You added too much sugar to your coffee. It stings your throat as it goes down.
Shoko sits across from you, sipping on her own drink. You haven’t seen her in almost ten years, but she hasn’t changed her tastes in coffee. Regular black. No cream. No sugar. A habit she picked up from those late-night studying sessions in high school.
“We've been thinking of settling down for a few years now. Starting a family and all that.” She waves her hand dismissively at the waitress, who kindly offers a refill of coffee.
She has changed, however. Taller. Instead of a curt bob, her brown hair is slightly above her chest. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever, definitely related to the long hospital hours.
You nod in understanding.
“Have you looked around for a mate?” You wonder. It seems impossible to picture Shoko’s pack having any trouble with omegas.
Shoko sets her cup down. You liked the cafe she brought you to. It’s quiet, not too busy. It reminds you of the little nooks and crannies you used to drag her to. At first, you were a little surprised when she reached out after being so quiet for so many years. Now, the nostalgia is slowly leaking through.
“A little here and there.” She admits. “Not seriously, though. The clinic doesn’t leave much room for courting. Suguru’s got his hands full with the temple. Satoru’s well…Satoru.”
You can barely hide your smile at how she rolled her eyes at the mention of her fellow packmate.
“It’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually.” She shifts a little closer. Her eyes are soft from the lack of sleep as she gazes at you. “I heard you’re part of a matchmaking program.”
You nod. She glances away. Shoko almost looks sheepish.
“I was wondering if we’d be able to join.”
A smile stretches across your face.
“Of course! What time do you think you could come in?”
☕︎
You didn’t expect Shoko to present as Alpha.
You two were childhood friends. Being older than her, it was more like you were a babysitter–not that you minded the role. Shoko was a quiet kid even in her younger years. You liked that she often trailed behind you, like your own shadow. It was flattering in its own way. You never had any siblings, so you often regaled her as your younger sister.
You thought she’d be a beta like you. Or maybe even omega. Alpha was the last designation you would’ve ever given a girl like her. Just like you, she had two beta parents–being anything else was close to impossible.
But, looking back, the signs were always there.
The scuffle wasn’t the worst you’d ever seen. Fights are normal, especially for kids around your age. Emotions run high, sometimes. If left unsupervised, children don’t usually have healthy outlets.
Shoko wasn’t a kid you’d ever picture getting into a fight, yet the evidence was clear. It looked worse than it actually was. You can see remnants of dirt clinging to her youthful cheeks from when she took the fall. Her clothes were lightly scraped, as was the skin on her knees. It was nothing a Band-Aid couldn’t fix.
You hadn’t seen what happened. You had been on the other side of the playground when the yelling happened. Shoko barely struggled when you pulled the kids apart. The other girl was crying. Shoko wasn’t. Being the older one, you decided it was best to end the day right then and dragged Shoko home.
The girl was always quiet, but that walk was like talking to stone. She never budged from her clamped lips and tightened fists, no matter how hard you prodded. A part of you understood why. She was probably resigning herself to her parents’ beratement. She didn’t need a lecture from you, too.
Just when you were about to give up completely, she gave in.
“She said she was your friend.” She told you quietly.
“The girl with pigtails?” You asked
Shoko nodded. “She called you her friend, even though you’re mine.”
You glanced down at her hand, tightly clasped on your own.
“I can be both of your friends.” You gently tried to suggest.
She shook her head. Her grip tightens.
“No.” She said with a finality you’ve never seen in a child before. “Only mine.”
☕︎
Despite being well into the modern era, alpha-and-omega matchmaking programs haven’t lost popularity. It’s become a multibillion-dollar industry. Nowadays, instead of being sold off for political power, omegas and alphas can simply go to their local agency to find their mates.
Obviously, betas like you aren’t permitted to join, but you are highly encouraged to become matchmakers. Neutral scents are helpful when it comes to finding alpha-omega pairs. It’s comforting to omegas and non-threatening to alphas. Betas can not only act as matchmakers but also as barriers if things go awry.
You highly doubt that you’d need to be the latter, however, for this pack.
They arrive ten minutes before the official appointment. You knew Shoko had something to do with that because you doubt Satoru ever lost his lazy streak. Having no client, you decide to take them in early.
Satoru’s just as chatty since the days from highschool. He trails behind you as you lead the group to your office, asking about your day and then telling you about his. You didn’t think he’d be a teacher, but he always managed to surprise you.
Suguru is reserved but friendly. He greets you after Satoru’s tight hug, giving one of his own. You heard he now heads a Buddhist temple, though you never considered him the religious type. It’s hard to imagine him in traditional clothes after seeing him in casual wear and a high school uniform for so long.
“Didn’t expect you to be part of a breeding program.” Satoru comments after you’ve shuffled them into your office. He leans in, probably to inhale your scent again. They’ve all done that once or twice. Satoru’s just not as subtle as the other two.
It’s an alpha thing. Omegas and alphas are different from betas. Unlike you, they rely more on pheromones to guide them around the world. He hasn’t seen you in a while; it’s normal to see if your scent has changed.
“We try not to call ourselves that.” You lightly respond, settling behind your office. “Trust me, it’s not as intense. All we do today is look over what you want in a mate—basic preferences. Then I can pair you up with whoever fits best. What you do after is entirely up to you.”
It’s a bad joke. Only Satoru smiles.
You clear your throat.
“So, did you have anything in mind?”
They exchange glances. You, completely used to losing alphas, continue briskly.
“We’ll start with broad strokes,” you tell them. “Obviously, you want a mate who’s open to a pack, right?”
“Yes.” Shoko agrees.
You type it across your keyboard. Alpha packs do a lot better in the program compared to single alphas. Often, your omega clients specifically requested them. You doubted you would have any trouble finding a match for these three.
Suguru and Shoko don’t look particularly happy at his intrusion, but nobody objects. You add it to their profile.
“Any particular scents?” You ask.
“Not too sweet,” Suguru says. “Something more neutral.”
Satoru doesn’t look too interested in this topic. “What he says.”
Shoko is more concrete with her answer.
“Earl Grey.”
You try not to react to that, typing it into their profile with little hesitation.
“I think that’s enough for now.” You hurry along. “Do you have any education or work expectations?”
“Not particularly,” Shoko responds. “I think we’re looking more for a homemaker type– someone willing to settle down for pups.”
You had a feeling. Alpha packs are more interested in being providers, caring for their omega mate who is cuddled in a nest. Most omegas feel the same way. It’s a fairly symbiotic relationship.
“What about you?” Satoru asks.
