for this when you had two whole months to fill.
After that lesson the group stuck around for a beach bonfire someone had mentioned. Gojo helped stack the wood, mostly by handing pieces to other people while he talked nonstop about his worst student stories. Sparks popped against the darkening sky. The college guys passed around snacks from a cooler. You sat on a log, legs sandy, picking at a bag of chips and trying to brush off the grit that kept sticking to your thighs.
Gojo plopped down next to you, closer than necessary, his knee bumping yours. “Not bad today, rookie. You stayed up longer on that last one. Almost looked like you knew what you were doing.”
“Yeah, until I didn’t.” You brushed sand off your calf, then reached for another chip.
He shrugged, then reached over and pressed a cold can of soda against the back of your neck without warning. You jumped at the chill. “Brain freeze prevention,” he said casually. “You seemed off after that third fall. Work emails again? Or just tired of my amazing instruction? Teachers get summers off, right? Lucky.”
You nodded, taking the can when he finally handed it over. The cold felt good against your skin. Across the fire, the watch lady was struggling to open a stubborn bag of marshmallows. Gojo hopped up immediately, nearly tripping over the log. “Here, let me. These things hate everyone.” He tore it open with his teeth, spilling a few into the sand, then helped her skewer a few on a stick. The lady laughed and thanked him. He waved it off like it was nothing and sat back down, wiping his hands on his already messy shorts.
You watched him for a moment—the easy way he’d jumped in even after forgetting half the group’s names earlier, the way he launched right back into a dumb story about a tourist who tried to surf with a GoPro attached to his forehead and nearly lost it to a wave. He kept talking, forgetting a detail midway and backtracking, but the story still landed. Something clicked as you listened. Not the jokes or the confidence. Just him helping without making a big deal out of it, even while covered in sand and burrito sauce. You looked away, took a long sip of soda, and passed the bag of chips his way instead of saying anything.
Lesson three was the rainy one. Light drizzle turned the sand dark and the water choppier. Gojo showed up on time for once, but his board shorts had a new mystery stain down the side. “Don’t ask,” he said when you glanced at it. “I tripped carrying coffee this morning. Forgot the lid. Classic me.”
Everyone wanted to cancel but he talked them into one short session. “Come on, it builds character. Or pneumonia. One of the two. What’s a little rain between friends? You teachers deal with worse every day, right?” You fell more than usual. One wipeout left you with a minor scrape on your knee from the board’s fin. Gojo had you sit on the sand under the shelter of the rental shack while he dug through the first aid kit, muttering about how he always forgot where he put the good bandages.
“It’s barely anything,” you protested, wiping water from your face.
“Still.” He crouched in front of you, antiseptic wipe in hand. His touch was light, almost careful. “Don’t want it getting infected. Then you’d blame me and never come back for more of my top-tier teaching.” He blew on the spot gently to dry the wipe, then stuck a bandage on it. “There. Battle wound. Makes you look hardcore, princess. Just don’t tell the others I played doctor or they’ll all want one.”
“Thanks, Doctor Gojo.”
He laughed. “Don’t get used to it. I forget half my own stuff anyway.” He patted his pockets, realized he’d left his own towel back at the shack, and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his hands instead, leaving a wet streak across his stomach.
After the lesson the rain eased up. Most of the group headed out, but you and Gojo ended up walking toward a food truck a short distance down the beach. “I’m starving,” he announced, kicking a piece of driftwood ahead of him. “Burrito guy owes me after yesterday’s mess. I left my wallet there last week and he held it for me like a saint.”
You went along. The truck had tacos. Gojo ordered way too much—three for himself, plus extras—and then insisted on paying for yours when you reached for your wallet. “Instructor discount,” he claimed, even though the guy behind the counter just rolled his eyes and muttered something about Gojo always saying that. You sat at a rickety picnic table under a faded umbrella, eating while waves crashed nearby. He talked nonstop—about a bad wipeout from last season where he lost his board for two hours, about forgetting his keys in the surf shack twice this month, about how the honeymoon couple asked him for couple’s surf tips that were definitely not appropriate. You laughed despite the stress still lingering from wrapping up school emails before the trip. He noticed your quieter mood and launched into an even dumber story about the time he tried to teach a group of kids and ended up wearing a floatie as a hat until one of them cried laughing. Your taco nearly fell apart in your hands from laughing.
The next lessons passed quicker, with the group slowly thinning as people’s vacations ended. Gojo remained equal parts chaos and competence. He was late again once, showing up with the half-eaten burrito and complaining about forgetting his phone charger. He still teased, though less constantly now. “Nice recovery, trouble,” he’d say after a decent ride. The hand on your waist during stance checks became routine. He stole your sunscreen again but actually applied it properly this time, thumbs pressing into the tight spots between your shoulder blades without comment. The towel toss after every session stayed the same—sometimes missing and forcing you to chase it across the sand while he laughed.
One afternoon after the group had mostly cleared out, Gojo suggested grabbing shaved ice and walking the beach path instead of heading straight back. “Not a big deal,” he said, already heading toward the stand. “I’ve got nowhere to be and you look like you could use the extra sugar before the ferry. Plus I forgot my water bottle again, so I need something cold. Teachers probably have all kinds of summer plans, huh?”
You agreed. It wasn’t called a date. You just walked side by side, cups melting in your hands, stopping once so he could tie his shoe and complain about the sand getting everywhere in his shorts. He pointed out a crab scuttling sideways and made a bad joke about it being a better surfer than half the beginners he’d had that week. You kicked sand at him. He kicked some back, missing widely because he was distracted waving at a kid building a castle nearby. The kid’s mom looked stressed, juggling a cooler and a phone call. Gojo wandered over for a second, showed the boy how to pack the sand tighter for a taller tower, then returned like it was nothing, brushing his hands off on his shorts.
“Kid had the right idea,” he said, spooning more ice. “Build big, fall big. Kinda like your first few days out there.”
You rolled your eyes but kept walking. The path wound past some rental houses, and Gojo kept up a running commentary on random things—forgetting midway through a story about a local food spot and starting over. The shaved ice dripped down your wrist, sticky and cold. You wiped it on your towel, which he’d tossed at you earlier. By the time you reached the end of the path, the sun was lower and your legs were tired in that good way. He didn’t say much about the next lesson, just mentioned the time and waved as you headed toward the ferry dock.
A couple more lessons followed the same loose pattern. Gojo showed up late one day with wet hair from an early morning swim he’d decided to take on impulse. During one session he spent half the time in the water chasing after a loose board that got away, cursing loudly enough that a nearby family gave him dirty looks. “My bad!” he called back to them, then turned to you with a grin. “See? Even the ocean thinks I talk too much. What do they teach you in school about dealing with loudmouths?”
You were getting better though. Standing up on more waves, riding them farther. He noticed, adjusting your stance with that familiar hand on your waist. “Weight back a little, rookie. There you go.” After one solid ride, he met you on the shore with a cold can of soda, pressing it against your arm this time instead of your neck. “Not bad. You’re sticking around longer than I thought you would. Two months of summer? You planning to turn pro by the end?”
One evening after a decent lesson, the two of you ended up at the food truck again, this time splitting a basket of fries because he’d forgotten his wallet but the guy knew him. You sat at the same picnic table, watching the waves, while he rambled about a surf competition he’d entered last year and placed dead last in because he showed up late. You kicked his foot under the table when he exaggerated the story. He kicked back, laughing, then complained about the fries getting cold too fast.
The sun was still high most days, and there were plenty more lessons lined up across your two months off. You started taking the ferry more regularly, packing extra snacks in your bag that sometimes ended up shared when Gojo forgot lunch. He remained forgetful—leaving the first aid kit open one day, losing track of whose towel was whose—but the teasing mixed with those small things that kept you showing up. Sand stuck to your legs after every session. The sunscreen he borrowed without asking. The way he’d toss your towel and miss half the time, forcing you to chase it while he pretended not to notice.
Another afternoon, after the group was basically just you and a couple stragglers, Gojo stuck around longer than usual. The lesson ran a bit over because he got distracted showing off a trick to the remaining college guy. You helped gather the boards, and he tossed you yours with a grin. “See? Teamwork. Or whatever.”
You ended up grabbing drinks from a nearby stand—cold sodas again—and sitting on the sand a little farther down the beach where it was quieter. He stretched out, complaining about forgetting to bring his hat today and how the sun was going to kill him. You passed him the extra snack you’d packed, some chips, and he took them without hesitation, talking about a funny parent email he imagined teachers got during summer break. The conversation wandered—him forgetting the name of a local spot, you mentioning a chaotic field trip story from last school year. Nothing big happened. Just sand on your calves, the occasional kick at each other’s feet, and him spilling half his soda when he laughed too hard at his own dumb joke.
The summer stretched on, with more days ahead on the island. You headed back to the ferry that evening with wet hair and sandy flip-flops, already thinking about the next trip over. There was still more than a month left of your break, plenty of time for more wiped-out rides, more shaved ice, and whatever else came with showing up for lessons.
No one would have been able to resist him.
A few weeks into the classes, with the original group mostly scattered back to their real lives, new faces kept showing up. A pair of retirees from Texas who wanted to try something new before their cruise, three high school kids on a family trip who spent more time laughing than paddling, and a solo traveler from Seattle who kept asking Gojo for tips on the best poke spots. It kept things from feeling too quiet on the sand. Gojo still ran the sessions the same way—late half the time, talking too much, tossing towels that missed by a mile—but now there were fresh people for him to tease.
You were getting decent on the board by then. Not great, but you could ride most beginner waves without eating sand every time. Gojo noticed, of course he did. His hand on your waist during stance checks lingered a beat longer. The teasing had shifted too, lower voices when no one else was close, dumb jokes that felt aimed just at you.
It started after one lesson when the new group had cleared out. You were rinsing off at the outdoor shower near the shack, water cold against your shoulders. Gojo leaned against the post, watching with that stupid grin. “Not bad out there, trouble. Almost looked like a real surfer instead of a teacher on summer break.”
“Almost?” You shut off the water and grabbed your towel.
“Yeah. Still paddle like you’re grading papers.” He stepped closer, sand stuck to his legs, and tugged the towel out of your hands to drape it over your shoulders himself. His fingers brushed your collarbone. Neither of you said anything for a second. Then he tilted his head toward the rocks down the beach. “C’mon. Before the next group shows up.”
Behind the rocks, where the tide pools hid you from the main stretch, it happened fast. His mouth on yours, tasting like the cherry shaved ice he’d split with you earlier. The rocks were rough against your back but you didn’t care. Gojo’s hands were everywhere—sliding under the wet bikini top he’d tied too tight that morning, pulling the strings loose with one tug. “Been wanting to do this since you showed up looking all city-girl annoyed,” he muttered against your neck, voice rough.
You laughed, breathless, and yanked at his board shorts. “You’re still annoying.”
“Good. Means you’ll keep coming back.” He lifted you against the rock, one hand steady on your thigh. It was quick and messy, salt on your skin, his laugh turning into a groan when you bit his shoulder. Sand got everywhere. Afterward you both sat there catching your breath, his arm loose around you while waves lapped nearby. He tossed your towel at your face like always. “Don’t say I never clean up after class.”
That became the pattern. Lessons during the day with the rotating crew of new students—Gojo showing off for the high school kids, helping the retirees with their balance in that sneakily kind way that still got to you—then sneaking off after. Sometimes right there behind the rocks if the timing worked. Other times you took the ferry back together and ended up at the little apartment you’d rented for the summer, a studio with a view of the harbor and a bed that creaked under both of you.
One afternoon after a rainy session like the old days, the new group bailed early. Gojo drove you to your place in his beat-up Jeep, windows down, complaining the whole way about forgetting his keys again. “Left them in the shack. Again. You’d think I’d learn after the third time.”
Inside the apartment it was slower. He pushed you against the kitchen counter first, hands on your waist like he was correcting your stance, only this time his fingers dipped under your shorts. “You looked good out there today,” he said, mouth on your jaw. “Steady. Made me want to skip the rest of the lesson.”
You hooked a leg around him, pulling him closer. “Then stop talking and do something about it.”
He did. Lifted you onto the counter, dropping to his knees right there with the fridge humming behind him. His tongue worked you over until your fingers were in his white hair, tugging hard. When he stood up again, board shorts shoved down, he fucked you right on the edge, one hand braced beside you, the other gripping your hip. The cold can of soda from your fridge pressed against your neck at one point—he grabbed it mid-thrust and held it there, grinning when you shivered. “Brain freeze prevention, remember?”
You came hard, legs shaking, and he followed right after, messy and loud like everything else he did. Afterward you both ended up on the couch, half-dressed, sharing the rest of the soda while sand from your legs dusted the cushions. He rambled about a dumb tourist story from that morning, forgetting the punchline halfway through. You kicked his foot and he kicked back, laughing.
His penthouse was different. A few nights later he talked you into staying over instead of taking the last ferry. The place was nicer than you expected—big windows overlooking the water, but messy as hell. Boards leaned against the wall, empty soda cans on the counter, a towel draped over the couch like he’d forgotten it there days ago.
“Welcome to my palace,” he said, kicking clothes out of the way. “Don’t judge the decor. I’ve been busy.”
You didn’t judge. The place was a mess—surfboards propped against the wall, empty soda cans on the nightstand, a pile of board shorts and towels on the floor—but the second the door shut you were on each other. Gojo backed you straight into his bedroom, hands already shoving your bikini top up, mouth latching onto one tit while he palmed the other roughly. “Fuck, these have been teasing me all day under that top,” he muttered, sucking hard enough to leave a dark mark right where your bikini would hide it tomorrow.
He pushed you down onto the unmade bed, sheets already tangled from whenever he’d last slept. You yanked his board shorts down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking at the tip. Gojo grinned that cocky grin as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand. “Look at me,” he ordered when your eyes fluttered shut, sliding into you in one slow, deep thrust. You were soaked from the day’s tension, and he groaned loud as your pussy clenched around him. “That’s it, trouble. So fucking tight for your annoying instructor.”
He fucked you like that for a long time—slow and deliberate at first, hips rolling deep so his cock dragged against that spot inside you with every stroke. His free hand slid down to pinch your nipple, then moved lower to rub your clit in tight circles. You arched up, legs wrapping around his waist, but he held you right where he wanted, controlling the pace. “Say it,” he teased, voice low and rough as he ground against you. “Who’s the best instructor on this whole fucking island?”
“You’re the only one, idiot,” you gasped, trying to move your hips faster.
He laughed, dark and filthy, then flipped you over onto your stomach without pulling out. He gripped your ass with both hands, spreading you open as he started pounding harder. The wet slap of skin filled the room, his balls hitting your clit with every thrust. “Fuck yes, take it just like that. Been thinking about this pussy since you fell off that board the first day.” He reached around to rub your clit again, fast and rough, while his other hand fisted in your hair. You came hard, crying out into the mattress, pussy pulsing around his cock. Gojo didn’t stop, fucking you through it until your legs shook.
He pulled out, flipped you onto your back again, and shoved your legs up toward your chest. He thrust back in deep, hips snapping. Sweat dripped down his chest as he railed you, talking the whole time like he couldn’t help it. “Gonna fill this cunt up. You’re gonna feel me leaking out of you on the ferry tomorrow.” A few more brutal thrusts and he came with a groan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. He stayed there a minute, cock twitching, before pulling out and watching his cum drip from your pussy with a satisfied smirk.
You both collapsed, sweaty and spent, his arm slung over you while he complained about the sand still stuck to his back. “Found some in my ass crack earlier. Your fault.”
Even his car wasn’t off limits. One evening after a long lesson with the new retirees asking endless questions, Gojo pulled you into the Jeep parked behind the shacks. “Quick one before you ferry out,” he said, already tugging you into the back seat. It was cramped and ridiculous—your knee hit the door, his elbow knocked the seat—but he made it work, yanking your bikini bottoms aside and pulling you onto his lap.
His cock slid into you in one go, your pussy still slick from earlier thoughts about him. “Bet those Texas folks think I’m just giving extra pointers,” he grunted, hands on your ass guiding you up and down. “If only they knew I was balls deep in my favorite student.” The windows fogged fast as you rode him hard, the car rocking with every bounce. He sucked marks onto your tits, one hand slipping between you to rub your swollen clit until you were biting his shoulder to stay quiet. “Cum on my cock like a good girl,” he growled. You did, clenching tight around him. He followed right after, filling you up again with a low curse.
Afterward he wiped you both down with a random shirt from the floor, then drove you to the dock with his hand on your thigh, whistling like nothing happened.
The hooking up didn’t change the daytime stuff much. New students kept the lessons lively. The high school kids thought Gojo was hilarious when he did his handstand fails. One of the retirees brought extra snacks and shared them during breaks. Gojo still stole your sunscreen, still pressed cold drinks to your skin after hot sessions, still called you trouble or rookie when others could hear. But now there were these stolen moments—behind rocks with quick, desperate fucks where he covered your mouth so no one heard you moan; in your apartment where he stayed late and left his board shorts on your floor; in his messy penthouse where you woke up to him burning toast the next morning; in the car where everything felt urgent and stupid and perfect.
One afternoon with the group thinned to just you and the Seattle guy for a bit, Gojo kept the lesson short. Afterward he grabbed your hand and pulled you behind the rocks again. This time he bent you over a smooth boulder, yanking your bottoms down and thrusting into you from behind while waves crashed close enough to spray mist on your skin. His hand snaked around to rub your clit fast, mouth on your shoulder biting down. “Good girl, squeezing my cock so fucking tight,” he muttered when you came hard, clenching around him. He pulled out and finished on your back in thick stripes, then used your towel to clean it up, tossing it at you with a grin.
Back at the apartment that night it was lazier. You both showered together first, water running over sand and salt. He washed your hair without being asked, fingers careful, but it didn’t stay innocent long. He fucked you against the shower wall, your leg hooked over his hip, pounding deep until the water ran cold and you came again with his name on your lips. In bed after, he was half-asleep, arm around your waist, muttering something about forgetting to set an alarm for tomorrow’s lesson.
The summer kept going, weeks blending with lessons, new faces rotating in and out, and these hookups that left you sore in the best way. Gojo remained Gojo—late, messy, overconfident, talking too much—but you kept showing up anyway.
You zipped up the last duffel bag on the apartment floor, the sound loud in the quiet studio. Gojo sat on the edge of the unmade bed, legs kicked out, watching you like he was trying to memorize the way you folded your towels. The same faded blue one from the surf shack was stuffed in there somewhere, still smelling faintly of ocean and sunscreen.
“Two and a half months,” he said, not for the first time. “Every damn day. And now you’re just… packing.”
You didn’t look up right away. Your hands kept moving, shoving flip-flops into the side pocket. “Summer’s over, Satoru. I’ve got lesson plans due next week. Kids don’t care that I learned to stand on a board.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, white hair messy from the wind earlier. “Yeah, well. I got used to you showing up. Even when you were terrible at popping up. Especially when you were terrible.”
You finally glanced over. His usual grin was missing. He looked like a kid who’d lost his favorite toy—slouched, one foot tapping the floor. You sat on the bed next to him, shoulder bumping his. “I’ll come back. Teachers get three weeks at Christmas. And next summer’s already booked in my head. Maui again. Same stupid lessons.”
He snorted, but it sounded forced. “You better. Who else is gonna chase my towel when I miss the toss?” His hand found yours, fingers lacing tight. “I’m gonna be bored as hell. New groups every week, all of them asking dumb questions. No one to call me an idiot after I forget the first aid kit again.”
You squeezed back, throat tight. The last few weeks had been a blur of lessons with whoever showed up—more retirees, some honeymooners, a bachelor party that Gojo mocked relentlessly—and stolen time in between. Behind the rocks, in his Jeep, in this apartment where the bed still creaked from last night. Now it was quiet. Just the hum of the fridge and the distant harbor noise.
“I’m not exactly thrilled either,” you said, leaning into him. “Honolulu’s gonna feel small after this.”
Gojo pulled you closer, arm around your waist like he did during stance checks. “Stay one more night. Ferry tomorrow instead.”
“You said that yesterday.” You turned your head and kissed his jaw. “And the day before.”
He sighed, dramatic as always, but stood up anyway. “Fine. But I’m driving you to the airport. No arguments. And I’m stealing one of your sodas for the road.”
The drive was mostly quiet. Gojo’s Jeep rattled over the roads, windows down, his hand on your thigh like always. He complained about forgetting his sunglasses, then about the traffic, then about how the next instructor rotation was some guy who talked even more than him. You let him ramble, watching the island scenery slide by. Every now and then he’d squeeze your leg, like he was checking you were still there.
At the airport drop-off, he parked illegally for a minute, hazards on. You grabbed your bags from the back while he hovered. “Text when you land. And when you unpack. And when you remember how much you miss my shaved ice.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled. “I will. Promise. Christmas break, okay? I’ll book the ferry or whatever.”
He nodded, then cupped your face with both hands and kissed you. It wasn’t quick. Deep and a little desperate, his thumb brushing your cheek. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Don’t forget the instructor who taught you to surf. Or whatever.”
“Hard to forget.” You kissed him once more, quick, then stepped toward the doors. He watched until you were inside, hands in his pockets, that sad-slouch still there. You didn’t turn around again until security, and by then the Jeep was gone.
Two months later, you trudged up the stairs to your Honolulu apartment, keys jingling. The school day had been long—parent conferences, a kid puking in class, endless grading. Your shoulders ached like after a bad wipeout. All you wanted was a cold drink and to kick off your shoes.
The door across the hall was propped open. Movers carried in a surfboard and a pile of random junk—empty cans, towels, a familiar backward cap. You stopped, staring.
Gojo stepped out, wiping his hands on his shorts, white hair sticking up. He spotted you and grinned like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Hey, new neighbor. Took you long enough to get home from work."
You blinked, bags slipping off your shoulder. “What the hell?”
“Surprise.” He leaned against the doorframe, messy as ever. “Penthouse was too quiet without you yelling at me for being late. Figured Honolulu needed a surf instructor. Or at least one annoying one. Lease is month-to-month, so don’t get any ideas about me being permanent or whatever.”
You stood there, heart doing something stupid. The hallway smelled like his sunscreen already. “You moved here? For real?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were bright. “Had to. Couldn’t wait till Christmas. Plus, I forgot my favorite towel in your bag. Needed an excuse to see you every day again.” He kicked a box aside. “Come on. Help me unpack before I lose my keys in here. Then I’ll make you a shitty toast dinner like old times.”
You laughed despite the long day, crossing the hall. Sand from his shoes already dusted the floor. “You’re still impossible.”
“Yeah, but you like it.” He tugged you inside by the wrist, door clicking shut behind you. The summer might be over, but this—whatever it was—clearly wasn’t.
summary: you’re a shy crow animagus, quietly watching the marauders from the shadows, admiring them from afar. you think you’re invisible, but sirius and remus have started noticing you in ways you never expected. then, after a sudden accident leaves you vulnerable, the quiet distance between you begins to unravel, one button at a time.
warnings: shy reder, animagus transformation, animal form, accidents and injury, vulnerability, slow-burn romance, subtle emotional tension, insecurity, blood, infirmary, angst, lonely reader, anxiety, social awkwardness, mention of ravenclaw!reader, teasing and gentle flirting, mild language, moments of self-doubt, themes of trust and acceptance, angst, happy ending.
w/c: 6.1k
a/n: as someone who was always seen as 'weird', this was so healing to write <3 masterlist
It wasn’t unusual for you to be roaming the grounds late at night.
In fact, it had become something of a ritual—an instinct more than a plan, something stitched into your routine without you ever deciding it. The forest always felt more alive once the rest of the castle fell asleep, the air cooler, the trees older, the world quieter in a way that let your thoughts breathe.
Most nights, you slipped from your bed and disappeared beyond the edge of the grounds, feathered and weightless in the shape of a small crow, darting through branches and perching high in the canopy where no one thought to look.
What was unusual, however, was this: Remus Lupin limping through the forest, his arms slung around the shoulders of Sirius Black and James Potter like they were the only things keeping him from falling apart entirely.
Now that—that was something new.
You stilled in the trees, tucked between the leaves, dark eyes following the scene below.
It was strange, not because they were out after curfew. That much you’d come to expect from the troublesome Marauders. But because even here, in the middle of the forest, long past midnight, the three of them still carried with them that same impossible brightness.
You had never spoken to them before, not once, and yet somehow you knew their names the way everyone did. James Potter, Quidditch star with a laugh loud enough to rattle windows. Sirius Black, the most troublesome student, who drew people to him like a flame. And Remus Lupin, softer than the others but no less magnetic, with his weary kind of stillness that felt older than all of them combined.
You’d seen them around—of course you had, everyone had, but you’d been watching them for longer than you’d care to admit. Not deliberately, or creepily, you hoped.
It was just that once you started noticing them, you couldn’t seem to stop.
They moved through the castle like they belonged to it, like the halls bent slightly to let them pass. Even when they weren’t trying to be the center of attention, the world seemed to place them there anyway, everything revolving around their presence like they were born to be the stars of some story no one else had been invited into.
And even now, deep in the forest where no one was meant to see them, that pull hadn’t faded. The trees themselves seemed to lean toward Remus, branches curving like they knew he was hurting. The wind circled Sirius like it was part of him, rustling his hair just so. And James—he kept his head high even though his shoulder bore half of Remus’s weight, eyes sharp and steady in the dark like someone who refused to be afraid.
From your branch above, your small body shifted forward slightly, feathers ruffling against the bark.
Remus looked worse than you expected. Pale and exhausted. His mouth was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on both of them, clearly fighting to stay upright. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. You didn’t need someone to spell it out for you.
You already knew.
You’d known for some time now, if you were honest with yourself. It wasn’t a secret, not if you paid attention.
The monthly disappearances, the gray pallor that settled into his skin for days afterward, the limp he sometimes carried with him, the faraway look he wore when he thought no one was watching.
It was clear, if you knew how to see it. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.
You weren’t afraid of him.
You weren’t sure what you felt, actually. Not pity, not fear. Just this soft ache in your chest, a fluttering concern that made your wings twitch and your claws dig slightly into the bark beneath you.
You wanted, more than anything, to help. Not in a way that would ever be noticed, not in some dramatic act of kindness or courage. Just… to be useful. To ease the weight of whatever he carried, even if only for a moment.
But you didn’t move. You stayed quiet in the branches as they passed beneath you, Sirius murmuring something to Remus that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just barely.
James glanced up once, scanning the canopy, but didn’t pause. None of them noticed the crow perched above them, holding her breath.
You watched them disappear between the trees, the sound of their footsteps fading into the dark, and felt that familiar twist settle in your chest again.
You were never part of their world. That much had always been clear. You moved through corridors like a ghost with pockets full of silence, a soft-footed observer in a universe that burned far too brightly for someone made of distance.
Where they shone with the ease of constellations, you lingered at the edges like mist, half-invisible and entirely forgettable.
It was not envy that caught your breath when you looked at them, it was something lonelier than that.
You told yourself it was mere curiosity, a passing glance toward something golden.
But the truth pressed heavier than that simple excuse. You had spent so long folding yourself into the corners of rooms, shrinking beneath your own voice, that to witness something so effortlessly vibrant felt almost otherworldly.
It was not that they demanded your attention. You would have resented them if they had. It was that your attention, unbidden and unwilling, bent toward them in spite of you.
As though their presence altered the air itself. As though their laughter rewrote gravity.
You tried to retreat, to withdraw as you always had, but the further you pulled, the harder you were drawn in.
It was the slow inevitability of celestial force, like a lonely moon being dragged across the dark by a sun too blinding to ignore.
You told yourself you were content in the quiet, and maybe you were. But every so often, when the night made the world gentler, and their noise softened into something almost tender, you allowed the wondering.
You let yourself ache for the impossible. To imagine, just briefly, what it might feel like to stand in the warmth.
And then, as always, you turned back into the branches, into the dark, into the small and silent shape of someone who was never meant to be seen.
You stay in the tree long after they pass, eyes tracking the shape of them as they disappear into the thicket, the way James’s silhouette leads, the way Sirius shifts slightly to support more of Remus’s weight without ever making it seem like a burden.
They speak in low voices, too distant for words to reach, but the rhythm of their steps is steady, if uneven, and for a moment you allow yourself to believe they’ll be alright.
Still, you follow.
You shift in the branches, feathers settling against your sides as your body lightens, stretches, and then lifts, black wings cutting through the night with soundless ease.
You dart above the treetops, careful to stay far enough that they won’t hear the flutter of your passage, but close enough that you can still see them through the breaks in the canopy.
You watch as Sirius ducks beneath a low-hanging branch—too low, it turns out. The edge catches his shoulder, just barely, and he swears under his breath.
James chuckles while Remus winces and lets out a soft noise you can’t quite hear. They all pause for a beat, just long enough for Sirius to adjust his grip around Remus’s back.
And that’s when you see it.
The glint of something small and dark tumbling from Sirius’s cloak as he shifts. It falls soundlessly into the underbrush, half-hidden by shadow and leaf, but you catch the flicker of it all the same.
A button. Round, worn, and gleaming faintly in the moonlight as it lands near the base of an old root.
They don’t notice.
They keep walking, unaware, their laughter returning faintly on the wind as they near the edge of the woods.
You watch them for a few more moments—watch as James pushes the castle door open with his shoulder, as Sirius leans close to say something low into Remus’s ear that makes him sigh softly despite himself.
Their backs retreat into the stone, swallowed by the warmth of the light spilling from within.
Only once the door swings shut behind them do you move.
You dive, wings spread in a wide curve, and land beside the tree root. The button sits half-buried in moss, still holding the faint warmth of Sirius’s coat.
You press your beak against it, tilting your head. It’s not much, just a lost scrap. An unremarkable little thing that no one will miss.
You nudge it into your beak carefully, curling your claws against the bark to steady yourself. The metal is cool, and a little heavier than it looks. A strange weight for something so small.
You glance up once more toward the castle, just to be sure. And that’s when you see him.
Sirius.
He’s paused in the doorway, slightly turned, head tilted back toward the woods. His eyes scan the tree line..
For a second, your eyes lock—his wide, gray, still crackling with whatever storm he always carries behind them, and yours small and dark and unblinking.
Then he gives a tiny tilt of his head, just barely perceptible, like a question.
Then he turns and disappears into the castle all the same.
And you lift your wings again, button tucked in your beak like a treasure, and fly after him—back toward the tower.
The days that followed blurred into one another with a kind of quiet that felt dreamlike. Nothing monumental had happened, but something within you had shifted.
You told yourself it meant nothing. Just curiosity, perhaps. A trick of loneliness. A moment that would fade if you left it untouched. After all, you didn’t really know them.
And yet, your gaze sought them in every room. You lingered in places you normally passed through.
You didn’t know how to name the feeling that followed you. It was not love, not yearning, not anything so clear. Just a soft ache that fluttered behind your sternum whenever they looked your way.
So you tried to smother it gently, the way you always had, with quiet rituals and familiar comforts.
That afternoon, the castle pulsed with early spring. Laughter echoed through open halls, and golden light spilled across the stone like a secret.
You had left the library later than usual, the small wooden box clutched protectively to your chest, your bag slipping slightly off your shoulder as you hurried to make it down the hallway before the rush swallowed you.
You weren’t paying close attention to where you were going. Your fingers curled tightly around the lid of the box, and your thoughts, once again, had drifted far ahead of your body
You didn’t see them until you collided.
Your shoulder struck something solid—someone’s chest—and your breath caught in your throat as the impact jarred the box from your hands.
The lid sprang open, and in an instant, a hundred small fragments of your quiet world tumbled across the cold stone floor.
Buttons scattered in all directions, clinking and skipping like startled birds, tiny kaleidoscopes of color and shape spinning out across the corridor.
You dropped to your knees with a sharp breath, heart racing, hands frantically collecting what you could before they rolled too far.
You reached for them with trembling fingers, too humiliated to look up, your mind already preparing for the laughter, for the awkward glances, for the words you’d have to stumble through.
But the first voice you heard was warm, low, touched with a gentle humor.
“Are you okay, love?,” came the voice, unmistakably Remus Lupin’s.
Your breath froze.
You looked up slowly, dread tightening behind your ribs—and there he was.
Remus stood just above you, tall even when slightly tilted from the weight of his cane, his soft knit sweater stretched slightly across his frame, the collar turned wrong in a way that made your fingers ache to fix it.
His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not unkind—warm in that quiet, bone-deep way he always seemed to carry, as if the tiredness in him was ancient and affectionate and chose what it wanted to notice.
Beside him, Sirius Black was already crouched to the floor, hair falling in black waves around his cheekbones as he reached for one of the stray buttons—a glossy red one with a cracked side. He held it between his fingers and tilted his head as he offered it out to you.
“I think this one belongs to you,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice—not mocking, not teasing, just bright and real and somehow far too much for your chest to hold at once.
You reached for the button slowly, your fingertips brushing his for a second too long. “Thank you,” you whispered.
Sirius turned the button once more between his fingers before letting it go.
“This looks exactly like the one I lost the other night,” he said thoughtfully. “Coat got caught on a branch, and I remember it falling.”
You blinked, your mind scrambling to build some sort of casual response. “Oh. That’s… funny. What are the odds?”
Sirius narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion, but only smiled. “Yeah. What are the odds.”
Remus’s voice broke in again, quiet but curious. “Do you usually carry a whole collection around with you?”
You glanced down at the box in your lap, half-full, many of the buttons still scattered across the stone.
“I collect them,” you said. “I find them, and rescue them, I guess.”
Sirius leaned closer, crouching again, interest flickering in his expression. “You rescue them?”
“Yeah, I just think buttons are really cute,” you said softly, cheeks warming. .
There was a pause, quiet and weightless, suspended like a held breath.
Then Remus smiled, slow and gentle. He leaned down slightly, balancing his cane with practiced ease, his gaze steady as it met yours.
“I think you’re really cute,” he said, voice low but certain, as though he were stating a simple fact rather than handing you the sun.
Your breath caught. The heat in your cheeks flared instantly.
Sirius, still crouched beside you, let out a bark of laughter. “Moony,” he said, grinning wide, “you’re absolutely flustering her.”
He then picked up a button shaped like a starburst and turned it over in his hand.
“Do they have names?” he asked, half-smiling.
You hesitated again, but they were both still looking at you like they genuinely wanted to know. And so—shyly—you nodded.
“That one,” you said, pointing to the pink with the curved edges, “is Dai. The red one is Cheri, the little navy blue one is Ruxy, and the green swirl one is Teo.”
Sirius grinned. “Ruxy looks like a cutie.”
“She is!” you said automatically, and then blushed again.
Remus gave a small laugh—barely audible, but sincere.
And then Sirius’s gaze flicked back to you, brighter now, edged with something that felt almost like a secret.
“Well then,” he said, voice low and amused. “Can I have a button named after you, Miss Ravenclaw?”
The words hit you all at once. You stared at him, mouth parting slightly.
“I—um. You can have the whole box,” you said too quickly. “If you want, I don’t mind.”
Sirius laughed, rich and surprised, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little.
“All of them?”
“They’d be safe with you,” you answered, almost without thinking. “With you and Remus.”
Remus looked at you again, gently. “But I thought you said they were precious.”
“They are,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter around the box. “But I think they would be safe with you.”
Sirius leaned back, something like admiration flickering behind his lashes.
You didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were both looking at you.
And just when the silence stretched a little too long, a voice called from the far end of the corridor—“Oi! Sirius! Remus!”
All three of you looked up.
James Potter stood down the hall, grinning, fingers laced with Regulus Black’s in a way that felt less surprising than it should have been. Regulus looked vaguely annoyed, but didn’t pull away.
Remus stood first, then Sirius, both of them brushing imaginary dust from their sleeves.
Before turning to leave, Remus looked down at you once more, his expression softer than it had been all afternoon.
“Buttons like these,” he said gently, his voice as low and warm as a lullaby, “are safest with someone like you.”
He smiled once more, and then he was gone—walking beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they headed toward James and Regulus, leaving you behind with your heartbeat in your throat and your button box held close to your chest like it had just turned into something more than what it had been that morning.
In the days that followed, you found yourself seen in ways you had not expected. It was never loud or showy. Just the kind of noticing that lingered in the spaces between things.
Sirius would greet you with a grin that curved wide, his laughter always arriving half a beat early, as though he had been waiting for yours.
Remus had a different quiet, a warmth that never needed words. He would glance at you across the Great Hall, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, as though something about your presence softened the sharpest parts of his day.
Their light caught you even when you were not trying to catch it.
And somehow, you found yourself orbiting them without realizing when it had started. You did not speak of it. You simply moved in tune with it, steps quieter, glances longer, as though gravity had chosen for you.
But on full moon nights, the gravity changed.
You could never remain in the Ravenclaw dormitories, not when the thought of them beyond the walls left your chest tight and your sleep restless. So you became what magic had allowed.
You shifted. Feathered and silent, you slipped into the dark as a crow, wings slicing through the wind with singular purpose.
You did not follow too closely. You never let yourself be seen, but you watched. You hovered high in the trees, a shadow among branches, waiting for their safe return.
It was not out of duty. It was something far deeper, far stranger. It was worry, but it was also something you refused to name.
Especially when it came to Remus.
There was something about the way he moved beneath the moonlight that left you breathless. Something quiet and aching, something wild and controlled all at once.
It drew you in the way a fire does to someone who has always lived in the cold. You had not meant to fall into such devotion, but you did.
What you had not meant to do was get caught.
You had not seen the branch until it was too late. It had splintered beneath your landing, sharp as a blade, and pierced clean through the delicate bones of your crow’s foot.
You had cried out, a sound that belonged to neither bird nor girl, and now you are trapped. Your leg is twisted, impaled through the narrow branch, wings fluttering uselessly, body trembling from pain and fear.
The forest is deep and dark around you. The sky is heavy with clouds. The world below is quiet in the way that makes sound feel impossible.
You try to pull free, but it only burns. You try to breathe, but each breath comes thin and shaky.
You had come to protect. You had come to be sure they were safe.
And now, you are the one in danger, and no one knows you are here.
Remus was lying curled in the grass, his body trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. His skin was slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths.
James crouched beside him, murmuring something too low to hear, while Sirius stood just behind, watchful and steady, arms folded tightly across his chest.
They were preparing to carry him back—like always. The routine had become muscle memory by now: someone took his shoulders, someone his legs, and they would move through the underbrush in silence, just three boys and the weight of what they refused to name.
You watched from above.
You always watched.
Perched in the tree line, your feathers damp and trembling, your heartbeat a staccato against the splintered wood that held you. The pain was sharp now—constant.
The branch had pierced clean through your crow’s leg, the wound throbbed with each flutter, and your small body had begun to lean sideways from exhaustion.
You really were trying not to fall.
You tried to call out again, but the sound was strange and half-formed, stuck somewhere between your beak and your pain. You blinked, dizzy and panicked, watching Remus blink slowly up at the trees, unaware that you were breaking just above him.
Sirius glanced up. It was casual at first, a flicker of curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering.
"There's a crow watching us," he muttered.
James looked up too. “Bit early for birdwatching, innit?”
You wobbled again, wings fluttering helplessly, and this time the pain stole your breath entirely. Something gave—a soft sound, barely audible—but Sirius stepped forward like he heard it anyway.
“That’s not normal,” he said, a strange edge to his voice. “That—James, that bird's not flying off.”
James straightened, still holding Remus’s arm draped over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not scared of us. It’s watching us. Bleeding, even.”
You blinked again, vision swimming. The pain was starting to blur the edges of things.
And Sirius had always been sharper than he let on. He stepped forward, squinting up into the tree line, eyes narrowing. “It’s too still, like it’s waiting.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach turn.
They didn’t know you had followed them—every full moon, without fail. That you had shifted the second they were gone, just to make sure they were okay. That you stayed out of sight. That it wasn’t a coincidence, the way a crow always seemed to circle above them at the end.
They didn’t know because you’d never told them.
Because what would they say?
The shy Ravenclaw girl who barely spoke at meals. Who had feathers hidden beneath her skin and a fondness for strange winds.
You hadn't meant to be seen.
You hadn't meant to fall.
And now, all it took was one branch and one mistake to unravel it all.
Sirius took a step closer.
“Something’s not right,” he said, voice low now. “I’m going up.”
“Pads—” James started, but Sirius was already reaching for a low limb, already climbing, already listening to something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.
Sirius climbed carefully, boots pressing against bark slick with moss, one hand braced on a branch as he narrowed in on the trembling bird.
The crow didn’t flinch. It only watched him with dark, glassy eyes, chest rising unevenly with every breath. Its feathers were ruffled, one wing visibly twitching from strain, its claws caught by a jagged splinter of wood. The wound had darkened the bark below it with a smear of blood.
And beside it, nestled in the fork of two branches, was a small, uneven nest.
A nest filled with buttons.
Sirius froze.
Red. Pink. Navy. Green.
His breath hitched.
Cheri. Dai. Ruxy. Teo.
It struck him like a gust of cold wind, the memory rising all at once—how you had shown him those buttons in the quiet corner of the hallway when you bumped into him and Remus, your voice barely above a whisper, explaining that you named the small things you kept close.
He looked back at the crow, still trembling, and his chest clenched with certainty.
“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure, “it’s you.”
And in the seconds that followed, you shifted.
Feathers melted into skin. Wings collapsed inward and became arms, trembling and bruised. Your body curled in on itself, still perched awkwardly in the tree, leg bloodied and twisted at an angle that made Sirius’s stomach flip.
You clutched the branch with shaking fingers, hair matted and face flushed with effort and something deeper—shame, thick and suffocating.
You didn’t cry from the pain. Not even when your injured leg gave a sharp spasm, tearing through the nerves like fire, or when your fingers trembled uselessly against bark still sticky with your own blood.
You cried because you had been seen.
It had always been the one thing you wished for. The softest, most secret ache of your childhood.
To be seen. Not glanced at, not acknowledged in the polite way professors nod at a raised hand or classmates murmur a distracted hello—but truly seen.
To be noticed with intention. To be understood in your full, strange shape. You had begged for it in silence, prayed to stars without names, asked the moon to make you visible.
And now the universe, in its crooked wisdom, had answered. You had been seen—bloodied, exposed, and caught in your smallest truth.
You had sat through years of being overlooked, of having your voice mistaken for wind or your presence mistaken for absence. You had learned to expect it, but never stopped wanting otherwise.
You had begged, in ways that did not involve words, to be noticed
And now, here you were.
Revealed in trembling flesh and blood. Not behind a desk, not through the soft offering of a smile or a story or a named button—but like this.
Injured, fragile, unraveled, and caught.
They had seen you, truly seen you. Not the version you curated in classrooms or in hallways with quiet nods and subtle glances. They had seen the strange bird who followed them into the night.
The girl who built nests out of threadbare things. The one who had watched them like they were made of light and belonged to a constellation she would never be brave enough to touch.
And it was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe had finally answered your oldest prayer, but in the wrong language.
How being seen could still feel like being misunderstood.
You hadn’t wanted them to think you were weak. You hadn’t wanted their pity or confusion. You hadn’t wanted their worry to be born from the sight of your blood or the way your hands shook. You hadn’t wanted to be caught.
You had wanted them to understand.
You had wanted them to see the quiet devotion threaded through every watchful flight. The care behind every shadowed perch. The love it took to stay hidden when every part of you wanted to land at their side.
But now that they had—now that they had seen the part of you you kept hidden beneath feathers and wind—you wanted to disappear all over again.
Isn’t that the tragedy of it? That the very thing you once begged for could arrive in a form you didn’t recognize. That after all the aching, all the hoping, all the prayers you sent to unseen gods, being seen could still feel so much like being misunderstood.
And yet, even in that moment, even with shame biting at the edge of your vision and tears sliding down your cheeks, part of you still clung to the hope that perhaps—just perhaps—they hadn’t misunderstood you after all.
“Hey—hey. Look at me,” A voice low but urgent breaks through your haze.
Hands find your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes with a softness that makes something in your chest splinter further.
“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you, just breathe with me, yeah? Just stay with me.”
You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, the kind of look that feels like being tethered—pulled back to something real, something warm.
You barely notice Remus limping toward you until he drops beside the branch, breath catching in his throat.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice breaks around the edges. “Is it your leg? Are you hurt? Y/N—what happened?”
You can’t answer, not right away. Your mouth opens, then closes again, but Sirius is still there, crouched in front of you, hands steady despite the thudding panic you can feel rising in both your chests.
He speaks again, softer now. “You—you’ve been watching us? All this time?” His voice trembles with something between awe and heartbreak. “Alone? During every full moon?”
You nod once, a small, broken motion, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. Your jaw is clenched so tightly it aches.
“I didn’t want you to know,” you whisper. “I thought—if you saw me, it’d be weird or pathetic, or—”
He cut you off gently, reaching out to cup your cheek with a care that made your throat tighten.
“Pathetic?” he echoed, incredulous. “Pathetic? Y/N, you’ve been dragging your body into the sky just to keep us safe. You bled for us tonight. You’ve been doing this alone. That’s not pathetic—that’s... that’s fucking brave.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Below, James appeared at the base of the tree, voice rising in concern.
“Sirius?” James shouted. “Is it hurt? Is it—wait, where are you?”
“It’s Y/N!” Sirius called back down. “It’s her. She’s an Animagus.”
“What?” James’s voice cracked. “What do you mean it’s her?”
But Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He was already helping you into his arms, cradling your body close with infinite care, his hand pressed protectively to your injured leg, holding you like something precious and breakable.
He whispered reassurances as he climbed down, slow, careful steps that betrayed the panic beneath his steady hands.
By the time Sirius’s boots hit the earth again, Remus was already beside him.
His breath came ragged, the lingering tremors of the transformation still curled in his limbs
Now, standing just steps from you, Remus looked like the ground had given out beneath him. All the color had drained from his face, but it wasn’t just shock.
You tried to speak, but the moment Sirius set you down gently in the grass, Remus was already kneeling, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up.
“Y/N?” His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. “What—what happened? What were you doing out there?”
You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not with the weight of both their gazes pressing into your skin. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“A burden?” he repeated, the word leaving his mouth like it tasted wrong. “You’ve been following us? While I’ve been transforming? Every full moon?” His breath hitched. “While I was—”
“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” you whispered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”
Remus inhaled sharply and let it go like a wound reopening. His hand hovered near yours, trembling. Then he reached for you anyway, brushing your hair back from your damp, dirt-streaked cheek.
His fingers paused near the scratch below your ear, reverent, aching.
“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said, softly but with conviction, like he was swearing an oath he never should’ve forgotten. “You shouldn’t have had to hide this. You didn’t have to hide this.”
“I didn’t think you’d understand,” you murmured, tears threatening again.
“We understand now,” he said, brokenly. “And it shouldn’t have taken blood for us to see it.”
Sirius’s jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Remus’s voice was frayed, but firm. And both of them looked at you like you had done something immeasurably brave. Like you were worth mourning, protecting, holding—everything.
You finally looked up at them, eyes glassy, face streaked with tears and dirt and disbelief.
Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remus closed his eyes, his hand settling gently over yours.
James crouched nearby, still stunned, but his voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Next time, you don’t watch us from the trees. Next time, you’re down here with us.”
The walk back to the castle was slower than usual. Not because the path had changed, or because the forest was any darker than it had been—but because something between the three of you had shifted.
Sirius carried you most of the way, arms secure beneath your back and knees, murmuring quietly each time you winced, while Remus walked close beside him, watching your face as though afraid it might disappear.
James had gone ahead to clear the way and fetch Madam Pomfrey, but you hardly noticed his absence.
Your body ached, but it was the tightness in your chest that throbbed hardest. You had never meant for them to know, not the Animagus form, not the secret flights, and certainly not the nest tucked into the trees like a childhood you’d never outgrown.
By the time Sirius set you down gently on the edge of the infirmary bed, your throat was dry from trying not to cry again.
Remus didn’t speak at first. He just knelt beside you, hands gentle as he peeled away what was left of your sock and began tending to your leg. His fingers were deft but soft, brushing the dried blood away with a damp cloth, jaw clenched as he examined the wound with quiet intensity.
You hated the silence. You hated how heavy it felt.
“I’m sorry,” you said, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
Sirius, who had been standing nearby, leaned forward suddenly, resting one hand on the mattress beside your hip.
“Stop,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being the one person who cared enough to follow us into the dark.”
Your breath caught.
“I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”
Remus’s hands paused in their careful rhythm as he finished unwinding the gauze. He looked up slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.
“Y/N, if you truly believe we’d ever mock you for caring—for watching over us in the only way you could—then I’ve clearly failed to show you the kind of man I am, and the kind of man I hope to be.”
Your fingers curled in your lap. “I watched you,” you whispered, eyes flicking toward Remus. “Every month. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there. I just... needed to make sure you came back.”
Remus didn’t look away. He soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it gently to your scraped skin with hands that trembled slightly—not from fear, but from how much he was holding back. “You never needed to explain that,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”
Sirius moved closer, silent until now. He sat down beside you on the bed, his palm finding the small of your back, grounding you.
“You watched over us,” he said, his voice low and rough at the edges. “Even when we didn’t ask. Even when we didn’t know. You broke your body trying to keep us safe. And you’re still sitting here thinking we might call you strange for that?”
You looked up at him then, wide-eyed, voice shaky. “I mean... I collect buttons. I sleep with open windows so I can hear the wind. I speak to animals. I—I’m not exactly—”
“Normal?” Sirius offered, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Good. We’re not either.”
Remus finished wrapping your leg and looked up, expression softening like a wave pulling back from shore. “You think we’ve spent all these weeks noticing you for no reason? You think we didn’t see the way you listen more than you speak, or how your eyes always catch the smallest things—the things no one else notices?”
“You care in ways no one else ever has,” Remus added, more gently now. “You cared about me in a way I didn’t know how to accept until right now.”
Your breath caught. “Wait… are you saying...?”
Sirius laughed under his breath and leaned a little closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Love, we’re saying we’ve been completely enchanted by you for ages. We just didn’t know how to say it until tonight.”
You blinked, stunned. “Really?”
“Really,” Remus said, his voice warm. “In every way that matters.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. Your throat was too full of something tender, too new.
Remus leaned closer, his voice softening. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. Not your wings, not your magic, and certainly not your quiet. We like you—we care about you—for everything you are. You’re not strange, love.”
Your lip trembled.
“And the button nest?” he added, grinning now. “It’s the most heartbreakingly you thing I’ve ever seen. That nest in the tree… it wasn’t weird. It was beautiful.”
Sirius smiled, something quiet and bright in his expression. “Well, we were talking about it on the way back—Remus and I, and if there’s ever room for two more in that nest, we’d be honored to be named and to be part of something you created.”
You blinked. “You want to be… buttons?”
“Not just buttons,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “Your buttons.”
Remus looked up then, meeting your eyes with something deep and sure and aching in its sincerity. “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll even give us names.”
You looked down at your lap, hands trembling in your lap, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, tentative but real.
“You can be in my button nest,” you said, voice barely a whisper.
And for the first time, it wasn’t just that someone had seen you.
It was that they had recognized you — all the strange, quiet, fragile pieces you’d kept tucked behind your ribs, the ones you had never dared to name aloud.
They hadn’t flinched from your softness, or your silence, or the wild devotion stitched into the things you loved. They had understood it. And more than that, they had chosen it.
Chosen you.
You had spent your life making altars out of small things. Buttons, feathers, the hush between words. You had prayed in your own language — not in churches or temples, but in the way you noticed everything others overlooked. You had asked the world for so little: just to be held in return.
Just to matter to someone the way you had quietly, unfailingly let others matter to you.
And for so long, the world hadn’t answered.
But maybe it was not that it hadn’t heard you. Maybe it had simply taken time.
Because now, without asking, without performing, without even meaning to — you were seen. Not in passing, not in pieces, but fully, tenderly, and without having to translate your love to the world.
You were no longer a distant thing.
And perhaps, after all, the universe had been listening the entire time.
Now, it had spoken , softly and reverently, in the form of two boys who looked at you as if you were something celestial stitched into the earth.
After all, the button nest had always been waiting for them too.
a/n:
to the readers with soft hearts and quiet hopes;
may someone see your soul the way you see the world.
to the readers who love gently, who notice everything,
and who wait, patiently, to be noticed in return;
may your button nest always be full ❤️🩹
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.
What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)
Oh.
“Forgive me. I have no gentler way to say this.” His fists tighten, fingernails starting to dig into his very flesh. “Please do not mistake my composure for acceptance."
The creases beside his mouth seem deeper than they had been moments ago. The shadows beneath his eyes sit heavier, carved into him and moulded by deep seated restraint.
“But your potential and affinity for Tengen-sama… Was too high for them to ignore.”
You’re special.
Aren’t you proud? Aren’t you happy? You’re needed, you’re wanted; you’re important. You’ll be everything you ever doubted yourself in.