You look up at him.
“Pardon?”
“Are you thinking of settling down? Having kids and all that?” He continues.
“Satoru.” Suguru chastises, but there’s nothing sharp in his voice. Shoko says nothing. Her warm, honey eyes always felt piercing. You always chalked it up to yet another alphan trait.
You shrug, thinking nothing of the question.
“Quit my job for a mate, you mean?” You ask before you shake your head. “I don’t think I could. I think I’d only be able to do it for a specific person, but I don’t think a person like that exists.”
Besides, you love your job. You love helping people find matches and life-long mates. Why would you ever give that up for children?
“But if that person did exist–”
“Satoru.” You interrupt. “We’re looking for a match for you, not for me.”
He huffs, leaning back in his seat, almost like a scolded child.
“Fine.” It almost sounds like a whine. You try not to laugh.
The rest of the appointment proceeds smoothly. Half an hour later, you’re able to gather additional specifications and preferences. Unlike the first few questions, the three are far more lax with their answers. Typically, after the first session, you’re able to put together matches off the top of your head. For whatever reason, these three were far too vague for you to get a clear idea.
“I think I can figure things out from here.” You tell them when the hour is up. “Would you be ready to meet your potential matches in a week or so?”
Suguru genuinely looks surprised. “I didn’t realize it would be so quick.”
“It’s more for trial than anything else.” You respond. “Don’t feel pressured if you aren’t ready.”
“That’s fine,” Shoko tells you. “Will you be with us when we meet them?”
“Of course not.” You assure. “I’ll just give you their profile. Whatever happens next is entirely up to you.”
You expect her to look relieved. She says nothing. None of them do.
“In any case, it was really nice seeing you three again!” You say when you lead them out to the door. “I wonder why we never met up after high school?”
Satoru frowns as he returns your hug. “It’s ‘cuz you practically ran away from us, remember?”
You wouldn’t necessarily call graduating and moving to college ‘running away’. Still, you laugh.
“I’ll try not to do that from now on.” You tell him. “You still have my number, right?”
Satoru’s still whining as you walk them through shiny glass doors. Suguru offers to buy you lunch, to which you decline. You had another client in a few minutes.
“One more thing before you go.” You call out just before they leave. “I’m a little curious: what made you decide to join the program?”
The three look at eachother. A secret conversation only alphas could ever have.
“We got tired of waiting,” Suguru answers.
Later, you realize that isn’t much of an answer.
☕︎
The three weren’t always this close. You could distinctly remember a time Shoko hated the other two.
Your community was mostly betas, with a small number of omegas. Until then, Shoko lived her school life as the sole alpha for miles around. Being her senior, you constantly worried about her. Alphas weren’t betas. There would always be a missing link between the two of you, no matter how hard you tried to accommodate her. As much as Shoko assured you otherwise, you knew a part of her would always feel that void.
And then, Gojo and Geto came along.
Both alphas. Both in the same year as Shoko. They exemplified the look of Alpha. Both of them towered well over the rest of their peers, already well over six feet despite their ages. When they smiled, you could see glimpses of silvery-white fangs. Being the only alphas in the entire grade, they were extremely interested in Shoko. You were ecstatic, happy to see your friend finally make friends with others.
Shoko was less than enthusiastic.
You didn’t understand why she wasn’t perceptive towards them. When they tried to extend their friendship, she raised her hackles, and her eyes would darken. She was well past her days getting into fights on the playground, but you were sure she was close to snapping on certain occasions.
Gojo and Geto continued to hover around her, despite her hostility. Since you were her friend, they hovered around you, too.
You tried to be a bridge for the three. Shoko hardly ever rejected your invitations to hang out. When the other two tagged along, that fact never changed, but she never seemed happy about it. She’d latch onto your arm, baring her teeth when the other two got a bit too close for her liking. You stopped initiating those hangouts as her clinginess often got far too debilitating.
“You need to be more social.” You finally told her.
“No.” She responded stiffly, her voice muffled by your shoulder.
You two sat on the school rooftop underneath a sunny, cloudless sky. Even on days like these, it was sparsely populated. Most of the student body preferred to have their lunches in the cafeteria or the courtyard.
“They’re being nice.” You urged. “They’re being so nice, and I can’t be your only friend forever.”
“Why not?” She asked.
You rolled your eyes, jostling her ever so slightly.
“I just can’t.” You insisted because you have bigger dreams than being stuck in a tiny town, you know, that has no future. There was a life outside of this place.
Also, you didn’t like being Shoko’s only friend. There’s a reason why she’s so protective of you–possessive at times. It’s an alpha thing: they can’t help but take and keep. Her possessiveness was terrible in her younger years, but at least now she’s a tiny bit better about you having other people to hang out with. Still, she refuses to become closer to anyone but you. Even in middle school, she barely had a handful of acquaintances she was quick to abandon in favor of you. It’s not healthy to be so isolated like that. You worried for her.
She’s about to say something, but then something sour crossed over her face. Shoko hunched over as she melded herself further into your side. You abandoned your chastising and gathered her up in your arms.
Shoko’s ruts were severe. She was almost always out of school those days. Even after her rut passed, she took days to recover. She was weakened and intensely more irritable in the aftermath. The only good part of her ruts was that in the days after, her scent became stronger, even to your weak betan nose. Shoko's scent reminded you of summer turning into fall. A low hill. A grassy plain. A dessert just after a large rainfall. Unlike the few alphas you knew of, her scent wasn't overly invasive. It was clean, and low, and rumbling.
For Shoko, certain vices eased the agony. Nicotine helped, but you never liked the way the smell of cigarettes clung to her body. You tried to help the best you could, letting her cuddle you in quiet places away from prying eyes, rubbing her scent all over you to self-soothe.
But there was a limit a beta could do.
Her volatile ruts were yet another reason to be closer to Geto and Gojo. Alpha pheremones help other alphas. Just being in proximity to another would be enough to steady herself.
Shoko knew this, and yet she remained stubborn.
“You don’t get it,” she whispered after her episode passed. Her eyes were shut as she leaned further into your space.
“You can’t smell them like I can.”
You tilted your head, about to prod further, when Shoko opened her eyes. Her lips twitched into a frown. Less than a heartbeat later, the rooftop door flung open just as a giddy Gojo called out, ‘Found you!’ with a satisfied Geto trailing just behind him.
Shoko barely held back a growl as you pulled her off her feet to greet the other two, quickly forgetting her words. No matter how resistant she was, your determination to get her closer to the other two never faltered.
But sometimes, even you wondered if they were right for each other.
You never meant to eavesdrop. You and Shoko always walked home together; it’s the only reason you made your way to her homeroom, wondering what the hold-up was. She never made you wait. If anything, you always arrived after her.
It looked like a fight, but why would Gojo and Geto smile if they were fighting?
Shoko sat at her desk. She barely packed. You saw notepads and pencils scattered across her space. Gojo sat backwards on the desk right in front of her, hands crossed on the chair as they stared eachother down. Geto stood a little way away.
They were already in mid-conversation. You barely caught the tail-end of it.
“-Who cares who marked who first?” Gojo said, an overdramatic pout arched over his lips.
“You should really learn how to share, Ieiri.” Geto continued because back then, they weren’t on a first-name basis yet. “It’d be better for all of us if you did.”
“You know that’s not natural, right?” Shoko responded; her honey eyes were no longer rich and warm. “You should give up.”
“Shouldn’t you, too, then?” Geto wondered.
The conversation ended the second Shoko noticed you. She stood up in a rush, barely shoving her things in her backpack before she marched up to you and dragged you away with a harsh grip on your arm. You could barely wave to your other two underclassmen before you were carted away by her.
You never asked, abandoning the curiosity as soon as you saw the expression on her face. You always wondered what would have happened if you had arrived just a bit later.
☕︎
Utahime wrinkles her nose before she enters your apartment.
“You smell like him.” She gripes.
You tilt your head before remembering there’s only one alpha in the world that made her face twist up like that.
Satoru always had a habit of scenting you in high school. You may not be able to smell it, but other omegas and alphas can. You scolding him while he sulked on his desk like a puppy wasn’t an uncommon sight. Obviously, he hadn’t broken the habit.
“I’ll have to talk to him about that.” You frown. “I don’t think omegas will like the idea of him scenting a beta.”
The omega perks up. “Wait, he’s joined the program?”
“All three of them, actually.” You tell her as you both settle down in your kitchen. “I managed to set them up with an omega just a couple of days ago.”
Your omega client seemed absolutely thrilled when you told him. Alpha packs are growing more uncommon by the day, so he was right to be excited about it. You hope it went well. He matched most of the pack's wants, so you don’t think it will end in complete shambles.
Utahime still looks unconvinced. “I didn’t think they went for omegas.”
You understood what she meant. In high school, those three never seemed interested in omegas. Shoko was friendly with Utahime, but Satoru always picked on her, and Suguru occasionally joined in. At first, you assumed it was a ‘pulling on the pigtails of the girl you liked’ situation, but their teasing often felt hostile.
“Maybe they finally grew up.” You tell her. “Do you ever wonder who the pack leader is? I never had the chance to ask them, but I always wondered.”
Asking about that kind of thing is a bit rude, especially if you weren’t a potential omega. You’ve seen other packs before, and it’s typically pretty easy to tell who the pack leader is. It’s usually the one who’s always biting the others down, keeping them in place. Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru aren’t like that. They work so well-together, it gets hard to tell who’s really calling the shots.
Utahime snorts. “It’s obviously Gojo.”
“Obviously?” You echo.
“His scent is the strongest. That’s usually what determines it,” She explains, not sounding too interested. “I bet he whined and whined until the other two gave in.”
You felt bad for laughing, but you could honestly imagine that.
“I’m really surprised Shoko’s still with them.” You continue. “I know they’re all pack, but she’s so different compared to the other two.”
Satoru was the most outgoing, but Suguru had his own quirks. Shoko was the odd one out, you always felt.
Utahime shrugs, rifling through her bag. “Maybe they have more in common with each other than you realize.”
For a bit, the topic of the three is dropped. You let Utahime ramble about her work and how her students are doing as she sets out her newest creation: a chocolate raspberry cake.
Omegas have certain quirks when their heat approaches. Utahime bakes–something you take full advantage of. You would feel bad about begging her to bring over her desserts all the time, but Utahime never seemed to mind your desperation. Like most omegas, Utahime's scent was slightly stronger. Now, even your weak betan nose could catch a whiff of her scent in the air. She smelled gentle, like flowers dancing in the wind on the side of a grassy mountain.
“This is incredible.” You moan when you take another bite of chocolate goodness. It practically melts on your tongue. “Can you be my mate? I’d make you happy, I swear.”
She looks away. “Shut up.” There’s no heat in her voice.
“Have you considered it, though?” You wonder, inhaling another slice. “Joining the program, I mean. I can think of a few alphas that might interest you.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think my type is in the program, and besides.” Her face turns disgusted. “Now that Gojo’s in it, I’m not taking any chances.”
You laugh. “I’d make sure to never pair you up, I promise!”
She huffs again. Your voice quietens as you remember something.
“Hey, I was wondering…what do I smell like again?”
She frowns. “Why do betas always ask that? You need to get better noses.”
“Just remind me.”
She rolls her eyes, but she acquiesces.
“You smell the same as always,” she tells you. “Like Earl Grey & Cucumbers.”
By the end of the week, you finally get the call you were waiting for.
You pick up on the second ring and immediately press the speaker button.
“Hiro!” You trill, making yourself comfortable on the sofa. “How have you been?”
Your omega client responds in kind. You make small talk until you eventually bring it up.
“So,” you ask, “how did the date go?”
You expect a barrage of excitement and blabbering. Hiro is a sweet guy. You could tell he would mesh well with those three. Inwardly, you congratulate yourself for making such a good match.
“It went okay.” His answer stills.
“Okay?” You repeat.
Just okay? You expect something far more than such a simple answer.
At your silence, Hiro continues.
“Maybe okay isn’t the best word. I liked them but…” he trails off. “I don’t think they liked me very much.”
“Huh,” you say, tapping your fingers. “What did they say exactly?”
“Not much, I mean, they were nice. I just don’t think our personalities meshed well. They were all so quiet, I felt like I was doing most of the talking.”
“Quiet? Even Satoru?”
“I don’t even think he spoke,” Hiro confesses.
You do not think the word quiet appeared in Gojo’s dictionary. He constantly chattered, unable to let the world forget he existed for hardly a moment. It was a major reason you paired Hiro with them. He is just as bubbly. You thought he and Satoru would work really well together.
“Wow,” you say after a while. “I’m sorry, I really thought things would work out between you four.”
“It’s fine,” Hiro responds, just as disappointed. “Plenty more fish in the sea, right?”
You once again tell Hiro your apologies before hanging up. Weird, you usually had more trouble appealing to your omega clients compared to your alpha ones. Maybe this would be a lot harder than you initially assumed.