Yet the weight of it still hasn’t quite sunk in.
“So what happens to me…” If you accept? What happens if you don’t? Do you honestly even get a choice?
It’s funny that you even think you can defy the orders of the Higher-Ups.
"They call it assimilation."
So Masamichi Yaga goes silent, letting the air marinate in the tension that you can taste on your tongue, on this repressed dread that you’ve been storing up all this while.
“You will assimilate with Master Tengen.”
You will become one with them, with the entirety of Jujutsu Society. You will become Master Tengen, and Master Tengen will become you. In other words—
You will die. You will die, yet live on vicariously through Tengen-sama. Someone entirely new, somebody else.
(You will die.)
You, who have always wondered what type of person you’d grow up to be, always imagined just how you’ll grow into the pretty shoes Mama always kept hidden away in her shoe cabinet, how you’ll mature into someone just as pretty, just as beautiful— Just as kind.
But there’s always more to life than that. There were prettier shoes out there, possibly kinder people, possibly more you’ve ever yet to even learn.
You don’t know many things about the world at all.
But that’s the interesting part, right? Nothing will ever go the way you expected it. Nothing will ever go exactly the way you want it, nothing will ever be set in stone that you can predict what comes next.
Because life was just that ambiguous— And you hate ambiguity.
Of course you don’t think you’re throwing your life away just like this. But would you? Would you do it to save the world? Would you do it to save those who don’t deserve to? And those who did?
Will they be like Komori Isamu? Will they be another Mijou Kana? What kind of people will not live to see another tomorrow should you give up on this?
(What kind of person do you want to be?)
You like to think that you’ve gotten used to being a maggot, gotten used to staying at the bottom— Or maybe even floating along the ‘average’ line. You thought you’d be fine with that, you thought you’d be more than okay.
(“Don’t you think that makes me special?”)
Do you? Do you want to think about giving up your life that way? It’s scary, right? So self-sacrificial… So— Stupid.
You’re stupid. What are you trying to pull here? Are you trying to become some sort of martyr? Do you really take so much pride in this aforementioned ‘kindness’ of yours?
It’s disgusting.
You could’ve chosen to not come here, you know? You could’ve chosen to go to a highschool not too far from your home back in Kyoto, just a stone’s throw away from your home.
It could’ve been that simple.
You never had much of an interest in Jujutsu Society, after all. Sure, it was cool to witness sorcerers in all their glory, to watch cursed spirits be summoned, to watch physical wounds close at a mere touch— To behold Gojo Satoru.
But it wouldn’t mean anything to the you who never had the talent or the potential. You possessed the prerequisites to meet the bare minimum, you possessed the skillset needed to harness your cursed technique.
But it didn’t mean that it was something you were good at.
You could’ve chosen to live a normal life. A life away from them, away from all this chaos, all this noise in your head that keeps you awake at night, away from Nozomi—
(“Does it almost look like yours?”)
And yet, you chose to be here anyway. That has to mean something in the end, didn’t it? All your tears you’ve cried, all the blood you’ve split, all your effort— All the smiles and the gratitude you’ve received and will receive.
(“My first wish— Is to become human!”)
You guess all insects really do have fleeting lifespans.
“You will be escorted by Special Grade sorcerers.”
And you know exactly who he means by that when you see the blood red upon his fingers as they dug into his palm.
“I’ll arrange for different sorcerers if that makes you more—“
“No.” You understand that there was turmoil in his head, yet you don’t even want to second guess this decision. “No… There’s no need for that, Yaga-sensei.”
You have a feeling that you’d want them there, for all your selfish desires and purposes, you’d need them there.
“We just won’t tell them.” You want to say the things you want with a smile on your face, to be able to face the things that threaten to harm the peace of your life.
Yet your shoulders still shake all the same.
You don’t want people to look back and view you with sorrow, with pity. You don’t want to be looked at with sympathy or to be mourned for your sacrifice.
It’s not what you want at all.
“Yaga-sensei.” Your throat feels dry if you were to be honest. Honesty— You need to be honest. You need to be more honest than ever before, because this was your life, wasn’t it?
“I want to live.” Is there truly anyone out there selfless enough to say otherwise? Even if they did— They would have had the luxury of that choice.
You want to live, yet you’re willing to die. Isn’t that so unbearably human?
(“Who can hate what they aren’t? Isn’t that stupid?”)
There is no life lived without guilt. There is no other way you are aware of other than this— This is the best choice is it not?
You are selfish, you are childish. You still don’t know many things, you still stumble over algebra, your tongue still slips when you recite textbook excerpts and you still pout when the convenience store doesn’t sell your favourite sandwich.
You are nothing but immature.
“Yaga-sensei, please allow me the pride to say that I chose to accept.”
Please let this lowly insect that you are take pride in the kindness you have, no matter how misplaced, no matter how unworthy.
Please. Please. Please.
There’s no better way to heal your own melancholy and save the world at the same time, is there?
“I will become Tengen-sama’s vessel.” You don’t know how to look him in the eyes, you don’t know how to hide your trembling hands or your shaking voice.
“Would you please permit that, Yaga-sensei?” No matter how selfish it may seem in his eyes. Or— Was it, really?
Because it just means more than that to you. It means more than just sacrificing your life for such a cause, for something like this.
“Yaga-sensei, may I also ask… What you think?”
And you wonder, wonder why he was so hesitant, wonder why he chose to say nothing as you stare at your knuckles that were starting to turn white, at the droplets of your tears that had landed upon your cold skin.
And you finally think you understand.
If he says it, if he tells you what he truly thinks, then this will no longer be an order delivered by your teacher.
It will stretch itself, will wrangle from his throat and crawl out as grief, as desperation, as a plea that so harshly demanded that you have more anger.
But you don't know what meaning there is to that.
So it’s your call, isn’t it? Ultimately, you wish to think so. For you are an insect, an insignificant existence to the bigger picture, to the wider world.
So you’ll be that meaningful pawn, you’ll be that unnamed, unsung sacrifice.
Even when the rain keeps pouring, there will be an end; and this will be yours.
(That’s what being a hero means, isn’t it?)
——
“It’s been a while since you called.” Your mother’s voice is soft, gentle in your ears. “I read your letter, is everything alright?”
“Mother.” Obviously, you want to cry. You want to run into her lap and sob and apologize and tell her over and over again that you’re sorry, that you won’t have enough time to spend with her, that you’re trying to save the world, trying to become stronger, trying your best—
“You trust me, don’t you?” You’re willing yourself to be calm, to be as steady as your voice could possibly make itself. Even if it made it no louder than a whisper, so small and fragile.
This was harder than you thought it’d be.
“Of course, my dear?”
Please don’t agree so easily.
“No matter what I choose to do?”
“No matter what.”
Please don’t be so gentle.
“Okay.” Okay. You’re okay. You will be when it comes, you will be when you have to be face to face with your fate.
You’ll be okay, won’t you?
“Dearest, what’s wrong? If this is about a test or exam it’s perfectly fine to be upset.“
It’s perfectly fine to be upset. Yes— It is, isn’t it?
“No, no. It’s— Not about that.” It’s not about anything that has to do with the arbitrary days you long to go back to. So—
How do you tell your own mother that you had already started counting the days she didn’t know she was losing?
You were only 16, after all.
“Is… Everything alright, my darling? You don’t sound well. Have you been eating well? Getting enough sleep? I can come visit if it’s—“
You taste iron in your mouth, lip torn open from how you’ve been chewing mindlessly on it all this time. You swallow it down, because that is all you seem to know how to do now.
You hope you choke.
“No, no… I just missed you, Mama.” You missed her cooking, her voice, her touch, her presence. You missed being small enough to hide behind her, missed being young enough to think that your mother could fix everything if you cried hard enough, if you clung to her sleeves and apologised enough.
You missed being her child.
Were you still allowed to be? Even now? Even like this?
“I’m just calling to tell you that I’m coming to visit soon.”
——
“Did something good happen?”
You’re blinking— Once, twice. Maybe a few more times on top of that as your vision slowly comes back into focus, blurred colours in front of you slowly sharpen back into the movie playing on the lounge TV.
The only thing illuminating the room is the restless flicker of the television, washing the couch, the low table, and the side of Suguru’s face in shifting shades of blue and white.
You think that movie has been playing all this time. How long have you been mindlessly staring at nothing?
“Not long at all.”
Is he saying that to comfort you or were you actually out of it for too long?
“Is it okay for me to not answer that?” There’s even a chuckle when you pout, shifting your eyes away out of a mix of embarrassment and mock irritation— Before your gaze drifts back to the movie you both were meant to be watching.
…you can’t focus at all.
“What were you thinking about?” He’s asking because he’s worried, you think. And it's because he is that you need to be more careful than ever.
“Suguru,” It feels weird to be so, so highly aware of what you were saying. Even the way his name leaves your lips felt a bit foreign despite the familiarity.
You suppose it’s how you know you were doing something selfish.
“Do I cry a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say so.” There’s his hand squeezing your shoulder as you shift ever closer to face him, peering up at his pretty eyes as he blinks curiously.
“Why do you ask?”
You don’t have an answer to that, not as you choose to hide away by resting your head against his chest, the shift slow and quiet as you sink a little further into him.
“Just curious.”
And you are. You truly, truly are. It’s not weird, right? He does this for Satoru too, no? He likes everyone. Geto Suguru is caring, the epitome of an adoring friend.
“Why do you always take care of me like this?” Like this— As in, his hand in your hair before it slowly drags down the side of your face to hold your cheek.
A quiet hum as his eyes shift from the glowing blue screen of the television— The once loud and present voices from the movie seemingly turning into blank murmurs as those violets you adored stuck to your gaze, hypnotizing you with that gentle, deep tone.
“Because I love you.”
Oh. You love him too.
“Mm…” You watch him contemplate, watch as his eyes look away briefly before they’re back on your own, how his brows furrow as that little bit of a frown forms— And that easygoing smile takes over once more. “Not in that way.”
“You know it, don’t you?” His thumb slowly grazes over your lip, carefully tracing his way as your heart stutters that little bit. It’s so unfairly— Seductive, the way Suguru touches you.
It’s so slow and contemplative— Edging on a feeling that stirs a heat in your stomach and a yearning to be held tighter in his embrace.
“What I mean.”
“I…” You don’t quite understand love. You don’t understand, yet you know that he’s offering you a choice right now.
You’ve been taking too long, after all. Don’t you owe him a reply? Don’t you owe him closure?
Yet you don’t quite want to disappoint him. You love the boy named Geto Suguru. You love him too much to leave him wanting, yearning for an answer he might never receive.
Was he not handsome enough? Of course not. Too unloving? Too impatient? Too aggressive? Too obsessi— No. Then what was so undesirable about him that you’re hesitating?
Or are you just finding excuses just to not make the decision?
“How about me?” Purple eyes are peering at you. Stare pinned so, so hard that you’re afraid you might be stuck by his side, cuddled together under this heavy blanket forever.
And you think 10 is a bit too young to be stuck forever.
“I fit all your Mama’s requirements, no?”
But insects like you don’t deserve love.
Your lifespans are short; and you are offering him nothing but your cold corpse to hold at the very end. One without life, without warmth— You are only dooming him to the disappointment, to the sadness that you prayed you’d never have to share.
But you’re selfish, aren’t you? You’ll allow yourself to be— Because it’s now. Because this is what you choose to do with this finite time of yours. Kindness is prideful, yet you don’t want to choose it.
You want to swallow your pride so that you can have every last bit of happiness this world has to offer you in these last moments.
Right?
So you can learn— If it was him. Gentle, patient Suguru. The lovely Suguru who will always wait for you. It’s selfish to take advantage of that, isn’t it?
If it’s selfish, then you will swallow it all the same.
“Suguru.”
How do you tell someone that you want to officially agree to be their relationship partner? Is it like… Some sort of verbal confirmation? Do you shake his hand?
Oh— It’s a lot harder to say it out loud. Internal monologues in all those books seemed to flow so naturally, so easily in those gossip magazines and movies.
“It’s just— Um— Suguru, I—“ Your face is starting to feel so hot— Was it always this hard to say something like this? You don’t even want to look at him when you say it.
You can feel him looking at you, though. Patiently, quietly, with his shoulder still close enough for yours to brush against.
So you bury your face into your hands.
“I believe that we can, uh— Start dating with the intention of marriage in mind…?” Wow. That is so embarrassing to say when it’s not just a scenario in your head.
And you pray, pray that this silence doesn't become so loud. Your ears burn. Your fingers press harder into your face, as if you could hide the whole of yourself behind your palms, as if the dim lounge and the flickering television could somehow make you disappear.
And he so gently pries your desperate hands away from your crying face, so softly lifts your chin to see your near teary-eyed expression.
“You’re cute.”
And you watch him laugh— So handsome even as he does it, so carefree and… Pretty.
“It’s enough to tell me that you agree.”
“So if you’ll have me,” He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, the softness of his lips against your skin doing little to cool your rampaging head.
His thumb stays over your knuckles after, warm and steady and holding the answer you were too embarrassed to give properly.
“I’ll gladly be yours.”
——
“You look happier.”
Maybe it’s love.
“Shoko.” And love makes you want to address people with all your being, to tell them that you love them before you can’t.
“You’re cute for noticing that.”
You can hear the roll of her tongue over the treat when it clacks against her teeth.
“Cuter than Satoru?”
“Mm…” That’s quite a tough matchup. But it is cute that Shoko cares so much about you till this point.
“For now.”
And, you just happen to be the type to want to leave no regrets behind. When the wind whispers into your ear and brushes your hair, when the night air kisses your cheeks and wills you to close your eyes. You don’t like lying, you don’t like unsaid words that get stuck too far inside of you.
You want to be honest.
“You’re always so unconcerned.” You smile through it, your chin resting on her shoulder as your arms wrap around her waist from behind.
“You really do have a terrible personality.”
“Is that so?” Her shoulders slump, a hand reaching up to twirl a strand of her short brown hair as the other rests upon your arm around her waist. “How do I take that?”
And you smile, nodding into the bend of her shoulder as you hug her tighter, the scent of her minty hair mixing with the sour smoke that clung to her clothes.
“As my confession of love to you.”
You can hear a huff as her shoulders slump. “How unromantic.”
Is it? You don’t think you can get anymore romantic than this; a loved one in your arms as you both stand upon a balcony, with the moon and the city’s lights as your witness.
Maybe you need more confessions?
“Shoko.” You let her go to lean over the railing beside her as you watch those unmoving stars so brightly twinkling into her eyes through your half-lidded gaze.
“I don’t like it when you do smoke.”
And she shifts the lollipop in her mouth.
“I don’t like it when you scold me for smoking.”
Touché.
“Then I don’t like it when you’re tardy on purpose.” You want to hide the smile starting to twitch onto your lips, lest she starts thinking you’re joking.
“Huh. Then I,” She stresses the emphasis as her head lolls onto the top of yours, strands of her hair beginning to unwittingly intertwine together with your own. “Don’t like it when you wake up late but scold me for doing the same.”
A pause, and her eyes flicker to the you who squeezed her hand even tighter, your eyes watching the shimmer of your reflection in her gaze.
“Pfft— Shoko.” You close your eyes as you laugh, the sound spilling generously from your lips as the night wind steals every last breath, your hands growing ever warmer with her touch. “You really are so precious.”
A lovely, lovely girl.
“I love you, Shoko.”
“Mm.” You can feel her lean towards you, so, so gently warm, so
“I love you too.”
And you want it to stay this way forever. Is that a little too much to ask for?
“Shoko,” You can hear the ‘pop’ of her lollipop as she finally pulls it out, can just imagine the grimace on her face from the sweetness of the treat that she had probably forced herself to try.
Imagine. Because you don’t think you can bear to look at her as these horrid words leave your lips.
“What do you think will happen if I die?”
A pause as you hear the crack of her lollipop’s stick, followed by a slight choke as she hurls her head to the side towards you.
“Are you sick in the head?”
“Am I?” You nudge her elbow with your own; laughing when she repels the same action back at you— Giggling even more as you both began to exchange these soft blows.
“Shoko.”
“What?”
You let out a hum at her response, choosing to stare up into the night sky instead of her eyes. It’s not wrong to ask, right? Or maybe it is. But—
You just feel like it.
“Do you like me?”
“You’re being really clingy today.”
“Do you?”
You hope she answers honestly.
“I love you.”
“Mhm.” You can feel the press of her shoulder against your own now. “That’s the best Shoko response, isn’t it?”
You don’t think there’s anything else you would’ve accepted.
“Were you expecting something else?”
“Do you want me to?”
And she narrows her eyes at you, furiously prodding at your cheek as you take the onslaught of her mild irritation.
“Ahh— Shoko that hurts…”
“It’s to make sure you don’t grow up to become weird like the other 2.” She’s still prodding viciously, your cheeks getting abused on both ends as her fingers angrily push into the softness, her furrowing brows and scrutinizing eyes all you can see before your own eyes are forced to retreat.
“You won’t, right?”
“Shoko—!”
——
“Anything for my cute underclassmen.”
“Woahhhhh!” There are practically sparkles in his eyes as Haibara Yu’s hands close into excited fists, pumping the air with excitement, with joy— Anticipation.
It’s not everyday your senior offers you a free ‘wish’.
“T-Then I want a hug, (last name)-senpai!” His ears are tipped red, the colour having overtaken most of his face as he stares at you head-on; eyes practically dizzy with anticipation, confusion— And excitement.
“I want to have the teenage experience of hugging a pretty girl at least once in my life!”
How determined. You’d like to honour that spirit of youth.
(It must be really nice to be so young.)
“Please don’t openly be a pervert in front of our upperclassmen.” Nanami Kento has to fight back the embarrassment starting to twitch onto his features, finger trying to soothe the stitch in his furrowed brows as he hides his face.
“It’s okay, Nanami-san. I don’t mind at all.” You really don’t.
Especially because Haibara Yu resembles a puppy far too well. An oversized, just as eager and cute puppy that had practically jumped you the moment your arms opened, inviting him into your embrace.
So you just can’t help but pat his head as he clings to you, his arms gentle around your back and careful to rest respectfully on your upper back.
There’s even a suppressed squeal before he stops.
“Eh?” There’s a shift in your arms as Haibara twitches, pulling back to curiously peer at you, his eyebrows scrunching up momentarily as his nose flared slightly, taking a whiff of the air.
Hm?
“(last name)-senpai, you really don’t have a scent at all!”
Indeed, you do get told that a lot. Is it that strange or weird to him because he’s an Alpha? Or maybe you just smell bad…?
“No, no!” His arms circle around you tighter. “(last name)-senpai, I swear you smell really, really good!” His face scrunches up in thought, eyes squeezing shut before they blink open, alight with an answer.
“I just never imagined you would smell like this, y’know?”
Oh, that’s a relief to hear. So you go back to patting his head as you nod to yourself— Even the smile on his face as he leans down is cute.
Even if he has been hugging you for the past 3 minutes. Or no— Is it better to describe it as him going back for seconds and thirds?
“O-Oh, sorry!” There’s a sheepish chuckle as his face is alight with that blushing redness, awkwardly scratching at the back of his head. “I think I got a little carried away there— I-It didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, right?!”
He’s so quick to reassure you. What a pleasant child.
“Eheh… You’re making me really shy, (last name)-senpai…!” His shoulders sag as he turns away, bashfully trying to hide the embarrassment setting him aglow with the likeness of the strawberries you saw atop the whole cake Satoru had bought recently.
But he isn’t the only one who was offered a free wish.
“Nanami-san, what about you?” Your gaze lands on the neutral expression of Nanami Kento, the stern gaze kind of reminding you of Yaga-sensei.
He really does feel quite mature for his age.
“Is there anything you would like from me?” And you smile, letting it settle gracefully onto your face as you await his reply.
“I—I don’t think I would be comfortable with that, (last name)-senpai.” His eyes shift away, deep browns awkward and unsure. “But thank you.”
“Eh?! Nanamin, you said you also thought (last name)-senpai was “exceptionally beau—“!”
“What’s with the sudden offer anyway, (last name)-senpai?” It’s Nanami Kento who’s choosing to cut the chattering, secret spilling Haibara off, quickly turning to you now, arms crossed and face deadpanned into that stoicalness to hide the growing red upon his cheeks.
Is it really that weird to dote on your juniors just a little bit?
“For lack of better words, yes.” His eyebrows are stitched together so harshly, coughing into his fist as he recovers quickly. “And, to be honest, going around and offering anything just because you know us is dangerous, (last name)-senpai.”
(Ah. He’s lecturing you.)
And you watch as he stiffens; watch as he scratches at the back of his neck as he lets out a sigh.
You suppose that that stems from how you’ve been acting as of recently. It must be weird, right? To have an upperclassman who had avoided you until now suddenly approach with intentions you can’t put a finger on.
But his last comment rubs you the wrong way. You know he doesn’t mean anything bad, know that he doesn’t want to cause any harm. But… Didn’t that come out a little too easily?
“Why is that so, Nanami-san?” You’re smiling through it again— Can feel the corners of your mouth lift as your gaze sharpens that little bit to meet with the blond.
Why is it that he sees it that way? Why is it that he feels that he’s taking advantage of you? Why is it that— He feels as if he was holding himself back in front of you?
And you see the answer.
“Nanami-san.” So you keep it; this smile upon your face that has met many who have ever doubted you. “I don’t fault you for saying that.”
“Thank you for looking out for me.”
It’s not odd anymore, isn’t it? To be condescended upon for the way that you are. It must not be hard for them to notice, after all.
You’d like to think secondary genders don’t mean anything in the Jujutsu world, you’d like to think that being an Omega meant nothing in the very end.
But do you have that mentality just because you’re from a side that can’t compare? Maybe Alphas like Nanami and Haibara just don’t see your point of view.
Or maybe, you already know what they think of you.
You’re only Grade 3, and a ‘Beta’ to boot. Compared to your classmates, their other extraordinary seniors— You must look severely lacking. How embarrassing, isn’t it?
They pity you.
“Senpai, say— Uhm, how do I put this? Nanamin doesn’t mean any harm, but we just— Uhm—!” There’s an awkward scratching at his neck as he throws a glance towards a glaring Nanami who chooses to elbow him in the gut.
“Ack— S-So I shouldn’t ask it?!”
Another elbow straight to his middle as the cuter of the pair starts to recoil back in pain.
“So I should?! Nanamin, I can’t tell if you just hit me!”
“It’s a rude question that shouldn’t be entertained, Haibara.”
“B-But you said you were curious too—“
“I don’t mind.” You cut in just before they break into another squabble, letting the dread you’ve been trying to hide bloom into a practiced smile upon your face— You hope they don’t mistake it for you encouraging violence in their relationship.
“So I— I can ask it, right?!” Haibara Yu is far too confused after getting pummeled and affirmed all in one go. And probably nearly out of commission, from the way he was so fervently rubbing at his tummy to soothe the pain.
Yet, you're so sure you already know the question.
“Please do, Haibara-san.”
And you watch. Watch as he turns to Nanami again for support as the blond just glares back, watch as the brunet gulps and release his hands from his stomach in favour of wiping gathering sweat on his uniform pants.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, senpai! We really, really do respect you and admire you and think that you’re super pretty and smart and very very pretty and—“
“Get to the point, Haibara.” There’s a grit in his teeth as Nanami tries to swallow down the awkwardness that was starting to form around the trio of you.
“It’s just that—“ He’s speaking through panting breaths and clammed words . “We can’t really help wanting to protect you— Sometimes? Uhm— It’s really— Like, uhm— That… (last name)-senpai really reminds us of—“
“An Omega?” The voice that completes the sentence is by your ear, arms going around your waist as you feel cool breath against your ear, a popsicle prodding at your lips as a chin rests atop your head.
“Tsk, tsk. You really shouldn’t be sayin’ stuff like that out loud, Haibara-kyun.”
Ah. It’s just Satoru.
“Just Satoru?” It’s said with a huff, enough for you to feel the icy breath fan over the curve of your ear.
But with the way he said that… He must be offended, right? You should apologize—
“If you apologize it means you were trying to offend me, ya know?”
He makes a good point. So good, that you choose to ignore him for now.
“Haibara-san, Nanami-san.” You gently push the slow melting popsicle away, remnants of its icy sweetness lingering on your lips as you feel a shrug from behind you; followed by the crunch of the cool treat.
“Being seen as an Omega isn’t bad.” Your voice is steady, yet your fingers thread together as your gaze slowly trails from the floor to meet anxious browns.
“So I don’t see any issue even if I remind you of one.”
“And so what if others see her as an Omega?” A quick swallow. “If I spend enough time around you, you’ll be able to smell like the bessssst Alpha possible, hm? How’s that sound?” His cheek nudges against your own, offering you another bite of his popsicle— Only for you to gently reject it once more.
“I don’t like the way you smell, Satoru.”
And it’s silent for a moment. A moment, because you don’t even get much time to react before—
“I know this.” He pinches your nose, ignoring your nasally whines and how you were lightly tugging at his arm, trying to pull away the offending limb before he permanently takes away your already weak sense of smell.
“Doesn’t work.” He lets go to tap a finger against your nose, the sore appendage stinging lightly as you hurriedly rub at it in effort to soothe.
“It’s not good to tell lies, cutie.”
Satoru can be such a bully at times.
“Say, senpais…” Haibara Yu is watching the both of you bicker, mouth agape in realization as he has to come to terms with the fact that he could potentially be in trouble for touching someone that wasn’t—
“Are you both dating?”
“No.”
“Yep!”
And you hear the brunet hiccup in response as the blond lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching his eyebrows as he turns around, grabbing a hyperventilating Haibara by the collar as he starts to drag him off.
“We’ll be taking our leave first, senpais. Please don’t let us hold up your conversation.” A polite bow as he takes his leave.
“Nanamin—! I just— Gojo-senpai or Geto-senpai or Ieiri-senpai mi—might kill me!”
“If we get involved with them any further we’ll die from stress first.”
And you can hear the cracking of the wooden popsicle stick as your waist is grabbed to gently turn you right around to be met with glaring blues.
“What? You won’t date me?”
Well it’s not that— It’s just that you would be betraying Suguru’s trust like that, wouldn’t you? Should you distance yourself a little more from Satoru? Is that how it works?
…eh? But it’s just Satoru, isn’t it? But at the same time, what if Suguru got jealous?
(And what if Satoru himself got jealous at the fact that Suguru got jealous?)
Gojo Satoru is hard to please, after all.
“I would date you Satoru.” You even pat at his shoulder, getting up on your tip toes and petting his head.
“Yeah? Then why don’t we—“
“But I already have a boyfriend.” You even pat at his chest as you say it, as if trying to soften the blow of your words. Unnecessary, because his hands had immediately slackened, jaw dropping as you tilt your head curiously to the side.
“…huh?”
——
You’re not one to tell lies; or so you’d like to think.
Your heart might even pound out of your chest as you sit here, their shoulders pressed against your own on either side as you try to ignore the side-eyes you were getting throughout this entire mission briefing.
(You truly wish to dig yourself into a hole right now.)
“So? Any questions?”
A polite raise of his hand— And you hope, pray that he doesn’t pry too much. Suguru is annoyingly perceptive; almost suffocatingly good at nothing the underwhelming, the overlooked.
He’s so disgustingly meticulous.
“Suguru-kun.”
“I’d like to ask,” His voice is as put-together, as smooth and soft as usual.
“Why is a Grade 3 accompanying us on this mission?”
Oh— That’s fine. You like that question; just because that base has long been covered, after all. Isn’t it funny that your self-deprecation demanded to be addressed? Haha.
You’re pathetic.
“The briefcase is sensitive to cursed energy and its outputs. The Higher-Ups requested specifically for gravity-based curse techniques to handle it with care.”
Masamichi Yaga’s stern gaze shifts as his arms cross, turning his body from the blackboard to face you all.
“And by extension, protect (last name) (name) at all costs.”
It’s a straightforward command, a simple one. Simple enough that it almost sounds insulting when paired with the names Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.
Yet you can’t help but feel the ever growing dread in your chest.
“This is also a chance for (name)-kun to get promoted to Grade 2.” Masamichi Yaga glances towards you, his gaze lingering for only a moment before it returns to the others.
“Do well enough, and perhaps even Semi-Grade 1.”
It really does sound convincing. So terrifyingly so that you could only pray that this was true, you know?
“Like how Mei Mei was guiding Utahime ‘round, huh?” Satoru’s hand is on his chin as he whistles at the thought, content with the imagination cycling through his head as he changes his tune to a hum.
So, please act convincingly.
“I can’t wait…?”
And you’re horrible even at acting. So you fight the urge to smack yourself silly as you swallow, letting out a nervous laugh to supplement the enthusiasm you were meant to feel in this moment.
It’s silent for a moment before you feel a hand against your back, sliding up spine as you freeze up, shoulders stiffening as you feel an elbow rest upon your shoulder.
“Sure ya can’t! Cause your promoter’s gonna be me.”
He says it like it’s already decided, like your promotion was just another inevitable thing waiting to happen beneath his guidance, because Gojo Satoru would never speak such words with cruelty— Never stopped to learn to doubt himself first.
Because he could guarantee you that.
“Ah— Thanks, Satoru…”
“Soooo~ How about breaking up with your boyfriend to be with—“
“Okinawa then Kyoto and then back to Tokyo? Is this some sort of holiday trip?” Suguru immediately cuts him off, flipping through the mission brief with a quiet rustle of paper, his brows drawing together the longer he looked.
“There’s interference so far in Tokyo.” Yaga taps a finger against the edge of the mission brief, his expression set into its usual severity. “The Higher-Ups have requested you all to lay low.”
A short silence follows before he continues, each word delivered with careful finality.
“Escort the briefcase to its final destination.”
Suguru’s gaze shifts, not fully toward you, but close enough that you feel the weight of it pressing at the side of your face. He is not suspicious, you think. Not truly. Merely curious, maybe about how you feel, or how nervous you were as his hand squeezes your own.
“Yaga-sensei,” He says, polite as ever, which somehow makes it worse. “With all due respect, if the object is sensitive to cursed energy output, would Satoru not be the worst possible person to assign to it?”
“Oi.”
“He has a point,” Shoko’s cutting in from the chemistry lab’s side windows, her head tilted curiously as she forces herself into this conversation.
“And I don’t even have to go on this mission to know that.”
“I’m incredibly delicate when I wanna be, ya know?”
“Yea, tell that to the times you forget about the veil.”
“Suguru forgets too!”
You should laugh. You should laugh because it is funny, because they are acting like themselves, because this is exactly how a normal mission briefing with them should sound.
So why does it make you want to cry?
“The briefcase is to remain under (name)-kun’s handling,” Yaga-sensei has to cut in with a stern warning and his hands angrily at his hips. “All of you need to keep in mind that keeping the objectives and each other safe is the top priority.”
There is no use in a spoiled vessel, is there?
“So basically babysitting.”
Your fingers subconsciously twitch. There it is— You should’ve expected at least that, huh?
Maybe to him, to them, this really was nothing more than babysitting. A Grade 3 being escorted around by 2 Special Grades, a fragile little thing with a fragile little technique and a fragile little promotion waiting at the end of it if you behaved well enough.
You wish it was as humiliating and as simple as being babysat.
“It is an escort mission,” Yaga-sensei says, voice even and on the brink of churning into frustration.
“Yea, with a briefcase.”
“That’s right, now plea—“
“Yaga-sensei, didya not type this up yourself? It’s not like your usual stuff.” Satoru tilts his head, looking far too comfortable for someone who was supposedly being briefed on an important mission; even going as far as to be mindlessly twirling a strand of your hair as he skims through the printout. “Soooo many fancy words, not enough actual info— That’s probably how the Higher-Ups like it too.”
“Those old fogeys should allll~ get fired for making this the most vague and useless brief ever~!”
Ouch. You think your heart is starting to sting a little as you sweat, your fingers curling tighter around the fabric of your uniform.
Maybe you and Yaga-sensei both need to improve on faking official missions better…
“But a vacation does sound rather nice this time of year, Satoru.” Suguru chimes in from your side, folding the mission brief back into place with a small, thoughtful smile.
“Okinawa’s beaches are popular.”
“Right?!” Satoru lights up almost immediately, the earlier complaint forgotten as quickly as it had come. “I wanna get shaved ice by the beachside!”
You blink at the thought. It would, wouldn’t it? A place full of boundless sunlight and a blue sky that stretched further than your eyes could see. The tropical paradise for getaways— And the final resting place of a boy you hope to pay your respects to.
So your head turns toward the chemistry lab’s side windows almost hopefully. This would be a nice opportunity to make up for lost time with the ones that were still here, no?
“Shoko, are you comin—“
“Shoko-kun.” Yaga’s voice cuts in before she can answer, his gaze narrowing toward the window. “What happened to the medical license exam you were studying for?”
“Ugh… So troublesome...” Shoko clicks her tongue, leaning heavier against the window frame. “I know, I know. The exam comes first.”
Then her eyes drift back to you, a little softer this time.
“But when you make it to Kyoto, I might be able to catch a break.” Her lollipop shifts against her teeth. “I wanted to see your mom again anyway.”
“Then let’s get going already.” Satoru stretches his arms over his head, the mission brief crumpling slightly in his hand before Yaga’s glare makes him straighten it out again, the hurried crinkles filling the air momentarily.
Suguru folds his copy neatly, tucking it beneath his arm as he rises from his seat. “We should prepare before leaving. Okinawa is still quite a distance away.”
“Eh? Why bother?” Satoru grins, far too pleased with himself as he leans closer to your side. “I can just fly us there.”
Would it be too much to say that you're scared of flying?
“You’re no fun.” Satoru clicks his tongue, though the grin on his face says otherwise as he flicks a strand of your hair out of your face.
Suguru only lets out a quiet sigh, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guides you toward the door. “Then we’ll take the normal route.”
Ah— The plane. You’re fine with that. You may have the utmost trust in Satoru and may have a lot more trust in Suguru’s curses— But a plane is very safe too.
“Satoru, if you run in the lab you’ll break something.”
“Can’t hear ya! I wanna go pack some of my holiday shirts!”
Pack— What do you pack? Do you go light because you aren’t exactly going to make it back? Heavy because you don’t want to miss wearing something?
Yaga’s voice reaches you just before you can step out to even make that decision.
“(name)-kun.”
When you turn, he does not speak right away. His gaze settles on you with something too difficult for you to name, something seemingly ambiguous.
Yet you feel it all the same.
“Know that I am, and have always been proud to have had you as my student.”
(“Aww, Yaga-sen! Ya getting sentimental now that our Grade 3 is finally getting a promotion?”)
——
“It won’t be too hard, right?” Satoru has his head on your shoulder as you stir lightly from your nap, his voice muffled slightly by the fabric of your shirt.
The low hum of the plane fills the silence between you, broken only by the occasional chime of the seatbelt sign and the soft rustle of passengers shifting in their seats.
Your arm is awkwardly pressed against the armrest, knees tucked close in the narrow space, with Suguru sitting on your other side by the window. Sunlight spills through the small oval pane, catching on the curve of his cheek as he glances over at the both of you.
“My girlfriend can handle it,” Suguru's quiet reply, putting just enough emphasis on the word to make your face warm despite your sudden awakening. "Wouldn't you agree, Satoru?"
It’s kind of embarrassing doing this kind of thing in front of him.
‘Thing’ as in how Suguru was taking advantage of every moment to hold onto your hand— Threading his fingers through your own at every moment that allowed him to.
It would’ve been fine; cute even. But you do worry about how he’s kissed you so often that your lips seem to be permanently stained with the flavour of his honey chapstick.
Not that you’re complaining— But you don’t know if Satoru was okay with the sudden amount of PDA.
“Do it again.” You’re pulling at his shirt, tugging him closer to you as you glower, eyebrows stitched so harshly that your expression was much too akin to an angry glare.
(It’s not fair that that kiss was too one-sided! You’ll make it fair for him! Even if you were sat in the middle section of this trio of plane seats.)
Hours later, beneath a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at, you're still thinking about it.
There’s wind in your hair and sun on your cheeks, there’s the warm, salty scent of the sea curling through the air, there’s the distant chatter of tourists and children and shopkeepers calling out from their stalls.
Summer has truly begun.
“Oiii! I found a spot by the water over here!” Satoru is wrestling with a beach umbrella that refuses to cooperate, nearly getting smacked in the face every time a gust of wind catches it. Suguru, meanwhile, has somehow ended up doing most of the actual work. Towels are spread neatly across the sand, bags tucked out of the way, sandals lined up where they won't be swallowed by the tide.
“Stop standing there and help!” Satoru shouts as the umbrella nearly takes flight.
“I'm helping by supervising,” Suguru replies without looking up, humming as he turns another page of The Ito Saya Travel Journal: Okinawa Edition, his attention seemingly far more invested in the magazine than the beach setup.
You suppose you should make yourself useful. Some sodas can’t hurt, can it?
…you think that horrible pun book Satoru was reciting on the plane is starting to rub off on you.
And it’s surprisingly easy to slip away, given how distracted they were with the setup— So you’re accompanied only by the trudge of your sandals and the way the fabric of your looser, more relaxed clothes catching against the briefcase in your hold.
It’s peaceful here in Okinawa. So much so that it felt almost unsettling. You’re surrounded by the hustle and bustle of tourists and locals alike, enveloped by the wordless conversations you can’t quite catch.
The air is clear, carrying little more than the scent of salt and sunshine.
But you know better, you know better when your senses just start to tingle, that chilling creep entangling your spine as you physically lurch towards the sound of that distant scream.
“No! Get away from me!”
You’re a bit frantic now— Especially because no one in this large crowd reacted to it, no one in this swallowing mass of people even offered a second glance towards the distressing noise.
“Save me! Anyone!”
And you’re already hurriedly muttering apologies, yelling ‘excuse mes’!’ and trying your hardest to not trip on the strappy sandals that were becoming far too much of a bother.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“I’m sorry!”
You don’t know when you broke into a run, eyes hurriedly scanning everything your gaze could possibly touch, every surface your eyes could take over. The sun beating its rays against the
“Miss? Are you lost? You look frantic.”
No. No— You’re fine. You’re fine— But you’re in a hurry so you can’t explain at all. You can’t explain anything, not when those sobs for help were starting to churn into disembodied cries.
“I never asked to be able to see— I never wanted this…!”
And you come to a stop just before a dark alleyway, your bare feet covered in cuts and bruises, stained with the nicks of your blood as you pant, sandals long gone as you stare into the endless black.
You have to save her. You have to save this girl who was crying her heart out, this girl who was begging to be saved.
So you have no time to be scared. It’s not something to break a sweat over, not as you walk into the darkness, letting it cloak you with its chill, greeting you with a low hum when you’ve been completely engulfed.
“Please… Please…!”
You stretch out your hand, grasping onto the walls of black as you feel the pulsating breaths of the curse. It’s… Surprisingly warm. Uncannily so.
Perhaps that was how this poor girl was lured in. Truly, a dirty trick that you hold much disdain for.
So you focus. Channeling every bit of this feeling into your palm as your eyes flutter to a close. You imagine the summer wind in your hair, the glow of the sunlight against your skin. You imagine the laughter thrown to the sky, the clouds clearing to welcome the blue sky.
And the darkness dissipates with the glowing sunlight.
“Kuroi…! I won’t run away ever again, so please— Anyone…!”
In the sunlight’s wake, you find a girl. So terrified was she that she had curled into a ball, too horrified to even lift her head to face the glowing rays that were eagerly waiting to greet her with their warm embrace.
The mission in space was every physics teacher's wet dream. And yet, when you found yourself alone on a spaceship, dread filled your mind. Fortunately, it turned out you weren’t quite alone. As a weird creature you’ve met by accident seemed to be quite happy in helping you finish a mission and keep a warm company.
𖥔 ݁ ˖pairing: ꒰ Alien!Gojo Satoru x Physics teacher!Reader ꒱
𖥔 ݁ ˖content/warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ : fluff, fluff, fluff : also a bit of angst : mutual masturbation : use of sex toys : happy ending : women in stem, doomed to never being able to touch each other : prepare some tissues : space : aliens : Satoru is a brat in every universe : alien's D : mates and mentions of mating ꒱
𖥔 ݁ ˖WC: ꒰ 15k ꒱
𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: This story is based on the movie Project Hail Mary. Shoutout to @indiewritesxoxo whose story The One That Got Away inspired me to write a space-based fanfic!
dividers by @diviniyae
art by daichichirou on tt
"Miss, what's the space like?" a little girl with round frames asked you once during the class.
What's the space like? You wondered for a moment, with similar glasses resting on your nose.
Little models of planets swirled under the ceiling, clashing against each other with warm beams of sunshine curling around their painted bodies. The classroom stilled with silence, heavy and curious, marked by a dozen little eyes glancing up your furrowed forehead.
"Unfathomed," slipped almost in a whisper. But the kids were too young to understand this word, so you tried again. "It's endless, deep, mesmerising, silent, like–"
"Like a night?" a boy from the first row asked, playing with the wooden spaceship, all the children in the class had just finished painting.
You chuckled, playing with your own little toy, brushing the little silver window with a thumb.
"Much, much quieter," the spaceship landed on your desk, right next to the little, soft ball painted like Earth. Your eyes shimmered as you looked around the class of a dozen munchkins. "What do you hear while sleeping?"
Something began to coil in their little Einstein heads, with soft foreheads furrowed in thought. A flicker of an idea – a spark, their young minds were yet to discover and nourish throughout their lives.
You watched them with a smile, something warm spreading beneath your chest. Not everyone was born to be a teacher, with the day-to-day tiring work of preparing materials for classes, conducting lessons and checking all the foolish assignments that neither you nor the children liked. The education system truly was a shit hole from the very first steps those young minds took.
"Miss, that's a silly question," a little girl without one front tooth giggled. "We can't hear anything while we're sleeping!"
You hummed softly as you picked up the small earth ball. It yielded gently beneath your fingers, and the woollen toy, crocheted by your mother herself, felt pleasantly soft against your skin.
The bell would ring soon, and the afternoon sun was high in the sky, creeping through the tall, clean windows into the small classroom. Summer break was almost here, and the sweltering heat lingered in the stuffy air, filled with children's coughs and soft breathing.
"Exactly," you said, sitting on the desk and tossing the ball into the air. "That's what space is like. You can't hear anything."
"But what if I close my ears?" another boy said, pressing his hands to them. "I can't hear anything now, miss!" he screamed, setting off a wave of sweet giggles from his classmates.
The small green ball flew his way, and the boy caught it in one hand, scowling. "Hey, miss, that's not fair!"
"That was not, I do admit," you slipped off the desk, walking around the classroom. All small pairs of eyes followed you like puppies. "But you see, in space, there would be no need to cover your ears, because there is no air or matter for sound to travel through. Even when you're sleeping, there's always something out there, right?" Your eyes met a few nodding Einsteins before drifting towards the window. "You can hear the crickets singing under your window and the wind swirling between the leaves. But in space, there's nothing. Simply an empty, endless realm stretching beyond our comprehension."
A few droplets of sweat coiled on your temple, and you quickly brushed them with a thumb. Glasses sat crookedly on your nose, hair slipped away from a pin-up, and so you pushed them behind your ear.
"Miss, the space sounds so scary," the girl with round frames sighed. "I don't want to be an astronaut anymore."
You chuckled, coming to the previous boy and stealing a soft lump of earth from his sticky fingers. "The space may feel lonesome if you're there alone. But now, astronauts usually go in groups." The ball landed back on your desk, brushing gently against the wooden spaceship. "But even if you were alone, I think the view would be worth the night spent in loneliness."
And as it would soon turn out, nothing was worth the years spent alone. On the huge spaceship, with endless darkness spreading across the little window and years spent somewhere doing God knows what.
"The sun is dying," the government envoy had said. "Can you help us save the world?"
She caught you right after one of the classes, with a half-empty cup of instant noodles and cheeks peppered with crimson chilli-oil kisses. She arrived with a tall, muscular man and a printout of the PhD dissertation, placing a copy on your messy desk.
Your forehead crinkled, eyes landed on a neat, Times New Roman formatted title, An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations.
"That's not mine," you mumbled, going back to the cup of noodles. You hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, and your stomach was already pressed against your spine, with hunger twisting your weary mind.
"That's your name, isn't it?" she said, pressing a neatly trimmed nail against the smaller letters beneath the title.
You didn't even spare her a glance and simply shook your head. "No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
Both she and the man sighed, rolling two small chairs from the children's desk to sit in front of yours. With eyes fixed on your face, grimacing in ignorance, and a few locks of hair slipping into the cup.
"I'm Yuki," she said, crossing her legs before looking at the man with the dullest, most bleary eyes you have ever seen. "And that's Choso. We're from a… well. Now you only need to know that we work for NASA."
And that meant one thing – trouble.
Seeing your utmost disinterest, she continued in a warm tone. "Listen, we know your dissertation was a fantastic breakthrough that the supervising committee didn't appreciate. But–"
"A small correction," you interrupted, with eyes still glued to an almost empty cup. "They did not not appreciate me, but completely failed me. My research was proven wrong, and I spent almost five years chasing something that was never there. So no, it wasn't a breakthrough or anything."
"Her long fingers clenched into a fist, and a tongue nervously filled a creamy cheek. "Listen, in our current world situation, we believe that your research wasn't pointless. The hypothesis that life can exist without water–"
"Which was ultimately proven that it cannot," slipped in a whisper, gaze still following anything but those two.
"Right," she sighed, staying shockingly patient. "But the thing is, it actually may."
And for the first time in the past five minutes, you finally looked at her. With eyes hidden behind librarian-like glasses, a white shirt neatly pressed against your body, and chilli oil still coating lower lip. You brushed it quickly with a tissue before clearing throat.
"You have five minutes."
But Yuki needed just a second.
"There are some… microbes, the nature of which we aren't yet sure, that are slowly eating the sun. If we don't do something, in thirty years the global temperature will drop enough to kill every life on Earth."
A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of you, though she was the one doing the talking. The man in a suit sat in silence. He was rather handsome, with dark hair falling long down his neck and purplish under-eye bags framing his deep, doe-like eyes.
Feeling your eyes fixed on his face, Choso wriggled in place. "We believe that you are one of the few scientists who can help in research on those microbes."
A deep sigh slipped past your lips as you took off your glasses and closed eyes. A pulsing headache was filling your mind, weighing down an already overstimulated brain. A few short strands of noodles clung to the bottom of the plastic cup, looking up at your weary eyes, pleading to go home.
You finally murmured, throwing the cup into the bin, "I don't see how that's my problem. I'm just a physics teacher, the academic environment pushed me away, and I believe there are many more qualified scientists for this role."
Yuki's forehead furrowed, lips pressed in a line. "Not your problem? The world is dying, and you think it's not your problem?"
You could almost see a grey smoke drifting above her head, eyes shining like two coffee beans. Golden hair brushed against her suit-covered breasts, with a few straight strands sticking to soft cheeks. She appeared magnificently commanding, exuding a dominant aura of someone beyond the law. Even sitting on a small children's chair, you felt goosebumps cover your bare shoulders.
You leaned back in a chair, the hard backrest digging into your spine. "I just don't understand why it should be me. This," you pointed at a three-hundred-page dissertation, "was just a foolish fantasy of my younger self. And trust me, I felt how stupid it was," your eyes fell to your fingers, playing with a soft, earthy ball. "No one treats me like a scientist anymore."
And then, Yuki stood up.
Suddenly, reaching over the desk right to your shirt, before pulling you closer with a single move. Eyes fixed on yours like a deadly viper, and a sweet note of heavy perfumes hit your nostrils.
"Try it," she gritted through her teeth. "Accept my offer till I'm still begging. I don't want things to get messy, but I really need your help on this one."
And so, feeling rather threatened, you nodded swiftly and followed the kind smile that lifted up her lips.
Now, three years later, reflecting on that time, you never felt as happy and alive as you did then. Surrounded by the world's most exceptional scientists, working on alien, new microbes – the freshest discoveries in current scientific research – spending days and nights fuelled by bitter coffee, sitting in the labs.
The time didn't matter, as long as you could work on your research. To once again feel like a valuable input to the academic environment and a student from your PhD days, when the world was most beautiful under the microscope and while collecting the newest data.
Your heart raced during the meetings as your fingers carefully noted each idea, each plan that other scientists put forward. The greatest minds in the world, flooding your own with plans and speculations you could've never thought of. Your brain fired multiple times a day, always running, always getting fed with new questions and solutions.
Why is the sun dying?
How can we stop it?
How to produce enough fuel to go all the way right to the sun?
Is that even possible?
But then it was revealed that an alien microbe was composed entirely of water, and your world collapsed. Because it finally confirmed the very point you've been secretly trying to reject for years, proving to you that cells cannot survive without water.
Your heart broke, and a wave of shame washed over your spine. The shame connected to your younger self, foolishly believing in a greatness of discovery no one has ever made. Something worth the international conferences, massive grants, Nobel Prize, and yet, you needed a single, alien cell, something not belonging to the human world, to finally prove those old geezers from your committee right.
The white, big lamp of the lab flickered; darkness spilt over the endless night. Nothing but a faint buzz of mosquitoes filled the lab, hitting the window again, and again, and again. Hungry and relentless, looking at your body hunched over the failed experiment and slightly trembling lip.
You haven't noticed someone else's presence until something cold and wet touched your cheek. Turning the head around, you noticed a can of soda and Choso's pale fingers wrapped around it.
"Thanks," escaped in a whisper, as you took the drink.
He nodded, sitting on the stool right next to you. Your lab partner, who's been through your highs and lows for the past few weeks. The biggest encouragement and life support, always reminding you to eat well and drink something other than a third coffee in a row. He was another government body, Yuki's closest friend, yet – you liked him.
He felt the most normal here, and thus, your head rested on his shoulder, while hair covered the slightly wet cheeks.
"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.
Your head shook, and a second later, a loud sniff rolled. Choso chuckled, offering a tissue.
"Thank you, Cho," you mumbled, trying to hide the streaming tears behind the wide glasses.
He nodded, waiting for you to calm down a bit. The white lamp buzzed quietly, and the screen of the computer shone bright with your PhD dissertation. The thick letters of the title, with your name written right below.
Three hundred pages of bullshit born from your silly dreams. The Nobel Prize? Dear heavens, you barely deserved to be part of the current team.
"That's not the end of the world, you know?" he said, then pressed his cheek with tongue. "Hm, no. It actually is."
You laughed disgustingly, with a snort slipping out of your nose and another wave of tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," slipped almost silently. "I'm sorry, I proved you all wrong."
Choso sighed, looking at your sorry state. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed away a single tear with a soft thumb. "No, you didn't. Now that we know what it's made of, you can think about another solution."
But there isn't another solution, you wanted to say, and instead bit down on your lower lip. The words bubbled in your throat, but a thin thread of hope still pulled at your heart. A faint wish that maybe this discovery wasn't a disaster. That the alien cell, made almost entirely of water, could somehow help with the mission.
That you could still prove yourself as a true scientist.
"Hey," Choso whispered, turning your face towards him. Deep, warm eyes shimmered with kindness as he offered a soft smile and gently pinched your cheek. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. I'm sure you can figure this out. Yuki believes in you. I believe in you." Staring into his eyes, you nodded with a pout. He chuckled and opened your soda with a quiet hiss. "Alright, let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow. We still have time."
But the fact was that – you didn't.
And it was painfully obvious in how Yuki glanced into your lab every few days, asking about progress and results in halting the spread of alien microbes on the sun. Her neatly plucked eyebrows furrowed whenever you shook your head, and a short, stressed sigh escaped her rosy lips.
Try to hurry up, she would usually say, pulling a not-so-comforting smile.
Weeks went by, and everyone's stress increased. Yuki decided to set up a deadly mission, sending a team of astronauts to collect data personally.
The catch? They wouldn't return.
While there was enough fuel to reach the star teeming with alien microbes, there wasn't enough to return. Their goal was to collect the microbes, find a way to stop them from consuming the sun, and send all the data back to Earth.
The first time you heard about it, your knees almost buckled. It sounded outrageous, absolutely crazy, and the chance of finding someone mad and healthy enough to meet the requirements perfectly was already impossible.
And as it turned out, you were wrong.
The four astronauts were more than willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good – to venture into the vast, endless space and perish there, in the company of strangers and eerie silence. To become saviours on a mission that could save the entire world.
Except, there was a risk the mission would fail.
Except, no one knew if they wouldn't lose their lives for nothing.
Because if that happened, if it turned out that all the money and sacrifices the government has invested in it would go to waste, the world would truly descend into shambles.
You stood against it from the very beginning, but You stood against it from the very beginning, but Yuki had already decided. And so there was nothing left to do but help the spaceship travel the twelve light-years towards the only star that was also dying, devoured by an alien microbe.
One hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres.
An unimaginably vast distance a simple mind could not grasp, yet you had to find a way to make it work. To figure out how to gather enough fuel to propel the massive, metal spaceship through every single kilometre.