☕︎
Halfway through your second year, Geto joined the newspaper club.
You were ecstatic when he told you. Shoko couldn’t participate in any early-school activities due to her poor sleep habits, and you doubt Gojo would’ve enjoyed them. Having somebody you knew do an activity you enjoyed was really exciting. It was something you and he bonded over, much to Shoko’s chagrin.
When you had club projects together, it was common to go over to one or the other’s houses. You liked Geto’s house. It wasn’t so large, not like Gojo’s sprawling mansion you’d had the misfortune of getting lost in once or twice. Geto’s home was vibrant and warm, filled with splashes of color and properly decorated furniture.
His parents were nice too. You liked the snacks they brought out, more than happy to indulge in the intricate sweets they prepared.
His parents were a proper alpha-omega pair. His alphan-father was boisterous and hearty in a way that reminded you of Gojo. His voice was loud, and his laugh practically rang through the halls.
His omegan-father was a bit on the meek side. You could count the number of times he’d directly spoken to you. His voice was soft–a complete contrast to his mate. He often resigned himself to quietly nodding along with whatever his husband rambled on. You could count the number of times he’d directly even looked at you.
Once, when Geto was still rummaging upstairs for something or another, you wondered out loud how they met. The alpha was more than happy to tell you the story of how he met his omega. You learned that they were childhood friends before the omega decided to part ways for a bit. Eventually, they reunited and got mated soon after.
“You waited for ten years?” You asked in awe. “Did you ever consider moving on?”
The alpha laughed before shaking his head, “Never.” He told you with a smile. “When alphas find their mate, nothing can keep them away, not even time.”
Geto’s other father stood in the kitchen, dutifully wiping down a counter. He didn’t react when his husband told you about their love story. You could only assume he was used to it.
“That’s beautiful.” You gushed.
There’s a secret smile on the alpha’s lips before Geto marches downstairs, leading you out the door with a glare directed at his father.
“Ignore him,” Geto told you as you trekked to school. “He tells that story to every person he can.” There’s a roll of his eyes, and he failed to hide his embarrassment.
“I think it’s sweet.” You kindly told him as he averted his gaze. “I don’t think I could wait ten years for someone like that.”
Geto considered you for a moment.
“I don’t think I could, either.” He finally admitted. “At the very least, I would get impatient by the end of it.”
You thought you were about to agree when your phone beeped. You glanced at the notification, and your heart skipped a beat.
Takahashi<3: I’m free after school:)
You barely hid your smile. Geto didn’t miss your sudden giddiness as you typed away on your phone.
“Did something happen?” He asked.
You shook your head and placed your phone back into your pocket.
“I think I have a date later.” You told him, oblivious to the twitch on his lips.
“A date?” Geto echoed. You cheerfully nodded.
You liked Takahashi since the start of the school year. He was in your homeroom, and you were already close acquaintances. You wanted to get closer to him, but Shoko often thwarted your plans. She made her distaste in Takahashi extremely clear. You tried not to get too upset by her attitude. She was protective of you and probably thought you could do better. It’s what friends did.
“Maybe we should keep this from Shoko.” You told Geto right before the school gates. “She doesn’t really approve of the guy.”
Geto hummed. “I’m not surprised.”
The day passed on as it normally would. You trudged through your sludge of classes and waited for school to finally be over. When it did, you practically jumped from your seat, barely waving off your friends as you rushed out of the school gates.
Takahashi wasn’t waiting for you, but you didn’t mind. You could take some time to calm your nerves.
You waited.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
You sent him a text.
Eighteen minutes.
You sent another.
Students filtered past you, eager to abandon their homework in favor of arcades and hanging out with their friends. You remained where you were, feeling your excitement drain the longer Takahashi refused to show his face.
After nearly an hour of waiting, you gave up. He wasn’t coming. You wanted to call him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Embarrassment crept up your shoulders and neck. You felt so stupid for even waiting around for this long.
They caught up to you when you were halfway home, glumly dragging your feet across the pavement. Gojo’s long arm draped over your shoulders as he lightly jostled you in an effort to catch your attention.
“Where are you going?” He cheerfully asked. You frowned.
“Home, obviously.” You told him before glancing further up ahead.
Geto gave a lazy wave. Shoko said nothing. You expected her to be a bit less receptive towards Gojo for putting his hands on you.
She had no reaction.
“So, you’re doing nothing, right?” Gojo asked. Glee radiated from his body. “We should go to the movies!”
“That sounds fun.” Geto agreed, before he gave you a pointed look. “As long as you didn’t have anything planned?”
You appreciated that he wanted to give you an out, but it was for nothing. You planned to spend the entire day with Takahashi. Your afternoon remained empty now that he unceremoniously ghosted you.
“That sounds fun,” You said, “but I’m not in the mood to–”
“I’m fine with anything as long as it isn’t that weird Earthworm movie Gojo kept talking about.” Shoko piped in as she stepped closer.
“But it looks so funny!” Gojo whined as he tugged you in the other direction. The other two followed right behind him. “You should give it a chance.”
Despite your reluctance, you were dragged off to the movies regardless. You couldn’t remember the film. The popcorn tasted buttery and salty in your mouth. Gojo kept disrupting you to talk shit about every character that popped onscreen. You weren’t allowed to go home until hours later, when the three made it their mission to walk you home. By that time, you’d forgotten about your botched date. You were far more interested in how the three had suddenly grown close.
It was as if they’d always been friends. Their conversations with each other felt natural, almost right. Even their bickering no longer held Shoko’s usual hostility. Perhaps you’d been wrong to try to force it. They just needed to find each other in their own way.
That day might not have ended the way you wanted it to, but you were still happy.
The very next day, Takahashi completely ignored you. He no longer smiled or greeted you. He seemed perfectly happy pretending you never existed in the first place.
If you were being honest, you did not mind in the slightest. Over time, you forgot about the guy who ditched you, and life continued on as always.
☕︎
Part of you expects the luxury.
When Suguru extended the invite, you knew he was never one to pull his punches. When he plans something, he goes all out. He adores dramatics and flair. This time was no exception.
The restaurant exuded extravagance the moment you stepped through crystal-clear glass doors. The warm air soothed the goosebumps gathering on your arms– a complete contrast to the chilly wind lingering just outside. The floors and ceilings were perfectly polished to the point where you could almost see your entire reflection. The spiral columns were perfect ivory, perfectly matching the black-and-white theme throughout the floor. Your heels clicked against the tiles as your hostess led you through the restaurant. The sounds of clinking utensils and glassware filtered through your ears.
They were already seated, three pairs of eyes clinging to your figure as you made their entrance. Satoru was more than happy to greet you first. His eyes simmer, but his smile barely falters as you get closer.
“What?” You ask.
Satoru wrinkles his nose.
“You smell like alpha.”
“It’s probably because I work with other alphas,” you say, “You know half of my clients are alphas, right?”
“Ignore him.” Suguru cuts in before Satoru continues to badger you. “He skipped his afternoon nap, so he’s a bit fussy this evening.”
You wave it off. Truthfully, you were used to alphas getting mad over another alpha’s scent. It’s happened to a couple of your omega clients, as well as to you. It’s instinct for alphas to flare up when they smell other alphas. Biological. They can’t help it. You actually expected Shoko to be more hostile because of it, yet as you glanced over, she barely even blinked. She must’ve gotten over her scent possession days from high school.
You adjust yourself in your seat as the waitress strolls over. Food and drinks are ordered. You listen to Satoru whine about work while the other two chastise him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t drink too much, but barely half an hour in, and you’re already tipsy. You know this was supposed to be a get-together, a high-school reunion of sorts. Work was absolutely not to be discussed, but you couldn’t help getting yourself worked up over it. They might’ve been your old high school friends, but they were also the most difficult clients you’ve ever had.
Shoko notices first.
“Just say it.” She eyes you.
“Say what?” You tilt your head.
“You’re mad, right?” Satoru pipes in, absolutely delighted when you frown in his direction. “It’s all over your face.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Oh, it’s that bad, hm?” Suguru hums, and you roll your eyes.
“I’m not mad.” You repeat, before wincing. “I’m…frustrated, I think. You guys are giving me a run for my money.”
After Hiro’s clear rejection, you paired a couple more omegas with the three of them. Each one ended in the same way. You would get a call from a disappointed omega telling you it didn’t really work out. Later that same day, three alphas would innocently seat themselves in your office–ready for another match.
You don’t even know what you’re even mad about. They’re allowed to make rejections; that’s their right. For whatever reason, it oddly felt like they were messing with you.
You could expect that type of behavior from Satoru, maybe even Suguru, but Shoko? You could never see her do something like that for the fun of it.
(Or maybe you were clinging to her high school demeanor–the sweet, quiet girl who used to trail behind you with soft brown eyes and a muted smile)
“At this point, I think you might be doing this on purpose.” Your lips curl up into a smile to indicate how silly you think that is. It’s clearly a joke. Low-hanging fruit, you guide them to so they can quell your worries.
None of them refute it. Eventually, Satoru starts rambling about yet another incident involving the students at his school. Suguru chimes in with his thoughts every now and then. Shoko just berates her packmates for being such nuisances. The topic is carefully avoided for the rest of the night.
With delicious and expensive food carefully stashed into your stomach, the four of you decide to call it a night. When you reveal you took the cab here, the three are quick to invite you into their own car. It doesn’t take you too long to give in.
When you step out into the cold, Shoko offers her jacket. She used to do that back in middle school; smother you with her clothes any time she could. She’d take your clothes too, sometimes. You used to find skirts and shirts missing every time she came over. She never stopped, not even when you scolded her for it over and over again. ‘An alpha thing,’ your parents once told you when you complained, ‘you need to be more considerate of her nature. She can’t help herself. It’s instinct.’.
When she does it now, you don’t think it has anything to do with her instincts. She grew out of it when high school came around. Today, Shoko wraps her jacket around you to protect you from the blistering cold as you follow them outside.
The car belongs to Satoru. You’ve never seen it before in your life, but you can instantly tell. It’s Satoru’s in the way that it’s bright red and sleek. He starts the car with a low rumble. You climb in the back, feeling your seat hum as the car purrs to life.
Suguru settles next to you while Shoko gets into the passenger seat. Your stomach flips when you start to buckle yourself in. You start to remember all the times Satoru nearly killed you with his driving skills back when he first got his license. He’d been so excited back then, constantly offering rides to your house, the arcade, and even to places where there was no need for a car. His need to show off was an ever-present part of his personality back then.
“Did he ever learn to drive properly?” You can’t help lean over and whisper in Suguru’s ear.
He laughs while Satoru puffs from somewhere in front of you.
“I heard that,” Satoru says, “My driving was never that bad. You’re so dramatic.”
It was much worse than bad, but you decided not to bully him about it. Surprisingly, Satoru drives a lot nicer than you expect. He maintains a mostly steady pace, not at all like the sharp halts and breaks his younger self seemed to like so much.
He catches your eye in the rearview mirror.
“See?” He tells you with a proud smile.
You roll your eyes, unamused.
“Honestly, I’d take highschool you’s driving over Utahime’s,” you say, watching the city nightlife as the car speeds up, “she insists on driving fifteen miles below the speed limit. It takes an hour to get anywhere.”
“Utahime?” Suguru echoes, and you remember he probably hadn’t seen her since high school.
“How is she?” Shoko asks.
“She’s doing well.” You respond.
You’re about to offer a reunion before you clamp the urge down. She wasn’t their friend, after all. If anything, she barely tolerated them. Anytime your juniors would crash your hangouts, Utahime’s face would instantly pinch up. For your sake, she remained mostly civil.
“Is she mated?” Shoko asks.
You eye her. It’s a weird question to ask, but you give in anyway, not really seeing the harm.
“No, not that I know of,” you admit, “she’s not a big fan of the matchmaker program, either.”
You’ve tried to convince her numerous times, but Utahime refused to budge. She’d get oddly offended anytime you even broached the topic, so you’ve decided to avoid it.
For a split second, you catch Shoko and Suguru looking at eachother with dark eyes. Secret conversations only alphas could have. You bet their scent was dipping in a way only they could sniff out. A part of you always wondered it was like, but you never wondered for long. It’s not like you’d ever get to experience it.
Were they thinking of Utahime as a potential mate? You didn’t want to burst their bubble, but you highly doubt she’d be happy about that.
“We keep talking about our love lives, but what about you?” Suguru suddenly asks.
You glance at him. “My love life?” You ask.
“Met anyone special lately?” Satoru prods from the front.
You shake your head, watching the scenery pass you by. You remembered them being curious about your dating life back in high school, constantly hounding you the moment you got close to another beta who wasn’t them. It was only natural. Alphas and omegas found lifetime partners in a very different way compared to betas. To you, the idea of talking and going on dates to get to know someone is natural. To alphas, it must sound like an alien concept.