And after a few weeks of getting yourself filled with coffee and nights spent outside the NASA base, gazing up into the endless darkness, you finally got it.
"The alien microbes possess unimaginable power," you said in one breath, looking like a madwoman. With hair twisted into a messy braid, hands shaking from too much caffeine, eyes glimmering as if possessed by Einstein himself. Your fingers gripped the black marker before drawing another black dot on the whiteboard. "You see, what we can do is allow the engines to feed the alien microbes into a reaction chamber and boil them to the point of natural breeding. This way, the cells will multiply and multiply, allowing us to use them in a much more efficient way," the black marker swooshed all over the board, drawing a crooked picture of the spaceship.
At least thirty pairs of eyes, seated in a conference room at NASA headquarters, stared into it with furrowed yet hopeful gazes. Yuki and Choso, among them, tried to understand the point you were making. The crazy discovery you had made mere hours earlier, before quickly asking for a meeting.
"Our ship doesn't need turbines, generators or heat exchangers, because there's no conventional fuel. It works as a sort of ship driven by light energy–"
"That's impossible," someone among the other scientists interrupted. "You cannot fuel a ship of such dimensions with light alone."
You nodded, whispering like a psycho under your breath, head buzzing with numbers. "Yes, you cannot do it with the sources we have here, on Earth. But," you turned back towards the whiteboard. "Our ship is not like the others, and the microbes allow us to actually use the light force as a fuel. Look, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law, we all know it, right?" A few heads nodded in unison. "Well, our ship will emit light in one direction, while Newton's law will push it in the other. I know it used to work only in theory, but with the amount of power packed into a single microbe, we can use it for our good. In short, the alien power goes into the ship, the light comes out, and we can move forward."
A long, heavy silence filled the room as you finished your little drawing. Black lines coated the board, crossing the black dots and twisting around the childishly drawn ship. You pushed your glasses up your nose and tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.
That was it. Nothing else could've been done on your side. If none of the scientists and governmental bodies believed your crazy plan could work, there was no other way to put the ship on a direct course towards that star.
Yuki sighed and looked around nervously. While people whispered, shook their heads, or took notes, no one offered you a warm nod or made direct eye contact. But it also seemed that no one else had a better idea.
"Are you sure it can work?" "Are you sure it can work?" Yuki asked, a heavy gaze lingering as warmth crept up your cheeks. "It's over a hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres. Are you sure the ship can be fuelled only by this alien microbe?"
Something weighed on your heart. Fear, panic, years spent believing you weren't good enough to become a real scientist. Those snickers from the PhD commission stating your research was useless. The rejections from one scientific conference after another, as no one wanted to accept your proposals.
Days spent on crying and staring at your dissertation, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it all worth it.
And then, under the cold light of the conference room, with thirty heads staring at you in blank mimicry, you needed to make a decision.
The one that would soon turn into a weight on your life.
"Yes," finally slipped. Strong and confident, as you corrected glasses slipping off your nose. "I can make it work."
But then…
But then the catastrophe came.
The betrayal.
Yuki apologising with utmost sincerity. Choso sitting quietly in the corner of her office. Three men keeping your body down.
From the moment you saw the space crew, one thought kept lingering in your mind. You dismissed it with a casual "they'll figure it out" wave, ignoring the instinct that indicated something was off – something that should have been clear from the start.
Why didn't the space crew have the scientist?
And a day before the departure, you finally discovered why.
"I'm sorry, I'm really so so sorry," Yuki said, trying to calm your wriggling body. The man's hands dug deep into your spine, keeping the hands and knees in place, with a cheek pressed to a dirty carpet. "We don't have any choice, and you wouldn't agree if I asked–"
"Of course I wouldn't!" you screamed, trying to bite the soft hand that reached towards you. "It's a fucking suicide! I'm a simple teacher; I can't go to a fucking space–ah, can you be a bit more gentle?!" But the men's fingers were already wrapping your hands with a thick rope. "Yuki, you can't do it to me!"
The woman didn't say anything. She merely opened her office door and beckoned someone inside. Wearing a white robe and holding a syringe between their fingers.
Your mind raced, breathing became almost impossible, and your throat clenched as you fought the sudden urge to vomit on the carpet. You tried to meet Choso's gaze, but he sat in the corner with his head in his hands, avoiding your gaze since you entered the office.
"Choso," you cried, as the doctor came closer. Long, thin needle shimmered under the office's cold lamp, sending a shiver down your spine. "Choso, l-look at me. You fucking coward, you bastard!" Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as the man sat like a stone figure. "You knew about it from the beginning, right? How could you do this to me?!"
Deep, warm eyes that you spent days gazing into finally looked up. Slightly wet, a bit hazy, while taking in the miserable state you found yourself in. Your glasses slightly crooked, lying a bit away from teary face. A few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, arms twisted painfully behind back.
His fingers dug into the leather chair, as if trying to force himself to stay back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't bring myself to tell you…"
"That I'm going for a fucking suicidal mission?!" you interrupted, still trying to kick the men off your body. "I thought we were friends! I trusted you! And you simply sold me away?"
Yuki shivered, her gaze shifting between coldness and heartbreaking warmth whenever she looked at your writhing body. She slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her jeans before giving the doctor a small nod.
"N-No," you cried, when the man in white bent down. A sudden, sharp pain washed over your body, tickling the ends of your fingertips. "Please, I d-don't want to, I can't…"
And then, a weariness slowly filled your mind, lulling it into a deep sleep. Your body relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if weighted by the countless sleepless nights you had spent in labs.
The men lifted you up, keeping your head steady, but you didn't feel a thing. Your feet felt funny, light, as if blending into feathers. Some hushed voices started to argue, someone's warm hand brushed your cheek, and a heavy, musky smell filled your nostrils.
And before you lost consciousness, a silent save the earth sneaked into your ear.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖
"Amazing," a low sigh slipped past your lips as you watched a massive ship slowly follow yours.
Monstrous, at least twenty times larger than the spaceship you called home for the past three years, which couldn't be contained within the small window you looked through. It appeared incredibly bright, almost as if it were made of glass, yet you couldn't see anything beyond the thick walls.
It's been shadowing you since yesterday, and it has been following you since yesterday, regardless of how long you travelled or how fast you went; it remained right there. Always in your line of sight from your window, constantly mirroring every move you make.
It was… fascinating. To say at least.
A little frightening? Sure, as you were alone on a ship, with the crew long gone and drifting silently through the vast emptiness of space.
Bit still – fascinating. It marked the first time a human saw an object outside Earth. Majestic and otherworldly, it looked somewhat familiar yet vastly different. A faint cosmic glow shimmered on its diamond-like walls, casting short beams through your solitary window, as if attempting to communicate. As if the creature within tried to contact.
Still drifting slowly, you bit down on your lower lip. "Maybe I should stop?" you thought out loud, as another flicker of light hit your window. "What if they'll attack me?"
But at this point, already being alone on an impossible, suicidal mission, it seemed that an alien attack would be the least of your problems. In fact, maybe it would even sweeten your life a bit, and before meeting death, you would still have a chance to make the first human contact with life outside Earth.
"Okay," You took a deep sigh, pulling down the engine handle. "Let's see what you want from me."
Your ship stopped, and the monstrous glassed vehicle followed right away. With your forehead pressed to the window, you waited.
And waited, waited, till ten minutes passed and the ship stood still. Your tongue pressed against the soft cheek as you walked back and forth, awaiting any sign of activity. Yet, the vast galaxy outside remained tranquil, a gentle glow reflecting off the smooth, wall-like surface of the enormous ship. It lacked doors and windows, being just a glassy, shimmering exterior that–
"Oh no," your throat tightened as it drew closer. And closer, closer, swooshing towards you, something long slowly sliding out of the ship's tall wall. "Oh, that's bad, fuck."
A panic squeezed your heart, thoughts rushed through a tired mind, and there weren't enough cuticles on your nails to bite them all. The window was too small to see the thing clearly, but it seemed to be heading straight towards your ship's door. A long, shining tube swooshed closer and closer until your ship suddenly vibrated, as if gently brushing against a foreign object.
Your fingers fidgeted with the plush fabric of the shirt, while droplets of sweat made your glasses slide down your temple. With unsteady legs, you cautiously moved toward the astronaut's suit and started pulling it over your body. The zipper felt heavy under your touch, and the bubble-shaped helmet was more suffocating than usual. The oxygen backpack almost doubled your load as you headed toward the door, with heavy pounding in your chest.
Your heart was always perfectly healthy, and yet for the first time in your life, you tried to remember all the possible symptoms of a woman's heart attack.
Chest pain, severe shortness of breath, nausea, radiating pain in the neck and jaw, you counted in your mind, marking each and every sign in your current state.
"Fuck, okay," trembling, glove-coated hands squeezed the handle of the massive, metal door, before you pushed it. It opened with a low, soft creek, inviting you into the endless tunnel filled with darkness.
To your surprise, gravity worked here, and thus you dropped heavily onto the hard floor. A soft oh filled the helmet as you lifted the flashlight a bit higher. Something shimmered at the end of the darkness, yet you weren't sure what.
Your steps didn't echo from the thick walls as you slowly approached the entrance to the alien ship. Thoughts clashed painfully in your mind, questions rose one by one as you breathed with a squeezed chest under the weighty kilograms of a spacesuit.
How many of them were there?
What did they look like?
Were they friendly?
How quick and painful would your death be?
Your mind tried to ignore the last one, as the chance of a cardiac arrest before meeting an alien seemed much more likely. Fingers clutched the flashlight tighter, feet moved carefully, one step after another, sticking to the tunnel's crooked surface.
"Hello?" Your voice bounced off the walls, lined with terror. "Whoever you are, I come in peace!"
Oh, what a cheesy line, you thought, biting down on your lower lip.
After a few steps, the glimmering thing came fully into view, and only then did you notice it was a thick glass wall. Or at least something similar to glass, with a hard surface that stopped you from going any further.
Glove-clothed hand touched it, helmet bumped against it, as you tried to light the darkness spilling behind it.
"Hello?" slipped a bit louder, with your fist knocking on the glass. "Anyone there?"
A silence, dull and endless, filled an eerie tunnel. Looking back, you took a note that your spaceship was still there – safe and sound – and you let out a deep sigh. It's not as if it would suddenly float away, but–
A heavy thump suddenly shook the tunnel's floor.
Your head snapped back, breath hitched, fingers squeezed with a tremble around the flashlight.
"H-Hello?"
The light reflected off something towering and shimmering, slowly moving toward you in a relaxed, unhurried manner, nearly as tall as the tunnel itself. A bluish halo beamed off the creature's body, filling the dark space with a soft aura.
You stepped back, trying to direct a flickering beam straight at the thing coming your way, but your hand trembled too much. The heart was on the verge of stopping, and dread haunted the mind as it drew closer, revealing its height. At least two and a half metres, brushing the ceiling of the tunnel's crooked walls, filling the narrow space with its wide body.
And when the light caught on their face… oh.
The pale blue skin shimmered softly under a luminous glow. It appeared unnaturally smooth, soft, and a sudden, foolish wish to brush it with your thumb swirled inside your mind. White, snowy hair touched the handsome forehead, while nearly inhumanly pale-blue eyes gazed down at your spacesuit-covered body. You looked tiny and short in comparison, with a gloved hand once more resting on the glass wall.
The creature was dressed in a white suit, clinging tightly to its body and digging deep into the hard muscles bulging under its skin. Alien's head tilted, knees bent down, and within a second, it found itself on eye-level with you.
White lashes decorating endless, luminous blue fluttered, as if trying to take in the terror twisting your face.
"⊑⟒⌰⌰⍜," a low, manly voice crept past the glass.
Your eyes bulged like two porcelain plates, fingers pressed closer to the wall.
So he was a man.
Well, you could already figure that much based on his looks, but the warm tone slipping under your bubble helmet was evidence enough.
Your mind didn't register the language at first, but when his soft brow travelled up, and lips curled in a smile, you thought that maybe he was awaiting an answer.
"Oh, um," you took a step back, waving your hand clumsily. "Hello."
The creature's head tilted again, and he mimicked your gesture.
You blinked twice, still struggling to believe the situation you're in. "Uh, okay, what now?" you whispered. "I am..." You pointed at your head and said your name clearly and loudly. "What about you?"
"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the creature said, and a wave of different sounds and tones once again hit your ears.
You sighed, pressing tongue against your cheek. "Right, it's not going to work."
He looked at you, and you looked at him. You, with a slightly furrowed forehead and your mind rushing through all the possible ways to communicate with the alien. He, with lips curled cheekily and pale eyes fixed on your face.
"I wouldn't mind your cooperation, you know?" you mumbled, but he tipped his head left and right, like a curious puppy.
"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the same sounds once again slipped past the glass wall.
His head was tipping and tilting, and a second had passed before you finally understood that he wanted to say something.
"What? I don't understand," you said, mimicking his movements.
And thus both of you were shaking and tilting your heads, going over and over the same ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒,and I don't understand.
His brows furrowed as if irritated, and large hand touched his chest. He took a deep breath – first and second – then pointed at his head and finally at yours.
Oh.
"You want me to..." you gestured as if removing the helmet. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and eyes glinted. "But I can't breathe here."
He didn't understand and thus pointed at your head once again. "⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎎⎎."
Your head shook. "Whatever you say, I cannot take it off. Because I will…" Your hands slipped up to your throat before a wave of trembling convulsions bent your body. It wriggled, shook, before, with a theatrical cough, you fell down the crooked floor.
The creature was staring at you with a furrowed forehead and a gentle flicker of amusement coiling in his spectral eyes.
"Not the best first impression, I know," you muttered, swiftly standing up. "My point is, I can't breathe without it."
But it seemed he either didn't understand or was simply relentless in his pleadings. As the long fingers hit the glass wall, pointing right at your head. Another deep breath slipped past his lips, and he nodded, as if trying to say it was fine. Whatever he filled the tunnel with, you could breathe here.
And thus, the thought of what if slipped quietly into your mind.
What if he was right?
What if he really did fill your half of the tunnel with oxygen?
But what if he was wrong, and the moment the helmet would go off, you would die in inhumane suffering?
Light blue eyes shone with anticipation, lips curled into an encouraging smile, and a finger pressed harder into the glass wall.
You took a deep breath, feeling the droplets of sweat coiling at the nape of your neck. He seemed to be a highly intelligent creature, with the ability to communicate as well as you and a rather comprehensive understanding of the differences between your species. For some reason, trusting him felt almost natural, and the assuring look of his spectral gaze made you drop your head with a sigh.
When fingers hooked on the helmet's edges, your heart was nearing its death. Chest squeezed painfully, eyes closed till the eyelids dug deep into your balls. The sweat was now dripping down your spine, wetting the nape of your neck and shirt that clung to your body under the heavy spacesuit.
"Okay," you whispered, both to yourself and him, and it seemed that he was rather amused by the agony twisting your mind. When he chuckled, your brows furrowed. "Don't laugh. There's a rather big chance this air will burn me from the inside."
And so it happened – your fingers slowly unclasped the neck ring, allowing the pressurised seal to loosen with a soft puf. The bubble helmet was lifted unhurriedly, as if your lungs were still trying to grasp the rest of the oxygen swirling inside it.
With still closed eyes, you took the first breath. And the second, and the third, and then, looking back at the alien, a sweet, loud scoff slipped past your lips, and flushed cheeks.
"⌇⟒⟒, ⟟ ⏁⍜⌰⎅ ⊬⍜⎍," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to the glass wall.
Still in shock, you stepped closer, also touching the warm, crystal surface with your brows. "Sure, whatever you say."
You looked at each other for a while, with beaming smiles and foreheads almost brushing as you leaned in, a rather intimate gesture. It seemed that the first meeting with another species broke down some specific walls for both of you. The curiosity and fascination with one another blurred the lines of proper manners, breaching all the careful first steps you surely should think of.
His eyes flickered, suggesting a new idea had just come to him. He raised a finger and gestured for you to stay put. After your gentle nod, he vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving you alone with your thoughts swirling in your mind.
Five minutes passed, then ten, and as you sat on the crooked floor and took off the heavy spacesuit, he finally came back, with something gripped by his hand.
You looked closer, noticing the collar-like device and a small earplug. He placed it inside his ear while wrapping the collar around the pale neck. A faint, crispy sound filled his side of the tunnel, and milky brows furrowed as he pressed onto the device in his ear.
And then, with a gesture, he asked you to say something.
"Um," your head tilted, and he sat right in front of you, waiting with a soft smile. "You are rather pretty for an alien."
His fingers still pressed the small device, and after a second, cheekiness flickered in his eyes. "Am I, question? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."
To say you froze in shock would be an understatement.
Your lips parted, eyebrows nearly touching hairline, as body leaned forward before your hand pressed against the glass wall. You didn't know whether you were more surprised by either his ability to speak your language or the casual compliment that caused your cheeks to heat up.
"You can…" You shook your head, barely breathing. "But how is it…"
He pointed at his ear. "This device recognises your language," then gestured to his neck. "And connects with this. Whenever I speak in my language, this collar converts it into yours."
A soft ah slipped past your lips, eyes fixed on the thin, crystal band made of a sort of rubber material. Your finger brushed the glass wall, as if trying to feel the device beneath it.
Your brows furrowed when another issue started to bite into your curiosity. "But how do you know my language? How did you build this translator? Our species never made contact."
He sat closer, pressing his forehead to the glass again. At this point, you started to wonder whether it was a sort of typical signal from his species, carrying a special, unknown meaning. And when he beamed with joy, you noticed little white droplets shining faintly, sprinkled around his cheeks. Was this an equivalent of a blush?
"You didn't with us," he pressed a finger to yours, and only then did you see the true, monstrous size of his hand. "But the Reds had been studying you for years."
The reds…
"Oh gosh!" A gasp ripped out of your throat as you covered your mouth with a hand. His head tilted. "The Reds, you mean, Martians?"
"Why are you shocked, question?" he asked, carefully eyeing as you quickly stood up and started walking back and forth between the walls.
Your mind pulsed, trying to comprehend everything that had happened over the past hour. The strange spaceship, the first-ever human contact with life beyond Earth, the final confirmation that aliens did, in fact, kidnap people and conduct experiments on them.
"I'm shocked, because humans never made any contact with life outside our planet," you said, biting down on a fingernail. "How long have you known the Reds?"
A low hum slipped past his lips, and smooth, blue forehead creased. "Five hundred years, I say."
"What?!" Your knees buckled as you once again sat in front of him, with hands and forehead and breasts pressed tightly to a glass wall. "Five hundred years? How is that possible? Are your planets close to each other?"
His head shook, but forehead remained wrinkled. "Humans are very underdeveloped."
You chuckled softly, noticing small, adorable language mistakes the translator made here and there. It's still, robotic voice muffled the creature's deep tone, and something squeezed your heart, as you surprisingly discovered that the honeyed warmth of his tone wrapped your mind in a rather pleasing manner.
"Yes, it seems so." Your head turned, with flushed cheeks pressed to the wall. "But till now I had no idea how far behind we are."
He stayed quiet for a moment before tapping gently on the wall. Your eyes slipped back to his, noticing the droplets sprinkled across his face, radiating adorably like flickering stars.
"My name is Satoru," rolled quietly, as the shimmering dust coated his cheeks ever wider. "Your name, question?"
When you said it slowly, he nodded, still tapping on the surface. Right against your pressed hand. "That's a very beautiful name."
"Yours is not bad either."
He hummed, as if in agreement.
Your head grew heavier and heavier, and the warmth was gently trying to coax you into sleep. As you yawned, Satoru's ghostly eyes carefully followed the exhaustion clouding your forehead.
"Are you tired, question?"
His throat bobbed when you giggled. "You don't have to add a question at the end of each ask, you know?"
You assumed that, because of his grammar rules, he needed to emphasise the difference between normal sentences and inquiries. You've noticed that his language sounded much more melodic than yours, yet it lacked the upward pitch humans use.
"But I am tired, thank you for asking." Looking over your shoulder, you've noticed that your ship was, fortunately, still there. "How about I go to sleep, and we'll get back to our talk in a few hours?"
You slowly stood up and grabbed your heavy spacesuit. Glasses slipped off your nose, and hair stuck to still-warm cheeks, as you lifted up the flashlight and… oh.
It seemed that you missed the sudden sorrow deepening between Satoru's brows. Eyes widened in panic, big palms plastered to the wall with lips just slightly opened, as he looked with a fearful expression at your attempt to move away from the wall. From him.
"Satoru–"
"Can you please sleep here?" His voice trembled, although the translator's robotic tone remained unwavering.
You looked around the tunnel, feeling the crooked ground bending beneath your feet and the dark walls emitting a deep, earthy smell. "I don't think that's a good idea, Satoru." A warm smile lifted your lips as you turned towards your spaceship. "But don't worry, I'll be back. Sleep for a bit, and before you'll notice, I'll–"
"Please," the anxiety filling his shaken voice stabbed right through your heart. "Please let me watch you sleep."
You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him in the same position. With hands pressed against the wall and eyebrows furrowed deeply.
"Watch me sleep?"
He nodded. "I… I didn't watch my crew sleep. The crew died. Satoru has been alone for the past forty years." Your lips fell open, but he quickly added, as if afraid you'd refuse again. "I watch you sleep, you won't die."
Seeing his face – filled with anxiety, pure fear, and misery – you could only smile softly and nod. As the mere thought of this man spending over forty years in space all alone tore your heart apart in the most inhumanely painful way.
"Yes, okay," barely pushed past your lips, before you cleared your throat. "Just let me bring my stuff."
You quickly changed into pyjamas, gathered a few blankets, a pillow and enough water for the night, before going back to the warm tunnel.
And then, as you drew closer to the glassy wall, you noticed a slight change in its shape. As during the five minutes you were gone, Satoru had prepared a special shelf for your body to lie right next to him. With his own feather-like blanket, he lay on his side, waiting for you to slip into the long space and hug him.
You giggled, filling the space with your own things. "That's quite intimate, Satoru."
His body was much taller than the width of the tunnel, and thus, he curled his legs a bit before trying to get even closer to you. "What does intimate mean, question?"
With head hitting the soft pillow and blanket covering your body, you turned his way. Nothing but a thick crystal wall kept you away from brushing noses with each other.
"It means that you're trying to be romantic with someone," but then you thought he might also not understand what romantic means. "Hm, it's when you do nice things for a certain person that you wouldn't do for anyone else. For example, make a special bed to be closer to someone."
A soft crease wrinkled his forehead, and the peacefulness of his eyes told you that he was deeply thinking. "I wouldn't do it for anyone other than you."
The sincerity beaming from his eyes was enough to assure you of the innocent truthfulness of his words. So you sighed, nuzzling deep into the pillow, hoping he didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.
"That's very romantic, you know? Something you would say to your special someone."
"To your mate, question?"
You hummed, softly closing eyes. His presence somehow made your body tingle with a pleasant warmth, allowing the sleep to haunt your mind in a much softer, calmer way. In a way, you didn't feel for a long, long time, spending days in loneliness and a maddening need to feel someone else's warmth again.
You couldn't feel Satoru's heat, yet your heart fluttered fondly as his gaze truly watched you sleep.
"Yes, although humans don't mate."
"Why, question?"
When you giggled – sweetly, kindly – droplets coating Satoru's cheeks lighted up. Solely for a second, but it was enough to make him slip closer, and closer, and closer, till the glass wall was digging painfully into his body, and his heart still rushed your way.
You bubbled something under your nose. An answer he could not hear. With your lips falling open and a crystal string of saliva dripping down the soft pillow.
His finger pressed against the glass, as if wishing to brush it away.
And when another five minutes passed, a soft snoring filled your side of the tunnel. Breath calmed down, and body drew closer to his. Trying to curl into his – big, burning hot, utterly dangerous for yours.
"I watch you sleep," he whispered, brushing the glass with your pressed cheek. "You never die."
𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖
Satoru was much more intelligent than you expected.
It's not that you treated him as beneath you, but the true power of his mind exceeded your expectations.
And as it turned out, he was in the same situation as you – researching the alien microbes that were also eating his sun. Except that his species discovered the problem forty years before yours, and thus a wave of panic washed over your mind. Because if a creature like Satoru couldn't find the solution to the problem that apparently touched not just Earth but the whole universe, you wouldn't do it either.
One difference between you and Satoru was that, as an engineer, he could actually do things himself. Simply produce them, with all the glassed walls and tiny models of planets made from a strange, gluey substance that rolled off his fingers. He wasn't a scientist like you, so when he heard that you were the "brain" of the crew, his eyes flickered.
"We can work together," he proposed, already considering the path to the only planet not consumed by alien microbes. Since it wasn't infected, it suggested there was something in its atmosphere that enabled it to withstand the lethal bacteria. "You will be the mastermind of the entire operation, I will develop the sources. Also, I have spent forty years here, so I know how to navigate."
His eyes were fixed on creating another little planet, rolling the gluey strings between his pads, moulding them into a ball and waiting until the substance dried into a crystal orb. After a few days, your glassy wall had advanced enough to have a small opening for a shelf where you could exchange little presents.
Although you forgot that Satoru's atmosphere was close to boiling lava in temperature, when your hands accidentally brushed, a nasty, red bump was left on the skin of your thumb.
He put the ball on the shelf and moved his hand away so you could grab it.
"Which planet is it?" you wondered, brushing the crystal surface.
He tsked – something he learnt from you mere hour ago – and mumbled. "The earth, of course."
A scoff escaped your lips, and warmth spilt over the heart. "We're not that small."
"I believe you are."
"And we have more greenery."
He wondered, this time building a small spaceship. Your spaceship. "I would like to see it."
Some things have become clearer after spending the past few days in Satoru's presence. His planet was one of the closest to the sun, wrapped in a dense atmosphere that protected its inhabitants from being burned alive. As Satoru said, the days merged with the nights, and it was always rather dark – hence the pale, almost spectral eyes he and other inhabitants had. There was little to no greenery, and the water system had long been sustained by technologies developed by engineers like him.
"A lot of sand", he once said, and you wondered whether it would look like anything close to the climate of Arab countries.
His head tilted then, and eyes flickered with curiosity. "How do Arab countries look, question?"
You tried to describe the endless desert plains, the crimson sun, the curling droplets of sweat on your neck, and the nights filled with beaming joy as best you could. The feel of warm sand under your feet, sea brushing the skin sweetly and fresh dates melting on your tongue in sugary pleasure.
He listened, with eyes following the curve of your lips and fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.
"I would love to see it," he muttered, poking the glass wall with his finger. "It sounds beautiful."
You giggled, following the pale blue of his skin. Soft and shiny, it reminded you more of a region bitten by cold than of the merciless atmospheric temperature of over two hundred degrees Celsius.
"You're rather pale for someone living right next to the sun."
He scoffed, with fingers still creating the small spaceship. In the meantime, you leaned against the crooked tunnel's wall, with a laptop on your thighs, trying to plan the route towards the only "safe" planet.
"I'm not pale. I'm blue."
"That was a joke," you shoot him a glance, seeing the irritated squint of his eyes. "It means that the thing I say is supposed to be funny. You should laugh."
A low, awkward chuckle rolled off his lips, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Satoru knew how to express his joy, but it seemed he didn't quite possess the humour you did.
The moment has passed, and a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you. He was mapping the galaxy, while you tried to work out whether your ship still had enough fuel to travel that far. It would take you months to reach that planet, but there seemed to be no other choice. After that mission, the fuel will run out, and you, just as planned, will die here – somewhere in the embrace of endless space.
A low sigh slipped past your lips, catching Satoru's attention. "Are you tired, question?"
Your head shook, and a few strands of hair fell loosely from a pinup. "I would love to invite you to my ship. There's a room where we can watch movies and stuff. I'm sure I can find something about Egypt."
And so…
You've also learned over the past few days that Satoru took everything seriously.
In the most genuine and firm understanding of this word.
Two weeks have passed since your meeting. One morning, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but panties and a loose shirt while brushing your teeth, a deep, gravelly rumble shook the entire spaceship.
Your heart leapt into your throat, eyes bulged, and you dashed out of the room with wet hair and bare feet. With all the prayers you've learnt as a child repeating in your mind over and over again, as you run towards the entrance of the ship.
Did you somehow get unsealed from the tunnel?
Did something hit the ship and cause the irreparable damage that would cost you your life?
Fuck, did–
But when you finally got into the room connected with an entrance, with toothpaste smeared all over your cheek and glasses falling crookedly off your nose, a low gasp slipped past your lips.
"Satoru?!"
Because the pale-bluish creature himself stood in the middle of your spaceship, locked in a…
"And you're in a ball?" Like a hamster, wanted to join, but he probably wouldn't know what a hamster is.
Standing right in front of you, fully upright, with long legs wrapped in a white suit and a muscular back bulging under the stretched material – he appeared even more monstrous than usual. A creature over two metres tall, looking all over your place with amusement shining in his eyes, his gaze following all your dirty panties spread across the floor.
"Yep, so I won't die in your atmosphere," long fingers knocked the crystal ball, before lips curved in a cheeky smile. "Can I smell it, question? I want to know how your body smells. Put it to the shel–"
A sudden warmth had hit your cheeks, and throat tightened around the remnants of the toothpaste. "Absolutely not! It's very not polite of you to ask such things."
He started walking around in a large ball that barely fit the corridors of your spaceship, its hard walls brushing against each and every machine, piece of furniture, and console on its way. He strolled freely, dropping different comments here and there, while you followed him and picked up all your clothes.
"So dirty," he snapped, pushing a loud scoff from your throat.
"I didn't expect the guests!"
But he ignored you, as your bedroom appeared somewhere within the line of his sight. Blue cheeks shone with crystal droplets, and white, fluffy hair almost stood on end with excitement. Before you could stop him, long legs swiftly moved towards your bedroom, taking in every little, dirty, detail – more panties, a small mattress, a few books lying scattered all over the floor.
"Is that our nest, question?" He looked around before parking his ball next to your mattress. He sat down, leaning against the floor, and finally shot you a look. "I like it."
With a deep, weariness-filled sigh, you returned to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and re-entered the bedroom. Soft light reflected off the glistening droplets on his cheeks as he probed the fabric of your panties with his finger. Only then did you realise that the ball, despite being firm, was quite flexible, enabling him to slide his fingers through its surface, which was covered in a sticky, shimmering coating that shielded his skin from the oxygen.
You took the material away from his curious gaze and pushed it back into your bag.
"Satoru, what are you doing here?" slipped rather harshly as you sat down on your bed.
He seemed to be confused by your tone, tilting the fluffy head with a furrow. "Are you mad, question?"
You knew that getting angry with him, while he was still learning to recognise human emotions, was silly. Stupid, even, and you felt as if you were shouting at the poor puppy. Except that this puppy was much taller than you and probably weighed twice your weight.
With a sigh, you fell back on the mattress and covered your face with an arm. "Sorry, I'm not mad. Just… surprised. I didn't expect you would come up my ship."
He tried to roll closer, but the space was too small to allow him any other movements than going back and forth from the entrance to your mattress. So he stayed in place, trying to observe the expression on your face.
"I can't see you like that," he noted.
Another thing you've learnt about his species was how important contact and intimacy are. Not even sexual ones, but rather a simple need to always be with someone. To communicate while looking right into their eyes, to feel their skin on theirs, and to follow the movements of their lips. To feel the presence of another creature next to them, even if the only thing you did was sleep next to each other.
So another sorry slipped past your lips, and you sat again, showing Satoru your face. He slightly lightened up before pressing a hand to the crystal ball.
"You said, and I quote, I would love to invite you to my ship," he noted with utmost seriousness, and you rolled your eyes. "So I came."
Well, he was right. You did say that, and you did wish there were a way to bring him into your ship. Travelling together would be much easier if both of you were on one ship, so amidst the pure chaos and shock he caused, you quite enjoyed the fact that he could live here.
With you.
"Okay," your hand pressed to the ball, filling half of his palm. "But we need to set up some rules first. First, we don't sleep in the same bedroom–"
"But I must watch–"
"Satoru," you interrupted him, seeing the pale eyes slip into the sorrowfulness. "You have excellent hearing and even more excellent sight. I'm sure you can watch me sleep while staying next door." A grim twisted his face, and a low mumble filled his little bubble. Too quiet for the translator to catch, so you chuckled sweetly, seeing his brattiness surface. "Okay. The second rule – you can't sniff my panties. It's something… reserved only for mates."
And, well, if that didn't fire him up – with eyes suddenly beaming in excitement and droplets twinkling one by one, like a tiny mingling stars. You felt as if you had challenged him, and thus quickly added. "And because we are not mates, you cannot do it. It's too intimate."
"I want to be intimate."
A sudden flush hit your cheeks, and warmth spread beneath your chest. "No, Satoru, you don't understand. It's about sexual intimacy. Something you share while…" saying it out loud felt like giving a biology lesson to elementary school kids. "Mating… with your special someone. When you, well, have sex and stuff. Do you know–"
He chuckled low, a sly smile lifting his lips. "I know what mating is."
Something in your lower belly bubbled, seeing him like that. Tall and strong, spreading a slightly possessive and dominating aura. With eyes full of bratty cheekiness and something, something, slightly sensual dripping from his voice.
"Well, so you know that we can't do it," You moved back, taking your palm away from the crystal ball. "Let's work on our plan and try to find a way to save the world."
And with a slight dissatisfaction, Satoru finally agreed.
But the next months spent in his presence were… interesting. To say at least.
Every day brought new surprises, which sometimes ended with your body blushing from head to toes, sometimes him getting shy and flustered, while still trying to keep up the cocky demeanour.
He was nothing less than excellent when it came to engineering and helping with the travel itself, also being an amazing companion for the long, daring journey.
Soon he resigned from constant stay in a ball and filled the interior of your spaceship with long corridors of crystal, making himself at home. Whenever you were – he was right next. Be it a bedroom, control room, kitchen or…
"Satoru!" You quickly covered your breasts with your hands, seeing him walking into the bathroom with the most casual demeanour.
A plate of some weird substance, he was always eating for supper, and a white suit half unzipped, showing off his muscular, blue chest. He leaned against the door, spectral eyes slowly following your naked body. From legs up to hips, staying longer on the gentle swell of your ass and the mould of your pussy, before going up, and up, to the breasts covered by your trembling fingers. "Sweetheart is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."
"Sweetheart" because he really wished to call you something human pairs use for each other. Even though at least three times a week, you needed to remind him that you, in fact, were not a pair.
A muffled, surprised scoff escaped your lips. You pointed to the exit with one hand, forgetting it was clutching one of your breasts. When the silky swell smoothly slipped from your grasp, bouncing gently before his eyes, he moved closer, already pushing a finger through the stretching wall.
"Can I–"
You smacked it, once again showing the exit. "Satoru! You can't walk on me while I'm naked."
"Why, question?" he asked, relentlessly trying to get closer to your body. With a finger poking the wall, that unfortunately couldn't stretch enough to even brush your skin. "Come a bit closer."
Something in your belly bubbled, warmth spread across your chest, and a single, dirty thought of letting him touch you bloomed in your mind. After all, sexual needs and anatomy were among the things all researchers wished to know about foreign species. And because Satoru was of the same, curious kind as you…
"It's too early, out!"
His head tilted, and lips curved into a foxy smile. "It's eight in the evening."
"No, I mean, we're not close enough to do such stuff."
He knocked on the crystal wall. "Sweetheart, but I can't get closer."
Oh god.
You sighed, finally letting the other tit bounce softly too. Leaning against the small shelf, you glanced at him with a frown. He, however, looked anywhere but into your eyes. Rude.
"Our relationship is not on that level…" yet. "What you want to do is too intimate. Sexual." And then, a sudden curiosity spiked your mind. "Satoru, how does the… mate thing look like among your species?"
His eyes finally slipped up to yours. "We choose one mate for a whole life."
Well, that was rather clear.
"What about the, you know…" You gestured awkwardly, partially at your still naked body.
"The mating," he finished. But as if feeling the spike in your curiosity, with round eyes ogling his naked chest and slipping shyly towards his hips, he bubbled a low chuckle. "Come closer, and I will show you."
What a brat!
With the last tsk and a dirty look shot his way, you turned back towards the mirror and finished your quick, morning "shower". Even while using rinseless soap and water pouches to clean your body, you still felt Satoru's presence behind you.
Deep blue eyes following the curve of your body, back muscles working beneath the soft skin, and when you bent over to rinse your face, a sudden, sharp breath escaped his throat.
You didn't have to look back to know that he was looking straight at your pussy.
"It's wet," he mumbled, coming closer. And closer, until his finger once again tried to evade the stretching wall, too short to even brush the swell of your ass.
You hummed, trying to hide an embarrassed warmth kissing your neck. "It's a natural lubrication. It usually happens when a woman is…" oh fuck it. "Excited."
He seemed charmed, completely bewitched, and some part of you wished the temperature between your bodies wasn't over two hundred degrees Celsius. As the moment Satoru's hands touched your skin, you weren't sure whether calling it the third burn would be enough.
"Why is sweetheart excited, question?"
With your body leaning forward and hands resting on the shelf, you looked back, eyes slightly hazy, wetness dripping down your thigh. A silken droplet swirled down your leg, and Satoru's always oh-so-attentive eyes, of course didn't miss it.
"I want the taste," he mumbled, and only then did you notice a bulge, trying to rip free from beneath the white spacesuit covering his hips.
You took a deep breath, bending yourself lower and lower, till he could clearly see your cunt shining with silky wetness.
"I'm excited," you started, voice dripping with sensuality. "Because of you."
As if awaiting this exact answer, his eyes, for just a second, ripped themselves away from your soft pussy and looked up. To cross with yours – slightly teary, a bit too warm.
"I want to–"
You turned around, once again leaning against the shelf. A low groan escaped his throat, as he no longer could see your pussy in its fullness. The little pout twisting his lips made you giggle, but a tricky, dirty thought has slipped into your mind.
"How about this?" You took a step, then another, until you stood right in front of him. Much closer than before, but not close enough to let him brush your skin. "I will let you touch me. Watch me…" You coughed, feeling this wind of bravery leave your body as quickly as it had come. "Masturbate. And you'll let me do it too."
Satoru's lips fell open, eyes sparkled in excitement. "I thought the intimacy was only for mates. Are we mates then, question?"
"Let's call it friend with benefits."
His eyes narrowed. "We don't do such things with friends."
You scoffed, pushing your hip to the side and biting the inside of your cheek. "Well, we do, so you can either accept it or not."
And seeing that this time his bratty stubbornness wouldn't work, Satoru nodded.
A few minutes later, you found yourself in the most embarrassed, going-straight-to-the-grave position you could imagine. With elbows supporting your body on the bedroom's mattress, legs spread open, and pussy pressed against the crystal wall. The slippery juices coated the surface, making Satoru breathe much, much harder than before. With fingers wrapped around the biggest, most monstrous cock you've ever seen.
You needed a moment to take in the sight that sprang up in front of your eyes after he took off the rest of the suit. Massive, veiny shaft, with a swelled protrusion at his base, probably used while mating. The blue skin was peppered with similar droplets sprinkled on his cheeks, and shimmered faintly whenever he looked down at your cunt.
Small and fluttering, with your hole squeezing around nothing and clit swelled from excitement.
The penetrative gaze of his made you warm up even more. "Satoru, touch me," slipped like an order.
His long finger brushed the crystal wall and pushed – gently, carefully, till he felt a soft button under his pad and heard a low moan escape your lips.
He dreamed of feeling the gummy structure of your pussy. To roll the clit between his fingers, without any surface protecting his body. To lower himself down and smell, lick, taste the dripping cum that in his mind was sweeter than anything he had ever tried.
And it should be noted that he had quite refined taste buds.
His other hand pumped his massive cock in slow strokes, enjoying the sight spreading in front of him much more than the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the dripping shaft.
"Does it feel good, question?" He asked, hearing another moan fill the small bedroom.
"Y-yeah, ahh, try to make gentle circles," slipped faintly, as you started to roll nipples between your fingers.
His thumb pressed against your clit harder, making your feet curl and legs spread even wider. As if trying to invite his massive cock, that would surely rip you in half.
Maybe the fact that you couldn't touch each other wasn't that bad. Because if he somehow found a way to fuck you with this size, you sure would feel it up in your throat.
And thus you enjoyed the sight spreading in front of your eyes – his beefy thighs bulging whenever you jolted under his thumb, pearly cum dripping down the blue skin, long fingers squeezing the veiny meat as he still oh-so-carefully rubbed your clit.
"It's getting wetter," he noticed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I want to taste you."
His low voice made your body melt under his fingers, forcing your thighs to spread wider and wider, while chasing the pleasure bubbling in your belly. Your hole fluttered around nothing, and a sheer sight of his cock spun your mind in crazy wish to get yourself stretched around it. To feel every vein scratch your tight walls, till the drenched head would kiss your swelling womb.
"Fuck, wait, I have an idea," you backed out, crawling towards your bag.
Crazy, stupid, nasty plan slipped into your head, as you took out a mid-size, creamy dildo. With a sucking pad at the end, and a slightly curved head. It wasn't yours, as you somehow found it among the things… oh well, does it really matter? It was clean and had been bathed in antiseptic spray multiple times; thus, using it was not disgusting at all.
But when Satoru saw it, his breath hitched. Eyes slipped down to his cock, and forehead furrowed. "Why is it so small, question?"
You chuckled, sticking it to the crystal wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's the average size of a human's dick."
He followed your body as you once again spread your legs open and brushed the silicone cock through your folds a few times. Drenching it all in your juices, and Satoru, since learning the meaning of jealousy, felt something unpleasant bubble in his heart. Because he wished to be the one making your pussy flutter around his head and push it inside, till your sugary walls would clamp around his fat cock.
Your forehead furrowed, eyes glistened from prickling tears as his thumb once again landed on your clit. But this time, the pleasure was twice as intense. With a silicone dick stretching your tight pussy and his finger rubbing you in slow, maddening circles.
"I could make you feel better," he groaned, hearing another pitched moan slip past your lips. "This pathetic thing is now worthy to be inside my sweetheart."
With rising irritation, he pressed your clit harsher. Till a tremble washed over your body and back hit the mattress, as you rolled your cunt to feel the dildo go deeper. But Satoru was right – his cock would indeed make you feel better.
Your hands slipped up to your breasts, pinching the hard buds and chasing the maddening pleasure bubbling in your lower belly.
A deep frown creased Satoru's forehead, and he gently squeezed your clit. "I can't see your face."
"R-right, sorry–ahhh," A cry rolled off your tongue as you once again leaned on your elbows. "Satoru, it feels so good, mhmm."
His cock was more flushed than before, with a cherry tip spilling the heavy, thick droplets all over his hand. He pumped it madly, never once taking his eyes off your lovely face. With pleasure twisting your brows and teary eyes fixed upon his.
"S-Satoru, I, fuck, I'm going to cum," the silicone cock kissed your cervix, smooching it wetly with hefty, gluey cum sipping from your hole.
You tried to imagine getting split open on his cock. Being filled by his cum, with creamy saps stuffing your swelling womb and pumping your belly full. Getting manhandled by his muscular arms and wide back, as he would fold you into a mating press and push into the mattress. Till each and every spring would painfully dig into your spine.
So with a final cry, you came.
With a loud cry, spine arching into the sweetest curve, and a sprinkling of sweetness gushing all over his thumb, although it was a true pity that he couldn't feel it. Your body trembled and lips fell open, seeing a furrow cloud his forehead and fingers tightening around his cock.
And then, an idea slipped quietly into your mind.
"Wait a minute, don't cum yet," you muttered, taking a pair of panties lying on your bed. With a single, dirty move, you rubbed them against your drenched folds, gathering all the creamy cum and honeyed sweetness.
Satoru… dear heavens.
When a flimsy material landed inside the shelf, quite similar to the one he installed in a tunnel, Satoru's fingers snapped forward and snatched it. He brought it closer to his nose, lips, feeling your precious wetness and the rich flavour burst right onto his tongue, as a low, primal groan escaped his throat.
"Mhmm, s-so, ahh, tastes so sweet," a muffled cry was almost incomprehensible with your panties filling his mouth.
The head of his cock pulsed, massive balls constricted whenever his tongue took another lick of your fresh cum and eyes… oh, eyes stayed on you.
On your breasts coated in sheer sweat, thighs still spread open and a little, minx smile twisting your lips. Satoru was sure he could cum only at the sheer sight of your angelic face, and thus, after a few more harsh pumps and muffled cries, he came. Loud and heavy, with creamy ropes shooting all over his glimmering skin and fully emptying everything he has been keeping far too long.
What a waste, you both thought, wishing it landed somewhere far, far sweeter and warmer. Deep inside your womb, preferably.
A moment has passed, with a small bedroom filled with your heavy breaths and shy glances, looking everywhere but at your cum-coated bodies. With a faint cough, you finally closed your thighs and covered yourself with a blanket.
Blooming loveliness crept up your cheeks, and suddenly looking at Satoru required far more courage and calm than it had merely thirty minutes ago.
Before you could ask whether he needed a towel, his low voice spoke first. "Are we mates now, question?"
He said sheepishly, lifting your panties with a finger.
You groaned and fell on a mattress with his chuckle tickling your burning ears.
You didn't want to destroy this moment, even though you knew your mission would end with you dying in space. That he would go back to his planet safely, while you would float and float and float, while eventually dying of hunger.
And so, sharing this sweet moment of intimacy, with warmth spreading beneath your chest, you nodded. "Yes, Satoru. Let's become mates."
𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖
The next few months were filled with nothing but joy.
With movies playing on repeat in the small, cinematic room, Satoru watches each of them with his lips agape. Enjoying the landscapes of Earth, you could project them into a closed space, with a blue sky spreading across the ceiling and tall Scottish plains stretching beneath your feet.
With the golden sand of Thai beaches shimmering in the sun and coconuts falling from the palms, the chirping of birds perched high in the lush trees of the Amazon Forest, and the endless plains of the Sahara Desert.
When you joked that the three pyramids in Giza you were just looking at were believed to have been built by aliens, he only hummed and nodded as if in agreement. A scoff rolled off your tongue, and his head snapped towards you.
"Why are you nodding? Of course they weren't!"
Plush, bluish lips curved in a sly smile. "Is sweetheart sure, question? It looks like something we have on our planet."
An unbelievable shock crossed your face as you stared at him, speechless. "No, you don't!"
"Yes, we do."
"You're fucking with me."
His head tilted. "I thought we can't fuck."
You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. Or at least against the crystal surface he was pressed against. "Forget it."
"I can't, my memory is excellent."
And that was indeed true, as Satoru seemed to remember every single thing you said or did over the past few months. The plan you devised to obtain a sample of the planet's atmospheric gas to discover why it was immune to deadly microbes was etched into his mind with meticulous precision.
Truly mesmerising creature he was, especially as he also remembered which buttons to push, to make you cum faster.
What you had also discovered was that Satoru loved to talk about your future.
Particularly during the late nights, when you were curled up under the warm blanket, lying on a mattress in a dimly lit room, with him cuddled up against your side.
He couldn't brush your soft cheek pressed against the wall, but it was fine.
For the look of your lovely face, he watched with warmth blooming in his chest, was enough.
On such nights, when both of you longed for each other's warmth, he enjoyed dreaming. Of you returning with him to his planet, building you a small, private island with oxygen, and fulfilling all your wishes. You teaching the children of his species physics – as you did on Earth – and him continuing to serve as the most valued engineer on his planet.
Of you and him living together in a small seaside cottage, spending days loving each other and lying on the soft beach till darkness would spill over the ocean's horizon – the only his planet had, the one he was ready to fully give into your hands. Having sex all day and night, to which you responded with a sweet, faint giggle, as sleep slowly slipped into your eyes.
"And how would we do it, hm?" you mumbled, pressing against the crystal wall.
A soft furrow haunted your forehead, and he imagined calming it with a gentle roll of his thumb. "The atmosphere of my planet allows us to use a special technique," through the glass wall, he traced the curve of your lips. "It wraps my body in a thin barrier, but I would be able to touch you," soft lips touched to the point where your nose pressed. "And kiss you. And hug you, make love with you, although we wouldn't have children."
You understood why and giggled softly, slowly opening your sleepy eyes to meet the endless, pale blue. "You really want to get even closer, huh?"
It was a joke, and yet a warmth bloomed behind his spectral eyes, forcing your heart to skip a beat. His hand pressed to the part where your chest met the wall, before he leaned his forehead against "yours". "If I could, I would make you live inside me. So nothing in this universe would ever rip us apart."
A faint oh rolled past your lips as you bit on the soft inside of your cheek. "Satoru, I don't know how long your species live, but… I don't have as much time as you think."
A sudden panic swelled behind his eyes, and thumb slipped out of the crystal wall to brush your lower lip. "My best friends have been mates for the past hundred and sixty years. How many can you give me, question?"
Something ripped through your heart. Cut it with painful slashes, till a crease on your forehead deepened. "Not a lot, Satoru. Maybe seventy years?"
His thumb paused, an ache spreading across the vast, pale blue plains. "I've lived three hundred years without you," he said, warm lips pressing into the wrinkle between your "brows". "I won't survive another seventy."
But the endless honeymoon couldn't last long.
For there was a reason why both of you found yourselves in space. Why the mission was tagged as suicidal, and why there wasn't enough fuel to get you back to Earth. And while Satoru's dreams indeed sounded tempting, you knew that it simply wouldn't work out.
For you breathed oxygen, and he needed ammonia gas.
Your body stayed cool at thirty-six degrees Celsius, while his was burning up to over two hundred.
He was three hundred years old – you twenty-seven.
But he didn't have to know all of that. Over the past twenty-seven years, no one had made you laugh, enjoy, and love life as much as he did. Even if those brief moments of happiness were only meant to last a few months, they were enough.
After the mission, he could go back safely to his home, and you… well.
And you would need to watch him die.
It was truly unpredictable, and none of you could foresee how the situation would turn out. You finally arrived on the planet, prepared to collect the necessary samples of the antidote. You didn't know, however, how dense its atmosphere would be.
How the wind would violently hit your ship, tossing it sharply left and right as you stepped outside in your spacesuit and carried Satoru's sampling device back onto the ship.
He told you to leave it. When you almost fell off the ship, he begged you to come inside. Hit the wall with hands, screamed right into the speaker inside your helmet, pleaded to leave the sample and just come back.
But you simply couldn't do it. Because leaving it here, after Satoru spent decades in space trying to seek the solution, would be simply foolish. Egoistic, and thus, after a few harsh currents, you grabbed the box filled with antidote cells and went back to the ship.
But then, it started spinning. And spinning and spinning, wish wind smacking it in violent currents, and you found it almost impossible to get back onto the normal route. Every single light inside the control room shimmered red. Satoru tried to calm you down, but there was nothing he could truly do from behind the glass wall.
You pushed and flickered every button, every controller, but after one sudden, brutal tug of the ship, your face hit the console.
Eyes filled with red, a nasty crack came from the nose, and the gaze became a bit hazy. You tried to push one last button that would help the ship get away from the planet's strong current, but you were simply too weak. With blood slowly covering your whole face and belts still pinning you to the chair.
Satoru shouted something, but you couldn't hear him clearly. Was it because of the red lamps and an alarm filling the control room? Or maybe because of the sudden sleepiness that blanketed your eyelids?
His fists hit the glass wall, spreading the dull echo around the control room. A soft sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart rolled past his lips, but you simply had no energy to look up. As if you did, the sigh of his trembling, panicked face would rip your heart apart.
His large fists wanted to break through the wall, eyes looked at the blood dripping down your face, body filled with helplessness and desperation, trying everything in his power to get close to you.
With a single finger, you still strained to push that last red button. To get the ship back on track, at least allow Satoru to be safe, and finish the mission that would help save his planet. But your body couldn't handle the gravitational force caused by the spin, which pressed you into the console. The slow crushing of your lungs, mind filling with fogginess, throat crushed beneath the flickering buttons.
So with a soft, almost inaudible I'm sorry, your eyes closed.
A second has passed, a minute, with mind registering the crying alarm and… and a shatter of glass.
A sudden pain washed over your body – burning and stinging every nerve. Someone lifted you up, carefully, slowly, trying to wrap you in blankets and clothes, anything to keep you from the lethal touch.
Quiet, you'll live, sweetheart will live, sweetheart, sweetheart, keep your eyes open, amid violent waves of coughing and painful moans, filled the corridors of your spaceship. When your eyes opened a little, you saw nothing but thick steam evaporating from something.
Someone.
"Satoru?" slipped out in a whisper as, from beneath the curling steam, a blue, familiar face looked down at you, wet-cheeked. "Satoru, no, y-you'll die–"
"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart will live," he repeated like a mantra, hugging your wrapped body closer to his.