“I’ve got my hands too full of you three to even bother meeting someone.” You tell them with a teasing lilt in your voice before it fades. “Besides, meeting another beta is a lot harder than meeting up with an omega. Everything’s less instinctual, I think.”
“Why would you only restrict yourself to betas?” Shoko asks.
The alcohol was getting to you. Your lips are a bit looser than usual. Your words are cruder. You roll your eyes.
“Who else is there? An omega?” Your voice dipped into a sardonic sneer like you couldn’t even stomach the thought. “An alpha?”
You laugh at the joke. They don’t join in. You don’t notice the darkened tension in the car as you continue to stare out the window, not minding the silence. The evening tired you out. You stifle a yawn, and your eyes drift closed.
Something sharp grazed your neck.
Your eyes snap open. The car has stopped. You glance over to Suguru.
He smiles. There’s a respectful distance between the two of you. He remains a seat apart.
“Did I startle you?” He genuinely asks. “Sorry, I was trying to wake you up.”
“Oh.” You say, calming down your racing heartbeat. “No, it’s okay. Are we here?”
You raise up, trying to peek at the window. Your apartment complex lies just a little way away.
“Home sweet home!” Satoru cheers, his glee having fully returned.
“We’ll walk you up,” Shoko suggests.
“No.” You fumble with your seatbelt. “You’ve done so much already. Thanks for the night. It was fun.”
“It was.” Suguru agrees. “We should do it again, sometime.”
You eye him again. He still hasn’t moved. You resist the urge to touch your neck.
“Yeah,” you say, trying not to make your voice sound so clipped. “That would be great.”
You step out into the cool night air, trying to ignore the three pairs of eyes that followed you across the sidewalk and up the stairs. As soon as you got out of their eyesight, you finally felt like you could breathe again.
Hours later, when you’ve showered and settled into bed, you finally decide to tell yourself there was nothing. You had been half-asleep. You probably dreamed it. You’ve known those three your entire lives; there was no way they could do something like that.
And yet, a part of you could feel it on your neck. You reach up to lightly press on the patch of skin. There was nothing, but a part of you had that feeling memorized. You don’t think you could ever forget that feeling.
Teeth rasping right over your scent gland.
☕︎
You never truly saw Shoko as an alpha until your last year of high school.
You never had the chance to. You’d grown up with her by your side. You saw her every day. You didn’t notice her slowly surpassing you in height. You didn’t notice the way her teeth grew sharper and sharper. To you, she remained as Shoko: your tiny little follower.
In your head, you always put her in a different category than Satoru and Suguru. They were your friends, but they were also alphas. Shoko was your friend. There was a difference, though you weren’t sure what the difference was.
The incident happened sometime toward the end of the school year. By then, the three had formed a true pack. All the bad blood they shared in their first year had completely scattered by the second. They matched eachother well, moving as one coordinated unit. When the four of you hung out, you felt like you were the odd one out. It made you wonder if this was how Shoko felt when you forced her to hang out with your friends, an alpha surrounded by betas.
You weren’t upset at her for finding a friend group she matched with, regardless of how little you fit in. She deserved that.
You appreciated that she tried to incorporate you into her circle, too.
“Are you ignoring us?” Suguru asked.
You gave him a look, already exasperated.
“What are you talking about?” You frowned. “You literally asked me to check your essay. That’s what I’m doing.” You gestured to the paper on your desk.
Technically, it wasn’t your desk. This wasn’t your classroom. The rest of the second year had already left for the day, preferring to spend their time at home or at clubs. These three remained the odd ones out, still lounging on their desks hours after the bell rang.
Since Shoko had this bad habit of refusing to let you walk home alone, you were often forced to sit with them, waiting around until they decided to leave.
You sat just behind Suguru and Shoko. Suguru’s elbows rested on the chair’s back as he watched you work. Shoko mirrored him. Satoru abruptly left a few minutes ago, most likely to get a snack from the vending machine to satisfy his sweet tooth. The only evidence of his presence was his sunglasses and his backpack, hung over his chair.
“I’m starting to think you just gave this to me so I won’t get bored.” You complained. “Your writing’s perfect as always. What am I even looking for?”
“I’m sure you’ll critique it well,” Suguru responded, as an amused smile spread across his lips. “I trust your judgment.”
You rolled your eyes but cast your gaze down on the paper, hoping to find something to nitpick. You knew that was an impossible feat. These three were at the top of their class for a reason.
“I give up.” You told him, handing his paper back. “It’s perfect. I see a 100 in your near future. Stop fishing for compliments.”
He laughed, but he accepted his essay back with fingers ever so gently brushing over yours.
“Besides, I’m not really good at grading.” You continued. “Utahime’s the literature expert.”
“I don’t think she’ll be too happy being asked for a favor like this.” Suguru countered as he tucked away his assignment. His nimble fingers ran across his backpack and tugged the zip shut.
You clicked your tongue. “That’s because you and Satoru are constantly picking on her.”
Your eyes slide to Shoko.
“She likes you at least.” You tell her with a teasing smile.
In that, you mean the two girls are civil to each other. By that time, you gave up on Utahime’s ability to cozy up to these guys. They’re a lost cause–the few omegas in your school already steer clear of them. It’s clear they aren’t looking for anyone to complete their pack.
“I don’t think it’s like that.” She refuted.
You opened your mouth to respond, but then their expressions shifted.
Their hackles raised. They sat up straighter. Alert. You’ve never seen them act like that before. Your smile faded, pulled away from your lips by their sudden behavior.
There’s a soft thump at the classroom entrance. Your eyes landed on Satoru’s body, leaning against the door. His breaths were ragged, shoulders hunched over.
You stood up, making your way towards him. Shoko called your name, but you didn’t stop. You hesitantly reached for your junior. Concern settled at the back of your throat. Was he sick or something? He seemed okay when he left just a few minutes ago.
“Satoru?” You called, watching his shoulders stiffen. “Is everything okay–”
You saw his eyes. There was a flash of blue and teeth before he lunged at you.
Suguru stepped in before he could make contact.
There was a clatter of desks as Suguru pushed his friend to the floor and restrained him. You stumbled back, nearly tripping over on your feet, before your back collided with Shoko. She held you securely in her arms as you watched the struggle.
You couldn’t even recognize your friend as he breathed heavily, still pinned underneath your other friend. His eyes hadn’t left yours. They were clouded, unfocused.
Satoru’s scent was often muted to your beta nose. Sometimes, when he got particularly worked up, you caught a whiff of something deep and almost fruity in the air.