Fiery skin burned through the thick layers of blankets, leaving burns all over your bloodstained skin. Your body hit something, and before you noticed, an automated medical care robot soon filled your vision. The mechanical arms pressed the oxygen mask to your face before an IV needle slipped beneath the skin of your arm.
"Satoru," you mumbled weakly, trying to find those familiar, pale eyes.
And he was right there, offering you the most painful, heart-tearing sight. Tears ran down his cheeks, white steam curled tortuously from his body, and gaze slowly grew weaker. He could barely breathe, yet still stood right there.
Over your barely warm body, making sure that you would live.
"I watch you–"
"No, S-Satoru," barely pushed through your squeezed throat. With crystal tears swirling in your eyes and fingers trying to push him away from the table. "Go back, p-please, or–"
"No, I watch you sleep." his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt. "You won't die".
You were too weak to fight him. In too much pain, with your head pounding, skin burning from his touch and anaesthesia slowly kicking in.
And so, with a last look into the eyes your heart laughed for, you fell asleep.
There was no way to tell how much time had passed. How long you stayed under the mechanical clutches of the medical robot.
How long Satoru needed to suffer, to make sure you would be alive.
But when you finally woke up and ripped yourself away from the needles, he wasn't there.
He wasn't in your sight, but something else, something burned, marked the floor. Dark traces of blue dust led further inside the spaceship. Still weak, with the last traces of blood dried on your cheek, you followed them, your heart pounding. And a little grain of foolish hope bloomed inside your heart, fresh tears already swirling in the corners of eyes.
The ship was back on a normal route, carrying you through the galaxy at a slow, peaceful pace. Thanks to Satoru.
The blue dust led you through the control room, down into the basement, kitchen, bathroom, and finally to the bedroom, as if he tried to, for the last time, see every part of the ship. Just to make sure everything was working. That after waking up, you wouldn't have to bother yourself with anything.
And so another wave of crushing sob bubbled in your throat. A pain ripping you open as you entered your shared bedroom and saw him there – curled on the mattress, the upper part of his body already slipped inside his crystal corridor. As if he didn't have the strength to crawl in fully. Too busy watching you sleep.
"Oh, Satoru," a cry finally escaped your throat, as your knees bent beside his body. "You fool, so stupid, you're–oh!" A hysterical lament filled the small bedroom as you touched his cold body. "Satoru, how c-could you leave me alone?"
Face, always beaming with so much warmth and joy, lay in dead silence. With your loving, blue eyes closed behind the curtain of white lashes and lips more pale than usual.
Gathering every last ounce of strength still boiling in your body, you brought his ball back. In such a tight, ammonia-filled space, the chance of his recovery was much higher.
Opening it was almost impossible, so you cut a hole big enough to, with pain ripping through your muscles and sweat dripping down your spine, somehow push him inside. And then you glued the walls tight, with a prayer dripping off your lips, and your body cuddled into his crystal ball.
"I'll watch you sleep," you whispered, brushing the surface with his pressed cheek. "You won't die."
𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖
The sun spilling through the curtain tickled your cheeks. The chirping of birds made you sigh deeply, and the gentle sea breeze coated your skin with soft kisses. The shoulder, the soft line of the spine, the slightly sweating neck, with a salty fragrance slipping sweetly into your nostrils.
You tried to stretch, waking up your stiff body from a deep slumber, but something locked you in place.
Something heavy and long, curling around your waist and pulling you closer to another stony wall.
Or, maybe you should say, stony chest.
Looking over your shoulder, you've met with a cheeky smile curling your husband's lips and still-sleepy, pale eyes. He pulled you closer, until your head found itself under his chin and your legs entangled with his.
"Good morning," you giggled, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"
Satoru hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The thin barrier wrapping his body glimmered under the spilling sunlight. After years on his planet, you no longer needed a translator to understand his language. And so you kissed his blue neck, tracing the kisses up, and up, along his jaw and chin, until finally locking your lips with his.
"Apologies, I didn't watch you sleep."
You chuckled, biting gently on his lower lip. "Were you that tired after last night?"
"Mmm," a soft, satisfied hum escaped his throat when you felt something hard poking your belly. "Forgive your husband, he didn't realise he had a tigress and no wife at home."
You chuckled sweetly, forcing his lips to curl in a sly smile.
"Does my wife need anything? Do you want Suguru to lower the temperature?"
Tracing the sharpness of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, your head shook. "No, it's warm enough. Maybe you can ask him to lower the birds' chirping a bit. I think they're a bit louder than yesterday."
He nodded, pulling you even closer. Till your bodies tangled in one, and a slow, peaceful pounding of his heart beat against your breasts. "Mhm, sure. But let's sleep a bit longer, and then you can jump on me as much as you want, hm?"
So with the last, soft kiss between your brows and heart swelling from feeling the heaviness of your body on his, Satoru allowed you to cuddle into his muscular chest and watch him slowly slip into a deep slumber.
The thing about dying, you discovered, was that it was simultaneously more dramatic and more boring than you'd expected.
There were machines beeping, bright lights overhead, people in scrubs moving with purposeful urgency. Very medical drama. Very exciting.
But there were also long stretches of nothing—waiting for test results, waiting for doctors, waiting for your heart to decide whether it was going to keep beating or just give up entirely. That part was boring. Tedious, even.
You drifted in and out of consciousness, catching fragments.
"—severe dilated cardiomyopathy—"
"—why wasn't she on a transplant list—"
"—Guardian? We need to contact—"
"—Bruce Wayne, apparently, but no one's answering—"
That tracked. Of course no one was answering. It was gala night. The Waynes had more important things to do than answer calls about their dying daughter.
Except they didn't know you were dying, did they? Because you'd never told them. Because Bruce had kicked you out of his office. Because no one had cared enough to notice.
"We'll keep trying," someone said, and you wanted to laugh. Good luck with that.
At some point—hours? minutes? time was weird—you surfaced enough to find a doctor standing by your bed. She was older, South Asian, with kind eyes and tired features.
"Hello," she said gently when she noticed you were awake. "I'm Dr. Kaur. You're at Gotham General Hospital. Do you remember what happened?"
"Bus bench," you croaked. Your throat was raw. "Couldn't breathe."
"You had a cardiac event. A very serious one. Your heart is—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Your heart is very sick. You have dilated cardiomyopathy. Were you aware of this diagnosis?"
"Yes."
"And you were being treated?"
"Was. Ran out of medication."
Her expression shifted—not quite anger, but close. Frustration, maybe. Disappointment in the systems that had failed you. "How long have you been without your medication?"
"Day and a half."
"And before that? Were you taking it regularly?"
"When I could afford to refill it."
Dr. Kaur's jaw tightened. "You're sixteen years old. You should not be managing a life-threatening heart condition on your own." She pulled up a chair, sat down like she had all the time in the world even though you could hear the chaos of the ER beyond the curtain. "We've been trying to reach your father, Bruce Wayne. We've called multiple times, but—"
"He won't answer." Your voice was flat. "He's at a gala tonight. Important people, important causes. He won't answer."
"We'll keep trying. You're a minor. We need parental consent for treatment, and we need medical history, and—"
"I can consent," you interrupted. "Emancipated minor laws. If my guardian is unavailable and it's an emergency, I can consent to life-saving treatment. I looked it up."
You had, actually. Months ago, when you first got diagnosed and realized you were on your own. Just in case.
Dr. Kaur looked at you for a long moment, something sad and angry warring in her expression. "You're sixteen," she repeated, softer this time. "You should not have to know those laws."
"Yeah, well." You tried to shrug, but moving hurt. "Here we are."
"Here we are," she echoed. She pulled out a tablet, started pulling up screens. "All right. Let me tell you what's happening. Your heart is functioning at about thirty percent capacity. That's dangerously low. We've started you on IV medications to help support your heart function, and we're running tests to determine the full extent of the damage. But I need to be honest with you—this is very serious. You should have been in treatment months ago."
"I was trying," you said, and hated how defensive you sounded. "I went to a clinic. Got diagnosed. Got medication. I was taking it. I just—ran out."
"Why didn't you get a refill?"
Because you were alone. Because you had no money. Because asking for help meant admitting how bad things were, and you'd been so sure you could handle it yourself.
Because you were tired of being a burden no one wanted to carry.
"Complicated," you said finally.
Dr. Kaur's eyes were too understanding. "I'm going to keep trying to reach your family. In the meantime, is there anyone else we can call? Other family members? Friends?"
Your friends. God, your friends. You were supposed to be at Dani's house right now, eating tamales and watching movies. They were probably wondering where you were.
"My phone," you said. "Where's my phone?"
"The paramedics brought your belongings. Hold on." She stepped away, returned with a plastic bag containing your waterlogged phone, your wallet, your keys. The phone screen was more crack than glass now, but when you pressed the button, it miraculously turned on.
Seventeen missed calls. Thirty-four texts.
Dani: where are you???
Marco: yo you were supposed to be here an hour ago
Jas: this isn't funny anymore. call us back
Dani: im actually worried now. please respond
Marco: if youre dead im going to kill you
Jas: we're calling the police
Dani: no wait marco found your location. your phones at gotham general. WHAT THE HELL
All three: OMW
The last text was from fifteen minutes ago.
"My friends are coming," you told Dr. Kaur. Your voice cracked. "They're—they'll be here soon."
"Good. That's good." She made a note on her tablet. "I'll let the nurse know to send them back when they arrive. But sweetie, we really do need to reach your father. There are decisions that need to be made, and—"
"He won't come." You said it with certainty, with the weight of sixteen years of evidence. "You can keep calling. But he won't come. Not for me."
"Let's try one more time." Dr. Kaur pulled out her phone, dialed the number the hospital had on file. You could hear it ringing on speaker.
One ring. Two. Three. Four.
"You've reached Bruce Wayne—"
She hung up, tried another number. "Is there an alternate contact? An assistant, maybe?"
"Alfred Pennyworth. He's—" What was Alfred, exactly? Butler felt reductive. Guardian felt inaccurate. "He takes care of things at the house. He might answer."
You didn't have Alfred's number. You'd never needed it. But Dr. Kaur got it from the hospital records—apparently it was listed as an emergency contact, which was more than Bruce had managed—and dialed.
It rang once before a familiar, cultured voice answered. "Pennyworth speaking."
"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Dr. Kaur at Gotham General Hospital. I'm calling about—" She glanced at you, and you nodded. "About your—about Miss Wayne. She's been admitted with a cardiac emergency."
There was a beat of silence. Then: "I beg your pardon?"
"She collapsed earlier today. She's stable now, but her condition is very serious. We've been trying to reach Mr. Wayne, but—"
"He's at the gala. They all are. I'll—give me ten minutes. I'm on my way."
He hung up. Dr. Kaur looked at you. "He's coming."
"Yeah." You felt something loosen in your chest. Alfred was coming. It wasn't the same as your father, wasn't the same as the family you'd wanted your whole life, but it was something. "He's good like that."
"I'll be back to check on you in a bit. Try to rest." She paused at the curtain. "Your friends are lucky to have you. I hope you know that."
"I'm lucky to have them," you corrected.
She smiled, sad and knowing, and left you alone with the beeping machines and your failing heart.
You closed your eyes, just for a moment.
You woke to the sound of barely contained panic.
"—just found her like this? On a bench? In the rain? What the actual fuck—"
"Marco, you need to calm down, they're going to kick us out—"
"I don't care! She could have died! She—" His voice cracked. "She almost did die, Dani."
"I know. I know. But she didn't. She's okay. She's—"
"She's awake," Jasmine said quietly, and three faces swiveled toward you.
They looked terrible. Dani's eyes were red and puffy from crying. Marco's jaw was clenched so tight you worried about his teeth. Jasmine's usual composed mask had cracked, revealing raw worry underneath.
"Hey," you said weakly.
"Hey?" Marco's voice pitched up. "Hey? You almost die and that's all you've got? 'Hey?'"
"Marco—" Dani warned.
"No! No, she doesn't get to just—" He was pacing now, all nervous energy and unleashed fear. "We've been terrified! You sent that text—just 'help,' that's it, that's all we got—and then nothing! Your location showed the hospital and we thought—we thought—"
"I'm sorry," you said, and your voice broke. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"What happened?" Jasmine asked. She'd pulled a chair up to your bedside, was holding your hand like she was afraid you'd disappear. "The truth this time. No deflecting."
So you told them. About the diagnosis three months ago, about the medication you'd been managing alone, about running out of pills and not knowing how to get more. About trying to tell Bruce and being dismissed. About the texts from the mysterious stalker. About collapsing on a bus bench in the rain.
By the time you finished, Dani was crying again, and Marco had stopped pacing to grip the rail of your hospital bed so hard his knuckles were white.
"You should have told us," Jasmine said. Her voice was steady, but her hand was shaking. "We could have helped."
"How? You're seventeen, sixteen, and seventeen. What were you going to do?"
"Literally anything!" Marco exploded. "We could have—I don't know, helped you pay for medication, or made you go to the doctor, or told your family, or—something! Anything would have been better than you handling this alone!"
"I didn't want to be a burden—"
"A burden?" Dani's voice was sharp. "You think—God, do you really think that's how we see you? As a burden?"
"You have your own problems—"
"So? Everyone has problems! That's life! That doesn't mean you have to face everything alone!" She was crying harder now, ugly-crying in a way that would have been embarrassing in any other context. "You're our best friend. You matter. You matter so much, and the fact that you don't know that is—it's—"
"It's fucked up," Marco finished. "It's completely fucked up. Your family doesn't see you, fine, they're emotionally constipated billionaire vigilantes, whatever. But we see you. We've always seen you."
"You're not invisible to us," Jasmine added quietly. "You never have been."
Something inside you broke. Not your heart—that was already broken, literally and figuratively. Something else. Some wall you'd built to keep yourself together, to keep the pain manageable.
You started crying, and once you started, you couldn't stop. Great, heaving sobs that made your chest hurt worse but felt necessary, like lancing a wound. All the fear and loneliness and exhaustion you'd been holding in for months—years, really—came pouring out.
Your friends held you. Dani on one side of the bed, Jasmine on the other, Marco standing at the foot, all of them anchoring you to the world, reminding you that you weren't alone even when it felt like you were.
"I'm scared," you finally gasped out between sobs. "I'm so scared. My heart is—they said it's really bad. And I don't know what's going to happen, and my family doesn't care, and—"
"We care," Dani said fiercely. "We care so much."
"We're not going anywhere," Marco added. "You're stuck with us."
"Even if you want to get rid of us," Jasmine said, attempting lightness. "Especially then."
You laughed, wet and messy. "I don't want to get rid of you."
"Good. Because we're going to be super annoying about this. We're talking daily check-ins, medication reminders, doctor's appointment escorts—the works."
"You don't have to—"
"We want to," Dani interrupted. "Let us be here for you. Please."
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
A nurse poked her head in. "Sorry, visiting hours are technically over, but—oh." She took in the scene—you crying, your friends clustered around, all of you holding onto each other like lifelines. "I'll give you a few more minutes."
"Thank you," Jasmine said.
The nurse left, and you settled back into the terrible hospital pillows, exhausted from crying but feeling lighter somehow. Less alone.
"Did they reach your family?" Marco asked after a moment.
"Alfred's coming. He should be here soon."
"And your dad?"
"At the gala. Won't answer."
"I'm going to key his car," Marco announced.
"You don't even know which one is his."
"I'll key all of them. Every single Batmobile or whatever the hell he drives."
"That's the Batmobile," you corrected automatically. "His regular cars are—"
"Don't care. Keying them all."
Despite everything, you smiled. "I love you guys."
"We love you too," Dani said. "So much."
"Even when you're being stupid and self-sacrificing," Marco added.
"Especially then," Jasmine agreed.
You closed your eyes, feeling their presence, their warmth, their fierce protectiveness. Your family might not have shown up, but your people had.
That had to count for something.
Alfred arrived twenty minutes later, and the change in energy was immediate. He swept into your room like a force of nature, all British composure on the surface but with worry radiating from every line of his body.
"Miss," he said, and his voice was rough in a way you'd never heard before. "My dear girl."
Your friends stepped back, giving him space. He took Jasmine's vacated chair and immediately took your hand in both of his, studying your face with those sharp butler's eyes that missed nothing.
"I'm okay," you said automatically.
"You are decidedly not okay." He glanced at the monitors, at the IV in your arm, at your pale face. "How long have you been ill?"
"Three months. Diagnosed, I mean. Probably longer than that."
His expression did something complicated—pain, guilt, anger, all carefully controlled. "And you didn't tell anyone."
"I tried. Bruce—" Your voice caught. "I tried to tell him. He was busy."
Alfred's jaw tightened. "I see."
"It's not your fault," you added quickly. "You have so much to manage. I didn't want to add to it."
"My dear child." His voice was gentle but firm. "You are never an addition to my burdens. Never. Do you understand? You are part of this family, whether they remember to act like it or not."
"They're at the gala," you said. Stating the obvious, but it felt important somehow. "All of them. Together. Being the perfect Wayne family."
"I will call them immediately—"
"Don't." You grabbed his hand tighter. "Please don't. Not tonight. Let them have their gala. I'll still be here tomorrow."
"This is a medical emergency—"
"I'm stable. The doctor said so. And if you call Bruce now, he'll be angry that I interrupted his important event. He'll come because he has to, not because he wants to. I don't—" Your voice cracked. "I don't want that. I'd rather be here with Alfred, who actually cares, than have Bruce show up out of obligation."
Alfred looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the war in his expression—duty versus compassion, protocol versus your obvious pain.
"Very well," he said finally. "But first thing tomorrow morning, I will inform them. This cannot continue."
"Okay."
"And I will be staying here with you tonight."
"You don't have to—"
"I am staying," he repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument. "End of discussion."
You nodded, too tired to fight.
He turned to your friends, who'd been watching the exchange with interest. "And you three must be the friends she speaks so highly of."
"She speaks about us?" Marco looked surprised.
"Occasionally. Usually when she's trying to avoid discussing her own wellbeing." Alfred's expression softened. "Thank you for being there for her. For seeing her when others did not."
"She's our best friend," Dani said simply. "Of course we're here."
"Yeah, you couldn't get rid of us if you tried," Marco added.
"I have no intention of trying. In fact—" Alfred pulled out his phone. "I would like your contact information, if you're comfortable sharing. Someone should know how to reach her support system."
They exchanged numbers, and you watched through heavy eyelids, feeling a weird sense of worlds colliding. Alfred and your friends, the two parts of your life that actually cared, coordinating.
Maybe tomorrow would be terrible. Maybe Bruce would show up angry or indifferent. Maybe your brothers would be uncomfortable and distant. Maybe this whole thing would just reinforce how little you mattered in the grand scheme of Wayne family dynamics.
But tonight, you had Alfred and your friends, and you were alive, and that was enough.
Dr. Kaur returned, ushering your friends out with promises that they could visit tomorrow. They hugged you goodbye—carefully, mindful of the wires and IVs—and left with backward glances and worried expressions.
"I'll text you," Dani called from the door.
"Constantly," Marco added. "Like, annoyingly often."
"We'll coordinate a schedule," Jasmine said, ever practical.
Then they were gone, and it was just you and Alfred and the steady beep of the heart monitor.
"Rest," Alfred said, still holding your hand. "I'll be right here."
"Don't you need to get back? The gala—"
"The gala will manage without me. You will not."
You wanted to argue, but exhaustion was pulling you under. "Alfred?"
"Yes, Miss?"
"Thank you. For coming. For caring."
"Always," he said quietly. "I am sorry I didn't see this sooner. I am sorry you felt you had to face this alone."
"Not your fault."
"Perhaps. But I should have looked closer. Should have noticed. That is my failure, not yours."
You wanted to say more, wanted to absolve him of guilt he didn't deserve, but sleep was claiming you. The last thing you heard before you drifted off was Alfred's voice, quiet and determined:
"I will make this right. I promise you, my dear girl. I will make them see."
if you're an adult behaving immaturely i'm not going to "treat you like a child" about it because i have a lot of respect for children as an oppressed and vulnerable class of people. i will however treat you like an embarrassment. which you are being.
God of the Dead was always alone. With the coldness weighing his heart and the stench of gastly doom clinging to his skin. But then, one day, the world under his feet shifted. Heart bloomed with bizarre fondness. And the Lord of the Underworld soon started to wish for nothing but to taste Spring Goddess's sweetness every single day. Even if he were to accomplish it by force.
requ ested (pray forgive me for waiting so long)
included in Tales, Myths, Romances
pairings: Hades!Trueform Sukuna x Persephone!Reader
content/warnings: greek mythology au, mythologically accurate, possessive behaviour, slightly dark romance, kidnapping, devotion, obsession, heavy smut, Sukuna is his own warning, proper use of belly mouth, double penetration, belly bulges, mating press, oral sex (both), facesitting, yearning, symbolism, Cerberus is just a baby, pussydrunk Sukuna, he's down bad, but he's also toxic
WC: 13.7k (the visions have plagued me)
a/n: I think we all know the story of Hades and Persephone, so this time there's no need for a history lesson! I just hope you'll like it because I had lots of fun writing it! And thank you, dearest anons, for the request <3
divider by @/diviniye
art by @/phantomosis on x
It was a universal truth that opposites attract.
Knowledge older than the Gods themselves.
Carved in marble and rivers, bending under the Greek sun in crystal serpentine. Crossing the lands, fields and meadows, with single droplets caressed by nymphs and fair birdies playing in the calm waters.
Everyone knew that opposites work together.
Everyone could look up and see the sun and the moon frolicking in the same sky. Brush their feet against the hard, stony paths covering the mountains, and yet see little snippets of flowers breaking through the surface. To experience sadness and joy, two contradictory feelings, yet impossible to exist without each other.
Everyone could enjoy the sharp breeze from the thunderstorms, preceded by the sizzling warmth coating their sweating skin.
Everyone knew the night had no meaning without a day. That spring couldn't exist without a death.
Everyone knew it.
Or did they?
Or was it maybe something that one, love-possessed God simply wished to believe in? That opposites could attract even in the most impossible-to-imagine scenarios.
It's not that the Gods of Olympus weren't paired in a rather bizarre manner. For there was a beauty of Aphrodite who cherished the brute God of War dearly. Zeus and Hera, so different and yet ruling over the divine world. And also Dionysus, who haunted by love towards a mortal, made her a goddess.
And yet, Lord Hades couldn't shake off the feeling that his love was plagued by a tragedy from the very beginning.
As how could it be that the Lord of the Underworld's heart, after thousands of years of being burdened by coldness, suddenly bloomed with restless warmth?
With a feeling so unknown and strange, his hand rested on his chest as if in desire to breeze the burning skin up. Long fingers tried to grab the muscle and tear the rosy flesh that separated him from it. But even the God of Death couldn't stop the lovely beating of his heart and mind tormented solely by a thought of… you.
It happened on a sunny day, when, usually hidden in the depths of hell, the Lord of the Underworld decided to take a stroll. Around the spring meadows, with the air carrying the flowery scent of blooming nature. So strange and bizarre, never floating around the endless plains of his domain.
He didn't show his face often up there, as God of the Dead was much, much busier than one could think! Humans were weak, reckless, dying like flies and flooding the Underworld with their restless souls.
Heron crossed the Styx like a madman, and Cerberus couldn't close his eyes even for a second, as the hell was a mad and troubled place.
But then, that one day when the sunlight finally blessed his crimson eyes, Hades, or Sukuna as he much rather preferred, could finally pleasure himself in breathing the air not stained by a musty smell of death.
Each of his steps left the lush grass withered, and the air bent under the heaviness of his aura. Birds would fall silent whenever the God of the Dead passed through the trees they sat in, as if in fear of being taken by the Grim Reaper too soon. Fruits hanging off the branches would suddenly fall rotten, not allowing God to taste the sweetness of their pristine juices.
As there was no sweetness or warmth in Sukuna's life and it had been a long time since he learned how to live with it. For why would anyone care about the wellness of the Lord of the Underworld himself?
And so the world withered and shattered around him, but God truly didn't mind.
Until he saw you, the Goddess of Spring.
Beautiful, alive, with sun smooching your laughing cheeks and eyes curving under the golden rays. Little flowers were tucked in your hair sweetly, and single strands framed your face heartily. Sukuna enjoyed looking at blooming plants, although they quickly withered under his bloody gaze.
But not you.
You quickly became his most dearest petal, with loose, light robes always in a riot of pastel hues and lovely laughter carried by spring winds through the vast meadows. Bare feet ran through the fields of flowers without any worries, and eyes always glanced somewhere over the horizon. Somewhere, towards the seas and trees and frolic nymphs playing near the rivers. Fingers weaved wreaths one by one, and a cooing voice helped the flowers grow and blossom beautifully.
Your robes were always slightly dirty from the earth, warm cheeks marked by pollen, eyes bustling with warmth and kindness, that touched every plant, every animal that cuddled into your open arms.
He usually lurked among the trees. Tall, broody, with a massive body covered by dark robes and a grim aura clinging to his skin. Four arms crossed on a wide chest and two pairs of eyes fixated on a young Goddess frolicking with her friends.
Soon, he started coming more often.
The usual workaholic, a gloomy God who liked nothing and no one, a brute, as some liked to call him, suddenly found something that started haunting his mind. His dreams and nightmares, as even there, you always seemed to smooch his cheeks like a soft petal.
There, you always seemed to be his.
His lovely, dear wife. A Queen of the Underworld.
For all those days he watched you carefully, you've never noticed him.
Not even once, as if completely blinded to everything else outside the walls of your little world.
Until one day, you were left alone.
No friends chirping to your ear, no animals warming your legs – just you.
And, well, him.
He didn't know when and how, but a warming tiredness fell on his eyes, and oh-so-mighty God of the Death slipped into a light slumber. With withered grass lulling his heavy body and birds ogling him from the thick branches. Wind whirred quietly, brushing his pink hair, slipping between the strands and massaging tired temples.
He could almost swear that he fell asleep on the grass. Hard ground moulding under his even harder body and green tuft giggling his cheeks. And yet, after turning and squirming like a restless child, he felt something softer under his head.
Something plush, squishy, beaming with the sweetest, flowery fragrance he's ever smelled. The wind's murmur turned into a lovely hum. A melody that coiled his senses and flooded down his spine, filling his body like the sweetest wine.
He didn't dare to open his eyes.
As he knew, the sight of the lovely Goddess brushing gently through his hair would lead to his death. For Sukuna was rather sure that the only thing in this world that could truly stop his heart was the graceful look of your eyes fixed on him.
Not on flowers, not nymphs, nor animals.
Him.
And thus he lay quietly, with your thighs dipping under his head and soft fingers playing with his hair.
"The Lord of the Underworld in my spring domain," you hummed, swirling a pink strand around your finger. "What a bizarre sight, I must admit."
A chuckle slipped from between your lips when his brows furrowed. Slightly yet rather openly stating that the God of the Dead, with his colossal body bending your earth, has not, in fact, been sleeping.
But there was no need to out his silly manner, and your fingers continued soft curls around his temples. As everyone, no matter their origin, was most welcome in your domain.
Something changed around him. The air, the melody, the structure of grass.
Your presence brought life back to the withered plants and silenced animals that feared him. The birds sitting high on the branches slowly flew down, huddling shyly on his chest. Decayed grass turned lush once again, smooching his skin with its plushness.
"There's no need for fear," you whispered warmly, seeing how wary the animals were of his presence. "He is a good creature too."
Forest animals started to come closer, and closer, and closer, with deer sniffing his body and frogs clumping on his shoulders. Their little, sticky toes left traces of gluey slime, but he didn't mind.
Because God of the Dead rarely felt a life embrace his body.
And thus he decided to cherish it and pray that this single, intimate moment would last forever. With your thighs beaming warmth under his head and animals cuddling to his limbs. Surrounding him in a tight circle with furs and feathers tickling his skin.
He couldn't open his eyes, to not destroy the moment, although, heavens, he truly wished!
To see your hearty face up close. To brush the lower lip coloured with fresh berries and tuck a single strand of hair behind your ear. To see the way pastel robes clung to your skin like a mist, and eyes peeked down at him. But instead, he could only lie quietly and listen to the melody slipping past your lips, curling around his mind like a viper.
A moment has passed, and the deep slumber began to coo his senses. He tried to fight it, longing to stay in your embrace a little longer. To remember the melody of your voice and the pattern of fingertips massaging his temples. The flowery, honeyed fragrance clinging to your skin and filling every corner of his body, taking away his privilege to smell anything else for the next few days.
Before the darkness blanketed his mind and breath became shallower, he could hear the last whispers of your voice:
"Go to sleep, my God. Allow me to accompany you for a while."
When he woke up, you were no longer there. Just a withered grass bending under his body and the warmth of the setting sun bathing his hair in red hues.
No sign of you or animals, and the God, once again, felt devastated. As if deprived of something he should hold onto with all his strength. He was a divine being, after all, and yet your misty figure slipped between his fingers like flowing water.
But his mind recalled those few words. Allow me to accompany you.
And thus, Sukuna decided to take this wish too faithfully.
⛥ ⛥ ⛥
"Stop going out there alone," your mother has sighed, looking at your figure swirling around the wooden hut. "It's dangerous, the Gods are unpredictable–"
Your head shook, lifting the little willow-wined basket used for gathering flowers. "I am a Goddess, mother," you chirped in with a giggle, before glancing at the woman's creased forehead. "And you are too. There's simply no need to fear anything. Besides, we're safe in the spring domain."
Liar.
You didn't tell her about the God of Death crossing the border between the Underworld and mortals much more often than he should. Than he used to. With his gloomy aura beaming off the woods, although he thought that you didn't notice it. Crimson eyes followed you every single day for the past few weeks, and whenever he appeared, one side of your domain suddenly went quiet. Withered, under his death-bringing feet and the silent atmosphere he spread around himself.
And as a Goddess of Spring, you knew of everything happening on your land.
At the beginning, you thought it was rather funny. To see the animals and flowers frightened by his sole presence. You didn't give it much thought, as various Gods had strolled through the plains of your earth and chit-chatted whenever they spotted your figure hunched over the flowers.
But Lord of the Underworld wasn't the talkative type, nor did he engage in any closer relations. In fact, you didn't know much about him aside from what you'd managed to notice over the past weeks.
And you've noticed a lot. His body was built like a mountain, with a heaviness that couldn't be put into words. Two pairs of crimson eyes, lidded like sweet almonds and framed by rather long lashes. Pinkish hair reminding you of blushed peonies, and you wondered whether it would feel equally soft under your touch. Four muscular arms carried the little birdies up their trees when he thought you didn't see, and black stripes curled around his body – like deathly mist, tattooed all over his chest, back, and cheeks, as the God of the Dead didn't mind relaxing his beastly, naked body in the nearby rivers.
The water spilt over the grassy edge, and four arms rested on drenched earth. Crystal water looped his body shyly, smooching the sun-kissed skin with cold kisses. He couldn't see your hazy figure lurking in the bushes.
Your eyes glimmering like two fresh peaches and lips curling in a sly smile, upon seeing muscles upon muscles bending on the God's back. Slick and bulging, stripped of the heavy, dark robes he usually wore and enjoying the kisses of the Mediterranean sun.
Sometimes a nymph would notice him bathing at the river and coo shyly at the handsome but rather intimidating God. You've always observed those interactions from the tree, lurking curiously, with birds perched on your shoulders. All the encounters always ended in a rather pathetic failure, with the Lord of the Underworld ignoring the sweet chirps of little nymphs and their promises to warm his cold body.
All of them flew quickly upon seeing a grave grimace twisting the God's face, and all four palms curling into fists.
"Always so, so angry," you murmured to the red bird sitting on your finger, as it nodded its little head.
And so you didn't tell your mother about these few encounters, for there was no need to worry her. She kept you away from the Olympian Gods as long as she could, yet couldn't stop you from becoming a Goddess too. Truly unfortunate, if she had to admit it, as she had tried for a whole life to keep you well hidden in the far, far corner of Mount Olympus, in your own little spring domain.
"Just be careful," your mother whispered, pushing back a few loose strands of your hair. A small basket hung on your back, and robes clung to your skin. "You know how Gods can be…"
You knew. For you heard of Apollo and Daphne. Of Medusa and a curse sent upon her for being a maiden far too beautiful. About Zeus and Callisto, and more, more Goddesses, who suffered a terrible fate from the hands of Gods themselves.
You understood your mother's worry. Why she tried to tie you up to this little hut hidden in the woods of Olympus. Why she was the Goddess of Agriculture and tried so, so hard to keep her dear spring flower hidden from the prying eyes.
And yet, the serpent flow of destiny was truly twisted and unpredictable. Bending under the Moirai's deathly whispers, with a thin thread slipping between their bony fingers like a river of silk.
As many Goddesses before you, you too were soon to learn that playing with Gods – particularly those who seemed to take a special fondness for you – was a treacherous path. That approaching them cheekily, taking pleasure in keeping them in your arms and cooing like a wounded animal, was simply foolish. Mad, in every deep sense of the word, as out of the many Gods in this world, you particularly should not play like a fox with the Lord of the Underworld himself.
So, on the same day, as golden rays dribbled down your figure hunched over flowers, hands picking the season's most beautiful blooms, the earth suddenly burst open. With a raw, brutal rumble, unleashing chaos across the peaceful meadow. Birds rose from the lush branches, and all the forest animals that were cuddling near your body ran off.
The heavy dust had covered your eyes, smooching flimsy dress and delicate petals that bent under the heavy, little droplets of curled earth.
The obsidian chariot harnessed with three black horses appeared right in front of your eyes. Tall and eerie, still carrying the coldness of the Underworld and a man whose crimson eyes stared down at your figure.
No words could slip past your lips as one muscular arm lifted you up and easily flipped you over the shoulder. Locking you in place with the sheer strength of one hand, until your head hung down the man's back.
"Wait!" Rolled in a scream as the world in front of your eyes started to spin.
A voice you hadn't heard yet punched you like a bucket of cold water. "Don't be afraid, my Goddess," Sukuna said, before whistling to his horses. "You'll soon be able to run through the meadows of the Underworld."
It tasted raw, heavy, so, so low, licking your ears with flamed tongues. A voice truly worthy of the God of the Dead himself.
Before you knew it, the earth had swallowed the chariot once again. The rumbling tore through your spring domain, causing vast fields of flowers to vanish as if slowly devoured by the sky. The horses sped downward, pulling the chariot deeper into the earth, until only a faint glimpse of the familiar sun remained – a warmth you wouldn't see again for the next few months.
The darkness engulfed you, wrapping your skin with icy, deadly touches. It felt as though the three sisters had already severed your thread of fate, sending you to the Underworld sooner than anticipated and plunging you into the claws of the beast you inadvertently unleashed.
"My God," you mumbled, trying to wriggle under his heavy arm. "Where are you taking me?"
Sukuna chuckled lowly, his whole body trembling with a laugh that made your spine tingle. "To home, my dearest Queen."
Deathly whispers curled around your body with curiosity, as if the air in the Underworld had tasted such a sweet life for the first time. Dark clouds filled the sky, and the chariot plunged even lower. Soon, a vast, grimy land spread beneath you, with a thick river curling around the dark soil.
You have never seen the Underworld and have never shown any interest in it. Yet, from that point, with the obsidian chariot soaring high in the sky, it looked mesmerising. Almost magical, with deep, dark forests and withered meadows stretching across the land, lit only by the pale blue light of the moon and little gleaming shadows wandering aimlessly across the plains.
It wasn't difficult to spot Hades's temple. Or maybe you should say a castle.
Sitting quietly on the cliff, with Styx's calm waters flowing beneath its heavy walls. It towered over the whole domain, glimmering in blue light under the moonlight's kisses, and something in your breath has hitched upon seeing an enormous garden filled with withered trees looming over the dead flowers.
The air was biting cold, and yet the closer you were to the temple, the warmer it seemed to smooch your skin. It didn't carry the familiar flowery fragrance, but rather a heavy, woody scent, as if something alive still lingered in the bleak land filled with agony and doom.
When the chariot came to a halt on the dark grass, Sukuna set you down gently. With one strong arm still stalling on your back, as if afraid the moment your feet touched the earth, you would try to escape.
But there was no chance for it, as the Underworld was a trickery and a dangerous place.
"From now on, this is your home. My Queen," his crimson eyes never left your face, even when the hand showed towards the temple looming deathly.
You moved a step away, trying to slip from between the heavy fingers brushing your waist. "It is not my home, and I will not be your Queen. Now take me back to my domain."
Looking up was a mistake, for the gravity of his gaze almost pulled you down to earth. Four eyes stared down at your fuming face before one hand lifted and fingers traced the softness of your warm cheeks. "I cannot do it, my Goddess. That's what I decided, and that's what the Gods accepted."
"The Gods?"
His big thumb brushed your lower lip, and you smacked his hand away. A low chuckle slipped through before he pushed you towards the temple. "Zeus agreed, and that's all that matters. Neither you nor even your mother has any say in it."
You tried to move away again, but his strong arm only pulled you closer to his massive body. Twice your height, with four arms ready to manhandle you like a beast – you knew standing up to him would be foolish. And yet, you tried.
But he didn't mind, as you weighed less than a feather and lifting you was not a sweat for a God of his calibre. Your body once again rolled like a sack over his shoulder, but this time you tried to fight. With nails dragging down his back and teeth digging into the muscles bulging under his robes.
For you, it was a matter of life and death.
For him? A flimsy, sweet teasing from his dearest Goddess, who was yet to accept her fate.
Oh, his heart swelled with the purest joy at the sight of your misty figure wrapped in his arms after weeks of yearning. It didn't matter whether you wanted to stay here or not – Sukuna aimed to use every possible means to soothe your mind and pamper you like his precious wife.
"You ignorant brute, a beast, freak!" Rolled furiously, as you once again left the bloody, tooth marks on his back. "You cannot do it!"
Another throaty chuckle escaped from his side, with his arm cuddling around your waist with fondness. "I can, my Goddess. That's how love works."
"And what can you possibly know about love, my God?"
Sukuna didn't know much, but his greedy desire to always keep you in his sight and worship you as if you were the only Goddess in the pantheon must have been close to what love felt like. To get drunk on your laugh and the plush skin of your body every single evening, as if his whole world twisted around nothing but you. To hear your chipper run with stale wind through his decaying land and once again feel your fingers brush through his hair.
The God of the Dead, the elder of the mightiest brothers, harbinger of death, wished for nothing but to taste the nectar of your love.
But with a frown you looked at him, your teeth digging deeper into his skin – for now, it seemed rather fruitless.
He entered the temple and moved towards the massive stairway curling to the heavens themselves. Your furious shouts could be heard throughout the whole land, but it seemed that neither he nor the servant who suddenly appeared seemed to mind.
"Uraume, prepare a bath for the Queen," Sukuna said, glimpsing quickly towards the woman. Her white, short hair curled around her slim face, and deep eyes blinked in amusement at your sorry state.
"My Lord, I don't think the Queen likes this position," she muttered, sending you a pleading look.
Sukuna scoffed, correcting your body on his shoulder. "The Queen acts like a brat, so she will be treated like one"
Uraume nodded before going down the stairs and disappearing somewhere in the deep chambers of the temple.
Thus, it was the two of you again, and Sukuna moved slowly through the dark corridors, with blue flames licking your writhing body. He didn't mind the shouts, the nails scarring his back through the dusky robes till crimson droplets formed under the material and bites that your teeth have left on his shoulders.
In fact, the God of the Dead took a bizarre pleasure in feeling your flaming touch on his skin. Something in his chest swelled whenever your lips travelled to his neck, and it didn't really matter that they left the bloody bites and not the nectar kisses he yearned for.
At some point, you've finally entered the big chamber. The weird warmness crept through the tall windows, bending in heavy, marble arches. Vast plains of the Underworld rolled like waves on the horizon, and you stopped scratching Sukuna's back when the full land came in view.
Beautiful, endless, mesmerising, so different from what you grew up with. With only a pale, blue moon constantly shining upon the lost souls and deep, agonising cries coming from the Tartarus.
Sukuna finally put you down. "That's our chamber," rolled almost proudly, and you looked around the bedroom.
Dark, draped in misty veils, with a huge bed covered with crimson sheets and a baldachin moving together with gentle swooshes of wind. Warm flames have lit the place, with torches and long waxed candles glimmering shyly around the whole chamber.
Just behind the crimson curtain, you've heard the dripping of water and Uraume's hushed voice. So that must've been the bath.
"I will not be sleeping with you in one bed, my God," you barked, but Sukuna seemed not to care at all.
He pushed you towards the balcony, with a heavy hand placed on your lower back. "That's the garden. I made it for you," your chest squeezed. For you. "You can do anything you want with it, of course."
"It's impossible to grow life within your domain," slipped harshly, before your eyes looked up. Crimson moons stared down at you. All the time. "So you kidnapped me to grow you a garden?"
His sharp jaw tightened. "I did it for your own good," he muttered, hand lifting to brush away your hair. "For our good. I want you to be the Queen of the Underworld. My wife," fat thumb kissed you fuming cheek. "My Goddess."
And as much as you wished to stay angry, it felt impossible to hide the special fondness rising in your chest. A mix of hate and curiosity, as it was difficult to imagine why the Lord of the Underworld himself was such a desperate beast to lock you in his clutches.
Your eyes went back to the garden, taking in the withered earth and flowers bending in death.
But then you've noticed something – a tree. Dark, yet looking rather alive, blooming with red, round fruits that looked as if ready to burst.
Pomegranate.
And you, as the Goddess of Spring, knew why it seemed to be the only fruit growing deep within this deathly domain.
Sukuna followed your lidded eyes before a low hum filled the air. "You'll eat it at some point," seeing a sudden shock bathing your face and a slow shake of your head, he added. "Even if I have to force you."
Soon, you would discover that there were many, many other things the God of Death would force upon you, just to keep you within his touch.
And as surprising as it seemed, eating the pomegranate seeds to bind you eternally to the Underworld would be the last.
You didn't say anything, looking at the pomegranate tree with a grim expression ripping your lips. A Spring Goddess you were, and yet the single look of this rich fruit made you want to burn it right here and there.
"My Lord, my Queen, the bath was prepared," Uraume slipped in politely, before once again disappearing into the darkness.
Sukuna came inside, and you followed, passing under his heavy arm as he lifted the curtains between the chamber and bath.
Multiple candles licked dark walls, and the steam curled in the air. The big, marble pool filled with hot water called your name like a madman, and you were ready to tear your dress in half just to dip inside. The air in the Underworld was much, much colder than up in your domain, and after the eventful day, you truly wished for nothing but a simple bath.
And yet, even this was to be wrecked by Sukuna's four hands slipping the misty robes of your shoulders. Your trembling finger caught the dress in front of your chest before it could fall.
"My God, may I know what you are doing?" There was no trace of madness in your tone, only simple weariness and irritation.
His lips curled in a smirk, and if not for both hands gripping your dress, you would surely smack his cheek. You would try at least, as bending your head back to meet his gaze was already difficult enough.
His dark robes hit the floor before you've noticed it, exposing you to the view that – rather unfortunately – made your thighs clench. Massive thighs bulged under muscles, and it seemed clear that he could snap your neck with a single clamp.
But it wasn't the thighs that hit your cheeks with a maddened fever. No, rather two, fat cocks, with shafts so heavy they barely stood straight. Droplets of sticky pearls curled around two pulsing heads, sticking like a net to his pubes. The smooth, reddened skin glimmered under the dimmed flames, and your breath hitched while taking in the inhumane size.
And then your eyes followed up to his belly, mouth grinning mischievously, torso wide as mountains and four arms, just waiting to grab your flimsy body.
Sukuna was… terrifying. Alluring, feral, obscene, but oh so beautiful. With a body worthy of a God and an almost tyrannical aura that clung to him like a second skin. The mortals have feared him, Gods always tried to keep the relations as polite as possible, and yet you somehow found a wisp of fondness coiling in his gaze.
"I'm planning to bathe with my Queen, of course," Sukuna murmured, tilting his head with a cheeky grin. Four crimson eyes burned your skin, and you've never, ever felt as small and helpless as now. "Let me help you with it." Fingers tugged on your dress, trying to slip it down.
You took a step back, gripping the robe even tighter. "My God, I'm fine. But please enlighten me why we should take a bath together?"
He, however, was relentless, and it took a single, harsher tug to let your robes fall down the marble floor. A gasp slipped past your lips as you tried to cover yourself with pathetic moves.
Sukuna lifted your body with a single arm, and soon both of you sat on the little bench carved in a pool.
He took a deep, deep sigh, leaning against the edge. Two muscular arms kept you in place, with your back plastered to his chest and ass brushing against the massive cocks, while the other two started to soap you up.
A shiver ran down your spine, feeling big, yet soft hands smooching your skin in gentle circles. Slowly, tenderly, massaging your shoulders and back, going down, and down, to the swell of your wet breasts.
A quiet, shy moan escaped your feverish cheeks when his thumbs brushed the perked nipples. You wriggled under his touch, as if fighting against itself to give into the warmness beaming from his body and heavy fingers washing your tired skin.
Your hips jerked again when he pinched your nipples, sending a sudden, electrifying wave down your spine.
"My Queen, try to keep yourself in place," he said with a low voice, and only then did you notice that your ass had been bumping against his cocks for this whole time.
You didn't look back, as if in fear that even a single glance could pique Sukuna's curiosity and test the dangerous waters of your patience. "Is it necessary, my God? I can wash myself."
Two hands gripped your hips, quickly turning you towards him.
Your hands rested on his shoulders as he sat you right on his muscular thighs. The water spilt over the pool's marble edge, and crimson eyes stayed fixed on your face. On your slightly parted lips and hair sticking to your cheeks.
His upper arms slipped up to your waist, while the lower ones started to massage your thighs. In slow, gentle circles, dangerously close to the naked pussy that bounced against the fatness of his shafts.
He played a dangerous, oh so dangerous game, but took a maddened satisfaction in observing the changing looks on your face. Anger mixed with delight, as if you wanted to hit him and nuzzle into his touch at the same time.
"What's wrong, my Queen?" he muttered, soaping up your waist. "Why would you wash yourself alone if your husband is here?"
At this point, both of you knew that the bath was a mere, foolish excuse for the Lord of the Underworld to finally enjoy the sight of your naked body. To take a pleasure in feeling your naked skin against his and test his own patience, feeling the warmth of your cunt brushing against his cocks.
His moves were deprived of any sexual manner, and yet your insides burned with the most wicked flame. Your drenched fold were bumping against his cocks, yes, and the fat shaft brushed against your clit, maybe, but even then, he didn't try to push you.
To force himself on you, as if waiting for your consent.
As if he wished you craved him as much as he did you.
But even then, every few seconds, he would move closer. His fingers would brush your trembling nipples, hips move beneath yours, and he would always take in your muffled moans with a sly smile.
"You're not m-my husband," rolled embarrassingly weak, and Sukuna hummed, brushing your lower lip with his thumb.
"Not yet. I'll give you time to make yourself at home," thick digit slipped inside your mouth, and you quickly bite it. Hard, feeling his bones crack under your teeth, although he only smiled. Like a man possessed. "As I was saying, I'll give you a month–"
"And what then?" you mumbled, with lips still curled around his thumb. "What if you won't tame me after a month?"
Pink strands of hair stuck to his wet forehead, and you needed to dig your nails into his chest, not to lift the fingers and brush them away. Four crimson eyes – two big, lidded in slyness and two smaller, curved like a moon – drank in the sight of a sweet little Goddess squirming on his massive body.
"Then I'll force you to love me," spilled calmly, without hesitation. And maddening yearning in his eyes told you that he was ready to do it. That his understanding of love was far from the sweetness and kindness you've known of.
His fingers travelled up, through the breasts, collarbones, and neck, till the second hand joined your face. He cupped your cheeks gently yet lined with restrained violence.
Possessiveness, madness, that filled his flamed eyes.
"Don't test my patience, my Goddess," he murmured softly, pulling your face closer. His lips nearly brushed against yours, and a wave of warmth washed over your body. "Let me love you in my own way, and I promise to make you happy. Within my domain, you can be as free as you desire."
It was difficult not to have your heart flutter upon hearing those words.
He knew how crazy your mother was about you. That you spent most of your life chained to her leg, never leaving the spring domain, never feeling the winds of freedom.
That's why his promise sounded so exhilarating. Wild, absolutely insane, and yet letting you let out a deep sigh. Because finally, after so many years, you were alone.
Without your mother, without the prying eyes of Gods, without the same meadows caging around you like a prison.
Only with a much, much bigger, heavier, and mind-spilling problem, of a God of the Dead who seemed to take a special, wicked interest in you.
Your hands, still trembling on his chest, pushed yourself away. Hips slipped from his cocks, but not before giving two, feverish heads one last brush. As if you wanted to push him over the edge.
He groaned and squinted his eyes. "Where are you going, my Goddess? We're not done yet."
Four hands shoot towards you, fingers trying to catch your slippery body. It curled at the end of his fingertips, teasing him mischievously with full breasts dripping with crystal droplets and soft skin glimmering under the gentle flame of candles.
His cocks moved, eyes tried to take the wholeness of your divine beauty, and yet, after weeks of watching you every single day, he still couldn't believe that a woman of your sort truly walked this earth.
"I am done with you…" your eyes curved cheekily as you slowly moved back. "My God. I agree to a monthly trial–"
"It's not a trial, you'll be staying here forever."
Your back hit the pool's edge, but Sukuna didn't move. Instead, he observed you. Like a predator, preparing for a deadly attack.
"As I said, I do agree. But if you won't manage to persuade me to stay," slipped in a whisper, and you smiled even wider, seeing a furrow creasing his forehead. "I will simply kill myself. Just like Daphne did."
His heart nearly stopped, crimson eyes bloodshot. Before you could escape the pool, two arms yanked you back, pressing your chest against his. He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Finger gently squeezed your face with a slight pinch, until salty fog blurred your sight.
"My God–" you barely muffled.
"Don't ever," he growled, gripping your cheeks harsher. "Ever say that in front of me again. I will break your legs if I have to. I will tie you up to bed if you force me to," something warm spilt from his belly, and just then, you remembered about his mouth. Heavy tongue took a long, fat drag of your wet cunt, and you cried within his brutal embrace. "You are mine. Every dream of yours, every part of your body, every single laugh, all of it belongs to me."
His grip on your cheeks was too strong to let you shake your head, but light enough to allow another moan to spill from your throat. In sweetness and pain, feeling the teeth of his belly mouth pinch your clit.
"My God–"
"Do you understand me?"
"I-I–ahh," a cry filled the foggy bath, feeling his tongue slurp on your wetness. It felt heavy, girthy, tasting you with a maddened pleasure as if feasting on the honeyed juices dripping down the water.
"Do you understand?" he gritted through his teeth, loosening up his grip on your cheeks. "I don't like to repeat myself."
With another sweet mewl, your head lulled to one side in a nod, and he finally released you from his clutches. You stood right in front of him – wet, trembling, with slippery thighs and cunt already missing the swirling of his tongue on your clit.
His thumb followed down to his belly, gathering traces of your cum. A second later, thick digit found its way to your lips, pushing the stickiness right onto your tongue.
It tasted sweet, almost milky-like, clinging to the muscle like a spider's web while his thumb smeared it all over your insides.
"Tastes delicious, hm? That's what you're keeping away from me," Sukuna groaned, drinking in the sight of your teary face. "I am not a patient man, my Goddess, but my heart belongs to you, and I wish to treat you the best I can," he lifted up your face, creaming your cheeks with the rest of the cum. "But I do warn you, dearest. When the month passes, I won't be holding myself anymore. So you'd better accept this fate and just let me love you."
You didn't nod, didn't even blink. Just observed his devilishly handsome face with teary, wrecked eyes beaming with fury.
You tried to snap back, but his thumb pushed harder on your tongue. "Uraume," he called, looking somewhere over your shoulder. "Take the Queen back to our chamber. I think she's a bit tired."
Light, white robes curled around your shoulder, before Uraume gently pulled you away from Sukuna's clutches. "My Queen, allow me to–"
You shook off her hand, wiping the rest of your cum from your cheek. "Thank you, I know how to tuck myself to sleep."
And so you left your future husband alone, with rage and ecstasy still mixing beneath your chest.
⛥ ⛥ ⛥
The next few weeks passed with silence and tension binding the Goddess of Spring and the God of the Dead like a thin thread of fate. Only the three sisters were able to cut it swiftly and release you from the torment, and yet no one ever came to save the poor petal.
The first few days you spent mostly in the garden, lying under the pomegranate tree and observing the darkness blanketing the sky. The withered plains of the Underworld have never been touched by sunlight, and the lack of it started to bother you too.
There was no way to tell day from night, as the air was always slightly cold and the sky never turned any colour other than dark blue. Sometimes a sudden fog has risen over the horizon, curling above the parched trees.
The agonising screams from Tartarus could be heard over from your balcony, although after complaining to Sukuna about your lack of sleep, they somehow quieted down. You didn't pry into his methods, nor did you need to exactly know how he accomplished it.
It was difficult to grow anything in the garden, and after days of trying, you finally gave up. Well, not entirely, for you spent more and more days trying to think of a plant that would not need sun nor much water to bloom and if Sukuna could let you out even for a few days, surely you could find something.
He, however, was fully relentless at your begging as there was nothing binding you to the Underworld. Yet.
Fresh pomegranates whispered sweet sins to your ears as you looked at the round fruits bursting with crimson seeds. You wondered what they tasted like. How pristine their juices were.
Sometimes your finger would trace their hard skin with delicacy and quickly pull away, feeling Sukuna's heavy gaze drilling the hole in the back of your skull.
He seemed to always have you in his sight. It didn't really matter whether you strolled around the garden or went deeper into his domain – he was always there. Somewhere, lurking at your misty figure, the only colourful thing in his vast world, even if you didn't see him.
For the first few days, you didn't talk at all. And he was oh so angry with your nasty mood swings, even though it seemed he truly tried to be on his best behaviour.
For a while, you even refused to sleep in the same bed. He would wake up in the middle of the night only to find you cuddled into Cerberus's massive, soft body, snoring like a little baby and nuzzled under his heavy neck.
The beastly dog quickly became your favourite creature in the whole domain, and Sukuna couldn't count the times when you strolled with it through the dark plains and meadows, giggling sweetly whenever it rolled in withered grass.
It seemed the beast was particularly fond of and protective of you, so that even the God of Death himself could not approach you without the beast's shiny, sharp teeth growling his way. Crimson eyes observed him carefully, as if ready to rip his heart out if his lone finger brushed your silky skin.
And whenever Sukuna reminded you that Cerberus also had his role in the Underworld, the loveliest pout would twist your lips, and a dog's low growl would slash through the air.
And because Sukuna was softhearted only for you, he didn't have another choice but to allow you to adopt Cerberus as your own, exclusive pet.
But he absolutely couldn't stand waking up to the coldness wrapping around his body, and thus, for the first few days, in the middle of the night, he would travel all the way to Cerberus's cave only to take his Goddess back.
"Where is she?" the God would growl, with all four arms folded on his chest and eyes lidded with sleep. "Give her back, she'll come back to you in the morning anyway."
And the dog would usually ignore him, with three massive heads pretending to be plagued by a heavy slumber. Sukuna would sigh and slip a soft plea, trying to resonate with a beast he raised himself.
Three pairs of bloodshot eyes would glare at him deathly, but after a few quite embarrassing and yet desperate pleadings, the dog would lift his head up, only to reveal your peacefully slipping body. Curled against his fluffy neck, with fingers gripping the soft fur and shallow, peaceful breaths coming from your parted drooling lips.
Sukuna would lift you up with utmost care and bring you back to your chamber, wrapping himself around your body with all six limbs.
When the "morning" came, he was always the first one to slip from the bed. But not before getting himself untangled from your body. Lying serenely on his broad chest, with a drool pooling right above his heart and soft strands of your hair tickling his chin.
It was his most favourite sight during that month, and the only chance to see your face without a pout or crease forming on your lovely forehead. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get close to you as much as he wished to.
But at least, after the few weeks of constantly going back and forth between your chamber and Cerberus's cave, you finally stopped escaping from his clutches and slept in his embrace for a whole night.
Moreover, during those weeks spent in each other's presence, you seemed to enjoy nothing more than pissing the God of the Dead off.
During one eventful night that both he and Uraume would recall in the future with a painful headache, you sat quietly at the long table. The wooden furniture bent under the heavy supper, with meats, fruits and vegetables prepared in feast portions.
Sukuna loved to see your cheeks stuffed full, and sometimes you would even joke that he tried to fatten you up only to eat you for dessert. He chuckled lowly, every time answering that if only you spread those thighs nicely, my Goddess, I would gladly eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
An embarrassed, nasty slip from your lips, as you tried to ignore the warmth blooming in your lower belly.
One evening, however, Uraume interrupted your supper with a heavy panting and trembling gaze.
"My Lord, my Queen," she said, taking a few deep breaths. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but something deeply concerning has occurred."
"What is it?" Sukuna mumbled, not even looking her way. Instead, he poured you another cup of wine, while you tried to hide your flushed cheeks behind a curtain of hair.
Oh, you were so, so fucked.
"All the souls lingering on the river's banks have entered the Underworld."
Sukuna suddenly stopped and put the jug of wine back on the table with a loud thud. "What?!"
Both you and Uraume shrugged.
"Charon took them all," she said, glimpsing your way.
You, however, looked down at your plate, as if trying to completely erase yourself from this conversation.
"All of them were buried with a coin? How is it possible?" Sukuna growled.
Uraume took a deep sigh, with deep, sorry eyes still lingering on your hunched figure. "He said that…" She hesitated, biting down on her lower lip. "The Queen ordered to let them in."
Fuck.
The air suddenly stilled, and a moment passed before Sukuna's crimson, angry eyes looked your way. But it's not like you could see the rage blazing in his gaze, as you still carefully observed the fresh fig lying on your plate.
The fact that he somehow got delivered all your favourite, fresh fruits down to the Underworld was truly–
"Do you want to tell me something, my Queen?" he asked with utmost politeness, although you sensed the displeasure bubbling in his throat.
"No, not really," you murmured, playing with a juicy fruit.
He took a deep sigh, curling all four of his hands into fists. A soft vein popped on his forehead as he truly, really tried to keep himself calm.
"I will ask you again," slipped softly, before his two hands pulled your chair closer to him. Your thighs brushed against each other, and his fingers lifted your chin up. Till you were forced to meet his heavy, bloody gaze. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?
Oh, lying to him like that was much, much harder.
"Listen," you started, and he already sighed. "I don't see any problem with it. Why would you keep them there if Charon can just take them all to the Underworld? Isn't that the whole point of your domain?"
His fingers tightened on your chin because, dear-fucking-heavens, he really struggled to hold it together. Four bloodshot eyes looked down at your pouty lips and doe eyes, as if your pure loveliness could melt his anger.
Well, it usually could.
"They cannot enter Hades if they do not get buried with a coin. That's the rule all of them must obey," rolled harshly, and your pout became even sweeter. Fuck. "How did you even force Charon to do it? This old man is stubborn as hell."
You nestled into his palm, attempting to ease his heart with a gentle, pleading look. "It turns out most of the creatures here are quite afraid of Cerberus," you giggled, even though Sukuna was clearly unhappy. "Um, and they’re also afraid of you. The threat of reporting to the Lord of the Underworld himself tends to work quite effectively."
Sukuna pulled away with a heavy groan and started massaging his temples. One side of him was rather happy that, after weeks of fighting, you decided to use both your title and him to get what you wanted. But the other wanted to curl his fingers around your neck and snap it clean, for the mess you have caused with your need to piss him off.
He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. "Why did you do it?"
"They looked sad."
His crimson gaze once again snapped to your face. "Sad? The souls?"
You nodded. "Well, all of them wanted to enter Hades so–"
"My Goddess, you can't do such a thing!" Uraume cried, looking out the tall window as if all those souls were travelling up Hades' temple.
"Why? I thought I was the Queen of the Underworld." A cheeky smile curved your lips, and Sukuna almost lost it. "I can do whatever I want. Your own words, my God."
Well, he did tell you that from now on, this domain was under both his and your control, but his mind ran far too short to predict that you, in fact, wouldn't know the most basic rules of this land.
And thus, he could only swallow his rage and look back at Uraume. "Catch them all and bring them back to the shore. Also, tell Charon that from now on he's forbidden from listening to the Queen's orders."
You scoffed, crossing arms on your chest. "I'm just going to set Cerberus on him."
"Right," Sukuna growled, sending you a short, angry look. "And also chain the dog to his cave. This beast has forgotten who his real master is."
You could forgive him mistreating the poor souls and Charon, but a line had to be drawn regarding your beloved dog.
Your fingers grabbed his forearm, eyes bulging in worry. "Wait! Leave Cerberus out of this," Sukuna looked at your nails digging into his skin and a jittery gaze. "I'm sorry, okay? Just…" There was a thread linking you both – dangerously thin, leading to an emotion your relationship hasn't yet discovered. Forgiveness. "Please don't hurt him. It's my fault. Cerberus listens to everything I say, he's just a silly dog. So let him be. If there's someone who should be punished, it's me."
Sukuna didn't say anything for a while, staring at your pleading eyes with a furrowed brow. A storm of feelings coiled in his head, and you noticed his gaze soften slightly. He often acted like a brute, of course, but you believed that somewhere, deep, deep beneath his chest, there was still a man who placed the little birds that had fallen from the trees back in their nests.
"Fine," he finally muttered and oh, how shocked he was when you chuckled and wrapped yourself around his neck. For a moment, he sat frozen in place, but soon all four arms curled around you, as he inhaled the sweetness coating your skin.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Uraume looked away to hide a little smile tugging on her lips, as it was a long, long time since she had seen the God of the Dead blushing like a virgin nymph.
Sukuna coughed, sending her a deadly gaze. "But I still believe that you and Cerberus could use some time away from each other. I'm tired of raising two brats at the same time," he mumbled, and you giggled into his neck.
"Well, my God, try to suggest it to him, and we'll see what happens," you pulled away, with hands still wrapped around his neck. "I'm afraid your beast found himself a new owner."
And so, since that evening, a little, hopeful grain started to bloom in Sukuna's heart.
As it seemed that his lovely Goddess had finally begun to warm to him. During the evening baths, you chirped into his ear like a fair birdie, sometimes even washing his muscular back and massaging his always-creased forehead.
At night, your body instinctively nuzzled into his. Legs wrapped around him tightly, hands curled around his arms, and a slightly wet cheek left a small puddle of saliva on his chest. He always beamed with warmth, and you, like a cat, used his body as a heater.
During the shared breakfast, you kept talking while he fed you the sweetest, juiciest fruits. What's more, your roles would shift, with your fingers occasionally placing a piece of orange onto his lips – sometimes upper, sometimes lower.
Whenever you stole a few apples for Cerberus, as he's tired of eating raw meat, he would only scoff and wave his hand. The beast has been living on meat and water for thousands of years, and yet, a few weeks after your appearance, he suddenly developed a lavish taste for fruits picked only by you.
On some afternoons, when Sukuna would nap under the pomegranate tree, you would creep to his side. Carefully place his head on your thighs and hum a lovely melody, just like you did back then in a forest. He would always try to stay as still as possible, just to prolong those precious moments – your fingers brushing through his hair and flowery fragrance coating his skin.
One special afternoon, your hum was interrupted by something else.
Something… alive.
The high trilling of crickets, soft chirping of birds and muffled croaks of the frogs, coming from the little pond Sukuna has built up for you.
Your fingers suddenly stopped in their tracks, and the God coughed quietly, wriggling under your touch. Like a dog, begging for more pats.
"How is it possible?" you asked, looking down at his "sleeping" face.
There was a minute of silence before he slowly, carefully opened his eyes and sighed heavily, meeting your solemn gaze. "The animals also need to enter Hades. Just on different rules," His eyes fell on something crawling up your hand. "Look there."
And to your surprise, you've noticed a grasshopper sitting serenely on your skin. It wasn't as lush and green as you remembered it to be, but misty, almost like a cloud, with only his foggy soul still crawling up your arm.
And then you've noticed birds sitting high up on the pomegranate tree, with their little wings looking like a shadow.
Something heavy formed in your throat and heart stirred with affection. "You brought them for me?"
Sukuna hummed, closing his eyes and gently placing your hand back on his head. "You can say that. Most of them were already here. I simply ordered to be bring them to our garden."
Your fingers started working through his hair again – scratching and massaging his head, till the beastly God stretched on your thighs like a cat and nuzzled into the softness of your belly.
You didn't push him away but rather giggled and whispered a sweet thank you. A little smile tugged on Sukuna's lips, and he purred softly my pleasure, Goddess.
And thus, for the first time in your life, you have felt free.
With Underworld's woeful air smooching your cheeks and shadowy animals following you around the withered plains.
You have never felt more alive than in the realm of the dead.
That's why when Sukuna called you into the main hall one day, your heart froze. With dread and fear, upon seeing your furious mother standing right next to him by the altar.
The altar, decorated with your small marble figures and fresh flowers, he ordered to be changed daily since no plant in the Underworld could survive longer than a day.
Your fingers curled in fists, lips fell in line, and somehow, even though you loved her dearly, you simply couldn't take a step closer.
Sukuna stood still, with four arms crossed on his chest and eyes looking carefully at your trembling body. As if he could read all the thoughts coiling beneath your furrowed brows.
"My darling, oh Gods," she sighed, crossing the distance between you two in a few steps. Before you knew it, she pulled you into a hug, although your arms hung loosely by your sides. "I thought I'd lost you forever. Can you believe that I needed to threaten Zeus himself to finally find you?"
She pulled away and grabbed your cheeks, only to meticulously ogle your face. "Oh my, you're so pale! This place did you no good, but at least you're fine. This brute…" she looked over her shoulder, glancing at Sukuna's stony face. "My heart almost stopped upon hearing that he was the one who kidnapped you. Did he touch you? Are you okay? Did he, you know, force you to–"
"Mom," you quickly interrupted her and wriggled yourself out of her embrace. "Why are you here?"
She looked dumbfounded – with warm eyes bulging in shock and lips slightly falling open. When you stepped back, her forehead creased.
"I came to take you back, of course."
A gentle sigh echoed through the vast temple hall as you glanced over her shoulder. Somewhere nearby, a man was attentively listening to you, with a heart pounding loudly in his throat. Filled with fear, anticipation, hope.
Sukuna rarely looked at you with that gaze – filled with love and dread, as if he understood that neither anyone else nor he himself was truly worthy of your heart. He scarcely ever seemed so weak and afraid, as if his mind, soul, heart were fully, completely wrapped around your finger.
And thus now, after so many of his threats, you could make a choice.
To stay here, with him, or go back to your mother.
"Let's go, darling, I'm getting nauseous just from being here," she tried to grab your hand, but, once again, you stepped away.
"I'm not going back," slipped in a whisper. "I can't go back."
She looked shocked, and her lips curved in a nervous smile. "What do you mean, you can't?"
"I'm bound to the Underworld."
Lie.
But oh, how good it felt in your heart, lifting the weight of all the mixed emotions you've buried over the past few days.
"Bound? What do you–" she started, and then, as if suddenly enlightened, gasped. A sharp cry escaped her throat, and her eyes looked back at Sukuna with a frightened, intense gaze. "You! You forced her to eat the seeds!"
Before she could step closer and smack his cheek with an open palm, you grabbed her. "No, mom. I did it myself."
She stopped, turning back your way. With disappointment filling her eyes and trembling lips. "You did what?"
"I love him."
And that, well, that was a confession no one expected. Not you, mother, and particularly not Sukuna. His breath hitched, eyes bulged, and he almost, almost took a step closer.
As his heart, mind, and soul were consumed by a desire to hold you and caress you yearningly until your lips swell from the sweetness of the kiss.
Your mother quickly interrupted, holding your cheeks. "You don't. Don't say it. You don't love him. He's a beast who manipulated your mind, love has no place here. Don't act foolishly, that's not how I raised you."
Your heart shuddered in wretchedness upon her words. As you knew how much she hated all the Gods. How hard she tried to keep this sweet, yet so foreign feeling away from you, as if the little seed growing in your heart was something shameful.
Crystal droplets trickled down your cheeks, wetting her pads. "But I do, mother. And I will stay here, with him. That's my home now."
There was no need to listen to her further. Sliding her trembling hands from your cheeks, you turned and quickly disappeared into the comforting darkness of a temple you used to hate that much.
Her low pleadings filled the main hall, but you could only ignore them. Seeing her again, after a whole month, brought dreadful memories of years spent in her golden cage.
You entered the chamber and sat down on a plush bed. Your hands still slightly wet from nervousness, eyes taking in the cosiness and warmth of the bedroom you shared with… him. Candles licked your skin sweetly, and moon lurked through misty curtains.
Even the usual shrieks coming from Tartarus were mild that evening, allowing you to enjoy the little crickets slipping from the garden.
Cerberus barked somewhere deep within your domain, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You were on your way to give him his daily dose of apples when your mother suddenly appeared.
You sat on a bed, hunched and frozen, not noticing a massive shadow that swooshed closer. Dark robes appeared in front of your feet, and soon a heavy, musky fragrance followed.
"My Queen," Sukuna started, not quite sure what to say. A silence has fallen – pleasant, warm, homey. He sighed and crouched to meet your gaze. "Are you okay?"
Only then did he notice crystal droplets still dripping down your cheeks. "My Goddess, why are you crying?"
"Don't allow her to take me," slipped in a crying whisper, before a muffled choke followed. His big hands gripped yours, trying to stop the trembling. "Please, let me stay here."
His fingers lifted to gently cup your face. "What are you talking about? Of course, I won't let you go," crimson eyes softened as a large thumb brushed your lower lip. "Have you forgotten my words? You're never leaving my side."
"Never?"
He shook his head. "Never. I will stand against all of Olympus if that's the price of loving you."
Another sharp cry rolled from your lips as you nuzzled into his hand.
He changed your positions, sitting on the bed and letting you climb onto his thighs, only to push your crying face into his neck. Four hands embraced you before he began to cradle you like a baby.
With soft whispers and kisses placed on your forehead.
When the first shock rolled away and the tears finally stopped, you pulled back. With swollen lips and puffy cheeks, that made Sukuna's heart swell with fondness.
His tongue lapped up the last salty droplets before big palms cupped your hips. "You'll stay here, with me," plush lips peppered your cheeks, nose, and the slightly trembling chin. "And you'll let me love and worship you as you deserve," his hands rolled your hips against his, drawing a moan from your throat. "No one will take you away from me. Not now, not ever."
Your arms wrapped around his neck, back bent in a delicate arch. You looked at him with a plea, taking in the divine beauty of his beastly face. "What if Zeus himself comes for me?"
His lips were barely brushing against yours, and a woody, heavy smell of his body tickled your heart. "I'll kill him. My Goddess, you truly underestimate me. I will move heaven and earth to keep you by my side."
And then, with a last longing gaze connecting your starving souls, your lips have finally crashed.
In a slow, gentle, yet raw kiss, with his teeth biting down on your lower lip and throat swallowing all your sugary moans.
All four hands quickly found their way around your body – caressing, holding, gripping the swell of your ass and moving your hips in harsher rolls.
Misty robe hanging on your shoulders slipped down with a gentle tug, and soon his two upper hands lifted to cup your breasts.
The softness of your skin made Sukuna's mind spin, and a craving to sink himself into your warm cunt felt almost maddening. His cocks, still clothed by a dark tunic, brushed against your folds and the sweetest, purest moan rolled right into his lips.
"Feed me, my God," you murmured, pulling away slightly. "Feed me the pomegranate seeds and tie me to the Underworld. To you."
Of course, you lied to your mother.
And Sukuna knew it too. He observed you for a whole day and night, never leaving your giggles out of his sight, and thus he was aware of your little, desperate lie.
What he hoped for, however, was that your confession was sincere.
Tasting the sweetness of your lips, he realised how truly doomed he was – completely entangled with the scent of your skin and the beauty of your eyes. His heart skipped a beat when your fingers pulled his pink hair, causing his hips to buck instinctively, seeking the intense pleasure.
You pushed his chest, forcing his massive body to lie down on the mattress. "Feed me, and I shall let you have a taste too."
Your lips met his cheeks, jaw, and dropped down through the bulging throat and collarbones, while fingers slipped from the dark robes. He wore nothing beneath the long tunic, and soon your lips curled around his nipple, biting it softly with a hum.
Two upper arms swiftly pulled you up to his face, while the lower ones still held your bare hips. "What will you let me taste, my Goddess?"
A cheeky smirk tugged on your lips as you placed your leaking cunt right over his open belly mouth. "Your favourite fruit, my God."
With a loud moan, you lowered down onto its tongue, feeling the heavy muscles giving you a long, nasty lick. A shudder washed over your spine, and Sukuna drank the next cry that escaped your throat.
"You taste even better than I remembered, my Goddess," he groaned, feeling the saccharine droplets coat his lower tongue. Sticking to his teeth and inner cheeks like the sweetest honey. "But I have a much better idea."
And with that, you quickly found yourself facing his massive cocks and hovering over his face. Your puffy, drenched folds hang right above his lips, and he looked at your dripping cunt with a low groan.
"Fuck, my Goddess," two fingers parted your folds, only for a small, sticky droplet to drip down his chin. "You smell so fucking good, lower yourself a bit."
He didn't wait for your answer as two big hands pulled your hips down with a single, strong move. A groan slipped past his lips and went straight to your cunt, sending a wave of trembling pleasure straight to your clit.
"That's right, my sweet fucking Goddess," he mumbled, lips curving under the weight of your hips. "Don't be shy, get yourself comfortable."
"I-I'm not shy," and if not for a heat that slapped your cheeks, he maybe would believe you.
But your body was too honest, too inexperienced to hide the way your hips rolled against his tongue. Another pitched moan filled the foggy air when his tongue slipped inside your tight cunt.
His lower hands landed on your back and slowly, slowly bent you down. Till your wet lips met with two, pulsing heads and breasts hang right over the belly mouth.
Oh, he was right, this position was absolutely killing… both of you.
Because the moment big, beastly lips curled around your nipple, your hips buckled, and a sweet moan tickled both leaking heads.
"Nghhh," bounced sweetly off his veiny shafts. "That's–mhmm, my God, feels so good."
Sukuna chuckled, slurping on your swollen clit and pushing another cry from your chest. "Give them a little lick, my Queen. They've been waiting for you whole fucking month."
With a hazy gaze, you glanced at two fat cocks smooching your cheeks. Wet and massive, with droplets of musky precum oozing down the pulsing skin and a strong fragrance making you even wetter. He smelled so heavy, manly, and the moment you gave the first cock a kitty lick, Sukuna groaned straight into your clit.
Your hand grabbed the other one and started pumping it in slow, gentle moves, with your thumb brushing the reddened head. Belly mouth sucked on your breasts as if waiting for something more creamy to release itself onto his ravaging tongue, and you cried even louder whenever the wet tongue travelled between both of your nipples.
"How is it possible, fuck," Sukuna groaned, scooping a hefty gush of your cum and drinking it straight from your fluttering hole. "That you're so sweet everywhere. My beautiful, divine Goddess. Come on, try to suffocate me with your cunt. Put your whole weight into it."
With your cheek stuffed full of his cock, you pulled away with a nasty pop and looked over your shoulder. "My God, please take a deep breath," you reminded, because Sukuna seemed to be absolutely lost between your drenched thighs.
With a single finger thrusting into your tight hole and an open mouth catching all the dripping sap. His teeth grazed your clit, before a warm tongue kissed the pain away. He slurped like a madman, whispering little obscenities straight into your pussy and kissing her with nasty squelches. Gluey cum stuck to his nose, lips and chin, connecting him with your parted folds.
"I can't, I don't have to, she needs me," he groaned, giving you another heavy lick. With tongue covering the entirety of your cunt and finger pushing through your pulsing walls. "So sweet, my Goddess, you're so fucking delicious."
Oh, there was truly no remedy for him!
And thus you went back to his pulsing, almost bursting shafts. Your puffy lips kissed two heads before sucking on one gently. Fingers squeezed his constricting balls, juggling them softly and giving them a shy lick.
Sukuna trembled under your body, so you did it again, and again, and again, kissing, licking and sucking on his balls, while rolling your hips against his tongue.
"My God, are you okay?" you slipped shyly, although a cheekiness shimmered in your haze.
Sukuna pulled away from your cunt, and took a deep breath. "Don't ask me stupid questions, my Goddess. My patience is already hanging by a thread, so unless you want me to fold in half and fuck that cunt raw, you better shut that pretty mouth of yours."
You giggled, biting gently down on his balls. "I'll take that as a ye–ah!" you moaned, when the second finger slipped into your tight cunt. "My G-God, that's too–"
Too much wanted to roll, but Sukuna soon added the third . "You're so tight, my Goddess. I'm afraid both of them won't fit in," he slurped, feeling the desperate squeezes of your walls and juices trickling down his fingers.
Both?
An unsettling, truly frightening thought has crossed your mind. He could tear you apart with one, and using two seemed to be a completely foolish idea!
When his pads pushed something, slightly swollen and plush, your whole body shuddered. Pleasure washed over your spine, dripping down to curled feet, and a sugary moan wrapped around his leaking cock.
"There it is," Sukuna growled, looking at your raw, soaked pussy trying to mould itself around his fingers. "My Queen, you're doing so well. Squeezing my fingers so tight, I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cocks."
The weird warmth has been coiling in your belly since his lips landed on your clit. But now, with fingers pushing your walls and pads brushing against the plump spot, something warmer, wetter started to plash inside your pouch. Something dangerously pleasurable and ready to burst beneath Sukuna's tongue and his big, stomach mouth sucking sweetly on your tits.
"My G-God, I–" you moaned, when all of his three fingers bent against the sweet spot and lips slurped on your clit. "I'm going to, mhmm, allow me to cum on your cocks, p-please."
And a single teary look over your shoulder, with hair sticking to your wet cheeks and lips fallen open, was enough to make him lose his mind.
"Whatever you wish, my Queen," he said, quickly pulling you away from his mouth.
Your body turned again, and this time you found yourself back on top, with two massive cocks squirming beneath your drooling folds and his lower hands gripping your thighs.
"You want me to…?"
He nodded, gently pulling your hips up, to help his leaking heads kiss your fluttering hole. "Ride me, my Queen. I want to watch you take it up…" his fingers traced the softness of your belly, before pushing on a spot somewhere just beneath your button. "here. Both of them."
Your pussy was ready to burst any second, and you could already feel something else, other than your normal wetness, drip down his cocks. The fog in your mind grew thicker, sweat coolly lined your neck, as you pressed both hands against his chest and leaned on trembling, feeble arms.
Rough thumb from the upper arm slipped between your folds, rolling gently the puffy clit. "Slowly, my Queen, take a deep breath." You did just that, with eyes looking straight into his. Both heads started forcing their way through your tight walls, gathering the slippery juices on the way. "That's it, that's my good girl, deep breaths."
He talked you through it, with thumb rubbing the sweet button and lower hands slowly, slowly, pulling you down his shafts.
A sharp cry rolled past your lips when both heads slipped inside. Pushing into your contracting walls and ripping you open, till the metallic taste of blood pooled somewhere at the back of your throat.
The water plopping inside your belly was filling you full, together with Sukuna's cocks constantly trying to thrust inside. You could feel every vein, every detailed curve of his shafts lick your gummy insides, as he pushed, and pushed, and took in the maddening beauty of your face, utterly lost in pleasure.
Your pussy squelched around his monstrous cocks. Cried sweetly, with a clit slowly getting much harsher rubs, till the swollen button started to tremble.
"My God, w-wait, something's wrong," you cried, trying to pull yourself off.
But Sukuna's lower hands kept you in place, and his hips bucked up, trying to meet yours. "Everything's good, my Queen. Deep breaths, you're doing so well."
"No, you don't get it, I–"
The heat hit your cheeks, walls clamped down half-thrust, and the alarmingly plopping water, finally, finally, spilt.
You came.
Or maybe, gushed.
With his cocks barely inside, a hefty wave rolled through your spine, spraying Sukuna's hands, belly, and chest with your cum. Your body trembled in pleasure, and he used this short moment of distraction to thrust his cocks fully, till your hips finally met his.
It was brutal, mean, absolutely filthy, with his lower mouth drinking your squirt and crimson eyes glimmering with maddening yearning.
Something in his mind snapped when he noticed a big bulge right under your belly button, and within a second, your position changed once again.
And this time, you knew that it was over.
He folded you in half, till your ass peeled off the drenched bed, and pussy glistened under his fiery gaze. All four arms kept you tightly in place, with lower limbs spreading your soaked thighs and upper ones taking something from the bedside table.
Only then have you noticed a crimson, bursting pomegranate, licked by the candle's warm tongues and dripping down Sukuna's forearm. He ripped it in half with a single, gentle move, before drinking the seeds with eyes never leaving yours.
"Deep breath, my Goddess," he said again, before both of his cocks rammed into your needy, stretched hole and lips crushed against yours. "Swallow it," he muttered into your reddened teeth, pushing all the pomegranate seeds straight into your mouth. "My little slutty Queen. Coming on my cocks when I barely thrusted in."
The fruit tasted sweeter than honey itself and mixed with Sukuna's sweet spin. His tongue trailed against yours, before lips moved towards your cheeks, chin, jaw, leaving all over your face a sweet, bloody trace of the fruit.
The power that tied your body, heart and soul to the God who wished for nothing but to love you like a madman and worship every piece of your skin.
His thrusts became more erratic, brutal, with squelches filling the wet, foggy air and his heavy, massive body leaning on your folded legs. His hips met yours with each roll, and whenever he pulled away, a long, sticky strand stretched between his soaked shafts and your sensitive cunt.
"Open up, my Queen," he growled, digging his fingers into your jaw. "Show me how well you swallowed it all."
Your lips fell open, and a string of drool trickled down his fingers. Big thumb pushed on your reddened tongue, and you sucked it sweetly, with eyes crossing in pleasure.
The long, fat tongue of his lower mouth slid out and gave your clit a long, filthy lick, before its lips sucked on it raw. Irritating the sensitive button and slurping on the last droplets of your squirt. Sukuna groaned, feeling your walls clamping around his cocks and pushed harsher, as if trying to fight the merciless squeeze.
"Fuck, my Goddess, let me–ahh–let get to your womb," he groaned, giving you a single, brutal thrust. You cried around his thumb, but he simply shushed you sweetly. "Don't cry, it's alright. Ngh, squeezing me so fucking hard," he leaned over, licking off the salty droplets.
His hips moved with unbelievably violent motion, rocking your bed against the wall and drawing a loud cry from your throat. Two pulsing heads kissed your womb with squelches till it swelled like a juicy peach and bent under his heartless thrusts.
A familiar warmth once again started to pool in your belly. Your arms curled behind Sukuna's neck, pulling him into another, filthy kiss. "My God, I'm g-gonna… soon… mhmm so good, s-so–ahh!"
He chuckled against your lips, but couldn't ignore the lovely tenderness filling your teary eyes. His heart jumped, and lower hands folded you into an even meaner mating press. Till you could barely breathe under his massive body, squeezing you down.
"Say it," he whispered, letting his cocks rip you raw. "Say it again."
Two fat shafts slipped in and out, smooching every little corner of your tired, swollen cunt. The pleasure filled you from head to toe, overflowing your body in electrifying strokes.
You knew what he wanted to hear. But his thrusts made a mushy mess out of your mind and eyes rolled back each time his hand pushed the bulge forming under your belly. Not even pregnancy could get you that bloated.
When your head lulled to the side, his fingers dug into your cheeks again, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say it, my Goddess," he said, licking the last red traces of pomegranate juice from the corner of your lips. "I beg you."
"I love you," slipped like a dream. "I–I, mhmm, I love you. My God, I–"
His lips joined yours in a yearning, maddened kiss. "Fuck, my sweet Goddess. I love you so much, so fucking–fuck."
The warmth in your belly spilt again, and watery cum flooded his abdomen. The belly mouth sucked itself onto your clit, drinking each and every bead of your sweet nectar.
A second later, his hips finally stilled. Pulsing heads nuzzled into your womb, filling it with heavy, gluey cum. He pumped you full, with maddened pleasure creasing his forehead and knees digging into the mattress. Everything, just to get as close to you as possible.
His hefty cum filled your belly before bursting outside and buttering your folds.
"My God, at this point, mhmm, you'll knock me up," a sweet, tired giggle slipped past your lips, feeling his seed overflowing your poor womb. "Although I truly wouldn't mind."
He sighed, nuzzling warmly into the crook of your neck. The plushiness of your skin still made his mind spin, and the flowery fragrance haunted him like a spirit. "My Goddess, don't play with fire."
Your fingers brushed through his hair, pulling a low hum from his massive chest. "I'm not afraid to get burned," you said with full seriousness.
But God didn't answer. Just cuddled closer to your body – plush breasts, soft neck, and hair tickling his nose. He reminded you of Cerberus whenever the beast tried to cuddle into your side.
And with the same love and fondness, you kissed his temple, whispering simple yet oh so important, I'm yours, forever.
Forever it truly was for you, as no other couple on Olympus would ever conquer the utter devotion and love of the Goddess of Spring and the Lord of the Underworld.
Such contrary characters and yet relishing themselves in the most maddening obsession the Olympus has ever seen.
Oh god, I'm tired but so, so happy. I think it's pretty good, but please let me know your thoughts in the comments <3 Pray forgive me for any mistakes, the wizard was proofreading it at 11 p.m.
summary: sukuna has loved you since you were in high school, and when he finally gets his chance with you, four years after graduation, he's the perfect boyfriend.
he treats you like you're worth more than the entire world, devoted solely to you, committed to keeping you healthy and happy in his arms for all eternity.
if only he wasn't killing people behind your back.
word count: 8.3k
content: 18+ mdni, smut, dub-con in the later chapters, dark content, rough sex, yandere sukuna, obsession, stalking, murder, blood, gore, manipulation, deception, unhealthy dynamics, jealousy, cheating (reader cheats on her bf with sukuna), sukuna is awful in this but he's good to reader exclusively, fic takes place in the early 2000s, more tags to be added on a chapter by chapter basis!
a/n: I've been sitting on the plan for this for a while and I'm so excited to get into it! Hope you enjoy!
masterlist | ao3 | next chapter
During your final year of high school, your boyfriend died at a party.
They never caught the guy who did it - he was long gone by the time Ryu’s body was discovered, mutilated in the garage of the poor party host.
He’d been practically ripped apart, torn to pieces by someone with deeply malicious intent. There was no explanation for the act, no note, no leads. Just the assumption, that either your boyfriend was caught up with something nasty that he’d never thought to divulge or, there was someone immensely sick living in your little town.
It haunted you for a long time afterwards.
You’d been the one to discover him - you and one other party-goer. The vision of him, his guts strewn about the place, ribs pulled out one by one, was something that would never leave your mind. Even now, four years later, you’d still occasionally see the image when you closed your eyes.
An unshifting feeling of guilt had followed you ever since that night, deep sorrow for the acts that you’d committed. You could never quite forgive yourself for the fact that, instead of being at his side throughout that party, you’d been holed up in the bathroom, letting another man fuck you over the sink.
If you’d been faithful, maybe he’d still be alive.
There’d been plenty of effort on your part to bury that thought via various different methods. You’d gone off to university, where you’d partied, gotten insanely drunk and fucked your fair share of guys in an attempt to drown your sorrows through hedonism. When that only seemed to make things worse, you’d isolated yourself from your peers, turned to support groups and therapy, hoping that you could let the whole thing go.
And to be fair to the tenacity of your therapist, while your guilt hadn’t disappeared, it had shrivelled up considerably in that time.
Enough that your heart no longer palpitated whenever you were back in your hometown - a blessing, considering that it looked like you’d be staying there for the foreseeable future.
You’d tried to get a job out in the city, but with the dire state of the employment market, you found yourself coming up empty handed. You couldn’t afford to stay in the little apartment that you’d rented out throughout university, leaving you no choice but to return to your childhood home.
There, at least you could be employed and earn a little bit of money for your future. Your father owned a construction business, and with various expansion efforts taking place on the outskirts of town, his company had been growing in size significantly. It meant that he was keen to have someone manage the more admin heavy tasks that he was struggling to keep up with.
While it wasn’t your calling, it sounded like fairly easy work and it would keep your dad happy. Besides, there was a part of you that was excited to move back to your hometown. Most of the people you’d known from school were still around, either in a similar situation to you, or having never attempted to leave in the first place.
Considering that you’d never really clicked with anyone at university, bar one guy that you were currently engaged in some sort of situationship with, you were excited to be back with people that you’d known for years.
Perhaps that would dispel some of the loneliness you’d been feeling. After years of guilt and isolation, it was time to start moving on.
“Everything going okay, sweetie? Need anything?” Your dad popped his head around the door of the trailer that served as his office. You’d been rapping your fingers on the wooden desk, staring blankly at the computer before you, waiting patiently for excel to start up. The machine looked like it had been made in the 80s, and it certainly operated like it.
“I’ll be all good once this thing cooperates.” You responded with a smile.
“Be nice to it and it’ll be nice to you!” He chuckled, as if the ancient technology was sentient in any manner. You nodded along all the same, knowing that he was being genuine. He wasn’t the most tech literate man, and honestly believed that these things could smell your fear.
A ridiculous, but endearing quality of his.
“I showed you how to make an accident report, right?” He continued, expression turning a little more serious. “One of my guys has hurt his hand. Nothing serious but we gotta write it up - think you can handle that, sweetie?”
You shrugged. How hard could it really be? All you had to do was open up a word template and fill out the questions accordingly before filing it away - any seven year old with two IT lessons under their belt could figure it out.
“Sure. What was the accident?”
“I’ll just send him in to explain, he should really be off the clock for today anyway.” Your father gave you a thankful smile before heading back out the door. It swung shut with a heavy creak, and you fidgeted with a pen for a few moments, staring at the digital clock on the desk as you waited for the worker to arrive.
You hoped that they were a quick talker - it was already 4pm, and you were meant to clock out at 5. Ideally you didn’t want to be here any later than absolutely necessary.
The door creaked open once more, and you barely raised your head. You didn’t have much interest in your father’s employees, most of them were on the older side, and had been working for your dad since you were a little girl. There was a limited amount of good work in town, and your dad offered one of the few places where a man could find steady employment.
Naively, you’d assumed that it would be one of those men entering the office. A pleasant old guy who had worked here long enough to remember you coming along for ‘bring your daughter to work’ days.
Nothing could’ve prepared you for the deep, familiar voice that sent tingles crawling up your spine.
“Well, well. Isn’t this a nice surprise.”
You blinked a couple of times as you looked up, voice failing you at the sight of the man towering over your desk. He’d grown even taller since the last time you’d seen him, if that was even possible. His pink hair was a little longer, still pushed back from his forehead as it always was. More tattoos had appeared on his tanned skin, the ones lining his face just as striking as ever.
The soft, involuntary gasp that fell from your lips was a little embarrassing, especially considering the way that his grin widened at the sound, sharp canines on display. His red eyes were alight with that same intensity that had always burned within them, that alluring gaze that always felt like it was stripping you down to nothing.
“Should’ve told me you were back in town,” he said, eyes dragging slowly up your figure, as if assessing all manner of ways you’d changed in the years since he’d last seen you.
“I- I’ve only just got back, a few days ago.”
It wasn’t a lie, you really only had been there a couple of days. That wasn’t exactly the reason that you hadn’t reached out though. You’d been avoiding him ever since the murder four years ago, guilt curling in your stomach at the mere thought of him. He’d been the one with you in the bathroom at that party, hands gripping your hips, buried to the hilt inside you.
While your poor boyfriend bled out in the garage below, Sukuna had been whispering filthy things in your ear, holding you like you belonged to him.
It was a mistake that you could never take back - a moment of lust, of frustration with your boyfriend, clouding your judgement into a single, awful decision.
“You working here now?” He asked with a tilt of his head, pulling out the chair opposite the desk and sitting down. His tongue swiped across his lip for a moment, the silver of his piercing glinting in the golden light streaming through the window.
You could still recall the feeling of that little metal ball against your pussy, sobbing softly as he teased it against your clit, fingers digging hard into your thighs, holding you still for him. You hated to admit that for every night you’d spent picturing your ex-boyfriend’s lifeless body, there was a night spent replaying that evening with Sukuna.
How pathetic.
“Something like that, yeah.” Your tone was cautious, not sure what to make of all this. You hadn’t expected Sukuna to be working for your dad, had almost expected him to have gotten out of town by now. Despite appearances, he was a smart guy - it wasn’t like some construction job in a dead end town was all he was capable of.
“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then.”
The statement hung heavy in the air, his eyes fixed on yours. It felt like a test, to see if you’d squirm beneath his statement that almost certainly held double meaning. This was how he’d spoken to you back in high school, greeting you with teasing lines that would never fail to make your heart race, to further your attraction for him.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Even now, your cheeks reddened ever so slightly, gaze dropping down to the desk in an attempt to escape the intensity of his eye contact.
“I guess so.”
You fell silent, not sure how to continue. It felt awkward, almost scary to be in his proximity again. There was still so much tension between the two of you, things left unsaid after that evening together. You’d slipped from his grip, lost in a sea of guilt, unwilling to face that night. The few times that Sukuna had reached out via text, you’d ghosted him.
He was a reminder of your sin, one that you wanted to wash away, no matter how much you ached for a repeat of how it felt to have his body pressed against yours.
It seemed like he was finding your reaction amusing, elation drawn across his handsome face. With the silence stretching on, he leant forward, planting his elbows on the desk. Your skin prickled as he drew closer, almost able to feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “So, aren’t you meant to be writing an injury report for me or something, sweetheart?”
Your mouth opened and then closed again, unsure as to whether you should object to the nickname. One one hand you were currently in some sort of relationship, even if it was a little fraught, and therefore shouldn’t abide by men calling you sweet names. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny the way that it built pressure in your gut, to hear the word drawled out in his deep voice.
“Oh, uh- yeah, one sec.”
You scrambled to pull up the report, goosebumps rising on your skin at the acute awareness of how closely he was watching you, a soft little smile curving his lips. The air in the room felt too close, charged by his presence. Trying your best to ignore it, you focussed on the document, filling in the parts that you already knew - the basic things like his name and date of birth.
It was only then that you turned back to him, heart stuttering at the sight of his smug expression. “What- what’s the nature of your injury?” You asked, after clearing your throat, reading the question word for word off the document.
Slowly, he turned his hand over, revealing his palm to you. You flinched back in surprise at the sight of a deep cut ravaging his tanned skin, blood still trickling from the open wound. He didn’t seem bothered by it, more amused by your shocked reaction.
“Fuck. my dad said it was nothing, that’s deep!”
Sukuna pursed his lips before shrugging. “There’s been worse. Some old dude’s arm got chopped off two weeks ago.”
“Still, we need to clean that up.” You urged, the tense atmosphere lightening a little now that you’d broken the initial barrier of awkwardness. Report forgotten for the moment, you rummaged around in the desk drawers until you found what you were looking for, pulling out a first aid kit.
He sat still, watching you eagerly as you looked through the kit, pulling out cleansing wipes and a roll of bandages. You didn’t hesitate to reach for his hand, his fingers warm beneath yours while you held him still. You made quick work of wiping up the blood, before wrapping a bandage firmly around his damaged palm.
You’d have to lecture your father later about taking better care of his employees. If you hadn’t been there what would’ve happened to Sukuna? Would he have just gone back to work as normal?
What happened to the guy who lost his arm?
“How did this even happen?” You asked, exasperated.
“Aw, you worried about me?” His palm was still outstretched on the table, even though you’d long since retracted your own hand.
“I’m worried about everyone working here if this kind of thing is normal.”
His grin didn’t waver, telling you that in his mind, it was the former. Regardless, he offered you the answer you’d been seeking. “Just some glass buried in the dirt, I didn’t see it before I was sticking my hand in there.”
Your gaze flicked back down to his hand, brow a little furrowed. You weren’t sure why he’d be doing that in the first place, and his hands were miraculously clean for someone who had been digging around in the mud, but you figured it was best not to pick him up on it. It wasn’t like you really understood the processes surrounding what went on around the worksite.
“You should be more careful.”
“When I’ve got a nice little angel in here ready to patch me up when things go wrong? Nah, I think I’ll be more reckless.” He sported a boyish grin, one that you were all too familiar with. It had been reflected in the mirror the last time you’d seen him, when he’d been all up in your guts.
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way his smile made your heart pound. It was wrong - you didn't deserve anything with Sukuna - that was your atonement for the cheating, for the betrayal of your boyfriend all those years ago.
Moving back to the computer, you typed out a quick description of the wound, followed by Sukuna’s short explanation of how it had happened. You then detailed the first aid that had been administered, before sending the document over to the printer to create two copies. Sukuna stayed silent through all of it, crimson eyes just watching as you headed over to collect the freshly printed reports.
You could feel the way that his eyes lingered on your ass as you walked, making little effort to hide his continuing desire for you. It was as though you hadn’t been gone for four years, like Sukuna had been keeping you in the front of his mind this whole time.
It was embarrassing how giddy the idea made you feel.
“Toji’s having a party at his place tonight, you should come,” Sukuna said.
Biting down on your lip, you hesitated. Partying had stopped being your scene a long time ago - after your first year at university you’d mostly just stayed holed up in your room. Parties came with too many reminders of what had happened to Ryu all those years ago, and you found that it was easier to avoid them altogether.
Besides, you weren’t sure that hanging around with Sukuna was the best course of action for you. Your history considered.
Sensing your hesitation, he continued. “It would be nice to catch up under better circumstances. Y’know, when I’m not bleeding out and all.” He held up his hand with a charming smile, and you couldn’t help but giggle.
“I think you’ll be fine,” you said. “I’m a great doctor.”
“You are.” He agreed. “I think a really great doctor would come and check up on their patient later, to make sure the wound hasn’t reopened.”
It was a smooth line, that had always been the way that he operated. You were well aware of what he was doing - wise to the gentle, enticing, flirting that was so characteristically him. But it would be wrong to give in, even if you wanted to. Anything between you and Sukuna would always be marred by that fateful night.
Besides, you had your situationship to consider - even if Kashimo wasn’t technically your boyfriend, he still deserved some level of respect.
The rejection, the lie about being busy, had been sitting on the tip of your tongue when the creaky door to the trailer opened. Your dad stepped in with a kind smile, glancing between the two of you. “Everything all good in here?”
“Y-yep!” You stuttered over your words, cursing yourself. You hadn’t wanted your dad to sense any tension between the two of you, but the way that you fumbled as you handed Sukuna his copy of the accident report had your dad frowning.
You weren’t generally a flustered girl, usually very calm and collected. The flush that decorated your cheeks paired with Sukuna’s amused gaze clearly had some cogs turning in his head.
“Oh, do you guys know each other? You must be around the same age.”
“We went to school together,” Sukuna said, easily. “It’s nice to see each other actually, we haven't had the chance in the last few years.”
You nodded along, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t divulge any further information than that. Your dad certainly didn’t need to know the intimacy with which you’d known each other. In fact, you were rather confident that your dad would hate the idea of you bringing home a guy like Sukuna. He’d always been eager for you to find a nice man with a good job.
“I was just inviting her along to a party actually. Loads of people she knew from school will be around, I bet they’d love to see her.”
Sukuna smirked at you as he spoke, like he’d picked up on your hesitation and had known exactly how to counter your uncertainty. To an outsider it all looked so innocent, just an old friend looking to encourage you to reconnect. To your father, there would be no hidden intentions behind the invite, no history to consider.
“Oh isn’t that nice!” Your father exclaimed with a bright smile, taking Sukuna’s bait easily. “You should definitely go, sweetie.”
He’d been worried about your apparent isolation throughout most of your university years, and didn’t want you moping around in your room now that you were back in town. To him, this probably sounded like the perfect opportunity to reconnect.
And you supposed it probably was.
You just needed to make sure that you didn’t do something you’d regret.
—
Toji lived in a nice house in the suburbs.
It didn’t really surprise you since his family had always been wealthy. They ran some sort of agriculture related business and had made millions from it. All of the Zenin kids went on to work there, no need to worry about university or getting their foot in the door somewhere - Naobito would take care of them all.
It had been Naobito’s house that Ryu’s murder had taken place in all those years ago, during a party that Naoya had been throwing. Apparently they’d sold up after that, moving into a new place across town. Naobito had been very publicly enraged about how the murder had damaged the value of their old house - a place that, for all intents and purposes, had previously been a lovely place to live.
Toji’s house was smaller than either of the Zenin mansions were, but still larger than most houses in town. The sound of music was blaring from within, a handful of people hanging around on the lawn, smoking and chatting. You didn’t recognise any of them, but Toji was a few years older than you, so you wouldn’t be surprised if they were classmates from his own school year.
Taking a deep breath, you made your way up the fancy driveway and through the front door, trying not to think too much about the last time you’d attended a party just like this one. It wasn’t like the same thing would happen again, it was narcissistic to believe that the murder had anything to do with you in the first place.
Even if your guilt wanted you to believe it.
Inside, you discovered a scene that wasn’t too unlike the parties you’d attended in high school - although, there was a lot less hiding where drinking alcohol was concerned. Some terrible skater anthems were blasting, seemingly courtesy of Toji’s buddy Choso, who had a DJ rig set up in one corner. Everyone was dancing and mingling, and you felt a mild panic wash through your body at the overwhelming number of people.
Especially because most faces seemed unfamiliar to you.
The fear dissipated at the sound of a familiar voice, a gleeful shriek of your name followed by the weight of being tackled into a bearhug. “I can’t believe you’re actually back!” Your senses were overwhelmed by the smell of some rosy smelling perfume and the light blonde hair of your attacker falling in the way of your eyes.
Yuki felt like she was squeezing the life out of you, making up for years of limited contact with a single hug that had you gasping by the time she finally released you. “Hey,” you said with a smile, eyeing her up. She looked gorgeous in a halterneck burgundy dress, her hair flowing freely around her shoulders.
She’d been one of your best friends in high school. The two of you had always been joined at the hip, along with Shoko, who was currently catching up to Yuki, trying not to spill her drink as she hurried over to you. “Hey girl!!” She was much more careful with the hug that followed, only wrapping one arm around you, aware that her plastic cup was too full to take the risk of hugging you properly.
“Didn’t think we’d be seeing you until Saturday!” Yuki said with a smile.
She and Shoko were the two people that you’d actively told about your return to town. While you’d drifted apart over the last four years, all off at your respective universities, you’d still called them every now and then to catch up, keeping each other updated with important life matters with regular texts.
Yuki had moved back to town permanently after university. She’d landed one of those cushy corporate jobs that lets you work from home four days a week, in which your main job is responding to emails for an obscene amount of money. She could certainly afford to live in the city, but she and Choso had been dating for about a year now, and he had no interest in leaving town.
Shoko was still going through medical school, attending a university a mere ten miles from your little town. Her mother had been sick when she was first going through the application process, and had therefore opted to select a school nearby. It meant that she could live at home, be with her mom, and save a load of money in the process.
It would be nice to have your little group back together, and you’d all planned to go and get your nails done together on Saturday, treat yourselves to a nice girl’s day out. You were certainly long overdue one - there was so much that you needed to bring them up to speed on.
“Yeah, I thought you weren’t big on parties these days?” Shoko enquired.
“I’m not, but I figured it would be nice to pop along and see some familiar faces.”
You really hoped they didn’t ask you who had actually invited you to the party. They both knew what had happened with Sukuna four years ago. They were part of an elite, private group that was aware of the truth. That group consisted only of the two of them, and your therapist. And, you supposed, anyone Sukuna might have told.
In their eyes Sukuna was bad news - they believed he’d manipulated you into sleeping with him and cheating on Ryu when you were in an emotionally volatile state. They weren’t technically wrong, but it didn’t account for how badly you’d also wanted Sukuna, how little he’d actually had to try to get you bent over in that bathroom.
You’d fantasized about Sukuna long before that night.
Either way, like true friends, they never accepted that any of the blame lay with you, and piled everything on Sukuna - and partially on Ryu for the part that he played in the situation, since he’d cheated on you first. Although blaming the latter was harder to justify considering the depressing end that he’d met.
It was easiest to just blame Sukuna. And for that reason, they’d been on Sukuna watch for a long time, ensuring that the two of you wouldn’t cross paths, warning you not to respond to him when you’d tell them about texts he’d sent to your phone.
They’d definitely be angry if they knew you’d come here because of him.
“Let me get you a drink,” Shoko said, “I’m pretty good at cocktails, you used to like mojitos right? I can make you one.”
“Oh, it’s fine, I can-”
“No, no, you guys head out to the garden, I’ll do it!”
Shoko scuttled off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving her drink in your hands while she went to make you a fresh one. You stared after her, a little perplexed by her insistence since you weren’t sure she’d ever gone to get a drink for you at a party before. For one panicked moment you wondered if the two of them thought you needed babysitting for your first home town party in years.
Yuki caught your confusion before your theories could evolve any further. “Utahime is in the kitchen, Shoko is down bad for her. She’s just looking for an excuse to go back in there.”
“Oh right!” You giggled softly. Shoko generally kept things like crushes close to her chest, and was likely doing everything she could to deny having any feelings towards your former classmate, but Yuki had always been far too astute to have such secrets kept from her.
“Anyway, most of the people we know are out in the garden.” Yuki grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd of bodies in the direction of the patio doors at the back of the house. “No idea who most of the people at this party are though! I think they work for Toji or something.”