Today, the clear scent of Satoru invaded your senses.
Rut, your brain supplied even when your body remained helpless to do anything but watch. Satoru had gone into rut.
“Should–” Your voice shook. You swallowed down your nerves. “Should we get a teacher–”
Shoko called your name again. This time, you listened.
Your eyes drifted up to meet her own. She stared straight at Satoru’s writhing body.
“You need to go. Now.”
You don’t recognize her tone. You’ve never heard such a voice come from her before. It was deep, almost guttural. Unapologetically alpha.
It was why you obeyed. Silently, you packed up your stuff, putting away your assignments and pens, shoving them into your bag. You avoided the scene of the two alphas calming down their packmate as you fled the classroom. You heard Satoru’s grunts through the hall. They followed you, rang through your ears the entire walk home.
The next day, Satoru wasn’t at school. When he returned the day after, the incident remained unspoken. The three refused to acknowledge it. You did the same, following in their footsteps. It was easier to pretend everything was fine. You wanted to forget the vision of Satoru staring up at you with clouded eyes. You wanted to forget Suguru’s strength as he restrained his friend. You wanted to forget what you heard in Shoko’s voice.
It was easier to pretend.
Around that time, you looked into colleges out of town.
☕︎
You think it’s time you cut Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko off.
Not personally. It’s the first time in a while that the four of you have seen each other since high school. Nostalgia for the good old days clouds your vision. You couldn’t do that to them or to yourself.
But clearly, your services were not working out for them. The many matches and omegas you have set up always ended in rejection. There wasn’t a single omega they liked, and they often had vague reasons for why. Getting a clear answer was like pulling teeth. Maybe they couldn’t be honest with you because of your past with them.
It was not fair to those three. Maybe you were wrong to offer your services. You should have recommended one of your fellow matchmakers instead. A part of you will always feel guilty for jumping the gun like that, far too excited to help your friends find love than being logical.
You’d cut them off professionally. As for personally, you would still keep in touch here and there. Just not as often. You were gradually declining their invitations to hang out. You texted them less and less. You wouldn’t cut them off, but you were slowly starting to remember why you drifted away from those three in the first place.
You agonized over your decision for days, wondering how to break it to them.
When they extend the offer for drinks at their place, you decide to bite the bullet.
One rainy evening, you step out of your car, blinking away the drizzle as you stare up at the mansion. It was large enough to pack ten families into the estate. You knew Satoru’s family was well off, but it always breaks your brain when you try to understand how well off. Satoru offhandedly mentioned he liked the property for how demure it was compared to his childhood home. The front door puts your entire apartment to shame.
You barely wait a second after you knock. The door pulls open, and Shoko invites you in with a smile on her face. You return her hug, feeling her soft cashmere sweater underneath your fingers. She’d been smoking recently. The scent of it was faint but still noticeable in the air. A part of you wonders if you can chastise her as you did back when you two were kids.
You thank her. Thunder rumbles in the distance as you step inside. The rain and wind picked up, swirling angrily outside and pelting the windows.
“How long do you think the rain will last?” You ask her as she leads you further inside.
There’s another boom of thunder and lightning. Shoko glances down at you thoughtfully.
“We’ll definitely be stuck in here for a while.” She tells you.
You nod along. Hopefully, the rain lets up by the time you go home.
Unfortunately for you, the rain poured throughout the evening. Mother Nature refused to let up for even a moment, going on and on.
Compared to the chill of the rain, the house provided bright lights and warmth. The storm raging outside was nothing compared to the three chattering about their daily lives. Throughout it all, you smiled and talked when necessary. You didn’t know if they noticed, but you were anxious, your entire body twinged with nerves. Despite the wine swirling in your cup, you refused to take a single drop. It’s best to have this conversation sober.
You wait until there’s a lull in the conversation. You take a deep breath.
“So, I was thinking about transferring you guys to another matchmaker,” you say. “But I want to hear your thoughts first.”
They don’t seem necessarily surprised by your declaration. Satoru adjusts himself on the couch. He props his chin on his hand as he studies you. His sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose. Pretty sapphire eyes stare unwaveringly at you.
“Transfer us?” He echoes. “I thought we were your favorite clients.”
You try to match his lazy grin, but it comes out stilted and wobbly.
“I think it’d be best for you all.” You avert your gaze, fiddling with the cup, almost grateful to have something to keep your fingers busy. It was an expensive-looking cup. When the wine glass caught the light at just the right angle, it sparkled. Translucent glass turned iridescent.
“It’s not fair for me to keep you guys on like this for months,” you continue. “Every omega I’ve matched with you three always ends in rejection. Maybe you’d have better luck with someone else?”
You huff out a laugh.
“At this point, I’m starting to think you don’t want to meet omegas.”
You don’t need to have heightened senses of an alpha to know that was the wrong thing to say.
Immediately, the evening's quiet atmosphere turned heavy and daunting. You felt it in your shoulders as something invisible almost pinned you to the sofa.
Satoru’s smile almost turns feral.
“You’re right.” Shoko says.
You can’t read her expression. Her lips are pulled into a thin line. You think you like the lipstick shade the wears tonight. It compliments her tone well.
You squint at her. A pit forms in your stomach.
“What?”
“We don’t want an omega.” Suguru finishes for her. “And after meeting so many, I’ve never been certain of anything more. We don’t want an omega, we want you. We always have.”
He keeps his tone softing, almost coaxing, like you’re some wild animal. Despite the gentleness of his voice, his words cut deep into your soul. You’re shaking your head before you realize what you were doing.
“I don’t understand.” You repeat his words over and over in your head as you lift yourself from your seat. “I–I don’t understand why–”
“C’mon, you couldn’t have been that oblivious, right?” Satoru slips into the spot next to you. A long arm rests across your shoulders, keeping you in place. “We made things so obvious in high-school. Pretty sure Shoko was pining ever since elementary.”
You wait for Shoko to refute the claim. She doesn’t. Even now, you’re thinking everything they’re telling you is some type of sick joke–something alphas tell to unsuspecting betas to laugh at.
“I’m a beta.” You state the obvious. “You are all alphas. You can’t–you shouldn’t want me–”
“I don’t care.” Shoko says as she stares at you with pretty eyes the color of warm honey. “I never have.”
Satoru hums in agreement. He leans into your side, nuzzling his face into your neck. When he’s close like this, the smell of his scent is stronger. He smells like a Buddhist temple tucked away in the highest mountain peaks, unreachable to all. The wind howls and whisks past ice and rock. The air is freezing and thin, almost suffocating.