Making your way outside, you were greeted with a beautifully manicured garden, set up with a lovely firepit in the middle, surrounded by an array of benches, crates and camping chairs for people to sit on. You couldn’t picture Toji labouring away outside, so you could only imagine that he had a gardener to keep things in such pristine shape.
Yuki led you over to the firepit, waving at various people that you’d known from school, parading you around like a trophy. You supposed that your presence was a novelty, since you’d been absent from any such gathering for a long time.
As she brought you around to the far side of the pit, you caught the eye of Sukuna, sitting in between Toji and Gojo. His gaze locked onto you immediately, a small smirk playing on his lips as he gave you a nod, raising his beer ever so slightly in greeting. Yuki gave you no window to respond, her grip on your hand firm as she ushered you past the man.
She didn’t want you to acknowledge his presence.
Even as Gojo stopped you with a bright smile, gushing over how long it had been, Yuki inserted herself in front of Sukuna, effectively shutting down any chance at conversation, giving you a few minutes to fill in Gojo on the last few years of your life before interrupting and dragging you away, claiming that she “deserved more of your time than any stupid boy.”
The two of you eventually found a seat on a crate a little further around the circle to where Sukuna was situated, next to Mei and Manami, who both seemed thrilled to see you. They hadn’t been your closest friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d both been in lots of your classes, and had shown plenty of support when Ryu died.
As such, you found yourself getting caught up in conversation with them for a while, attention only waning when Yuki started gossiping to Mei about some guy that they worked with, your mind starting to tune out the conversation, eyes drifting in the direction that you knew they shouldn’t.
Sukuna was already staring at you when you looked over at him, red eyes lighting up in amusement at your lack of resistance to his presence. Unnerved by being caught, you were quick to glance away, reminding yourself that your current kind of boyfriend, kind of friends-with-benefits, probably wouldn’t approve of you looking at or thinking about Sukuna in the way that you did.
You’d made the mistake with Ryu, you wouldn’t make it with Kashimo.
In a bid to avoid Sukuna’s gaze, your eyes drifted over to his left, where Toji was spread out on a camping chair, lounging in it like it was a throne. He’d always been the type of person that commanded a heavy atmosphere, confident in himself despite all his failings. He and Sukuna had much in common on that front, though you’d always found Sukuna much more palatable.
There was an intelligence to Sukuna that you couldn’t really see in Toji. You were certain that he was street smart, but his conversations tended to hold little weight. If you weren’t interested in discussing gambling or sex, he wasn’t interested in you.
Sitting pretty on his lap was Takako Uro, twirling her vibrant pink hair and slapping his shoulder as she giggled at some joke. The sound might as well have been nails dragging down a chalkboard as far as you were concerned, for she was decidedly not your favourite person.
She and her best friend, Yorozu, hadn’t been all that nice to you during high school, deciding for some reason that you were a decent target of ridicule. You were aware that jealousy had a big part to play in that, since Yorozu had always been down bad for Sukuna, who would never care to spare her a glance but seemed to have all the time in the world for you.
It led to plenty of instances of bullying - spreading rumors about you, leaving nasty notes in your locker, hiding your normal clothes after gym. For the most part you ignored it, rose above it even. You had good friends, and you knew that Uro and Yorozu would never take it too far for fear of how Yuki would deal with them if you were to tell your friend about their actions.
That didn’t stop Yorozu from sleeping from Ryu though, bragging about how he’d had her over the desk in an empty classroom, while you were still dating him. She’d said it loud enough for you to hear, turning to grin at you as she smashed your first relationship to pieces. Revenge for garnering interest from a man who wanted nothing to do with her.
That incident was why you’d been so angry at Ryu that night that he’d died, why you’d been so pliable to Sukuna’s advances in a manner that you wouldn’t usually be.
You supposed that in a way, you got the better of Yorozu in the end. She might’ve fucked your boyfriend, but all it did was drive you into the arms of the true object of her affection. Not very clever of her really.
“Ugh, gross,” Yuki said, wrinkling her nose as she followed your gaze, just in time to catch Toji sticking his tongue down Uro’s throat. “Thought she’d be less insufferable without her other half but somehow she’s worse now.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion and you glanced up at her. “Without her other half?”
“Yorozu.”
You shot her a blank look that told her you understood who she’d meant, but lacked the context to understand Yorozu’s absence.
“Oh you don’t know?” Yuki asked, a little surprised, as if you were missing out on common knowledge. “She skipped town after high school. Ran away in the middle of the night, just left some dumb note for her parents about how she was gonna go be a star. No one’s heard from her since.”
“Oh.”
You weren’t sure what else to say, mainly because you were trying to stop a massive grin from creeping across your face.
“Uro was devastated, all this crying and screaming about how Yorozu wouldn’t just ditch her like that. Doesn’t seem all that surprising to me though,” she said with a shrug. “Yorozu’s always been a bitch.”
You laughed softly, trying not to look too overjoyed that you wouldn’t have to worry about running into her ever again. It was a little spiteful, but a big part of you hoped that she never managed to become a star. In your mind she’d ended up in some nasty crack den somewhere before she even made it halfway to Hollywood.
Although, considering how panicky most people in the town had been following Ryu’s death, you were surprised that a simple note had been a valid enough explanation. “Did her parents not search for her?”
“Nah, Uro kicked up a whole fuss reporting her as a missing person and the police got involved, but Yorozu’s parents basically shot it all down. Apparently, she’d spouted off about this plan non-stop, so they told Uro to just let it go. Police didn’t find any signs of foul play.”
You hummed, eyes flicking back over to Sukuna for a moment, breath knocked from your lungs at the intensity with which his red eyes were fixed on you, crimson irises glowing in the light of the fire. You wondered if he was relieved that Yorozu was gone - she’d always stuck to him like glue no matter how hard he pushed her away.
The ugly thought jumped into your mind that you’d actually be happy if Yorozu had met the same fate as Ryu. She wasn’t the worst person to be wiped from the world. Not that you’d ever say such a thing aloud.
Considering some of the things Sukuna had said to her, you wouldn’t be surprised if he felt the same.
“Anyway, good riddance. Things have been nicer without her around,” Yuki said easily, taking a long sip of her drink.
“Yeah.” Your response was absent-minded, thoughts already drifting back to Sukuna - transfixed by the way that his thighs were spread so easily on the bench that he occupied, tattooed biceps on display in that blank tank that clung to him so perfectly. You should really stop staring, stop inviting any opportunity for interaction, but your body had always been a traitor when it came to him.
You’d hoped that your friends would draw your attention back to them. Shoko and Utahime had joined you, sitting together on their own bench and giggling away at something that Mei had said. Surrounded by people, it was harder to get caught up in that magnetic pull that Sukuna seemed to command over you.
And yet, as there was a call to play Spin the Bottle inside, one that your friends all jumped at, you found yourself declining. You had a boyfriend - that was the excuse that you gave, claiming that he wouldn’t like you kissing some other guy, and you’d rather stay out here in the fresh air anyway.
They’d tried to convince you for a few minutes before conceding, leaving you sitting on the crate, drink in hand, left practically alone. Almost everyone that had been sitting around the fire had gone inside, leaving only a handful of people dotted around. Most of them were strangers to you.
Except for one.
He wasted no time sidling up to you, taking a seat next to you on your little crate without so much as asking if it was okay.
“Looking kinda lonely over here.” His voice was deep, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand came to rest on the crate behind you, no doubt under the guise of maintaining balance, but you could feel the slight brush of his skin against your back.
You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could, pretending your heart wasn’t racing. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Yeah? It's funny, the way you were looking at me made it seem like you wanted me to come over.”
You opened your mouth to bite back, to say that you wanted no such thing, but it would be a lie. You did want him to come over, you wanted him next to you, craved his attention. Even though you knew you shouldn’t, knew that anything with him would be built on bloodied foundations, it didn’t stop the desire.
If you were more religious, you might’ve considered Sukuna to be the devil himself - a manifestation of all your deepest temptations, built solely from sin. As such, you really shouldn’t keep giving into him.
And you were trying your best, really.
“You look good.” The compliment was easy, straightforward. It shouldn’t have made you flush as deeply as you did.
For a second, you almost forgot yourself, the response of so do you lingering on the tip of your tongue, only for you to force it back down your throat.
Instead, you did the responsible thing. “I- uh- have a boyfriend.”
The glimmer in his eyes dulled a little, smile faltering for such a miniscule second that you weren’t even sure it had happened at all. “A boyfriend?”
Boyfriend wasn’t really the right word, not from your side of things at least, but you were certain that if you referred to Kashimo as a situationship, Sukuna would disregard it as a whole. As far as he was concerned, if there was no actual relationship then you were fair game. In the case of Ryu, even that hadn’t stopped his advances.
Though he’d at least been more subtle, more careful, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Yeah, a boyfriend,” the words felt foreign in your mouth, too heavy, your heart unmoving for Kashimo in the way that it should be. Half of you even considered calling the whole thing quits and crawling onto Sukuna’s lap there and then.
But that wouldn’t be fair - not when Kashimo had been there for you unwaveringly. He was a good guy, the type of guy who’d take you out on cute little dates, supported you when your anxiety popped up from time to time, understood your trauma from Ryu’s death. He’d been patient around stuff like sex, taking things slow, always listening to whatever you wanted.
He was a good guy.
You knew that he wanted to be your boyfriend. You were the one standing in the way of any serious commitment. That had been the case with any man you’d met in the last four years, and you’d convinced yourself that it was a trauma response, that you were afraid of what had happened to Ryu happening to any other boyfriend you had.
In the depth of your soul you knew that wasn’t really the case.
The reality was, you compared every man that you met to Sukuna, and always found that they came up short. They didn’t ignite that fiery lust within your chest, didn’t fuck you like he did, didn’t make you feel giddy like he did.
“You sound enthralled by him.” Sukuna said, sarcasm heavy in his tone.
“I- it's steady.” The defence was pathetic and you both knew it.
It was steady, it was nice, safe. He was the type of guy who had a good job, who you could bring home to meet your parents without fear of what they might think.
Even if Sukuna did work for your dad, if you were to bring him home, you were certain your parents would hate it. They didn’t want you with someone like him, someone tough and volatile, someone who pushed you to cheat on your boyfriend.
They wanted you to be with someone like Kashimo. He was the exact type of guy that you should’ve wanted for yourself.
And yet there you were, right at Sukuna’s side, not quite shutting him down despite having plenty of reasons to.
“Sounds like he isn’t keeping you interested. I’m sure you wouldn’t run into that problem if you were with me,” Sukuna purred, a confident grin stretching across his handsome face.
Your eyes widened at how straightforward he was with his words, willing to lay out his intentions on the line. It was as though he’d spent a great deal of time considering what he’d missed out on all those years ago, and didn’t want to lose it again.
And you had to fight the impulse to nod your head and agree, because you were certain that you wouldn’t run into that problem if you were with him. But unfortunately that wasn’t all that dictated a relationship. And what kept you from Sukuna wasn’t really Kashimo - you were just using your current situationship as a convenient excuse.
“No.” You said with a shake of the head, turning him down despite the way your heart was hammering in your chest. “We killed someone, Sukuna. We don’t get to be together.”
He rolled his eyes, clearly displeased by your dramatic wording. “We didn’t kill anyone. Ryu would’ve died whether we were fucking in that bathroom or not. Trust me.”
It was probably true, you’d always known in your heart that it was probably true. Your therapist had made it abundantly clear to you that you should not be held responsible for his death. You’d already punished yourself plenty, that was what she’d said, at some point you had to forgive yourself.
And yet it felt impossible to fully push that feeling off your chest.
“I betrayed his trust. I don’t get to ride off into the sunset with the man I was cheating with while he’s laying six feet underground. That’s my punishment.”
Sukuna was staring at you like you were stupid, red eyes narrowed in disappointment. “Punishment from who? At this point you’re just punishing yourself, and me.” The hand he had positioned behind you moved, wrapping around your waist carefully. It was a test, to see if you’d push him away.
You didn’t.
“He was a piece of shit, he cheated on you, baby. Gonna live in regret because of a guy like that? Not sure why you were even dating him. You could’ve been with me the whole time.”
You nibbled on your lip, unhappy to hear such words coming from his mouth, trying to break down your walls. He said it like it had ever been that simple. You hadn’t understood the depth of Sukuna’s feelings before you’d gotten together with Ryu, and had assumed that all he’d really wanted was to play with you like he played with other girls.
What Ryu had shown you was something real, tangible. He’d been straight forward in his affection, asked you to be his girlfriend without any doubt surrounding where you stood with him. It wasn’t the confusion that you felt with Sukuna, never quite sure if you were the object of his affection or his prey.
“Maybe you should’ve learned how to use your words back then.”
He grinned at you. “I really think that would’ve taken away some of the fun.”
You rolled your eyes in disbelief. You certainly didn’t consider what had gone down between the two of you fun. You’d spent plenty of high school wondering, fantasising about Sukuna, wondering if his flirting was something legitimate. It had stressed you out to the point where your heart would go into overdrive whenever you’d see him, never quite sure where you stood.
When Ryu had asked you out, after experiencing nothing but vague flirting from Sukuna, you’d figured you’d take the opportunity. Everyone else you knew had done stuff with guys and you didn’t want to be left behind, didn’t want to be played with by a guy who wasn’t really interested.
Even having sex in the bathroom of that party wasn’t really fun, no matter how good it had felt. It was too corrupted by feelings of guilt for you to look back upon it fondly. Because even with your continuing lust for Sukuna, the emotion was never simple, always caught up with this big ball of insecurity and shame.
He was staring at you, pressing on when you offered no response, not even a hint of a smile at his comment. “I’m using my words now,” he said with a sigh. “I missed you, I want you. Is that straightforward enough for you?”
He leaned in closer to you, breath warm against your face. His arm tightened around your waist, and you could feel heat building between your thighs, memories of the feeling of his big hands gripping your hips all those years ago flooding your mind.
“We can go inside and I can show you just how much I missed you, make you forget about all of that Ryu shit - help you remember that before that fucker died, you were thinking about breaking up with him and dating me.”
That was true. You’d told him that the first time you’d fucked. Your fingers had been white with how tightly you were gripping the sink, breaths coming out in ragged gasps as you whined Sukuna’s name. Between thrusts you’d mumbled about how good he made you feel, how much bigger he was than Ryu, how you wished he was your boyfriend instead.
Of course, with the discovery that followed, your priorities had changed - you’d grown too disgusted with yourself to follow through on any of that, keeping yourself as far away from Sukuna as you could to stop yourself from facing how awful you were.
You still felt awful. But it was harder to shut him down when he was right next to you, his scent heavy in your nostrils. It was unfair how good he always smelt, how familiar. It had the power to draw you closer to him, eager to be wrapped in his scent.
He must’ve felt you lean into him ever so slightly, because he took it as permission, free hand moving to your chin and tilting it up ever so slightly. Your skin tingled under his fingers, eyes widening as you met his gaze.
“Such a pretty girl.”
He leaned in, and for a moment you let him, his lips grazing yours before you found the sense to push him away. You weren’t sure if it was your ongoing guilt from the situation with Ryu or if it was out of loyalty to Kashimo, but you knew that doing anything with Sukuna wasn’t right.
Not right now.
“I have a boyfriend.” You reminded him finally, shuffling away from his arm. His face fell at being thwarted by that line for the second time that night.
“Its not like that stopped you before.”
Your mouth opened in shock, staring at him in disbelief. Even if he was right, the audacity to state that so plainly made you feel sick. How could he not feel bad about what had transpired? Could he not see how guilt-ridden you were over that one mistake?
“That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” you said, bitterly. “If I could go back and undo it, I would.”
You didn’t divulge the fact that you might’ve done some other things differently too - might’ve chosen Sukuna over your boyfriend in the first place, broken up with the guy when you first felt things getting stale. You’d strung him along because you were too scared to hurt his feelings, fucked Sukuna because you’d wanted him for months and couldn’t ignore you impulses any longer.
It wasn’t surprising that Ryu had fucked Yorozu when you’d been so distant with him ahead of the incident, your mind too fixed on someone else.
Because you were awful.
Every choice you’d chosen had been the wrong one, and you weren’t going to let history repeat itself. Any chance for love with Sukuna had been thoroughly fucked up by the events of that fateful night, it would always be corrupted by it.
If you chose him, you’d be living with your sin, affirming it to be correct. That just wasn’t possible.
“Yeah?” He asked with a purr, seemingly unphased. “Because you’re looking at me like you’d crumble and let me fuck you in the bathroom again if I so much as touched you.”
Your mouth opened to reject his words, to tell him that he was dead wrong. But that flutter of butterflies made itself known in your stomach and you knew that you were about thirty seconds of convincing away from folding.
It was pathetic, you were so pathetic.
You needed to leave.
“Fuck you,” you just about managed to hiss, the weight of your words completely lost. You both knew there was no spite behind it, both knew that he was right. He hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted in high school, hadn’t had the chance to pull you into his grip.
He wasn’t the type of man to fail twice.
It was just a matter of time.
next chapter
a/n: hope you enjoyed this first chapter! this one is very much a set up for the juicy stuff that's coming, I can't wait to share the next few chapters with you all because sukuna is both needy and unhinged (and you'll be getting his pov next chapter!)
thank you for the support, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3
you're the sound of the summer—glittering, speaker-melting, and impossible to replicate. suguru is the reason it hits in the first place. chaos and control and the algorithm's (and each other's) favorite obsession.
where the brats at !!!
taglist is closed <3
content: smut, angst, fluff, smau (in some ways) /// drug + alcohol use / unhealthy dynamics (codependency, possessiveness, jealousy) / toxic industry culture / drug + alcohol use / fame spiral /// each chapter will have its own warnings
full masterlist
track 01 | 360
track 02 | talk talk feat satoru gojo
BONUS | Vogue — In The Bag
track 03 | club classics
track 04 | sympathy is a knife
track 05 | angel of my dreams / mean girls
BONUS | Genius Verified — Angel of my dreams
track 06 | von dutch
INTERLUDE| the party and the afterparty
track 07 | party 4 u
track 08 | b2b
track 09 | i might say something stupid / spring breakers
track 10 |
track 11 | rewind
track 12 | everything is romantic
track 13 | i think about it all the time
track 14 | 365
EXTRAS
reader's playlist
a collection of my favorite geto suguru fics i’ve read over the years that i want to spotlight, consisting of pieces that include fluff, angst, smut, and more. fics are divided by series/oneshots/drabbles. please heed all warnings & give all included authors their very much deserved flowers! shamelessly plugging my own geto fics as well :p i’ve marked superscript next to authors to indicate if they’ve been included multiple times in this post!
series:
best friend!geto (ongoing?) by @fricks ; i’ve reread all of the entries in this series so many times that i could beam this shit onto the back of my eyelids and reread them all over again just like that. i adoreeee geto’s characterization here (fricks is a geto expert truly) he’s such a charming little shit and the witty convos between him and reader are just tew good. i can’t decide on a favorite part cos they’re all amazing IM SERIOUS. THIS IS MY LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA PLEASE DONT BURN IT DOWN!!!!
dishonorable (complete) on ao3 ; regency/bridgerton aus are always divine and this fic is no exception. duke geto and reader’s chemistry is too good 🚬 love how they want to strangle each other yet they flirt with each other in the same breath. duke geto take it out its hurtingggguuuhhhh
six degrees of separation (complete) by @starmapz ² ; i read this yeaaaars ago so imagine my surprise when i dug this fic up again and realized trish wrote it 😭 the angst in this has stuck with me for YEARS . geto loves so hard and that facet really shines in this fic. the entire thing is incredibly true to his character as a whole and serves as an amazing analysis of his character. how am i even allowed to read this masterpiece without a price? like wdym this is FREE?
strangers (ongoing) by @yenayaps ; this fic will hit you hard cos jfc this is a truck of ANGST. i’ve never wanted eternal happiness and peace for two people so badly in my life. geto and reader have grown distant after a miscarriage and are in the process of learning & choosing to love each other again, and it makes me wanna bawllll. their arguments and thoughts are so grounded and feel incredibly real, making this fic all the more immersive and making the angst pack a few extra punches. i think about the diabolical restaurant scene once a month at least 😭
no. one party anthem (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; this rockstar suguru right here is one i would suck right off the bone like hes a box of chicken wings. girl dad? charmer of the year n hes slick wit it too? THE PINING THE CHASING THE GROVELING THE TRYING TO BE BETTER FOR READER??? top tier truly. indie always shows out with her various geto series and this has gottaaaaa be one of the best. the angst and smut here are unparalleled. that hotel sex scene STAYS living in my head (gif of the duck smoking and shaking its head with a satisfied smirk). im forever rooting for geto in this fic IDGAF!!!!
meow or never (complete) on ao3 ; geto’s little shit of a cat (aptly named gojo) gets reader’s cat pregnant and chaos ensues. geto wants reader’s cookie so bad lmfaoooo just like gojo with reader’s cat… this whole fic is genuinely SO hilarious. super domestic, fluffy, and very slice-of-life too!
fwb!suguru (ongoing?) by @eraserbread ² ; elly’s prose is to die for and her word choice is so unique too so her works are always a treat to the soul. the way she writes geto.. mm… truly a five course meal. need geto and reader to communicate and stop trying to win the nonchalant-off (they’re both failing to be nonchalant). i’m shaking them. god i wanna smash these two together like barbie dolls 😢 (😏). let me get my wallet because it must be illegal to read this piece of art for FREEEEE?
lazy sunday morning and whispers in the library (complete) on ao3 ; going from domestic intimacy and first times in the first fic to some freaky exhibition shit in the second fic… yeaaaah this is my bread and butter. geto is SO romantic and sweet in these installments, especially the first part 😪 this geto needs to be in my bed by yesterday or i’m hanging myself by the ears on the nearest tower
smoking with stoner!getou suguru (complete) on ao3 ; been a while since i’ve read this but geto is slick and sexy ass motherfucker in this fic. his dialogue had me cheesinggggg I WANT HIM BAD BRAH! the exposition here is so lively and perfectly immersive, idk how to explain it but its SUCH a vibe. gojo and toji are total clowns in this fic lmfao the shit they were pulling in the background had me ctfuuuu. this fic is a certified fave
the roommate part 1 & part 2 (ongoing?) by @kenzieluvsnanami ; call this puth british with the way roommate geto is innittttt 🇬🇧 the way geto is written in these makes me nut untouched and on the spot… this man is a sexy ass fiend and ykw i like them crazy just like this. ESPECIALLY when it’s geto. love his cheekiness and tomfoolery here lmfaooo he’s entertaining asf
sometimes i peep on the handsome dad next door (complete) on ao3 ; the dilf suguru to beat all sugurus 🙂↔️ every time there was so much of a mention of either 1. his gray streaks or 2. how he interacts with nanako and mimiko, i started shaking like a little rabid dog on steroids. reader is such a freak in this LMFAOOJTKWHR just like me fr… i too would wake up at 5am just to watch geto get dressed 🤤 he’s so hot and assured and confident in this fic and it makes me wanna jump his bonessss. his and reader’s relationship and build-up is something you don’t wanna miss out on!
darling (complete) on ao3 ; the second i saw black reader x musician geto i knew this would be toe-curling. AND IT IS! op did such a lovely job of portraying the hard of hearing reader here. i adore how geto and reader use each other as inspiration for music and for writing, and seeing their arrangement develop into a relationship is so worth the read c:
breathe me in on ao3 ; fwb!suguru in this fic… i gotta light a blunt every time i think of him. i was sold the second he asked reader to come over not for sex but to cuddle and to have someone simply there with him. geto is soooo sensual to his core here like every thing he does and says feels like honey… and he’s SO smooth jfc. so fine. my sweetheart AND my little shit :,) the smut here is toe-curling
the ethics of relationships (complete) by @gojonanami ; i typically don’t read prof/students but this fic is just one of those onessss and if you haven’t read it then you’re missing out 🙂↔️ that’s how yummy this whole five course meal is. i’ve harassed so many friends with the link to this fic LMFAO i just want everyone to read this BAD… i’m due for a reread because it’s been a WHILE but so many scenes in this fic stand out in my memory. super good overall!!
brat (ongoing) by @kunareads ; producer geto and pop star reader you are so very famous to me! reader is such a vibe in this fic and it makes her relationship with geto all the more fun & enticing. their dynamic feels like snorting a line of coke in the best way possible but also i need these fools to communicate asap 😣 the formatting of this fic is SO fun and feels super interactive/immersive!!
vault boy (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; fallout/apocalypse au!! if u havent gotten into fallout, indie makes the universe easy to understand. geto is such a sweetie pie in this fic and his humanity is devastating… MY POOR BABY :( i wanna hide him away in a bunker. speaking of bunkers, give me one to shack up with him in and we’d repopulate the entire world in just a few years TRRRRUST 🤣✌🏽
oneshots:
#INTRO2MUNCH101 by @satorena ; another situation where i read a fic years ago and became mutuals with the author later on (haiii serena). this fic is comedy fawking golddddd no joke but its also hot as hell. serena is too good at building up the chemistry between geto and reader (#welovemeanreadersbtw) and i love how desperate geto is here, he wants that cookie BAD. his fake nonchalant shit had no one fooled and every time reader called him out i was ctfu. the smut had me writhing brah WRITHING (and giggling profusely for many reasons)
rock you up on ao3 ; TA geto and professor reader is an unmatched dynamic brah YALL DONT EVEN GETTTT HOW MUCH I FUCK WITH THEM ANDDD THIS FIC… submissive geto was a very exciting surprise HEHEHEHEEEE i love seeing my man getting his shit rocked <3 the banter here is too mfing good and is something this writer very much excels at!!
why suguru’s wife is the best cook in the world! by @yunamoona ; a super good take on geto and his relationship with food AND the cutest meet cute to ever meet cute… yeah this is a banger. repeating what i said in the comments but when geto ate reader’s cookies i was smiling at my phone like a freak, because sometimes all it takes is just the act of kindness/love to be able to guide you down a path of healing :,) i love this fic sm. it’s one of a kind
what if you’re just someone i want around (i’m falling again) on ao3 ; post-jjk0 fix it fic where reader is assigned to watch over geto 😣💔 < the sound of my heart shattering. you can feel geto’s jadedness and bitterness radiating through the screen due to how vivid and deeply thoughtful each scene is written out. but despite it all, geto is such a sweetheart and lover to his core 😢
i’m afraid that’s just the way the world works (but i think that it could work for you and me) on ao3 ; an au where geto never defected and years later, reader and geto take in nanako and mimiko. such a heartwarming fic all around. i love my miminana forever and ever and they deserve the world
bed chem by @nanamiskentos ; this is sexy AND fucking hilarious, what MORE could you ask for. suguru had me curling my toessss in this fic jhtjwhrjsi his dialogue has me hot and ready like lil caesars. the descriptions here make me wanna lick my screen and digest every single word. best believe i’m cleaning my plate every time i reread this
it’s true i never write, but i would gladly die with you by @summer-oil ; post-defection fics where geto and reader used to be friends always destroy me in the best way possible :,) and ugh the prose here… no words can describe how beautiful and impactful it is. oh geto you yearner…
the haunting by @starmapz ² ; if you like horror fics this is absolutely the fic for you :3 if geto were my ex… shittttt i would crack him again and take him back too. this fic is a perfect blend of hot smut, angst, and unsettling horror. i can’t say much else cos of spoilers but the ending had me GAGGED
it will come back by @hellowoolf ; ballerina au with instructor geto and ballerina reader!! their push and pull in this fic had me reading with my hands (and puth 😣) clenched… the chemistry is SO buzzy and so loud. the smut is mfing fantasticcccc and the build-up to it is EXCELLENT. dialogue is on point toooooo everything geto says makes me giggle
top of the class on ao3 ; if my TA was as pretty (and pathetic) as geto in this fic, i’d crack tf out of them too 🤭 love the switch-up in the power dynamic here and how reader sooo effortlessly has geto wrapped around her finger
ghostface pussy killer by @saintkaylaa ; one thing about me is i loveeee a good fic where one chases the other and then they fuck nasty 😣 the aphrodisiacs being involved makes the stakes sm more intense (and hotter 😏). i’m obligated to reread this everyyyy october because this fic is peak
the best kind of remedy by @reignpage ; santa can i please get herbalist geto under my tree for christmas 🙏🏽 preferably naked and already oiled up 🙏🏽 stoner geto is absolutely and 100% my kryptonite everyyyy time and he’s extra sexy asl in this fic. DREAMY SIGH. the smut is so buzzyyyyy
a guide to hooking up by @thedivinegeneral ² ; this is a certified hood classic iykwim. every time this fic pops up on my dash or in my memory, i just HAVE to reread it. jade is really and truly the god of managing to make fics perfectly fluffy, hilarious, and smutty like whewwwww… geto and reader here are so special to me I LOVE THEM DEARLY 😣😋
how to baby trap marry your best friend! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; FUCK MY BABY DAD ALRIGHT!!! i love idiot best friends in love bro like just put the crush in the bag and pop the questionnnnn, the yearning in this kills me in the best way possible! the first time they have sex and take pictures of each other is forever branded in my head cos its tooooo hot 🚬
lessons in love on ao3 ; oh to fall in love with dilf geto and to retire with him… whimsical sigh. such a comforting slice of life fic. if my future partner isn’t this sweet and devoted and understanding, i don’t want em! geto here is really the perfect husband 😋
cry for me by @bunnieeteeth ; coach geto and figure skater reader! really cannot say much about this fic for the sake of spoilers, but also because i genuinely have no words for how this fic makes me feel. just wow. trust me when i say that this fic will have you sitting up in your seat and staring at your phone in shock. i want geto and reader to get together so bad but at what cost 💔
the torture of small talk with someone you used to know by @betterinvienna ; rockstar geto (and your ex) and photographer reader how you’ve both moved me and changed me irreversibly. geto is a first class yearner with a ticket straight to piningville because ohhhh my goddddd he wants reader back so mfing bad . he’s losing the nonchalant war #chalantking and i’m happy about it! such a good angst & hurt/comfort fic. i love exes fics. EVERY SINGLE SONG IS ABOUT YOU… WAH…. 😢😢😢🥺🥺🥺🥺
the practice of kissing by @lovelivision ; we all cheer for kissing practice fics!!! geto is such a mouthwatering tease in this fic ughhtksjrns i have got to fuck him . he’s such a cocky little shit but also sososo sweet with reader and so accommodating… his duality is unmatched!
praisekink4praisekink by @planetchoso ; cherry always excels with writing familiar and cozy domesticity even during intimacy… dreamy sigh. geto is such a romantic WHY ISNT HE REALLLL UGHHHH WE LOVE YOU HOUSEHUSBAND SUGU!!!!!
golden brown by @sixxels ; princess reader and knight geto you will be my undoing… the forbidden love here really packs a punch because they’re so desperate to be with each other and so in love, but they have to comply with the system :( i teared up while reading this fic. please never hurt me like this again (DO IT.)
ghost of you by @suguruss1ut ³ ; this fic is my 13th reason ☹️ post-defection geto and reader who still love each other despite geto’s actions/ideals is lethal. so lethal. this fic had me rolling around in bed thinking about it for dayssss after finishing it… it’s so heartbreaking UGHHHH 💔
#THE PARTY AND THE AFTER PARTY by @screampied ; lock me in a room with stripper!geto for about an hour (please trap us together longer though.) and he’s walking out pregnant god willing. whole fic had me twirling my hair and checking my wallet for extra cash to toss geto’s way
you & me by @getosurya ; perfect perfect perfect hurt/comfort after an argument between geto and reader. despite everything, they love each other sm and it bleeds through each and every action of theirs… this fic is so tender and reassuring that it makes me melt :,)
maw on ao3 ; there are no words to describe this fic or how it makes me feel without my description/thoughts majorly falling flat. i simply cannot do this fic justice… PLEASE READ IT.
ask me to bleed (for you i will) on ao3 ; post-defection geto and non-sorcerer reader who works at a bakery… another fic that is my 13th reason lowkey. this is another fic that i cannot do justice nor summarize my feelings for properly but i am once again urging you all to read this
geto’s bride by @thedivinegeneral ² ; the effect that this fic has had on me actually needs to be studied because why am i so charmed by chucky doll geto to the point that i’ve sent this fic to multiple friends individually 😭😭 this shit had me CRYINGGGGG cos of how fucking funny it is alllll the way through lmfaooohtkwhrj and imagining certain scenes had me cracking up. i am such a sucker for sub geto in this fic… MAKE HIM WHIMPER!!!!
simply ear-resistible! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; bunny geto is the cutest fucking thing to ever existtttt 🥺😭 even if he has a massive attitude LMFAO. him retaining a few bunny traits/habits after returning to his original form actually makes me want to chew on his cheek. reader and geto are TOOOO cute here and i want the best for them :]
purrrfect surprise by @suguruss1ut ³ ; do you like men who crawl on all fours while wearing cat ears?? look no further cos this is the fic for YOU!!! i love me some sub geto and this fic is pure peak. need him desperate justttt like this
drabbles:
(i’ve written so many summaries/thoughts already that i won’t be doing so for these fics. titles are all pretty self-explanatory for the most part, and these are all super good short reads!! 🫶🏽)
emo!suguru and his pretty pink princess by @epicderpface
suguru + independent gf by @satoruined
mornings with suguru by @hayajiku
sub!suguru wax play by @bluukive
arcturus beaming by @oporotheca
love, as if it were carved in stone by @go6jo
tutor!geto getting overwhelmed by @eraserbread ²
suguru volunteers to model for your art class and you didn’t expect him to have such a perfect dick by @gojosconsort
afterglow by @feyrinnn
kissing suguru by @sugurusbadhabit
binded bunny by @meowguru
domain expansion: unlimited creampies by @suguruss1ut ³
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Three powerful empires, two childhood companions, and one you. What is supposed to be a peaceful alliance is slowly turning into a rocky relationship between royal friends...Is there any way you can save it?
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo + true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - royal-like + fantasy AU! - porn with plot - Gojo + reader is age 28 + Sukuna is older; mid-30s - mutual pining + confessions - size differences - threesome - double penetration; anal & vaginal - virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - back-to-chest + cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play - cerfix-fucking - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, dove, human, little one, pet, sweetie) - marriage proposals - cameos: Utahime and Miwa - Gojo and Sukuna can't stand each other, obvi - humor + drama - mention of drool, blood, spit and tears - will be proofread later.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.4k words (BRUH, i hate it here.)
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: aight, after 10 whole months, it's FINALLY dropped! this took foreverrrr, ughhhh. anyways, sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy this one, and thanks again for 11.2k starlings, ilysmmm!! ☆☆
“…”
“—y Lady…My Lady!”
“Huh?” You blink and face the door where the voice is coming from. “Oh, I’m sorry, Utahime. You can come in.”
“Jeez, I was knocking for a whole minute.” Your lady-in-waiting, Utahime, closes the door behind her when entering your chambers, walking up to where you were sitting by the mirror. “And I thought I told you to refer to me by my last name, my Lady.”
You smile at the reflection of the other coming behind you, kneeling and readying the iron basin filled with warm water and rose petals. Her hand and the washcloth swish the surface for the floral scents to enter your nostrils. “Well, we’ve been friends for how long? I’ve referred to you by your first name for all my life, even before you became my handmaiden.”
“Hmph, even then,” Utahime scoffs before taking your feet and dipping them in the warm water. “You don’t see me dare call the sole, precious child of this empire’s greatest warrior by their given name.”
“No, but I always tell you I don’t mind. Besides, you usually do it when we’re alone, and that’s enough for me.”
“If that’s what makes my Lady hap—“
“It does.” You look at her with a pleasant aura, and the dark-haired one snickers before straining the washcloth.
“As you wish…Y/n.” You puff your chest with satisfaction; however, your handmaiden isn’t done talking, “But I know the matter of my name isn’t something that’s having you lost in your thoughts.” Her observation takes you slightly aback, and her brown orbs peer up to capture your attention. “Would you like to tell me what’s corrupting your mind?”
With a heavy sigh, your back touches the chair as you slouch. Your eyes glance to the open window as the blinds drift gently with the calm wind. The swaying motions of the curtains almost convince your stress to wither away along with the quietness. Almost.
“Utahime,” you begin with her name, still facing the window. “…What do you think about Lord Satoru Gojo?”
“Tch,” you didn’t have to turn to know that the woman had the most disgusted expression, the click of her teeth was telling. “What is there to think?”
“Hehe, well, we’ve known each other since we could walk—“
“Yeah, and — pardon me, my Lady — but that bastard is such a nuisance, even if he just became the crowned heir of the Gojo bloodline and the holder of the Six Eyes.” The dark-haired woman scrubs your feet with vigor, but you don’t say anything, containing your laughter. “That man–ugh! Every time he visits the palace, he will never stop teasing me for deciding to leave my family and become your lady-in-waiting. Who does he think he is!”
The laugh you try to hinder seeps out in hushed giggles. “Well—ahem—what about Lord Ryomen?”
Utagime stops her hand and washcloth between your toes, her face in your direction. Both brows trenched with a thin line of her mouth. “……As of recent…Scary–no, intimidating would be an understatement...my Lady, perhaps the visit and stay of the two lords is what have you down?”
Another heavy sigh, “I guess that would be the case…”
You reside in the founding empire of the great continent. In the ancient past, it is said that the Great Saint Tengen came from the heavens and blessed this world with miracles, living in the country that you’re standing in right now. It was said that Tengen was the benevolent child of Gods and the Parent of Beings who graced everyone – both human and non – with compassion, kindness, and love through their sorcery. When they disappeared, the world fell into a divide, their people sticking amongst themselves while following the teachings and words of Saint Tengen.
As the centuries came following this tale, the countries of this world have maintained a relatively peaceful union. However, the main continent – your continent – is home to three major empires: the North, the East, and the West. As mentioned before, you live in the founding Western nation, also known as the homeland of Tengen.
You are a royal of this land and the sole heir to the throne right after your father, a mighty war soldier and sorcerer respected by his people and allies. As the crowned king of the Western capital, your father has done his job in using his strong leadership to maintain a functional structure for the people, using his wisdom to tread on matters with a tranquil mind, and making decisions that would not only benefit his own people but also his allies. Sometimes, you forget that such a great man could be your father. Yet his undying love for you, his sole child and princess, proves how lucky you are.
In the Northern Lands above are known as the land of Sorcery. Your father may be a powerful sorcerer, but the empire he rules does not harbor the majority of the population who practice sorcery (or lack thereof). That would go to the snowy Northern Empire, a land where many of Tengen’s scholars and practitioners have come from and implemented their teachings. The current head of this nation is bestowed to the affluent House Gojo, who recently crowned their heir after the death of its late king. Satoru Gojo, the first royal after a century gifted with two of the most intense abilities made by Saint Tengen – the Six Eyes and Limitless – sits on the Northern throne. And is also a dear family friend.
To the East lies a country mostly comprised of harsh deserts and dangerous forests, filled with creatures that aren’t of the human imagination. Once referred to as the land of “Tengen’s True Children,” the eastern empire is known worldwide as the Demon Country. Creatures reside in this part, beings that can easily overpower the average human – or worse, kill. They are ruled by the King of Demons, Sukuna Ryomen. As the scariest, cold-hearted, and violent beast of the empire, Sukuna is regarded as Tengen’s “Fallen Star,” a soul that embodies the precise opposite nature of the saint. And yet, this brutal master is also a cherished companion in the company of you and your father.
“What about their visits seems to make you upset?” Utahime lifts the bottom of your nightgown to scrub further up, the warm, damp towel scraping the skin of your left femur.
“I don’t know…I suppose it’s because things are different than a decade and a half ago.” It was one way of speaking the truth.
“Why, of course, things would be different now. You expect I’d be looking after a tiny heir all my life?” She giggles. “Although, that would be quite nice.”
“Oh, to be young forever would be a treat, wouldn’t it?” You add on to her humor. “Yet, that’s not what I meant. It’s been so long since the three of us been in this palace together – let alone in any space together. The War of the Blood and Magic has been ongoing for years now. Whenever my father wishes to speak with them about an issue, one must be here while the other is in their respective territory.“
“Mmm, I have observed that…But still, even with this war going on, it shouldn’t negate the fact that you three have been friends for so long. I still remember the day young Gojo came to the garden where you and I were making flower crowns.“
You smile at the memory. “I remember how upset you were when he grabbed my hand one day and took us to his guest room to show his Limitless.”
You try your hardest to keep in your laughter when she glares up at you – not at you, but at the recollection instead. “That fool, even as a child, knows nothing of boundaries. He was a bright boy — still is, I’ll give him that. But my Gods, the way he would do everything in his power to impress you was so cocky of a young lord, especially in the presence of the next heir to the continent. The nerve of him…And then! The time he had the nerve to question me when I told you I wanted to be your handmaiden. That little blue-eyed weasel said, ‘You? The daughter of a mediocre house, as the princess’ personal maid? You should try and aim lower or marry someone who’d tolerate your un-ladylike attitude.’ I was too stunned to speak…I should’ve choked his ass out!”
“—Pfffthahaha, stop, you’re scrubbing too hard!” You halt your lady-in-waiting with stiffened giggles, the poor woman sighing for displaying such aggression unbefitting for her title. “You could never stand him, and to think I thought you had a crush on him.”
“Please, my Lady, never say that aloud, or else my father would try to make my worst nightmare become reality.” She shakes her head, putting your left leg into the basin and switching to the right.
“And the day I introduced you as my maid to him, you had the smugest smirk that couldn’t be wiped off that night.”
“You’re goddamn right, my Lady!” That coarse remark had the both of you in a fit of cackles, water damn near splashing out as you wiggle your legs. “Ahhhh, but those were the days. I believe Lord Ryomen came into the picture after that. I remember the first day your father accepted the young demon king’s wish to seek an audience; he was a bit shorter than his current eight-foot-tall stature. Four arms were tiny like a teenager, and his,” she waves a hand up and down over the left side of her face. “This was distinguishable.”
You hum along with the description of the once young teenage demon king. “His human mother died during childbirth, and his father a demon who was exorcised for impregnating the poor woman. He was the first hybrid sorcerer of his time to utilize sorcery with the dark techniques of demon arts, becoming the most powerful and making a name for himself in the Eastern empire. He was alongside my father during the Great Demon War, using his powers to take down opposing cursed forces from outside nations. The two earned each other’s respect – more on my father’s part.”
“That, he was…truly a hard one to read, outside of always looking like he’d cut something out of boredom. I worried for the day he’d catch sight of me looking at him the wrong way and slice my throat,” the mere thought of the deadly being’s scowl was enough to send goosebumps up Utahime’s way. “Even the spars he had with your father and Gojo, I’m amazed to see this palace still standing in one piece.”
“Hehe, imagine how I felt when he’d catch me watching and then pull me aside to train with him — not asking, demanding that he teaches me how to wield a weapon.”
“Ohhh, my Lady, my nerves were never calm whenever he instructed you. Fearing for your life was my biggest sport. He couldn’t stand the fact that the sole heir of the greatest warrior didn’t have the drive to wield and charge.” She places your other leg down, rinsing the washcloth with more water before asking for your right arm. “It’s not like your father ever dared to entertain the thought of you entering battle anyway! That man, truly a scary thing…”
You throw your head back, resting it on the rail of the chair. “For my eighteenth year, he gifted me my own sword — handmade and light for my hands.”
“Men.” Utahime shakes her head once again. “Yet, despite how odd he and Gojo are, they seemed at ease whenever you were around. Whether it be visits from them to discuss with the King or attending events here at the palace, those two acted a lot more…calm.”
Her observations stuck with you, closing your eyes to think more. “I only wonder if we could revert to those days when we were close. Unfortunately, with this current war between the two, this vision is impossible to imagine….”
You and the two lords have been friends for years – decades, even. And you were no fool; it was apparent that this relationship would dwell into something less familiar once the two become distant. And the war between the two empires proves this statement true…
It was your twenty-fourth year when you heard the news of the War of Blood and Magic. A year prior, an incident in the northern empire occurred where a sorcerer and his company were butchered by invading demons. Enraged, many men would go down to the demon continent to pillage and exorcise demon villages and towns as a form of justice. However, it only sparked the increasing tension between the factions into a conflict past the phase of talk and civilized words.
Taking matters into his own hands, Sukuna found the men responsible for the rampage and had their bodies sliced within seconds, sending their bloody, severed heads back to the North as his declaration of war. In the coming years after that, there was nothing but ongoing bloodshed between the two; every battle and atrocity shared with your father made you squeamish – not just because of the brutality, but also the loss of Sukuna and Gojo’s relationship with every passing day.
It made you feel sick — powerless in wanting the two to remember their merciful ways and talk like men. But you knew that was child's play — the time for miracles and fairy tales vanished with Tengen. And now, as the fourth year of this constant battle between humans and demons of this continent shows no signs of stopping, your worrying nature is on edge more than ever.
“It may seem impossible to imagine, but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth the execution,” Utahime’s voice rings you back to the present, alternating to your left arm to wipe before dismissing herself from the night. “I’m sure your father believes that as well; otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited the two here for the first time in four years. I think he and all the people of this empire grow worrisome for the fate of this continent if all that’ll be left is a clash between two factions.”
“That may be true,” yet your tone was somber. “But if he can’t convince his two trusted allies to cease this fight, then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but see who comes out victorious. And I’d hate to see one stand and the other down in a pool of their blood…”
Utahime hums and lets the silence take over for a few seconds. And then she speaks again, “….Maybe, if not your father, then you should be the one to bring the two together.”
Me? “Me?”
“Yes, my Lady. You may be the princess of the greatest warrior, but you are also the dear friend of his allies. Your word means law to them — they trust your input when asked and see you as a perfect successor in line.”
“But that’s just based on titles and old conversations that don’t hold up to the now…Out of the three of us, I was the one who stayed put in this castle while the others played dirty, severing limbs and creating craters on this sacred continent. We are not children anymore, yet I feel like the one who’s still a naive babe with hands clean.”
“Now that is not true, my Lady!” Fierce brown eyes bore to you. “Just because you don’t have blood on your hands doesn’t make you unfit as a leader. You are the sole child of the King of the Western Empire, the land that Tengen once slept and walked on. That makes you the one next in line after your father.”
“That is my stated birthright—“
“And so!” You held your tongue; she was not done yet. “You have proven that birthright true from what you’ve done so far. I can count on my hands and toes all the times your father came to you for advice on a matter that didn’t sit right with him, knowing that your wisdom and compassion aid your judgment. And let’s not forget how you’ve kept a neutral stance on this issue thus far, knowing it’s the best and safest option for your father and his people. You are his child, after all…What I’m saying is that people change. And that goes the same for you; you’ve become a face I can trust and depend on, and I’m glad to have the right to watch over you until you see fit.”
You knew she meant every word, so you kept silent for her to finish.
“So, I say this with all the genuineness in my heart. I believe you can smack some sense up those two’s minds. You are the princess, but you are a friend above all else. Lord Gojo had just arrived today, leaving Lord Ryomen on his way in three days' time. Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance.”
There was nothing wrong with her words; everything was well-spoken with a perspicuous style and valid points. She was your closest friend – no one knew you better than she did. So, there’s no reason to try and find whatever flawed construct that was in her argument.
Finally, after she was done dapping your arm with the washcloth and drying your feet after taking them out of the metal basin, you smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right; I’m your best friend!” Utahime stands with a puffed chest filled with pride, picking up the basin by the handles. “And as the right one, I reckon you should turn in for the night. Leave this matter for tomorrow so the solution you’re looking for will be easier to find.”
“Mmm, your advice is well-received like always.” You stand from the chair, stretching your limbs. When she approaches your door, you bid your handmaiden farewell for the night, “See you in the morning, Utahime.”
With a wink, she parts before shutting the door, “Sleep well and tight, my Lady.”
The warm presence of your friend is missed now that you’re alone in your room. The candles around your chambers exhibit a warm glow that should make you feel safe, but that wasn’t the case today. Even after your night routine, the cold still resided in your skin. You sigh again through your nostrils; the invisible weight on your shoulders makes it impossible to lift them.
You turn back to your mirror – your reflection brings up the conversation with your best friend minutes ago. Examining your features, placing your hand on your cheek to sense your skin, alone with your thoughts. Did I really change that much? Your face tilts to the side, but the different angle doesn’t seem to help give a proper answer. Hmm…Perhaps it’s something I’m not supposed to see.
With a yawn, you stand straight again, deciding to take up Utahime’s advice and retire for the night. You face your queen-sized bed, anticipating your figure sinking into the soft, comfortable mattress.
What you didn’t anticipate was releasing a big gasp when turning to your bedding, your body going rigid, and your blood stopping circulation.
“Hey.”
Something was sitting on your bed. No, someone was on your bed. And judging by the deep, guttural timbre of their voice, you are familiar with this person.
You turned to your left once you heard a word. A figure was coming into the lighted room from the dark of the balcony – a giant, no, ginormous figure. Based on the height, he was inches from touching the entrance frame, way taller than any royal you’ve ever met — or, at least, any human royal you’ve ever seen.
The body was broad and could engulf you even from ten steps away. Four burly arms protrude from the torso, and black nails that resemble claws match the black tattoos painted on his shoulders, biceps and triceps, wrists, back, and chest. The markings also reside on the right of his face that’s morphed with another, which holds four red eyes instead of two, along with earrings that stretch his big earlobes. Aside from his bloody orbs, one thing that contrasts his appearance is the rusty salmon color of his hair. And that was the first thing you saw — the first thing that had your mind recollect him.
“Lord Ryomen.” His name didn’t feel proper to say. It’s been almost a year since you last saw him, but he was still the same brutal man you’ve heard about all this time…yet a companion of yours nonetheless. “Father told me you would be here in two days. How did you—“
“You know I’m not one to wait.” He crossed his lower arms, the upper ones covered by a black robe that matched the black hakama pants he wore. “Especially when it comes to visiting this place.”
“And of Uraume?” The mention of the demon king’s trusted adviser quirks his brow. “Is it okay to leave them alone without you to watch over?”
“You think I’m weak on my own?”
“N–No, of course not!” You were quick to refute — you had to be when it came to him. “It’s just that I would feel bad; they’d worry about where you are.”
“And here you are worrying about them worrying about me. Hmph, humans,” he scoffs, and the mouth on his stomach grins. “Uraume knows to look after the ship when I’m gone or be my eyes when I’m not around. I’m not a child that needs protecting.”
You bow to him. “Of course you aren’t, my Lord. Forgive me for having you think as such.”
He hums, tilting his head while examining you. “Good. Lift your head.” You do as you’re told, watching him take a few steps closer to you. “It’s cold; why is your fire not set?”
You look at what he’s referring to, seeing that your fireplace harbored no flame. “I told my maids that I would be fine tonight without it, the heavy blankets will do—“
Your eyes travel back to Sukuna, only to see he isn’t where he stood. He vanished, nowhere in your room to be found. You turned behind, but he wasn’t there either. But once you heard heavy feet thunder on your floor again, you spun around to see the beast carrying four logs, one in each hand. You were marveled; you only heard talk of his speed, now it was a little scary seeing the real deal.
Sukuna bends down in front of your fireplace, setting the logs down perfectly. “Ignoring the cold’s existence is an ignorant game. A princess should be warm during this time of night.” Once the logs are set, he makes a sign with his upper right hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together to his mouth. He blows, and a string of fire spits out to the logs. The sound of crackling bark from the flames confirms his work. “You are not me; you should fear the cold.”
You nod to his lesson. “Thank you, Lord Ryomen.”
“There’s no one here. You have the right to refer to me by my first name.” Sukuna straightens himself up. The light from the fire has his face aglow, and the crimson in his eyes flicker while they hook onto you.
You don’t know why — maybe it was because of the instant heat touching your neck instead of the sudden allurement you’ve noted from the demon king. Regardless, you avert your gaze downward. “Yes, Lord Sukuna.”
“Hmm.” He croons, walking towards you to prompt your chin up with a hand. Your eyes widen at his action; this is the first time in forever since he’s laid a hand on you. Talks of those he touches die shortly after spark in your mind. “You still have the sword.”
It wasn’t a question – an observation. He noticed the weapon lodged above the fireplace, like a memento meant to be honored rather than used. You smile, “Yes, I make sure it’s nice and clean from dust.”
Sukuna scoffs. “I give you a present, and you treat it like a trophy.”
“It would be wise to treat a gift from the demon king like a treasure. It wouldn’t sit right with me knowing I used or damaged a present given to me by someone I care about.”
He tilted his head again. “And when I give a weapon to someone I wish to protect,” The word caught you off guard. Protect? “I expect them to use it as it’s intended. I will allow it this time, but I won’t be too forgiving the second. Understood?”
You heard him, but your mind was still wrapped around the word. Protect? Lord Sukuna wants to protect me? What for?? You didn’t mean to say it aloud; it just slipped. “Protect?”
His mood shifts into neutral. A subtle softness is displayed in that inhuman structure of a face — or maybe you imagined it because of the late hour. Your breath hitches when you feel his lower hands pull and wrap around your right hand; the way your palm dwarfs in his hold is appalling. And then he kneels. Sukuna, the eight-foot-tall demon king, kneeling before you. This was a bizarre night, candidly.
“Princess,” he starts with your name. It was the perfect method as he fully has your undivided attention. “You know why the King has wished to see me despite what’s occurring outside these chambers. He believes there is still room to talk, and I believe he's wasting his time because I'm close to setting the entire Northern front ablaze and nailing this score for good.”
You knew he meant that, and it scared you because if he really could, he would. He actually possesses the mentality and the drive to do it. And yet, all three parts of the continent continue to stand. Why?
“But that would result in more problems for me. I’d have the entire world after my head for terrorism. All the leaders will not rest until I’m gone — your father would have to come put me down. And I would kill him, all of them.” His eyes were on you, dead serious. “…But that would make you upset, and it pisses me off that you'd hate me for my drive for survival.”
“My Lord,” it was your turn to speak. “I wouldn’t hate you. Being upset would be justified. But when it comes to war, survival is the paramount destination. I only wish to avoid such significant losses – both for the people of our nations and the people I hold dear.”
“Mmm.” He took your words. There’s no need to say anything, knowing Sukuna heard your piece is good enough. “I can see where you stand in this, stubborn and naive like your father. So, I come to you with a proposition. Something I need for you to listen before I consider seizing this battle.”
The way he spoke had you on edge, truthfully. Yet, if he’s coming to you in the middle of the night to hear your piece, who are you as a friend to push him aside? You give him a nod, “Yes, my Lord?”
“Princess, I want to—“ he stops mid-sentence, his pink-slitted brow suddenly drew up before it furrowed at the next second. He lets go of your hand in a hurry, standing up in a flash. It had you squeak. “He’s here.”
The sudden change in tone had you blink up at the giant, startled. “Wh–Who?”
“….No, they will not be seeing you. The hour is late; they are heading for bed!”
“Oh, c’mon Utahime — an hour, give me one hour!”
“Don’t you DARE open that door—HEY!”
You and Sukuna’s eyes dart to your chamber door, which opens with an abrupt vigor as if it was kicked open — it was kicked. The foot that was prominent at the front goes down and swings in a figure that brightens the area. Baggy white paints contrast with a black dress shirt mixed with white, intricate, and alluring designs. Subtle blue patterns map around the black collar and cuffs, dancing down the white material behind gold buttons. It’s covered by an ocean-blue shawl that drapes the figure’s left side. But the most significant detail that gave away who the person was – outside of their voice alone – was the snow-shite hair that decorated the top of his head.
Your wide eyes take in the person before you, and a dainty smile comes to your lips when you say his name. Unlike Sukuna, who sucks his teeth with a deep scowl. “Lord Gojo, it’s—“
“PRINCESS~~!” Chipper as ever, Gojo greets you with a happy tune that is so familiar to the ears. His sky-blue eyes gleam and narrow whenever he’s in your presence, just like he’d do during your childhood years. “Glad to see that I’ll be able to see your beautiful face tonight, after all. And I thought I told you to call me by my first name, like when we were kids!”
His jest has you giggle, “And I thought I’d told you from the last visit to knock on my door before entering. You have my poor handmaiden chasing after you at this hour.”
“I second that notion wholeheartedly, my Lady.” Utahime comes into view, approaching from Gojo’s shadow. If looks could kill, she’d stab Gojo’s throat with dual-wielding daggers. Not that the white-haired man was paying her glare any mind. She sighs heavily before bowing to you, “My apologies, my Lady. Lord Gojo caught me leaving the stairs towards your hall, figuring he’d come to speak a word with—Holy Tengen!” Your lady-in-waiting gasps when she lifts her head to see that you aren’t alone in the first place. “L-Lord Ryomen!? F-F-Forgive me for not noticing your grace before.” She quickly returns her head for a bow, hoping the trusty, short right-hand retainer and advisor, Uraume, wasn’t here to lecture her.
But thankfully to her anxious stars, the demon king grunts, “You’ve been forgiven, human. I came here not too long ago to discuss matters with the heir.” His red eyes leave the bowing woman to look at Gojo, whose lighthearted cadence is stilled. “Alone.” The final word was all for the white-haired lord’s watch to switch to a silent, menacing tone, shaded by his bangs but perfectly seen by Sukuna.
“Yes, my Lord, I shall leave you two to yourselves then,” Utahime replies to the salmon-haired creature, lifting her upper body ready for dismissal. But she then grabs for Gojo’s arm and tugs. “That includes you as well, Lord Gojo.”
“Ehhhh, me? What about the giant freak across from me?” Gojo questions the woman who pulls him to the doorway. “I also have things to discuss with the princess I’ve expressed earlier for when I have the time, which is now. At least I made my appointment known. Unlike him, who came into their quarters unannounced.”
“And here you are, barging into their room!” she almost popped a vein; you worry for the poor woman dragging the tall figure out of your room. “Kicking their door and making yourself known doesn’t modify the definition of being unannounced. Come back tomorrow – I’m sure my Lady will be available to listen to your quarrels then.”
It was now that you finally decided to interject. “It’s all right, Utahime. Sleep still evades me for me to rest.” You look to Sukuna, his gaze already on your figure, and then to Gojo, who awaits your assertion. “…I will listen to both Lords and have them dismissed before I retire for the night. You may let Lord Gojo go now and get sleep yourself.”
Utahime gives you a concerned look, yet she silently lets go of the man when you give her a tiny nod. “As you wish. Have a good night, my princess. Lord Sukuna. Gojo.” She slams the door at the last name she says, her stomping footsteps and grumbling curses fading into the night.
And now here you were, alone in your room, with the two lords of two superpower empires – two childhood friends. Nevertheless, it’s back. The suffocating tension you’ve mentioned before returns and drapes over the three of you that the word “friend” feels teeny within it. You can’t lie to yourself; you’re weary to have either of them in your chambers, let alone be in the same space as you. You knew there would be a day when the two would come together; however, you were far from being prepared for said event.
Then again, it’s better now than never, right? You three used to be the best of friends – close companions that you could depend on and trust. Close companions that you desperately wish to continue trusting and having an unbreakable bond with. If not for you, then for your father’s and respective empires’ sake. So, with a deep breath, you exhale and think of how to go about this predicament. Be the heir that your father raised you to be.
“So,” You turn to Gojo to start with. “Lord Gojo—“
“Oh, c’mooon, what did I say about using my last name?” Gojo flashes a quick smile at you. “We’re friends, no? It’s not fair you refer to Maiden Iori by her first name; you should know mine like the back of your hand!”
His little pester does help swade a bit of stress off your shoulders. “My apologies, Satoru. It’s just that I must be respectful to my royals, even if we are long-time friends.”
The white-haired man chuckles, taking steps to be closer to you. “Even so, I want my princess to call me by my name, for you are the one I trust and hold dear the most. And I don’t want our familiarity to be tarnished by titles.”
“…If that’s what will make you happy, Satoru.” The address to the northern prince made you avert your gaze to the ground, and your cheeks dial in warmth. Who knew that he thought so deeply about a little gesture? And then there’s what he referred to you as—
“Your princess?” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to the present situation: you and Gojo are not the only ones in your room.
Gojo takes his eyes off you and places them on the giant behind your shape. He taunts, “Yes, my princess, as they are the fair heir of this great empire who will rule after their great father. I’d say they are as much my princess to me as the other Lords and Maidens. But I’d be lying since I see them as more than that.”
Sukuna’s quadruple eyes darken as they narrow at the man before him. “Every time I see your scrawny self, you prove you’re the biggest fool than all the other senile jokes of Lords I’ve ever dealt with.” Two steps is all he takes to be right behind you. You can practically feel his shadow on you. “The person before us is indeed a royal above many – above you. So, I find it amusing that you would be dumb enough to emphasize such a ludicrous claim. You fail to know your place when in their presence. And in mine.”
Oh, that ticked something inside Gojo. Because the prince was no longer smiling, his attention was wholly on Sukuna. Many wouldn’t dare to glower at the giant creature the way Gojo was — let alone look at him. “Hah, you sure know how to make unfunny jokes, Sukuna. Because I’d rather eat demon shit than have you think for a moment that you are above me.”
“Hmph, I’m surprised your childish behavior has gotten you this far,” you can see from the shadow on the floor that Sukuna folds his lower arms. “Don’t think that you’ll be lucky with me.”
“Oh, believe me, my childish manner has gotten its fair share of tongue lashings and trouble, but I’ve been able to talk my ass out of shit ever since I was a kid. But I guess talk is too cheap for an oversized brute like you, huh?”
“Very. I’m a being of action—“
“Action? Or destruction?” The light blue of Gojo’s eyes shifts to that of a deep, cold shade under his bangs, with no sign of backing down. “Because from all I’ve heard about you, everything can crumble beneath you with just a swipe of the fingers. Outside of your lands, who’s to say you’re worthy of ruling when your methods and policy are more forbidding than mine? Or better yet, who gave you the gall to think that such a monster like you has a right to even be amongst civil people like me and the princess? Hell, the fact that you snuck in their room as you please sickens me to the core.”
“I can say the same for you, Satoru Gojo. Your entire occupancy does worse than bore me. Standing here with the man governing the family who’s killed many of my kin and demons fills me with inextinguishable anger. You have no idea how much excitement I’ll have for the day I cut that head of yours clean off, but because of my business with the princess, your death will be pending.”
“Not if my business is taken care of first.”
The demon growls. “Like hell, it will.”
“My Lords, please!”
The tense atmosphere is relieved by the abruption of your voice, bringing the lords’ quarrel to a standstill to face you. You squeak when their eyes land on you, forcing yourself to turn to the fireplace and deal with the growing storm of anxiousness inside you.
Gods, I should’ve had Utahime here with me! You curse yourself for being in this situation. Why tonight of all nights must you deal with this? It was as if your lady-in-waiting had this all planned — or worse, your father, having you treat the matter of your allies. You groan internally to your hands, letting your frustration be released.
You twirl back to face the two men before you, a deep inhale before saying, “Lord Satoru, what would you like to discuss with me at this hour?”
“Hah?” The disapproving mood of the demon king had your heart sink to the floor. “I was here first.”
“Yes, you came to my room first tonight. But Gojo was here first at the palace. He told me earlier that he wanted to speak, so I should hear him.” You could only hope your reasoning satisfied the tall being, who puffs his tattooed chest. And Gojo quickly flashed the other a vexatious look at Sukuna before you pivoted to him. “Now, Lord Go—“
“Aht aht!”
“…Lord Satoru,” He beams a big grin. “What do you wish to speak with me?”
“Well, although this is something meant for the two of us,” meant to be a stab to the other person in the room, who couldn’t care less about his presence being unwanted. “But this’ll suffice; it doesn’t hurt to have an audience.” You watch the silver-haired man take your left hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing on your knuckles.
“My Lady,” he looks at you with delicate azure eyes, his gaze so captivating that it locks you in position. “I’ve known you for quite a long time. Before I met you, my life as a royal was barren. Nothing sparked joy in me. The mundane tasks to uphold as the next heir, being pampered and sheltered as the gifted member of the Gojo House. I felt trapped in a mold — a mold that I resented having as my birthright, so much so that I wished to claw my eyes out at the age of five.”
You could tell he was speaking from the heart, his hands gripping yours tighter.
“But then, three years later, my father took me to meet the King of the western lands; at the time, it sounded like such a chore having to meet all these old, disgusting guys that I had to ‘maintain a good relationship’ with. And then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, I saw you. I’ve met many royal kids before me, most snobby or kissing up to me for my good graces. Yet, none of them have been as alluring and breathtaking as you have been.” He pauses for a light chuckle. “I can still remember how your sweet voice addressed me when our fathers introduced us together. You stood tight to his leg, but your grace was ever present.”
“Mhmm, and I recall how angry your father was when you didn’t take a knee and instead greeted me with a handshake.” The two of you share a laugh, unaware of the disdained aura of Sukuna right next to you for a moment. “There are many things I hold close to my heart — you and our friendship being part of them.”
“I agree. I mean it when I regard you as one of my greatest treasures. This friendship we’ve had these years – decades, even – has been a blessing that I do not want to take for granted. Even with this war on my shoulders, I wish for it to be put to rest so I can finally have you by my side again. And that’s why…”
Gojo lifts your hand to his face; the soft feeling of his pillowy lips on your fingers has you holding your breath. Just like Sukuna…
“Princess, merciful child of Tengen’s Blessed Ground, I ask for your hand in marriage.”
It all took one second — one mere second.
One second for your world to come to a complete standstill, the cracking of the firewood no longer poking your eardrums and the breeze from the outside no longer grazing your skin. Your body instinctively refuses to move so much as a toe to disrupt your processing.
One second for your thoughts to absolutely vanish. No words of your own occupying your brain, no guesses on where this conversation was going. There was nothing. Nothing except the last seven words Gojo said that replay in your head. Over and over and over again.
One second for you to be in a perfect state of perplexity. Right before Sukuna grabs your free hand and yanks you to his side the next. Three giant hands wrap around you while one grips your wrist tightly.
He snarls, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Gojo sucks his teeth before straightening yourself. “Ehhhh, is your demon brain screwed on right? You don’t know what a marriage proposal is?” His question struck you more than it did the beast. Huh? A marriage proposal? Marriage!?
The fingers of Sukuna’s upper left-hand grips your shoulder, claw-like nails poking your skin as if to draw blood. “Hmph, the nerve of you humans never fails to disappoint me. Especially you, Satoru Gojo, who remains a thorn in my foot. Must I kill more of your men to keep you at your place as you did to my demonfolk?”
“Khh, don’t act like you ever cared about the lives sacrificed on your behalf. It’s gross.” Gojo takes one step, and Sukuna swiftly lifts his upper right hand at him, his fingers positioned at the same sign when he made flames for your fireplace. Your eyes widen, please, not in my room! Gojo takes a stance for battle. “Acting human doesn’t suit you at all, fuckface.”
The roar of laughter that the demon bellows out was chilling to hear. The vibrations coursing from his body to yours rocked you to your core. “Hah! Me, human!? There’s a reason I let go of that part of myself a long time ago. It made me weak – held me back from my full potential. You are right, though; it’s beneath me to care for those below me. However, I don’t tolerate those that mess with what’s mine.”
The word had Gojo’s eyes taper. “Let them go.”
“No. If anything, I should skin you here and now for even laying a finger on them in front of me.” You peered up at Sukuna, your anxiousness refusing to settle down during this high-stakes scenario. “Because any man that dares touch my wedded deserves to be torn and shredded by my hands alone.”
You couldn’t hide your gasp. It snuck past you – the perfect reaction to what you heard. H–His wedded? Me? Lord Sukuna’s wedded-to-be!? No wonder he was acting like that…!
“Your wedded?” Gojo was just as taken aback as you were. “You’ve got some huge balls to declare that right after bearing witness to me proclaiming my request for their hand.”
“Tch, bastard, why do you think I was here before you?” Sukuna flashes his big teeth, pride exuding from his form. “Did you honestly think I’d allow the princess to end up with the likes of you? Now, aren’t you too old for fairy tales?” You’re still in shock of this madness. Two marriage proposals within the same hour? Both from your childhood friends who unequivocally despise each other’s existence? Any regular person would feel as if they’re experiencing a whirlwind right now.
Wait a minute…
“Oh, we’re talking fairy tales, you repugnant jackass.” It’s Gojo’s turn to get a kick out of this. “From what I can tell, the princess is meant to spend the rest of their life in comfort with a handsome human prince who swears to protect them and those they care for. Not a creature whose source of joy comes from killing and mayhem. You? Capable of love? Heh, be real. Not even your own dead mother was able to show you real love for her abomination of a—“
He stopped talking when he felt something warm roll down his cheek, a red fluid streaking to drop from his chin. You see a cut and blood, and a wave of dread hits you like a wall. It was Sukuna’s doing, no doubt. Your best friends were fighting in front of you, in your safe space. Your nerves have long forgotten what it meant to be in a state of calm.
Please, wait, stop—
“I already told you your death has been postponed, you northern shit,” red eyes darken, Sukuna's tone and aura unveiling a sense of brutality that shadowed your very being. It had you trembling. “But I don’t mind severing your tongue to make a point.”
The skin around the cut on Gojo’s skin begins to morph to find each other, seaming itself back to mint condition with a blue glow. Healing magic fixed his cut and cleared his blood, but the anger boiling inside him was prevalent in those striking eyes. Wanting nothing more than a bleeding head between his hands. “I’d like to see you try, you ugly prune.”
NO, STOP IT!!
This was all too much for a single night. This whole ordeal was far from your expectations. It was already stressful enough thinking about what would happen when the two lords were in this palace together. Now, in your quarters, you’ve never experienced a more life-and-death crisis having your friends — companions you used to laugh and engage with together — wanting to rip each other’s throats, especially for your hand in marriage. And, Tengen forbid, if you were to accept one’s proposal over the other…that would ignite a war above all wars. The bodies that fall on this mainland would all be in your undoing. The thought enough was too much to bear!
“I accept both!!”
The hostile complexion of the room vanished into the air in the blink of an eye. The sound of burning logs and dancing flames filled the space like before; the crashing ocean waves could be heard from your balcony. Nature was speaking without noises to interrupt it. It was quiet, too quiet.
You didn’t know what you just said until the last morphemes left your tongue. You silently remove your figure from Sukuna, covering your mouth in disbelief. And without having to see for yourself, you could tell that the two lords were just as flummoxed from your sudden sentence. What…What did I say just now?
“What did you just say?” As if he could read your mind, Sukuna relays your inner turmoil to be addressed.
Your heart was beating at an unbearable rate, your ears ringing like they’d soon set off and bleed. The trembles get worse with every second, and wiping your face off this Earth at this exact moment is all you wish for. You were so nervous that you were mere seconds away from the brink of tears. Oh, Tengen, why did I say that? What was I thinking?!? What am I to do? What do I—
“…Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance…”
And then, like a strange flash of an angelic tune, the words of your lady-in-waiting come back to you, instantly calming you down and reminding you who you are. You are the princess of the Western Front, the next heir after your father. This matter was bound to fall onto your lap one way or another — preferably less drastically and excitingly like this.
I am the princess, but their friend above all else…You remove your hands from your face, exhaling a shaky breath before standing tall. “….I accept both marriage proposals of my Lords.”
The men’s bewildered expressions were expected, just like the dismay in their voices. “Both of our—…! Surely you don’t mean that—” Gojo was the first to speak, silver brows screwed with confusion.
“I do.” A deep breath before you answered him. “I will only accept the proposals of both you and Lord Sukuna.”
The demon took one thunderous step, the vibrations crawling up your bones. “And just why is that?”
You exhale through your nostrils, chewing on your bottom lip. “Understand that I am humbly flattered by your perspectives — it fills me with gladness to know I can be hospitable to my dear friends again…As you both mentioned, I, too, cherish the two of you profoundly, and my trust for you two will never be extinguished. To be asked for my hand by either of you is an honor I’ll forever appreciate….But I cannot choose one over the other.”
“Bullshit,” Sukuna folds his upper arms, the lower resting on his hips. “You can; you just choose not to.”
“No, I care for you both, and choosing one alone would have people hurt. Both between us three and the people of this continent…” You maintain eye contact with both lords while your hands fidget with your nightgown to ease yourself. “A rivalry is happening between the Eastern and Northern fronts; blood’s already been spilled and soaking Tengen’s soil. If I were to choose one proposal, I can’t be guaranteed that this onslaught of violence will cease. Or, would either of you guarantee that you wouldn’t take the life of the other?”
That question had the two royals look at each other briefly, followed by their scowls and groans. Gojo is the next to speak, “What happens between us shouldn’t concern you, my princess.”
“You’re wrong; it concerns me tremendously. It is a concern that’s been eating me alive, watching my allies – my friends – fight each other on the sidelines, refusing to pick a side with my father. Now, you two come here, bend your knees, hold my hands, and ask for my hand, silently requesting my involvement for more bodies to drop like flies under my reign?… No, I would not find rest from this night forward, knowing that more innocent lives plummet from my answer.”
“It wouldn’t be blood on your hands.”
“…But it would be blood that I paint with my very shadow.”
The response sounded foreign to him, yet you stood tall, making sure your heart didn’t falter with your stance. Silence welcomes the three figures again, an old friend that goes well with the tense atmosphere. Two pairs of red observe you, like cerulean orbs that stay on your appearance.
A few seconds go by, and Gojo screws his eyes shut. “So, that’s it, you accept both proposals.”
A curt nod. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Your final decision?”
“Correct.”
The snow-haired man nodded aimlessly, slouched with a large sigh, turned, and headed for your bed to flop face down — like it was his bed. “Haaaaaah, you are your father’s kid, all right,” you could make out his words even with his face in your sheets. “A pacifist heart.”
“Hmph, such a dumbass reason,” Sukuna huffs with absolute annoyance, and you’re amazed he hasn’t already skinned you and Gojo. “You are not a child anymore. You can’t possibly be serious about taking up two husbands for the sake of peace.”
“You’re right: I am no child, for I’ve never been as serious as I am now.” Look at you, sticking up for yourself in the presence of the demon king. Although, you know he can hear the quiver in your voice trying to crawl out. You swallow, “It’s either both of you or nothing at all.”
His left eyes squint as they examine your features, the mouth on his belly gritting its teeth. “Tsk, both or nothing…Meanwhile, you know I can’t be in the same room with him. Not even Tengen could command me to share you with this brat.”
Gojo swifts on the covers to lie on his back. “Finally, something I can agree with the devil himself. He’s right, though; there are many things in my life I would rather not share with anyone — you being the top of my list.”
You take their concerns with patience and a lifted chin. “I understand you both, but if you two can’t let the fog clear and talk with each other, how can I see myself—“
“Let the fog clear?” Sukuna repeats with furrowed eyebrows. “Sorcerers came into my land and ransacked my villages — sorcerers from this bastard’s empire!”
“An action that validates your anger and course of action,” you remind yourself to take tiny breaths. “…However, Satoru didn’t order the attack himself; they went against procedure and stormed your country with poor judgment.”
The tall demon rolls all of his eyes and clicks his teeth. “Ridiculous.”
“No, what’s ‘ridiculous’ is how you fail to acknowledge why those sorcerers went to your zone.” Gojo’s turn to interpolate. “One of the noble sorcerers and his company died because of your demon folk invading my country without permitted passage. That noble had a family, students that followed his footsteps—“
“Are you saying my people didn’t have kin of their own to return to, Gojo Satoru?”
“Your people sure kill like they don’t—“ Another swipe of Sukuna’s fingers glid the air; this time, Gojo’s Infinity was on guard, ricocheting the cleave to mark a scratch on one of the curtains. “Hah, just like their leader.”
Sukuna flexes his knuckles to crack, black fingernails appearing sharper. “The demons who killed that sorcerer acted on their own accord. Just like the many men of your land who came to mine, whom I corrected for your lack of oversight.”
“Then allow me to fulfill my mistake,” the silver-haired man’s eyes glow. “And let me kill the demons responsible — just like you did to my men, fucking cretin.”
“Over my dead body, human trash.”
“My Lords!” The men concurrently exchange their gazes back to you. “This is why I will not be accepting either proposal solely. You come to my home to ask for my hand because you see me as of value, correct? Well, you both are people I care deeply for, and the thought of walking beside either of you for eternity is something I’d accept unmistakably under different circumstances…But, please acknowledge my position in all of this: I am the princess of an extraordinary continent and heir to the throne after my father, a man who has maintained peace and harmony all these years. Now, that peace is hanging on the brink of death and will soon be a matter I should issue alone, and the men who’ve grown with me and cherish me combating each other until one stands tall….or none stand at all.”
Word spilled after another as if a dam had broken down — fingers jitter even when clasped together. Your throat dries up after every sentence, yet your unwavering resilience pushes you to keep going.
“I’m sorry if what I’m saying or doing is selfish, and…you may be right that I’m going at it with the whims of a child. But, please,” Do not cry, do NOT cry. “Standing idly every passing day watching the men I’ve grown to—“ Love? Isn’t that too intimate of a word to assume? “…treasure kill themselves and others without doing anything wounds me enough. And if you think I can sit here in this palace and watch my intended go far and yonder to kill another person whom I cherish with no guarantee that they will return to me wholly, think twice.”
Your shoulders threaten to tremble; of course, you’re frightened beyond belief by what you’re saying. But you’re sure if she was here, Utahime would pull you in for a hug and acclaim how well you’re following her counsel.
“Please, I just…can’t bear it.”
Uncomfortable muteness gnaws you alive within the muteness of your room. You’re bound to draw blood on your bottom lip with how much you’re chewing it. If only your father were awake in this hour, his guidance at a moment like this would be beneficial, or merely observing from afar how you’re managing would give you some hope. Alas, you know he’s in deep sleep halls away. It’s just the three of you in this space — or just you versus the huge opposing auras thick enough to be slit by Sukuna’s cleaves.
Speaking of whom, the demon king watches you the entire speech. Same with Gojo, whose blue eyes dwindle back to their typical hue. The two men don’t dare break the silence as you stand before them, mentally swimming in thoughts alone to yourself….Well, at least the northern prince wouldn’t dare to do so first because Sukuna initially ripped the stillness to shreds. He says, “And how would your father respond to this feckless plan of accepting two marriage proposals?”
A worthy question to ponder. “…I’m sure he’d come to an understanding once I explain my reasoning,” the belly of the eastern king grumbles. “I’m sure he’d be contended at the fact that his two trusted allies would want to join houses.”
Gojo sits up straight atop your bed. “Well, that sounds all nice and dandy on that front. But, the problem still lies in us acting like…a ‘real couple.’ Face it, princess; you may seem okay with being with us both, but that doesn’t mean we’d be on the same page.”
Sukuna nods curtly. “I’d rather eat every human alive than entertain the thought of someone other than me touching you.”
The other shrugs. “Even if the world’s fate depends on it.”
The men’s grievances are valid arguments for why your plan can backfire, particularly when suggesting a relationship where two people can’t stand each other. What you’re posing is an action that has been practiced before yet isn’t entirely favored in the public eye. Nevertheless, your stance doesn’t change; you refuse to go back on your word, believing that it’s a better alternative to condone than the others. The only tricky part is convincing your childhood friends…
…Which is why what you’re about to do is indubitably unlike you.
“…What are you doing?"
But despite that, it’s a course of action that highlights your determination.
“—Woah!! Princess?! Why are you undressing??!”
Even if it’ll go down as the most downright humiliating thing you’ve done to yourself.
Your nightgown meets the ground of your feet, the cool air wrapping your nude frame with the heat of the fireplace hovering on one side. Arms free of sleeves, nipples easily spotted now with the dismissal of clothing, the region between your lower thighs bare, and delicate skin exposed for only the men in the room to see. And even then, your face doesn’t decline the miserable hotness. Embarrassed? No doubt about it.
“My Lords,” you croak, balled fists muster to contain whatever left of dignity you can. “This form…isn’t meant for any regular eyes to see — an offering only a slim few I’d trust to witness. Tonight, I want you two to see me like this.” You slowly step forward, gradually getting closer to Sukuna’s giant size. “As your princess, I offer my whole to you both, as you are mine…and I am yours.”
Sukuna blinks at your small figure close to his; the intensity of his stare is enough to have your heart sink into a pool of regret. Until he bends to scoop you with his lower arms, you yelp at the sudden action with hands finding his sturdy shoulders to grab. Now, he is way closer than you anticipated, his very chin inches away from brushing your naked chest. Holy shit.
“You are mine, and I am yours?” he lifts his eyebrow. “Was that not true already?” You gulp thickly before answering, daring to cup his cheek with a hesitant hand. Again, you’re surprised to see it still attached, let alone see him lean to your palm.
“You’d have to prove it true — here and now, make this ceaseless battle end by claiming me as yours…You too, Gojo.” You and the demon holding you turn to the man sitting on your bed. The pale skin of his face now harbors shades of pink that cascade across his cheeks and the dip of his ears, expression dumbfounded to what he witnessed. “Demonstrate how serious you are for my hand, or you and Sukuna can leave my room.”
Sky-blue eyes blink absentmindedly, words hard to pick and choose for the human prince in this bizarre minute. Sukuna then speaks with a huff.
“Well, are you going to start moving or what? Because whether you stay or not, your princess will become mine tonight.” He grins before leaning in to lick your skin, and you hold a whine when the mouth of his navel lightly chews on your tummy. “And on the many nights coming after.”
The beast’s words flip a switch, causing Gojo to chuckle and shake his head while unbuttoning his shirt. “Not if I have something to do about it, four-eyes…”
You drew in breath while watching Gojo undress, more of his milky skin stripped out of his clothing, revealing parts of the prince that you could only imagine in your fantasies. Heat flourishes to your ears, and another gasp is pulled out when Sukuna sneaks his free lower hand to cusp your buttcheek. He then brings an upper hand to your chin to face him and his sneer.
“You’ve made this night a whole lot more interesting.”
And that was the last time the sound of the fire cracking caught your attention.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Mmmm…Ahh—Ahhh!!”
“Keh, sure are tight as hell; definitely a virgin.”
“Fuck, I can hear the sounds from here…Oh, fuuck…!”
The sea breeze climbs up to your terrace, crawling into your room to swing the curtains of your canopy. The candles around your room continue to flame and provide light for the room to glow. The scent of lavender and rose from your bath and lotion an hour earlier remains in the air and sticks to your skin. The midnight hour isn’t yet, but the sky is dark enough past the twilight hues.
Expected as the former home of the Great Saint Tengen, the palace is as enormous. Harboring many rooms, halls, and floors for the company of the royal family and their subjects, the castle is unchallenging for a newcomer to get lost inside without a proper guide. Every room is catered to a specific event, person, meeting, or occasion in this place. On top of that, multiple guest chambers are meant for the guests invited under the King’s audience to rest.
…But it seems that Gojo and Sukuna are not retiring for the night anytime soon.
How could they sleep when you’re being a courteous host, letting your childhood friends spend the late hours in your room? Just like when you were young and playmates or learning to master a weapon. The only thing is that these two aren’t the same as two decades ago; they are men, branded with titles and responsibilities, blood already stained their knuckles, and duties hold them to a high expectation that you know all too well.
And, like all men, they have a salacious curiosity only appropriate for the bedroom. An interest you knew would one day be prevalent in your life if you agreed to take either as a husband…Yet, you’re not as prepared on the chance you’d face both realities simultaneously.
All three of you are stationed in your bed, clothes decorating your floor to leave you all bare for each other to see and marvel at — more so on your part. You lie on your back to a giant broad chest and stomach, Sukuna right behind you with his lower arms holding your feet by the back of your knees. Knees spread apart, your naked lower half is out, free for the monster to insert a single thick digit of his left upper hand into your wet chasm while the right fondles your left tit.
Never in your life did you think you were capable of producing such indecent noises. Low whimpers are embarrassing to recollect as the demon king plays with your most tender parts. His big fingers tweak your nipple, and the digit – way thicker than yours – inside your cunt is enough to stretch your opening, wiggling and scratching the inside. Fingering yourself never felt like this, your body experiencing a refreshing sensation you hadn’t known of. And to have the eastern king of all people to bestow this feeling on you brings just as much awe as humiliation.
Nonetheless, that indignity doesn’t cease. Gojo stands on his knees before you, propped between your sunder legs, while his hand strokes an erect limb. Yes, as a virgin maiden, tonight would be the very first time you ever see a living, breathing member, and the northern lord takes that honor with a lustful smile. His solid cock gets stiffer with every jerk, a left curve protruding the more your appearance excites him. To be observed and used as material as your slit is fingered? How lewd!
“Nnnn, ahaahn…” Sukuna’s finger rubs on your velvety surface, your legs wanting to squirm despite the monster’s hold. “Oh Gods…Ohhh!!”
“Damn, you look so good,” Gojo mutters under his breath, precum drizzling his fingertips. “Looks like it feels good, huh, princess?”
“Sure feels like it,” every word that Sukuna utters causes tremors to pass down his abdomen to your back, the very vibrations crawling on your skin like the tongue that licks your back to make you arch. “Hm? Tell us how you really feel, little one.”
The usage of that name causes your vaginal walls to twitch; he has never called you as such, and picking such an intimate time to do so makes your frame feel awkward and warm. “…I-I—fffmm!—don’t know…”
“Hmph, you dare lie to me,” he bends to your ear, and his deep chuckle ignites your stomach to knot itself. “Like your body doesn’t speak for itself, clenching on my finger like you want to snap it off.”
“Th-that’s not—“The graze of your upper wall cuts you off, and your hands struggle to find places to grab, gripping the skin of Sukuna’s thigh and grabbing tuffs of his apricot hair.
The demon king snickers more when his middle finger teases your taint, pressing a kiss on your cheek before a quick bite. “Only one finger in, and you’re already wailing like a common whore; be lucky that I haven’t added another, then you’d really be prepared for me…” You feel something brush up against your back, the tips of Sukuna’s cocks reminding you of his eventual promise.
“Wooow, calling the future heir a whore; must’ve forgotten whose room we’re in.” The white-headed man had something to say about that, satisfyingly ruining the mood for the demonic being.
“They don’t seem to mind, at least their cunt doesn’t,” uncouth cords that speak truth, your vulva squeezing his finger constantly. “Who would’ve thought the beautiful, refined, and compassionate princess,” each enunciated word has consequences that are a lick and bite to your helix. “Was, in fact, a dirty, nasty girl?”
“Holy shit,” Gojo’s hand goes faster, his dick ready with stiffness. The image of you melting under the Fallen Star’s hold is too hot for the young man to witness. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad, baby…”
Sukuna clicks his teeth. “Well, hurry the hell up and do it before I change my mind and fuck them myself.”
“And have them bleeding to death because of your giant dicks on their first time? Fuck that,” He ignores the four rolled eyes as he maneuvers closer to you, Sukuna pulling his finger out of your wet slit and slithering further down to your anus. He coaxes you to relax your tense muscles, pushing his digit into your puckered hole second by second. The gasp you release once it’s added sends shivers up Gojo’s shoulders. “A princess should be treated like a pearl – tended to with the utmost care.”
“Go–jooo…” You whine as the human heir cups your cheeks to squeeze.
“What did I say about using my family name?” He scolds with a cheeky tune, gauging your reaction as he disposes his cockhead to the folds of your vagina.
“…S-Sa—Mmmph!” The push of his pink tip is a new sensation.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” He coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Relax, just focus on me.” Your eyes lock with his, distracted by the twinkle and swirl of his azure irises, like a whirlpool sinking into the darkness of his dilated pupil. “What’s my name, cutie?”
“Saaa…Sato—Ohhh!!” And just like that, the tip of his limb enters inside, bypassing your knowledge until the wince of pain snaps you out of your distraction. “…to’ruu…”
His teeth glisten under her grin. “That’s my good girl.”
Gojo keeps propelling himself inside you, gradually shoving every inch of his lengthy girth. You bite your quivering lip at the stretch of your opening, accommodating the foreign body part burrowing inside your inner channel. The left curve of his has his penis rubbing on parts of yourself you hadn’t thought possible; a graze of your G-spot causes your legs to quirk and toes to curl.
But then, once his silverish pubes meet your outer labia, he reaches the depth of your cervix and gives it a chaste kiss. And your frame suddenly shuts down briefly, your senses running cold before you cry aloud without knowing. Your hands rush to cover your mouth, but the damage is too late.
Sukuna raises a brow. “What a shout.” He then uses your reaction to add another digit into your ass.
“Ahhhh, there it is,” Gojo swallows thickly, hips speaking for themselves as they sway. “That was cute as hell–the way you twitch feels so good…” Another poke to your cervix, and your legs can’t help but wrap around Gojo’s waist.
“Satoru, please…!” You plead with knitted eyebrows. “Pleasee, be gentle with me…”
Blue eyes narrow. “God, who told you to be so adorable?” Gojo angles down to your face, his nose mere centimeters to yours. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll treat you right tonight…Hmmm.”
The man leans in to place his lips on your forehead before his own, and the pace of his thrusts quickens to mediocrity. The rubs on your silky texture become frequent, lightly pounding his shaft into your to till his testes knock your chasm, the whimpers you try to repress boost to a louder volume. His left curve spikes up your nerves with every push and pull, easing the itching heat that permeates around your lower half.
Hands writhe around to calm around Gojo’s cold back; you say his name in prayers. You can feel something coming, and if he keeps rutting to you like this, it’s bound to come earlier than expected. “—Nnaaa, Sat’ruuu, w-wait!! I can’t—Ahaann!!”
“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…” He doesn’t listen, too lost in your warmth and wetness that he can’t stop. The flex of his abs increases, plunging into your pussylips desperately as if he can sense the eventual you fear.
“T-Toruu, wait, go slooww!!” Words mean nothing, hips not declining in their needing cadence. Oh Gods, I can feel it; it’s coming! Nerves climb to a peak way too fast for your comprehension, nails digging into Gojo’s skin before your orgasm hits you, choked squeaks leaving puffy lips as your cunt contracts around the prince’s girth and your asshole clamping around Sukuna’s fingers.
And Gojo is right there experiencing your climax with you, moaning under his breath and pressing his forehead to yours before he completely melts under the fluttering motions of your genitalia. “—Mmfff, ffffshit, so tight…!” He can’t stop thrusting into you, moving his pelvis slowly to draw out the sensation before he sinks into a crescendo of his own. “Fuuck! Yeah, cutie, that’s right; ride it out,” he snaps an abrupt drill to your aching entrance. “Ride it out…”
Sukuna scoffs lightly before whispering in your ear. “Done already, human?” Patronizing attitude to make you fidget. “Better be ready for me still.”
“Ehhh, but I’m not done here.” The snow-haired man retorts, massaging your waist out of the quakes.
A thread snaps in the wake of the other’s words, and Sukuna’s lack of patience drives him to push you and Gojo off of him. The two of you roughly position to where you are essentially straddling Gojo, his erection still inside your slick-coated cavern. The devilish man swiftly ends up on his knees before contorting his massive figure to dwarf both humans beneath him.
“Gahhh!! Sukuna, what the fuck w—Mmmph?!?” With the spawn of a mouth, the eastern king shuts the northern man up by slamming his upper left hand onto his mouth for an unexpected kiss. Gojo muffles under the other’s palm, the tongue shoving itself inside.
“Shut up,” Sukuna orders with annoyance. “So damn chatty…And you,” he uses his lower hands to steady your ass, and you stifle a yelp at the contact of something pressing up against the opening of your butt. “Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad.”
His warning is enough to keep you immobile, following his instructions and stationing your breathing to a steady rhythm. Your hands-on Gojo’s chest ball to fists once Sukuna pushes his tip to your asshole, your mouth forming a permanent ‘o’ shape once he eventually gets the cockhead inside. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more extreme, you had forgotten about the taller individual’s well-endowed self: two hefty, girthy limbs that you NEVER, in your wildest dreams, imagine would put inside your body — not even one!
However, tonight was the night that would be put to the test, and at the very least, Sukuna compromised, using one of his members to ravage your interior while the other skims the crevice of your asscheecks. He goes excruciatingly slow; rather than just ramming the entire thing in one go, it’s better. Gods, no, you’d be shedding more tears than you already are. Every inch that’s plunged inside you pushes out shaky breaths, sobbing from the intrusion and bits of drool slowly escaping you.
“Daahhnn, ohmyG—Nnnm!!” It’s finally all in, all swallowed up by the ridge of your bottom. You call to him, “S-Sukunaa…fuull, so fuulll…”
“I bet you are.” He adds more weight, scrunching down, making it worse by caging you under his bow. Sukuna grinds his hips, which evoke sharp cries, “Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”
The salmon-haired behemoth rocks his enormous hips, the propulsion strong enough to rock you and Gojo concurrently. This time, unlike the northern man under you, Sukuna’s movements exude dominance; from his firm grip on your waist to the confident pull of his hips, everything he does is marked with a purpose. You can tell by how his big, weighty balls smack on your sexed union with Gojo.
Speaking of whom, the polar royal subsists in the kiss with Sukuna’s hand. Yet as the seconds turn to a minute, his expression morphs into a less perturbed display. Instead of fighting it, he kisses back with the palm and bucks his hips into you. The action of his cock rubbing on the sweet spots of your vagina while the one carves and churns your butthole and the other glides on your crack grinds your brain to turn into mush. Your nerves have yet to calm down from the prior orgasm, senses overloaded with constant commotion going on in your private parts.
Sukuna’s pushes become quicker and mightier, and the more he ruts, the more your clit grinds onto Gojo’s pelvis, sending shocks straight to your head. There’s no room for rest…! “—Ohhh, hooooh’Kunaaa, Kunaa, pleaseee…!”
“‘Please, please,’ please what?” He mocks you, knowing you’re powerless to reprimand him in this predicament. “Just whining and whining like a bitch in heat; have you no shame, princess?”
“Ohhh, I’m gonna—shtoooop!!” He licks your ear as you moan aloud, steamy tears striking down your hot cheeks. The pace increases, and so does the swipe of your clit and the bump of your womb. “Ohhhfuck, fuck, fuckfuuuuck…!!”
“Kehaha, look at you; the poor princess finally breaks their poised picture,” dark, pleased chuckles seep out of the demon king’s lips, biting onto your shoulder harshly to make you scream. And judging by him licking your added wound, you’re sure he drew blood.
“Good, I want you to be broken,” he sneers as his upper right arm pushes you to face him. “Break for me; think of nothing else other than being mine. Right now, your mind, body, and soul are mine to torment and tear apart. You are my little dove, small and easy to break from now till your dying breath. Am I clear, pet?”
Scared? Of course. The way his scarlet orbs bore holes into your very being had you petrified; he doesn’t need his hellish aura and brawny hands that can snap a tree in half to assimilate fear into your heart. Witnessing the true power of the King of Demons with just his stare, nothing scarier than that…And yet, your anus and chasm can’t stop squeezing like crazy.
“…Yess, my Lord,” you croak, his finger wiping the saliva on his fingertip. “I am your pet from this—nnmm!!—this moment until the…very last.”
Anxiety doesn’t diminish when he broadens a devilish smile, but it transforms into perplexity once he slams his lips onto yours—your first kiss, taken by the eastern King, along with the chastity of your rear hole. And there’s Gojo, who is the very man who has taken claim of your virginity. Two men, your childhood companions, taking your firsts! Tonight, indeed, is marked down as an eventful occasion for you.
You sink into the passionate kiss, your tiny tongue swirling around with Sukuna’s, his fangs grazing the muscle teasingly before he nibbles on it to hear you shrill for him. All the while, his hips go erratic, motivating Gojo to increase his tempo. The feverish rhythm leaves you breathless, crying in the company of lust and rapture to the point that you’ve become numb. Your vision becomes blurry, your head foggy, and the air between you three misty. Noises of skin smacking onto each is all you hear, drowning you further into another spazz you couldn’t adequately foretell.
Gojo and Sukuna chase their climaxes together after your walls quirk and spasm uncontrollably, letting their fluids burst inside to fill your holes to the very brim. You howl in Sukuna’s mouth, who chews on your bottom lip roughly, same with Gojo’s with the palm before snatching his hand away. The snowy-headed man huffs and pants, nearly choking on spit as his midsection flexes with every jerk of his ejaculation. And the giant above you groans while rutting into your ass, not stopping until his high passes through, the free girth ejecting semen to paint across your sweaty back.
For a few seconds, it’s utterly hot and cold at the same time, your figure trembling with the acute shocks coursing through your bones. Eyes roll to the roof of your canopy, and limbs wobble and give way for you to slump after Sukuna releases you from his breathtaking kiss. Luckily, Gojo is there to catch you, the comely noble attending to you with kisses to your temple.
“Look what you did,” he spits to his left, wanting to rid his mouth of whatever remnants Sukuna left with that disgusting kiss. “You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you wanted to break them.”
“Hmph, don’t ever take me for a liar,” the demonic man stretches after withdrawing his length out of your butt, chortling at the sight of his essence sticking to you. “Oi, dove, you hear me?”
“Princess, you all right…?”
Whatever words the two were saying to you had begun to fade away despite their proximity. Your eyelids refuse to fight the urge to close, and your skin allows the cold breeze to blanket you. Everything goes black, your breathing returns to balance, and the sound of the fire cracking comes back to sing you to sleep.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“My Lady, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Huh?” You snap out of being zoned out for the sixth time today. Your vision is now present with the gazebo view, the ocean glistening from the morning sun in the distance, contrasting with the beautiful greenery of your garden. Many flowers of different shapes and sizes, various colors painted on top of the veins and roots separated from the yellow brick road coursing around it.
You sit at the gazebo for your morning tea; it’s part of your morning routine after a nice bath and Utahime helping you pick what to wear for the day. Usually, when you sit here, you admire the tranquil sounds of the outside space and the sweet taste of your hot beverage.
“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…”
“Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad…Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”
Memories from last night flash one after the other, ringing your ears with nothing but the erotic noises and voices from the night before. Your cheeks dial in warmth, recollecting the senses of having both men — your childhood friends — so intimately close to you. The hotness of their breath touching your skin, the wet, teasing licks of the tongue from Sukuna’s stomach, Gojo’s slender fingers swiping and pinching your clitoris as he sucks on your nipple, and Sukuna using one of his arms to restrain your hands behind your back as he uses two others to keep your hips still to hammer your holes with his girth.
“Princess…” the way Gojo says your name, your stomach flips to the smooth tone of his voice. His striking blue eyes survey your expression like you’re his lost treasure. His hard body meshing together with your sweaty, soft figure is a sensation you’ll probably never forget…
“Princess…” Sukuna, with his red eyes and demonic face structure, put you in a paralysis spell, and his intimidating aura suffocates you to submit to his gaze and hold. Under his bow, you felt as though you were nothing but his and his alone. And you can’t tell if that is scary or intriguing…
“…—dy Lady….MY LADY!!”
“Y–Yes!?” Your attention swerves to reality, Utahime’s face mere inches from yours. Her brown eyes filled with worrisome confusion, scanning your expression.
“What on Tengen’s Earth is going on with you?” She says with a sigh, “Are you sick? Did you not get enough rest last night? Tsk, it must’ve been Lord Sukuna and that blue-eyed jerk. My apologies, my Lady. I hope their intrusion didn’t keep you awake for too long.”
You shake your head to your best friend. “No need to apologize, Utahime. And it’s all right; the Lords didn’t give me too much trouble.”
She gives a nod to your response, observing you picking up your teacup and taking a sip before setting it back down gently. “Still, I find it odd that both lords wished to see you so late at night. At the same time, too…If you don’t mind me asking, my Lady, what did they wish to speak with you?”
Again, she is your best friend, so you can trust her with the information you’re about to give. “…Apparently, both Lord Sukuna and Lord Gojo wish to have my hand in marriage—“
“MARRIAGE!!??”
“Shhhh!!” With haste, you stand from the table to cover your lady-in-waiting’s mouth from uttering another word. You swiftly survey the entire garden to see if anyone from the castle heard the shout. Luckily, it was just the two of you. “Please, Utahime, not so loud.”
The woman with her mouth covered blinks once, twice, before giving an assured mod for you to release her lips. She now speaks in whispers with you, “My apologies. But…marriage??”
“I know, it surprised me, too. It seems my father gave them his blessings to ask for my hand. It could be for the sake of our families and relations or to strengthen the bond of our empires to maintain the powerhouse that is our continent.”
“Mmm, those are valid reasons to consider, especially after the Great War, and that the bond of the three empires would give a good message…Or perhaps, did the Lords wish to wed you for more personal reasons?”
They did. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead, all you could do was think about their proposals from last night. The way they both stood on one knee and took two hands. Gojo’s eyes never looked so sincere and soft when looking at you, placing his soft lips on your left ring finger to gently kiss it. He looked like his princely self. But that night, he showed the caring and soothing cadence you had fallen in love with all these years. And Sukuna, oh Lord. Never did you think you’d live to witness the day this giant being before you took a knee for anyone – especially for you. Your right hand easily dwarfed in his grasp, brought to his lips that you’d only ever dream to have touch you. And those piercing eyes of his, red like blood, examining every single feature of yours as if you were the thing that made him strong yet weak. It was subtle, something only meant for your eyes to see. But most of all, it was genuine.
“…That might be it, as well.” You mutter under your breath, your cheeks becoming warm while reminiscing the scenes to yourself.
However, your chambermaiden was no fool at all. She could tell from your wandering gaze that something, in fact, did happen between the three royals that night. She lifted a brow at your response, “I think that is the case, seeing as though you’re trying to hide the smile from me.”
You squeak, immediately facing in her direction, seeing the foxy grin on her beautiful, scarred face. “I’m smiling?”
“Aha!” Oh no, I fell for it. “Gotcha! Oh my, it seems my Lady is having troubles with the heart. Could it be you are considering the marriage proposals?”
“W–Well…I don’t know myself,” it was an honest answer; you didn’t know the answer yourself. “The matter caught me off guard; I wasn’t expecting either of them to come to my quarters, let alone propose to me on the night of their arrival—“
“That’s not my question, my princess.” You gulp when she cuts you off, Utahime narrowing her feline eyes as she speaks. “It made you incredibly nervous that the three of you would be here at the same place, thinking those two would go at each other’s throats. Now, two Lords still stand, asking for you to be by their side, and you can barely keep a straight face. If you ask for my piece, I’m relieved they came here with the thoughts of marriage rather than spark up talk of another war in this continent.”
You hum along to your maiden's words, taking in her reasoning. Yet she continues, “And judging by how fidgety you appear to be on this fine morning, something tells me you’re on the fence of accepting. Who will take my Lady’s hand? Lord Ryomen? Gojo? Ugh. If it’s the latter, I’ll only deal with him for your happiness. And Lord Ryomen, oh my. Being the spouse to the most powerful beast of Holy Tengen's continent , it’s something out of a fairy—“
“Utahime, calm down!” You stop the lady from her excitement bubbling into something substantial. You can tell she’s itching to plan your wedding – whenever that be – once your tea time is finished. “I…I didn’t accept their proposals, not yet.”
The dark-haired woman drops her jaw; how unfortunate it is for you to lie to your best friend. “What do you mean!? You didn’t? Then how come you three were discussing for such a long time? I saw Lord Gojo return to his quarters in the middle of the night, and I figured it was because you all had an in-depth discussion.” You open your mouth, but your words are caught on the back of your tongue. You couldn’t formulate a proper excuse or lie in time. Because of that hesitation, Utahime’s brows draw upward with wide eyes, her mouth changing into a small “o” shape. It was at that moment that you realized you dug yourself a grave.
“Princess,” her voice was still hushed, speaking slowly as if not to jump so hard to her assumptions. “…What exactly were you doing with Lord Satoru and Ryomen?”
“PRINCESS! PRINCESS!!”
Saved by another voice entering the fray, you and your lady-in-waiting turn around to see another person coming to the garden, running down the brick road to your destination. As they came closer, you could tell from the bright blue hair and uneven bangs that it was Utahime’s apprentice, the lower-status handmaiden Kasumi Miwa. Your lady-in-waiting was the first to correct her before getting closer, “Maiden Miwa! I’ve told you about running so freely around the castle. What if you were to bump into someone?” When Miwa is in the presence of the two of you, she’s huffing and puffing. “And stand up straight!”
“Eek! Sorry, Lady Iori, but I come bearing news for the princess!” Miwa fixes her posture and messy blue hair while trying to situate her breaths steadily. “Princess, I’m here to tell you that Lords Sukuna Ryomen and Satoru Gojo wish to speak with you!”
Huh??!! “Pardon??”
“Yes, they wish to discuss their proposals with you from last night. At least, that’s what they told me…Oh, there they are!”
“Miwa, shhhh, don’t point!”
You pay no mind to your chambermaid lecturing her young student because your eyes follow the brick pathway up to the castle steps where two figures stand. Sukuna and Gojo stand at the entranceway to the garden, both wearing their respective clothing. Not that it matters, though, because the memories from last night with your nude bodies being connected still haunt your senses. And now they’re here, big grins on their faces that share the same reason. They know, and they know that you know. Who knew that such a night full of unexpected passion and heat would happen to you and with your closest friends since your little years, who have grown to become such strong, handsome, and powerful men.
Perhaps this was the union you’ve wished for — the union that could finally bring you three back together…Perhaps.
description: after a long day of work at the dso, you were streaming when a subscriber admits they embarrassed themselves in front of a crush. to make them feel better, you tell them about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of an older agent, who you just so happened to have a fat crush on.
fluff ✿ 2.3k words -> leon kennedy masterlist
You had been working at the DSO for about two years. It was pretty mundane until you were moved to the location where some of the best field agents and dispatchers clocked in for work.
Among them, 30 year veteran Agent Leon Kennedy.
You heard so many stories about the guy growing up. You couldn’t believe he was the one to save the president's daughter by himself, let alone survive Raccoon city in ‘98.
Needless to say, it was sort of surreal seeing him stalk around the office your first day at work.
He was insanely good looking, but the years weren’t kind to him. You could tell from the way his shoulders were slightly hunched over from carrying the weight of the world for so long, the silver strands paving their way into his otherwise dark hair, and the faint lines etching their way across his face.
But, man, was he delectable.
You couldn’t help it! It wasn’t just the way he looked, but the way he acted.
He was kind to everyone around him. His dry jokes were awful in the best way. He was smart and you could tell he went out of his way to make everyone comfortable, including you.
You actually felt a little out of place on your first day, but he made sure to introduce himself to you first and mention you to his other colleagues to save you the awkward introductions.
Sometimes when he’d stumble into headquarters fresh from a mission, you’d steal a few glances, partly in concern and partly because a hot older guy was groaning and panting around headquarters with blood all over him.
Leon always looked a little rough when he returned. His hair would be slightly disheveled, jacket gone for whatever reason, clothes creased and worn from travel.
Sometimes there were faint bruises under his eye or temple or dried blood that wasn’t even his, splattered across his collar and arms.
Despite looking like a hot mess, he still carried himself with that conviction that made everyone move out of his way without even thinking about it.
Almost every single damn time you snuck a glance, he’d catch you red handed. Those sharp blue eyes would flick your way and he’d nod, or if he still had the energy, come over and talk to you.
You always looked away in record time, suddenly finding the report in front of you wildly interesting.
You internally screamed whenever he’d walk over to your desk, lean against it, and ask you how your day was like he didn’t just come back from hell.
It took everything in you not to act like a horny teenager and stare at the veins in his forearms, the little hairs and the speckles of blood decorating them.
And you could never weather that beautiful stare of his.
Why’d he have to look at people so intently when they spoke?
Damn blue eyed stare.
You needed to convince him to get brown contacts or something.
As exciting as the job was sometimes, you just wanted to go home, hop on your computer, and forget the world existed by playing whatever games you found interesting.
You started streaming about a year ago and had recently reached a following of about two hundred thousand.
It was insane, but you were glad you weren’t popular enough to be blasted all over TikTok or Instagram.
You were mid stream when someone donated fifty gifted subs.The message attached admitted they’d embarrassed themselves in front of their crush.
You thanked them of course, but chuckled at their admission.
You sighed, the memory of the other day resurfacing.
“I know how you feel, girl, trust me,” you said, giving the camera a knowing look.
Your chat instantly exploded with people egging you on.
And Leon surely wasn’t on Twitch so…
you spilled.
“If it makes you feel any better, I embarrassed myself real bad in front of my crush at work the other day too.”
You bit the skin on your hand as the memory plagued you.
Then you shook your head with a nervous chuckle. “Oh man, I don’t even know if I should say this…”
Another gifted sub popped up.
girl spill the tea I won’t tell anyone I promise
“Alright but if you clip this you’re all banned. Well actually I’m like ninety nine percent sure this guy isn’t even on social media okay he’s…he’s older so I don’t have to worry about him finding out.”
You rolled your eyes as new chats came in.
OLDER??
like how much older?
You scratched the back of your neck, “he's like....50?”
FIVE ZERO?
beekeeping age
an older man you say???
Dilffff
Oh so he’s a dilf
You gave the webcam a flat look.
“…Okay yeah he’s kind of a dilf, “ You faltered, “but he doesn’t have children okay, not that I know of.”
You shifted in your seat.
“This guy is very well known within our company. And I don’t know—he’s just great. He’s nice to everyone, he’s funny, and he cares about people.”
You huffed at the incoming words of encouragement, or words of delusion.
girl get him
SEDUCE HIM
Ooo a little age gap momentt
WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE
whats his name
“I don’t know if I should describe him cause I wanna respect his privacy,” you said with a small laugh. “But let’s just call him ‘the dilf from work’. He’s so out of my league it’s ridiculous.”
You leaned closer to the mic.
“So the other day I was in the break room grabbing a snack before my shift. I was half asleep, okay? Like barely functioning and he walks in.”
You buried your face in your hands for a second before continuing.
“And I panic because I didn’t expect him to be there so early. So I try to move out of the way really fast so he can get to the coffee machine. He sort of leans down to grab a coffee pod, while I grab my steel water bottle…and it sort of swings down—”
You pause, biting your tongue.
Your chat instantly filled with NOOOOOOOOs and you're assuming people know what comes next.
“…He stands up and slams his head into the water bottle as it’s swinging toward him—”
You clutched your forehead, “So now I’m panicking and apologizing cause I bonked him in the head and he’s just crouching there looking confused while I'm holding a hand over the area to prevent it from bleeding more.”
Oh honey…
Yea i would clear out the whole room
loll no he probably thought it was cute trust….
real
“I felt like a fucking idiot!” you cried with a little laugh, rubbing your face in anguish.
You covered your eyes with your palms and peeked through your fingers to read chat, "At least he was nice about it, he didn’t even complain.”
You sigh, “but that was still embarrassing.”
“I would never wish harm on anyone,” you continued quietly, “but I hope he got a concussion and forgets that even happened…or just forgets I exist in general.”
Comments rolled in again.
imagine he sees this
help
yall better not clip ts
“No, don't worry,” you reassured. “He’s not gonna see this. No one at my work is on Twitch or social media or anything like that.”
You let your arms fall back to the armrests and rocked the chair once, eyes flicking over the flood of messages.
Most of them were variations of there’s no way that’s true.
You just smiled to yourself.
And despite yourself, you suppressed a stupid little smile.
Because there was still a part of that embarrassing story you hadn’t told them because thinking about it still made your heart do something extremely annoying.
It happened right after the water bottle incident.
You’d found the little first aid kit in one of the cupboards and patched the cut on his forehead as best as you could while apologizing about twenty times. Leon had been sitting on the edge of the counter, head tilted forward a little so you could reach him, one hand braced against the surface beside him.
You were trying very hard not to think about how close he was. Or how embarrassing it was that you had nailed a federal agent in the head with a metal water bottle.
“There,” you muttered once the bandage was finally in place.
Your fingers were still a little shaky as you stepped back. “Sorry,” you added again.
Leon waved you off with a soft grin, “Ah, don’t worry about it.”
You turned toward the sink to throw the wrapper from the bandage away when you noticed there was dried blood on your fingers.
His blood. You froze for a second, staring at it.
“Oh,” you murmured quietly to yourself.
You reached for the sink to wash it off before it could smear on anything else, but you barely had time to turn the faucet when Leon spoke.
“Here, " he slid off the counter, "Let me.”
You glanced back.
Your pulse jumped the second his fingers wrapped around your wrist, they were huge and a little dry and calloused.
“Sorry about that,” he said, before he gently rinsed your hand under the faucet for longer than necessary and squeezed it a bit to ring it dry, like all this was his fault.
Back in the present, your chair rocked softly as chat continued flying up the screen.
“But anyways…I’m sure I’ll get over it someday.”
The next day at work you were running on maybe four hours of sleep.
You barely noticed Leon approaching until his shadow fell across your desk.
When you looked up, there he was with two cups of coffee in his hands.
He slid one toward you, and you straightened in surprise, “Oh—thank you!”
“Figured you’d need it, you’ve been here all day,” His voice was low and warm, a little rough around the edges like he was tired too.
Leon leaned forward, resting both elbows on your desk like he always did. The sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up just slightly, revealing those familiar muscles you tried very hard not to stare at.
His hair was a little messy today, strands falling loosely across his forehead. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes that hinted he hadn’t slept much either, maybe he was working late, but somehow it only made him look better.
Your eyes were so dry they almost made the SpongeBob blinking sound, so you rubbed them.
“Tired?” He asked, gaze flitting around your face.
“Yeah…I was up all night finishing some reports after streaming.” You grin sheepishly.
He nods, “Streaming huh?”
You blinked.
“Yeah—you know…like on Twitch. Playing games and talking to chat and stuff.”
Leon’s mouth twitched faintly as he raised his cup to take a sip,
“I know what streaming is,” he clarified, eyes nearly piercing at you over the rim of his cup, like he was staring right into your soul.
You shifted in your seat, “Oh.”
“I’m not that old,” he added, voice softer this time.
You laughed, “Sorry, I just figured it wasn’t your kind of thing.”
He shifted his weight slightly against your desk, one shoulder dipping as he leaned more comfortably into the conversation.
“You’d be surprised,” he continued. “I’ve actually seen a few of yours.”
You froze completely.
“…Huh?” You said stupidly.
“Yeah.” Leon gave a small shrug like it was nothing, though the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes hinted he was enjoying your turmoil.
“I’m not really online myself, but Sherry said you had a big following…figured I’d take a look and see what you got up to after work.”
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Damn Sherry.
Whenever he talked with the two of you, she was always looking at you with that little smirk. Or worse, nudged you on the shoulder whenever he approached you guys and made up some lame excuse to leave you alone with him…you knew she could sense your fat crush on him from day one.
“Oh.” Your brain was replaying every second of last night. “Okay.” You cleared your throat, trying to behave normally.
Then you noticed him rub the side of his head absently, fingers brushing along his temple.
“I’m so sorry again about hitting your head the other day,” you blurted out.
“What do you mean?” he blinked.
You stared, “When I hit your head with the water bottle?”
An amused huff left him, “I actually don’t remember much, I think I got a concussion. Been forgetting everything lately.”
You straightened immediately.
Wait, he actually got a concussion?…From a water bottle? So much for America's toughest agent.
You shook your head, what were you thinking?
So insensitive.
“I’m so sorry,” you frown, a wave of guilt washing over you, “Is it like a short term memory loss kind of thing?”
Leon watched you for a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You could call it that.”
You nodded slowly, completely serious.
His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you. Then he pushed off the desk, standing up straight again, “Ah, forgot I’ve got a meeting to head to.”
“Good luck,” You say a little dejectedly, expecting him to walk away, but he leaned closer.
You blinked, swallowing at his proximity.
“You might have to remind me what happened later over dinner,” he crooned.
What.
“Over dinner?...”
“Over dinner,” He concluded, leaning away to slip his jacket on, “You know, since you ‘bonked’ my head so hard.”
Your soul left your body.
“But—“
“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Leon winked and walked away, leaving you sitting there, face burning, realizing two horrifying things at once.
One.
He definitely watched your stream.
And two.
You were absolutely going to dinner with the dilf from work.
A few months later, things were different, but in a good way.
You had somehow survived the embarrassment of that stream and maiming Leon, the panic of realizing he heard about the stream, and the nerves that came along with that first dinner.
And now here you are, still streaming.
Except now there was a six foot government agent occasionally wandering through your apartment like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You were mid stream when your front door clicked open.
Your chat was already moving fast, colorful messages flying past your screen as you tried to focus. Behind you, you heard the quiet thud of footsteps and the rustle of a jacket being set down. You didn’t turn around right away since you were in the middle of a fight in your game, but you could hear him moving around the apartment, unhurried and quiet in that way he always was.
Your chat, unfortunately, noticed.
who just came in?
DOOR?
Is that a mannn???
You tried to ignore them, but a second later Leon stepped up beside your desk.
You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair was a little messy like usual, the collar of his jacket slightly rumpled, and he looked tired the way he often did after work.
He was holding a small paper bag. Without interrupting you, he quietly set a couple snacks down beside your keyboard. You looked up, giving him a soft grin as he crouched to give you a quick kiss.
Your chat exploded again.
HELLO?????
wait guys whose that
SNACK DELIVERY???
IS THAT HIM
tHe WORK DILF…
You snorted softly under your breath.
Leon leaned a hip against the side of your desk, folding his arms loosely as he watched your screen for a second.
His expression was calm, faintly amused for someone being examined by thousands.
When the chapter of the game ended with a cut scene, you leaned back in your chair with a relieved exhale.
“Okay guys, relax,” you said, grabbing one of the snacks Leon brought.
You glanced sideways at him.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, “Don’t be rude, Hon, aren’t you gonna introduce me?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Chat this is the work dilf I told you guys about a few months ago.”
Leon let out a quiet chuckle at that, ““The work what?”
He braced one hand on the back of your chair and leaned down further until his head appeared on the edge of the camera frame. He squinted slightly at the screen, trying to read the messages flying past.
HELLO SIR
Yo is that Leon Kennedy??
HI LEON
easy white chocolate
Your work dilf saved the presidents daughter?
Easy there white chocolate
BE cool chat
guys she said she works for the dso it makes sense
His brow furrowed with genuine confusion. “Why are they calling me white chocolate?”
You shook your head as the chat spammed even more at the sound of his voice.
ooo he’s real
HIS VOICE
flash us
BEEKEEPING AGE
Leon leaned a little closer to the monitor.
“…What’s beekeeping age?”
You dropped your head into your hands.
Leon glanced down at you, a small crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head in defeat, “I don’t even know.”
While your chat was having the time of their lives, Leon leaned one arm on the desk, settling in like he had officially joined the stream.
He scanned the chat slowly.
“Alright,” he murmured, “I’ll read some more.”
You winced,
“Maybe don’t—“
Too late.
HOW OLD ARE YOU
Leon huffed, “Old.”
Wait so what do you guys do for work?
Leon paused, “…We work for the government.”
ARE YOU ACTUALLY THE WORK CRUSH
Leon glanced sideways at you, eyes softening just a little, “I hope so.”
aww how did you fall for her??
“Well, I knew she was the one for me when she clocked me in the head with a bottle.”
You smacked his chest, “It wasn't on purpose!”
Your heart flipped a little when he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your palm.
He straightened up after a moment, grabbing a snack from the bag. “Well, this has been…enlightening.”
“Sure was,” you muttered under your breath.
He glanced down at you, “You’ done embarrassing yourself online for the night?”
You huffed, “…No.”
Leon chuckled quietly, then ruffled your hair as he walked away.
You looked at the webcam like your chat was in timeout. “I hate all of you.”
Leon’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Be nice.”
Your viewers immediately sided with him of course.
shiii i mean, if leon worked with me, the world would neverrr hear the end of it.
I FOUND OUT WHAT IT MEANS and I was right :D i was worried it had some crazy double meaning
synopsis: you were giving up on him. for real this time. after years of silently pining over your friend's brother, you were done giving him any space in your heart. until a date goes wrong and he waltzes back into your life - seemingly intent on winning your heart this time. can you resist him? or will you just be repeating history?
pairing: tattoo artist!Sukuna x f!Reader
wc: 8.2k
content: mdni, angst + smut, some fluff sprinkled in too, hurt/comfort, HEAVY JEALOUSY, sukuna is an asshole at first but he learns!, he's UNHINGED though lmfao, lowk crazy and yandere bc this man is obsessed and plotting, aspiring artist!reader, heavy pining/yearning, gojo appearance but he's a bit of a dick, fist fighting lol, Sukuna scheming to win us over, regret, tattoos, fucking in the tattoo chair, fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie
a/n: this was a commission by the lovely @ynishalee !! sukuna art is by @/to00fu + divider by @/d-oie !!
“Seriously? You thought this shit was worth showing me?”
You flinched. Stared at the portfolio you brought in veiny hands before he tossed it back on the counter, a few pieces of laminated paper slipping out before you scrambled to pick it up and shove them back in.
What did you think?
That just because you were friends (or as close to it as you could get) with Sukuna, he wouldn't be a complete and total asshole for once in his life? That maybe he'd be impressed with your attempts at art after making a career out of his own?
“I cleared my evening for this,” he grumbled, running his fingers through his soft pink hair, brows pinched together in a scowl as his dark eyes settled squarely on you. “I could’ve booked a client. One that paid?”
“Sorry,” you apologized, stepping back, glancing towards the door.
Stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid.
You should’ve known better. Should’ve realized that even after fifteen years, all you’d really be to him was a nuisance.
“Whatever,” he groaned, grabbing his jacket from where he’d left it on his stool and stretching out his shoulders before slipping it on. “You can buy me a beer to make up for it.”
This was what moderately nice looked like with him. And the only reason he even put up with you this much was because you were friends with his brother first. Jin was the opposite of Sukuna, soft-spoken and considerate and not a complete asshole, someone you met back in school. He introduced you to his twin brother – and that was history.
You’d been nursing a childish crush on him from that very first day.
It still made you feel like a fucking moron.
All you wanted was for him to see you.
Maybe you were asking for too much. But the rejection burned as you buried it deep in your chest, mumbling sure as you turned away from him. Rubbing underneath your eyes before you started needing to blink back tears, refusing to let yourself cry like a baby in front of him.
But you were apparently still lacking in the self-respect department when you held the door open for him in one hand and cradled your now-worthless portfolio against your chest in the other.
You drove separately.
Following his car to a seedy club downtown, parking a couple blocks away and jogging to catch up with how fast he was walking to the doors. He nodded at the bodyguard, the brute just waving him in before you mumbled something stupid about being with him before you trailed after him inside.
Sukuna ordered two beers, the cheapest drinks on the menu like he didn’t think you could afford more on your salary. He wasn’t wrong.
He rarely was.
You’d been working at your family’s bookshop most of your life. Managing the finances, stocking the shelves, working the cash register. Whatever was needed whenever it was needed. No questions asked. But your mind drifted, dreamed of doing something different – where you weren’t sleeping in a tiny studio apartment you could barely afford and got to express yourself outside of the stupid chalk signs you drew on to advertise on the sidewalk.
“Are you still all prissy because I said-”
“No,” you interrupted him, even though you knew he hated that. You sipped the awful beer, nose scrunching as you pressed your lips together and forced yourself to swallow.
“Good,” he grunted. “Don’t need that shit today.”
You didn’t reply to that. Stared ahead at the bottles of liquor lined up on the wall, the distorted mirrors behind them as you listened to the heavy music thumping behind you.
“First client was fuckin’ awful, didn’t even tip after I spent-” Sukuna was still talking, grumbling under his breath between swigs of his own beer. You weren’t paying that much attention though. Picking apart what you could make of yourself in those stretched-out mirrors, wondering if you’d really only be Jin’s friend to him. Someone annoying he could boss around, that he barely tolerated.
How much time were you wasting waiting for him to wake up and notice you were a girl? That you liked him?
“God, I need to get laid,” he continued, and your head swiveled over to him, brows knitting together as it hit you what he said.
He noticed, chuckling at whatever expression you were making before slamming his now-empty beer down.
“What? Are you, like, a prude?” Sukuna asked, and you flinched, flustered as your mouth fell open.
“N-no, I’m not,” you defensively said, heat crawling inside your skin, uselessly shaking your head just for him to laugh at you.
“C’mon,” Sukuna snickered, rolling your eyes. “I’ve known you, what? Like a decade? And you’ve never had a boyfriend?”
“I’ve had boyfriends,” you muttered, wishing you could drown yourself in your beer when you forced yourself to take another drawn-out sip.
Several of them. Some longer than others.
But they all came to the same conclusion you had a long time ago.
They weren’t the guy you wanted. And the one you did couldn’t care less about you.
“Sure,” he shrugged, all gruff and gravelly, waving over the bartender to get another beer. “Whatever you say.”
“You don’t believe me,” you pointed out before you could stop yourself, and all you got was another bob of his shoulders.
“It’s not my business.” Which really just meant he didn’t give a shit.
You could probably pick a random guy from the dancefloor and drag him back home with you and he wouldn’t blink.
Instead of a beer, the bartender pushed a stein of something strong to him, nodding down the bar to a pretty girl who was already looking at him, glossy lips curling up when his head turned in her direction. “On her.”
Sukuna smirked, and you wondered if he’d be leaving with her tonight.
“Someone’s got you beat,” he commented, glancing back over to her with a glint of interest in his eyes. It was a joke, you guessed. But you didn’t laugh.
Just felt it sit in the bottom of your stomach like a goddamn boulder.
She had his attention, and she barely had to try.
You pulled out your purse, scrounging together enough crumpled cash to cover the bill before tossing it on the bartop, swinging your legs off to stand.
“You’re mad at me,” he huffed, and you wanted him to stop you. Some sad little shriveled part of your brain desperate for him to do something to show you were more than just – well, whatever it was he saw you as.
“I’m not,” you insisted, even though a hot lump had formed in your throat, lungs constricting as you became acutely aware of how little air you could suck in.
He frowned for a second, but he didn’t say anything.
Didn’t reach out.
“Gotta get up early tomorrow,” you excused, even though he didn't ask.
For the first time in forever, you didn't look back when you left. And when you got home, you blocked his number after deleting the message chain that was mostly you sending him stupid shit he probably only ever skimmed over.
Removed the temptation entirely to text him now, tried to call and clip the image of him from the corners of your heart when you curled back up in your bed.
It wasn't like it was easy. But the humiliation of wanting someone like him had sliced too deep this time, embarrassment etching into your fingers every time you attempted to draw and thought back to his reaction. His rejection.
So you did the only thing you could do.
Move on.
Focus on your job, your meager social life, although you made Jin come over to your apartment when he wanted to hang out purely out of fear you'd bump into Sukuna’s at his place.
Two weeks passed, then three, killing time while you scrubbed the ghost of him from your mind.
Today hadn't been much different.
Stuck with another hour left at an exhausting shift, feet aching as you shifted behind the counter, a pen in hand as you attempted to sketch something on the back of a sticky note. A few animals, a couple of fish, thin lines and unsure strokes as you questioned what was even the point any more.
“Whatcha doodlin’?” A cheeky voice distracted you, snatching the crumpled paper from underneath your palm before you could stop him. You knew who it belonged to before you saw him.
The white-haired menace who only showed up for the sweets in the adjoining bakery, chocolate usually smeared in the corner of his mouth when he pretended to browse books. Although he'd always find some excuse to come chat with you, sometimes bringing around his friends who would buy stuff.
“It's nothing-” You started, straining over the counter to yank it back, but he was too fast.
Gojo held it over your head, squinting at the lines you etched into it and tilting his head to the side with faint surprise.
“These are cute,” he smiled, pointing at the little koi fish at the bottom.
“You don't have to lie to me,” you frowned back at him, getting just close enough to grab it. You rolled it into a ball, throwing it away in the trash can under the counter. “It's nothing.”
“I meant it,” he grinned, propping himself up on his elbows and getting on your eye level. “Don't believe me?”
Gojo was full of shit.
You hadn't known him as long as Sukuna or Jin – but you still knew him well enough to know he liked to flirt and fawn, none of it worth anything when he was like that with everyone. He was more of a mutual friend than just a friend, but boundaries were more like suggestions he preferred to ignore, physical, emotional, every flavor of rule he rejected.
“Not really,” you muttered, glancing down at both his rather huge hands. All pale and veiny, long fingers that weren't holding anything. “No treat today?”
“Want something a little sweeter tonight,” he hummed, and you stared blankly at him.
“Like what?” You deadpanned.
“A date with you.”
You blinked. But he didn't budge, waiting for an answer.
“Like, a date date?” It made you feel like a moron to ask, halfway thinking he'd laugh at you even when he brought it up.
“Duh,” he chuckled. “What time do you get off?”
“Um, an hour, but-” You started, and since it wasn't a no, he was already smiling like it was a yes.
“Or we could do dinner tomorrow if it's better, y’know, whatever's good with you is great with-’
“Tomorrow,” you answered, surprising yourself a little bit at how quickly you said it. Gojo was cute, even if he wasn't exactly the type you usually went for – i.e. tattooed men with commitment issues. He probably had a big dick if it was even half the size of his attitude.
It might not go anywhere, but didn’t you deserve a single night without him on your mind?
Sukuna could sleep around.
So why couldn't you?
Something was fucking wrong with him.
Sukuna’s life had been oddly quiet lately.
Something was different, missing, maybe– but he hadn't quite figured out what. Just that the world had been duller. The days dragged on longer, nights bleeding into morning in broken fits of sleep.
He'd never exactly been a man of emotions. Most of them he rejected entirely. But there was a pervading feeling that he could only describe as bad. One that refused to go away no matter how much he tried to drown it in alcohol or nicotine.
He hated half of his clients. Couldn't stand the bright city lights or boring chatter people constantly tried dragging him into. His old favorite songs sounded more like static and background noise, grating on his nerves when he turned it on to focus on new designs.
But despising the universe wasn't anything new to Sukuna.
Loathing his life was typical.
But this slimy pit in his stomach, balled up too tight to dislodge, stuck there and festering, that was something he wasn't used to.
It wasn't until he went to Jin’s to talk shit about his latest awful day that he figured out what it was.
Guilt.
Jin was alone, watching some boring movie on his couch, feet propped up on his coffee table without even sparing him a glance as he went straight to his fridge to find a cold drink. He glared at the healthy foods, fruits and meats neatly organized inside – only a couple sparkling waters in the back. He begrudgingly grabbed one, cracking it open and looking back to the living room just to freeze.
He stared at the empty spot next to Jin for a few seconds, struggling to conceive why he was looking at the couch like an idiot until it hit him why.
You weren't there.
“Where's your friend?” He gruffly asked, bringing the drink to his lips to sip.
“On a date,” Jin casually said, and he choked.
Drink dripped down his mouth and onto his shirt, wiping it away with the back of his hand as he cleared his throat.
“Her?” You?
It was inconceivable.
The girl who could barely even look him in the eye half the time? Who stuttered and stammered and could hardly get through a single sentence without getting flustered?
Honestly, Sukuna figured you were probably a virgin and too shy to admit it. It wasn’t like you weren’t attractive, but you’d always been off-limits.
Besides, there were always tons of other women out there – why would he stoop so low as to sleep with one of Jin’s friends?
“With Gojo,” his brother added, tossing a piece of popcorn in his mouth, completely oblivious to the way he froze behind him.
Did Jin just not give a fucking shit about you? Was he seriously letting you go out with that prick?
Gojo’s reputation was almost worse than his.
But just because he took girls on dates before he fucked and fled, he was somehow better.
At least he didn’t pretend he wanted a relationship just to get someone in the sheets. At least he didn’t lead them on and let them think they were something more.
“And you just fuckin’-” He clamped his lips shut right as Jin threw a confused look over his shoulder at him.
“What?” He asked, all confused, like he couldn’t fucking perceive the very apparant problem.
“That guy’s an asshole,” he protested.
Jin didn’t say it, but the look on his face made it obvious that he thought Sukuna was one too.
“Where’s the date at?” He grumbled, arms folding tight across his chest as he tapped on Jin’s fake wood flooring.
You weren’t his friend.
So why the fuck was he walking into some upscale restaurant on the nice side of town, fixing the collar of his jacket, ignoring the stares sticking to him.
“Sir?” A hostess tried talking to him, but he waved her off, already scowling.
“I need a drink,” he dryly said.
Preferably a strong one.
He beelined over to the bar, reluctantly ordering a ridiculously expensive whiskey in his best attempt to blend in before scanning the dining room for any sign of you.
He spotted you almost immediately. Sitting in one of those back booths, probably one Gojo told you would be more private – even though you were really just on display for the rest of the restaurant.
You dressed up. For him.
Sukuna didn’t know why it surprised him so much, dumbly staring at the sight of you in a short dress, the kind that clung to your thighs and your chest, too much cleavage showing. Too much skin showing period. Elbows on the table as you leaned in to listen to Gojo ramble on, who was surely too focused on the sound of his own voice to pay attention to how good you looked tonight.
He shook the thought from his head. Strangled it, actually, tried to twist it into nothing. Glad he didn't have any utensils to gouge his eyes out so he couldn't consider the cute tilt of your head or how glossy your lips looked when you chewed on your bottom one nervously.
Why the fuck were you here?
You weren't a moron. You knew better than to buy a guy like Gojo’s bullshit.
His last conversation with you came back up, floating from the depths of his brain in bits and pieces, his own words echoing. Was it because he commented on your lack of a love life? Asked if you were a prude?
Did you just go to the biggest manwhore (other than him) that you could find?
If you wanted to get laid, you could've just asked-
No, no. That was wrong, Sukuna reminded himself, blinking hard like it would change what he was seeing. You smiled at Gojo, mouth moving as you said something that made him chuckle and lean forward, reaching over the table to grab your hand like you were a couple. His thumb tracing down your knuckles, drawing little shapes on your skin that obviously made you giddy.
Sukuna wasn't jealous.
He'd never been jealous before. Over anyone.
He was, uh, just doing what Jin should've been doing. As your friend. Even if every giggle and grin of yours made him feel physically fucking ill as he watched and waited for the moment to intervene.
It wasn't like he could just let this happen.
Leg bouncing anxiously until Gojo got up, counting to thirty in his head before he followed him to the bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t noticed him. But you were glancing down at the table, tracing over the scratches on it, your face soft, almost serene. Pretty.
He kept walking, picking up the pace to catch up to Gojo, wondering how hard he’d have to deck him to make sure he’d stay down long enough for him to block off the bathroom door to prevent him from leaving. The staff would probably notice after a couple minutes – sooner if someone else tried to use it.
He didn’t have a real plan, his brain jumping from idea to idea too fast to let him land on one.
If he was less impulsive, more in control of the monster twisting around inside of him, maybe he would have considered having a conversation with Gojo. Threatening, sure, but mature enough to make it clear that you were not a girl he could screw and scram from.
Instead?
He was scanning the stalls in front of him to make sure no one else would overhear, noting that they opened out instead of in. Only spotting Gojo’s ridiculously shiny loafers, listening to him yap on the phone with one of the other pricks he chose to surround himself with.
“I know, I’ve gotta go, she’s waiting for me,” he was chuckling, his casual confidence already grating down his resolve not to dunk his head in the toilet. He laughed again at whoever was on the other line. “Shut up, you know I’ve been trying to get in her panties for months.”
Anger didn’t suffice.
Couldn’t cover the heat warping his judgment, boiling into something he couldn’t control at the idea of that white-haired fucker slinking around and searching for a way inside of you.
His body was moving on autopilot, banging hard on the stall door, fingers clenching into a fist right just in time for Gojo to hang up the phone and yank it open, his annoyingly bright blue eyes narrowing in an appalled squint at him.
“What the-”
His punch connected. Busting open his bottom lip, bruising Sukuna’s knuckles too as Gojo’s head snapped to the side. He groaned, stumbling and losing his footing, probably slipping in his own piss from his surely shoddy aim.
“The hell is your problem, dickhead?” Gojo grunted, pushing off the toilet seat, palm pressing on the stall as he struggled to stand up straight.
It was easy to push him back down, just another rough punch that he hoped fucking hurt.
But recognition was now glittering across the bloody face beneath him, amusement dancing in his dark stare as Gojo let out a low laugh.
“You’re here for her?” He said it like it was some joke Sukuna wasn’t in on. Or maybe he was just the butt of it.
“You’re not getting in her panties,” Sukuna repeated in a hateful hiss, more repulsed by the word when it was on his own tongue. “So stay the fuck away from her.”
His eyes flickered from the white-haired fraud in front of him to the toilet, considering it.
“Maybe.”
He saw the second it registered for him that it wasn’t just a threat. Then Sukuna leaned down, grabbing his phone from where it had hit the ground during his first hit.
“Wait-”
He tossed his phone in the water instead.
Sukuna kicked him while he was down, hard enough he heard a rib crack before he stepped back, slamming the stall door shut and looking around at what he had at his disposal. Dragging over a ridiculously heavy trash can from the corner, one of the obnoxiously designed ones that was supposed to be art as if people weren’t just tossing trash in it. He shoved it against the stall while Gojo groaned again inside.
He’d be able to get out, if he crawled under or climbed over the stall, or summoned the strength to shove it out of the way. But it’d delay him for a while. Enough that Sukuna was able to look back out of the bathroom, getting lucky enough to see one of the staff heading into a supply closet down the hall, marked employees only.
“You asshole,” Gojo snarled, voice muffled, strained from the pain of a probably broken rib.
But it was too late.
He was sneaking out and into the closet once it was empty, snagging an ‘out of order’ sign from a shelf before he put it back up on the bathroom door when no one was looking.
Sukuna wasn’t really one for fate, didn’t hold any believe in some higher power pulling his strings, but he could admit that it seemed like the universe was colluding with him when he caught the attention of some overworked waitress and casually commenting that they should probably block off the men’s bathroom if there was something wrong with it, pointing to the sign.
It had taken ten minutes, maybe fifteen, walking back to your table with a smirk twitching up in his lips at the thought of how long it would take Gojo to pull himself off of the floor and figure out how to leave. Especially now that he managed to get someone to move a bunch of those huge ceramic fake-potted plants in front of it to stop it from opening – and no one would hear him requesting help through the thick walls and the bland dining music still loudly thumping through the speakers.
He had won.
A little voice in the back of his brain said, for now, added addendums to his meager victory. Marked it down with the reminder that you might not be thrilled to see him after you left the last time you were together.
You were still staring at the table when you came back into view, but your nose was scrunched up, lips pressed together tightly. Aware that it was taking too long for your date to come back, fear starting to seep in that you’d been ditched.
And then you saw him.
For half a second, just a brief moment he almost missed, you smiled, relaxing reflectively before you suddenly went stiff again. Forcing a frown and tucking some hair behind your ear self-consciously, defensively.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, all wide-eyed, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Pulling the hem of your dress down like he hadn’t seen how high it’d been earlier.
“Saw you on a date with that loser,” he muttered, begrudgingly glancing around like he didn’t know where he was. “Did he leave?”
You swallowed, squirming as you shrugged.
“He said he was going to the bathroom,” you muttered, fishing your phone from your purse to check the time, or maybe send Gojo a message. Sukuna could see the way disappointment snuck up in your face, how it crept into the corners no matter how hard, how desperately you were trying to hide it.
There was an awkward pause, tense and heavy as he tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to.
“You wanna get out of here?” He gruffly suggested, pulling his wallet from his pocket and tossing down some cash on the table. Enough to cover your half – even though there was only an appetizer out.
You hesitated, your eyes finally flickering up to him.
Your stare was as soft as it had always been, but it was like he was seeing your face for the first time, the air in his lungs sucked out like he’d been knocked flat on his back.
Reassessing every little line, realizing that you weren’t just pretty, or cute, but beautiful. Lashes fluttering, canines chewing on your bottom lip as you looked back in the direction of the bathroom one last time.
You’d been there for so long. Lingering in the background and by his side. And he’d been completely goddamn blind.
“I’ll buy you some real food,” he added, nodding towards the barely-touched plate of pretentious-plattered blobs of food with herbs thrown on top.
“Fine.”
You weren’t that happy in the passenger seat of his car, riding shotgun, knees pointed away from him while you leaned against the cool window. He turned up the heat, the lump in the back of his throat bobbing watching you shiver and curl up inside yourself.
He couldn’t remember if you’d ever been in his car like this before. A couple years ago, he’d been stuck in the backseat with you in Jin’s sedan, crammed against the window while you were stuck in the middle, but back then, he’d been too distracted arguing with Kaori in the front seat to notice the weight of your thigh against his.
Now he couldn’t stop himself from wishing he paid more fucking attention.
Eyes flitting over to your form, throat going dry at the sight of your still-plush thighs so out of his reach.
“Why him?” He grunted when he pulled up to a stop light, fingers tapping his steering wheel, molars grinding as he stole another glimpse at you.
You shrugged, just a little raise of your shoulders while you sighed.
“He said he wanted to go on a date with me,” you murmured, refusing to look back at him. “Guess he changed his mind.”
“He’s a moron,” Sukuna half-snarled, cringing when he realized how it came out.
A flash of hurt crossed your face, as he felt the fear of fumbling this chance with you rear back up.
“For changing his mind,” he clarified, omitting the tiny detail that you’d be back on your date discussing Gojo’s salary or how big his cock was if he hadn’t intervened. “Not for-”
“Don’t,” you mumbled. Stopping him before he could say what he meant.
“Look, I’ve been a dick,” he started, discomfort churning in his stomach having to apologize for anything in his life.
“When aren’t you?” You muttered under your breath, swallowing hard as you continued to avoid looking straight at him. Just scanning over the road, glancing out the window or down at the floorboards, anywhere that wasn’t him.
He let out a disappointed huff, brow twitching.
“The last time we talked, I was a fucking asshole,” he added, gravelly and gruff, even when he was trying to sound sincere. “You didn’t deserve that shit.”
You turned to face him fully, but the light turned green, and he couldn’t see what face you were making as his foot shifted back to the gas pedal. He could make out your mouth starting to open in the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to continue.
“I’m sorry.”
You made a small noise that sounded like a squeak – and he was pretty sure his heart stopped. Something small but fierce sprouting in the deepest crevices of his chest, all his organs constricting as he struggled not to react with a noise of his own.
“You’re sorry?” You repeated, as if an apology was totally absurd.
“Yeah,” he soberly said, knuckles tightening across the steering wheel, barely able to keep his eyes on the road instead of studying your reaction.
“For what?” You asked, and it felt like a test.
One he was embarrassingly desperate to ace.
All of it?
Dismissing you and distancing himself the same way he always did? Convincing himself that all you would ever be was Jin’s friend?
“For not seeing you,” he said under his breath, the answer landing in the air.
You hesitated, pausing before you nodded.
He didn't know if he got it right.
But you relaxed over his version of dinner. Trading in your fancy appetizer for fast food, intently watching you dip your fries in sauce as you listened to him grumble about how shitty everything had been lately, begrudgingly admitting that he missed you coming around to his shop.
You casually shrugged, as if you didn't miss him back.
“Been busy,” you hummed, and he hated how the little curl of your lips after you said it made his stupid heart stall.
Somehow though, you were still free tonight.
Enough that by your fourth or fifth yawn, he talked you back into watching a movie at his place.
Jin would probably kill him if he knew. But then again, he hadn't stopped you from seeing Gojo. So how much could he actually care?
It wasn't like he was fucking you.
Even if he was beginning to consider just how much he'd like to.
But it felt almost more intimate for you to be this close, your thigh not quite touching his, knees curled up against your chest while you shared a blanket with him. Grabbing popcorn from the bowl on his lap and cracking jokes he might've called lame a few months ago before rolling your eyes at whatever was happening on screen.
“This movie kinda sucks,” you whispered to him, as if you were in a theater instead of his apartment.
Speaking to him like a friend, giggling a little as one of your buttered fingers reached up to poke the crease between his brows.
Were you always this fun?
This pretty when your the shadows from the tv flickered across your face? Did your eyes usually glimmer like that, looking up at him like he was some kind of knight instead of just another dickhead?
“Want me to change it?” He grumbled, already about to grab the remote before you shook your head.
“I still want to see how it ends,” you half-whispered, and the softness to your voice did something treacherous to the pit of his stomach. Ripped open a gash, pried him apart until all he could think of was how hollow he felt. Hyper aware of a missing piece he was pretty sure was right in front of him.
He wanted to see how this would end too.
If you were another girl, he would've made a move. Slipped a hand underneath the blanket and ran it over your thigh, leaned in to trail hungry kisses down your throat. A means to an end – all to get his dick wet.
But he wrapped his arm around your shoulders instead, pretended he didn't see the suspicious little glance you tossed his way. Satisfied himself just with the fact you didn't shove him away.
You didn't get to see the end of the movie after all. Lulled to sleep with the pressure of his arm or the quiet comfort of the dim lights and low volume. Head tilted to the side at an uncomfortable angle as you dozed off and dreamed about – well, he didn't know what, but he hoped it was about him.
He waited until the credits were rolling to creep off the couch, readjusting you until you were resting on one of his pillows instead, pulling up the blanket so you were covered.
Sukuna paused, just staring for a moment before he picked you up, cradling you against his chest and carrying you back to his bedroom where you'd be more comfortable.
You didn't wake up. Not even when he walked over to where you left your stuff by his kitchen counter. Or when Sukuna slipped your phone out from your purse, coming back to unlock it with your thumb while you were still passed out. Scrolling through your recent slew of texts to find where Gojo was basically throwing himself at you and clicking on his contact. There was a message from an unknown number too, a huge paragraph that Sukuna didn't need to read to know was from him too, pointing fingers and directing the blame for tonight right his way.
Blocking Gojo was easy.
Getting him to stay away from you?
Well, it wasn’t that much harder.
You softened up around him the next morning when you woke up and realized he'd taken the couch, nudging him awake to thank him before ditching like a one-night-stand would. But you were smiling again when you saw him, saying yes when he offered to pick you up and drop you off at work. Beaming when he admitted your drawings were never actually bad and asked to see them again. Letting him occupy your free time by slyly suggesting you come to his shop or his place for extra lessons and tips, a new weekly occurrence he caught himself thinking of as dates as one month bled into the next.
It wasn't like Gojo could slip back in your life if you were too busy.
And he couldn't visit you at work when Sukuna had made sure your family was aware of your, ah, stalker, and suggested they get a guard – claiming it would deter shoplifters too.
If you were suspicious, you didn’t say anything.
“So what, are you like, in love with her or-” Jin stopped himself mid-scoff, staring at Sukuna from across the counter, propping himself up on his elbows as he blankly stared at his brother. “You are.”
“No, I’m not,” he grumbled, counting the cash left in his register as the sun set behind the trees outside. You had said so yourself. Called him a good friend for showing you proper shading on your last piece, before tucking a sketchbook underneath your arm and disappearing through his door to go back to your place.
Despite his best efforts, you were still keeping him at arm’s length.
And through all his attempts at shutting down his own feelings, they only seemed to burn brighter, the flames fanned by the realization you were more than he had ever given you credit for. Far more than he fucking deserved.
Your awkwardness had become endearing. You were attentive and attractive and it was awful how many other things had only now started to register and rob him of his breath when you were around.
“Don’t even think about making a move on-”
The bell on the door chimed, and you were stepping through before Jin could say your name.
Your eyes landed on Sukuna, soft and sparkling, a lit match thrown inside his chest as your mouth curled up in a pretty smile. His brother knew him better than he knew himself.
Sukuna was falling for you fast. And he wasn’t sure he could catch himself anymore.
“If you guys have plans, I can-”
He didn’t let you finish.
“Jin was just leaving,” Sukuna grunted, glaring at his brother like he’d toss him out if he didn’t go soon.
You didn’t really get it. Couldn’t fully comprehend his sudden shift into being a semi-decent guy. You kept waiting for him to go back to normal, to push you back into the sidelines where you always belonged.
But he didn’t.
Week after week, he just seemed to worm his way deeper into your life, trying to occupy as much of it as he could. What? Did he have some weird change-of-heart and decide he didn’t want to be a dick?
Or were all those lingering touches and drawn-out stares just a figment of your imagination?
You glanced up at him again, mouth twitching into a smile you couldn’t help when you caught him already zeroed in on your face.
Jin let out a low exhale, but you didn't even turn.
“Don't make me an uncle,” he muttered, quiet enough you almost didn't hear him on his way out. Once it registered though, your nose scrunched up, now fully twisting towards him, ears perked like you were expecting Sukuna to scoff and say how ridiculous that was.
“Get out,” he grumbled.
You watched both of them, unsure eyes flickering back and forth until Jin left through the frosted glass doors.
Sukuna sighed, shutting the cash register a little too hard, his cheeks almost tinted pink under the warm lights, aware you were studying him and still not offering some snarky retort back.
“Surprised you didn't throw something at him,” you commented. This was it.
The moment he'd make it clear how he saw you and remind you of where you were meant to be in this weird relationship.
Except – he shrugged.
As if Jin wasn't in the wrong for suggesting there was something going on between the two of you.
“Are you really surprised?” He muttered, and you could only blink.
Holding your breath so he didn't catch how instinctively it hitched, frozen in place as your fingers fidgeted around your sketchbook.
And then Sukuna stepped closer, cocking his head to the side as he assessed your stunned expression.
“I like you,” he abruptly admitted, like he had to drag it from the depths of his stomach. Begrudgingly chewing over his next works as he walked right up to you, stopping just shy of touching before he plucked the book from your hands. “A lot.”
You waited for him to rip the rug out from under your feet and reveal that he didn’t actually mean any of it.
“Sukuna,” you started, swallowing hard like it would make it any easier to choke down.
How long had you been dying for him to say something like that? Dreaming of this moment right here?
And the best you could offer was his name?
“You don't believe me,” he accused, and all you could think of was being back at the bar, when those words came from your own lips.
He had said it wasn't his business then.
But what had made him decide you were now?
Was it just the idea of you slipping away? Becoming someone else’s? Faced with the fact you weren't who he thought you were when he saw you on that dumb date?
“Should I?” You asked.
“What can I do to prove it to you?” He frowned, thick brows scrunched together.
“I don't know,” you honestly answered.
And you didn't really expect him to try to find an answer for you.
It started small. Sort of. Awkward compliments he grumbled under his breath. Soda cans and snacks waiting for you when you came over. His fingers skimming over your skin, always standing a little too close.
But after a couple weeks of you squinting at him, convinced he was still just trying to have sex with you, something changed.
You just weren't sure which one of you cracked first.
Perched prettily on the stool behind his counter, drawing on spare paper as he cleaned up from his last client of the day, pretending you couldn't feel him staring.
“Hey,” he grunted, grabbing your attention easily as you glanced back at him.
“Hm?” You tilted your head, fingers pausing on the pen.
“You want a tattoo?”
He was a bad influence. You'd always known that. But his dark eyes dragged you right down to his level.
You couldn't believe you said yes.
Or that you agreed to a goddamn tramp stamp.
You readjusted, turning your head to the side, cheek squished against the cool leather as he tugged your shorts down.
Shivering as you tried to keep yourself from reacting, painfully aware of everything that he was doing.
Every step felt excruciatingly slow, each drag of his gloved fingers over the small of your spine as he cleaned and prepped it.
“Scared?” He grumbled, and you barely nodded.
“Kinda,” you breathlessly admitted.
“You change your mind?” He asked, and if you were smarter, maybe you would've told him to stop.
Instead, you shook your head no.
“Keep going.”
What was a better work of art?
You, face-down and shivering on his chair? Or the fresh ink on the base of your spine, permanently marking you as his?
The design was his, one you picked and approved, his initials worked into the fine lines.
R.S.
Maybe he should've pointed it out, but then again – you spent ten minutes reviewing the mock up and said you loved it.
And besides, he could always get your name on him too. Ask you to draw something just for him, sign it all pretty.
Make it even.
“You wanna take a look?” He softly asked, jaw locked as he tried to permanently imprint the image of you like this in his head.
“You can take a picture and show me,” you hummed, a cute little whine to your voice that made him unfortunately hard.
Sukuna was still working on his listening skills, pulling his phone from his pocket and obediently snapping a few, ah, artistic photos. Ones that included your pretty ass and how your panties were pulled low on them so he had the space to work on your tattoo.
It would be easier to walk around and show you, but instead he leaned forward, let his chest touch the top of your back as he held his phone in front of your face.
“Pretty,” you softly said, pleased.
“You're prettier,” he automatically replied, cringing when he remembered he was putting down his own work by accident.
But you just giggled, trying to crane your neck back to look at him.
“You did so good for me, gorgeous,” he murmured before you could mock him, purposely letting his mouth graze against your neck as you shivered. Shoulders scrunching up as you reflexively glanced up at you.
God, he wanted to fuck you right here.
And the way you were looking at him right now?
He'd wager you would let him.
“Do I have to pay for it?” You whispered, and he grunted.
“I don't want your money,” he scoffed.
He wanted something else.
And after so fucking long, he was finally about to have it.
Sukuna hooked two fingers in the band of your panties, tugging them down hard and letting them get caught around your knees. Pausing, waiting for you to tell him to stop just to be met with silence as he readjusted, moved to where he'd have better access.
Dragging his gloved hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and looking at how prettily you glistened for him. Soaked just from being in his seat.
He slowly took his gloves off, needing to feel you for real, skin on skin, truly touching instead of just skirting around it. Tracing over your ass, tender this time, taking his time to slip inside.
Your warmth was a fucking wonderland.
How many nights lately had he spent stroking it to the idea of this?
Hearing you moan was the closest he'd get to heaven, the sound reverberating inside of him as he added another digit, slowly shoving them in deeper, scissoring you open as your slick dripped down into the leather.
“Gotta stretch you out,” he hissed, throat constricting when you clenched down around him. “Make sure it'll fit.”
“Y-you're so cocky,” you whined, your lip forming a cute little ‘o’ as your cheek smushed against the seat. Moving in time with the thrusts of his fingers, wiggling down to meet his knuckles.
“Gonna show you why,” Sukuna promised, just to feel the way you shifted and squirmed underneath him.
It was addicting. You were.
All your reactions, all those pretty faces you would make, everything about you left him craving more, more, more.
His cock was leaking, aching pathetically where it was constrained in his boxers. Pre-cum dribbling out and making him aware of the dampness as he reluctantly pulled out to tug the zipper of his jeans down next, his dick springing up the second it was freed.
Your eyes went wide, glancing back at him with an expression that made his cock twitch. Veins pulsing Z he tried to contain his impulse just to shove it all the way in.
“I'll be careful,” he grunted, and you just nodded.
You trusted him.
And the thought of that made that little invisible string inside him snap.
Careful.
He repeated the word in his head, leaned against it like a crutch he could actually rely on. Shoving your shirt up higher, knowing he should probably fish a condom from his wallet for this, but unable to do anything except stare.
“I thought you liked me,” you murmured, hips shifting like you were trying to snare him even more.
“I do,” he breathed.
“Then show me.”
He was seeing fucking stars the second his cock was inside you. Eyes rolling back as inch by inch of his girth sunk into your heat, how you fit even better than his gloves did, snug and tight as he drove in deeper. Groaning your name, grabbing your hair, trying to tether himself to your body.
His sanity tied to the sounds you were making, those cute whimpers as he rammed his hips down into your ass, careful not to press down on your new tattoo.
“My pretty girl,” he claimed, gritty possession in his voice he no longer cared if you picked up on. So what if you did? You were his now. Not a fling or a fuck. Forever. “You're so goddamn perfect.”
“S-shut up,” you hissed back, nails digging into the chair as your grip on your own rationality slipped.
You didn't need reason anymore.
You had him.
“You like me,” he accused, cock throbbing inside you when you whined at his tip kissing your cervix.
“I-I-” You stuttered, so painfully pretty here. Sweat collecting on your brow, broken breathing loud in the quiet space, only the background music of his playlist joining it.
“You do,” Sukuna huffed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade.
Maybe he'd leave another tattoo there some day. His teeth marks? Some other subtle sign to mark you as his?
“M-maybe,” you half-whispered.
And that was enough for him.
Fucking into you harder, the chair beneath both of you creaking and protesting at the combined weight, his muscles straining as his thick cock continued to stretch you thin around him. His free hand slipped around your front, your body squirming at his touch, shuddering so sweetly. Rubbing drawn-out circles over your clit, massaging it with dedicated pressure, paying attention to how you liked it and adjusting properly.
Sukuna wanted to drag his tongue over your throat, taste your sweat and tears as you whimpered his name.
But he'd settle for feeling you twitch when you came, how your thighs trembled and shook, his hips rutting down as warm ropes of his cum spilled out into you.
You'd be dripping by the time he pulled out, but he kept you plugged full of his cum even when you were both finished, relief still some far-fetched dream when his body was burning so hot for you.
“Did you-” You swallowed hard, lashes fluttering as you looked back at him.
“I can buy you plan B,” he exhaled, still not pulling out – halfway hoping his seed would take anyway.
“Okay,” you sighed too, shutting your eyes as your face relaxed. Just accepting it. Letting him hold you like this the same way you let him leave his mark on your skin.
“We can shower at my place,” he muttered. “Still have to cover up your new tattoo.”
“Oh,” you yawned, like the sex had made you sleepy. Content. “Okay.”
You blinked though, eyes slowly opening back up as you looked back at him one more time.
“You're acting like you're my boyfriend,” you commented.
“Because I am now,” he huffed.
One of your brows arched up, lips pressing together. But you didn't say no. Didn't turn him down.
Your hips shifted, and he saw the pearly-white cum starting to seep out from where his cock was slotted between your folds, connecting him to you.
It was probably wrong to hope you'd get pregnant.
But really, all he wanted was to take care of you now. And that couldn't be wrong.
HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS 𑣲 gojo x reader masterlist
synopsis ⟢ you've ran out of things to publish for the school's magazines, that is until your friend brought up an amazing suggestion after seeing another friend get absolutely heartbroken, you all figured it would only be appropriate to have an article for what not to do for dating. so you take up the role of the annoying clingy girlfriend with none other than Satoru Gojo. but things go south when he's not taking the bait and actually falls for you instead.
pairing ⊹ ࣪ ˖ uni au soccer player! gojo x journalist! reader
warning / tags : 18+, fem reader, angst, fluff, second hand embarrassment scenes, jealousy, he falls first she fell harder, cursing, eventual smut, tba ...
a.n : TAGLIST IS CLOSED ! and yes I'm still going to be writing for afycso while I also write this so it'll be like taking turns in updates . this series is inspired by 'kickoff' @/celestie0 and 'How to lose a guy in 10 days'