You move when he gets uncomfortably close to your nape, right where your scent gland is.
You throw his arm off your shoulders, standing up straight. You keep your eyes on the ground, unwilling to look at any of them. You don’t think you’d be able to look at them for a long time.
“I don’t want to listen to any of this anymore.” You hear yourself speak.
“You three are drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.” You step away from the living room. Your movements are robotic. Stiled. Your body is kept on autopilot as your brain tries to keep up with what just happened. You head for the door.
“Sleep it off. We can talk about this later.”
You never reach the exit.
A hand grabs your wrist, keeping you in place. You turn back to see Suguru’s empty expression. His purple eyes are dark. He gives a smile. It looks hollow. Fake. Plastic.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you, “I just…I don’t think I can wait anymore.”
The words feel familiar. A conversation the two of you had a decade ago.
You open your mouth to ask when his lips swallow yours.
It’s utterly possessive in nature. Suguru’s scent envelopes you whole as he kisses you. He smells like what lurks underneath the roaring sea. You feel like you’re drowning, trapped in underwater caves where your ears pop from the immense pressure of the unwavering ocean.
Your hands press against his chest, urging him off. Even then, he only releases you when he’s had his fill. You stumble back, looking at his reddened lips and dark eyes. He’s breathing heavily, slightly hunched over like he’s ready to pounce. His eyes are wide and completely blown out.
You don’t think you’re looking at a person anymore.
You’re looking at a predator.
“Yeah.” It’s something between a growl and a laugh. “I don’t think I can wait any longer for this.”
Your words are cut off by a scream–your scream. There’s a harsh grip on your wrist before you’re being dragged back to the living room and haphazardly thrown onto the couch. Satoru’s hands keep you down as you struggle fruitlessly against his arms. He laughs somewhere above you as your vision twists and turns in mindless panic.
Satoru’s kiss is a lot more violent. He’s messy, smearing his scent all over your neck, your scent glands, eager to claim. His sharp teeth are more than happy to explore your lips. When he reluctantly pulls away in satisfaction, your lips are left in bloody tatters.
“I don’t think I can wait anymore, either.” Satoru agrees with his pack mate. “I’m surprised you were the one who broke first, Suguru. What happened to ‘waiting ‘till everyone’s ready’ and all that bullshit? So desperate.”
Fingers play with the edge of your shirt as Suguru scoffs. “Shut up.”
“Stop.” You’ve never heard your voice sound like this before. “Don’t–don’t–”
“Enough.”
The two freeze. So do you. Something blankets over your body.
Calming pheremones, the last piece of your brain supplies, but who would…?
Shoko’s face enters your vision. You blink helplessly at her.
Her expression is serene and calm as she studies your body. Her hand reaches out, gently caressing your face and tracing the length of your jawline. You feel the scrape of freshly manicured fingers.
On omegas, alpha pheremones help them become more receptive towards their alphan mates. It calms them, makes them feel closer to their chosen mate, and helps the process move along.
On betas, however, alpha pheremones cross wires. You weren’t built to be receptive. It clouds your vision, making your thoughts hazy. The panic remains even as your body slows down.
“Did they scare you?” She asks, voice gentle and dripping with faux innocence.
You can only manage a weak whine. She smiles and leans down to place a delicate kiss on your feverish temple.
“It’s my fault.” The worst part is how honest she sounds. “I should have told you back in high school. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have left, and maybe things would’ve been different…” Her voice trails off, and there’s this faraway look in her eyes.
“I meant what I said.” Her eyes focus on you again. “I don’t care that you’re a beta, but I don’t think we can treat you like a beta…not if we want you to understand that you belong with us.”
You look into her eyes, right underneath the bubbling warm honey. You think you see it then. Something rotten that festered there for at least a decade before it climbed its way to the surface. For a moment, you wonder how you hadn’t seen this in high school. You wonder how she tricked you, coerced you into becoming her friend despite the dark depths she held so closely to her heart.
And then, you understand she hadn’t hidden this from you at all.
Until now, you hadn’t seen her as alpha.
“I love you,” Shoko tells you earnestly, brushing away the tears cascading down your face. Then her voice hardens, and she isn’t talking to you anymore.
“I make the first bite.”
Satoru and Suguru don’t argue. Why would they? To alphas, the pack leader’s word is law.
Her kiss is gentle. She’s slow and careful as she carefully glides her lips and tongue against your own. She’s careful of her teeth, savoring your shuddering mouth as she swallows your cries and pleas.
You hate how familiar her scent is. Shoko is the Earth that the mountain rests on, where the oceans rock. She was everything you’ve ever known, and yet there was so much left to uncover. You just didn’t think you could do that before losing yourself.
Someone tugs down at your pants. Your eyes widen, and your panic builds up all over again. Shoko hushes you. Her lips trail to the edge of your jaw.
“He just wants to taste. Don’t mind him.” She tells you as Satoru tugs your pants down your sluggish legs. His fingers itch with eagerness as he squeezes the plush of your thighs.
“Don’t worry.” Shoko continues as Satoru practically rips your panties apart. “We won’t knot you tonight. We know you aren’t ready for that.”
“Fuck.” Satoru groans as he spreads your legs. He leans down to nuzzle your pussy, nose bumping at your clit. “You smell even stronger down here. ‘Can never get enough of your scent, I just wanna drown in it.”
“Who’s the desperate one, now?” Suguru goads as his own fingers explore what’s underneath your shirt. He grabs a fistful of your chest before squeezing. Your back arches up from his movement. He smiles.
Satoru ignores him and buries his face completely into your pussy. His tongue flicks out, eagerly lapping up at your hole. His movements are oddly stilted, almost unsure, mostly driven by instinct rather than anything else. Of course, he wouldn’t have any real sexual experience. Unlike betas, alphas and omegas mate for life.
His eagerness largely makes up for his lack of technique. Within moments, your body responds to him, urged on by his touches even though your mind is clinging on to the last semblance of sanity you have left.
“I love it.” His voice is almost a sob, strangely broken and muffled as his tongue drives deeper into your hole, hoping to drink up the essence of you. “I love this. I love you. I love you so much. I’m so glad we have you again.” His hands reach up to keep your trembling thighs away from his face, opening up more of yourself to his eager mouth.
“Satoru.” You hated how heedy your voice sounded. Your core clenched at the intrusion of him tongue-fucking your sensitive pussy, muscles contracting like they wanted nothing more but to keep him inside and milk him for all he’s worth. Your eyes squeezed shut as he pulled out to nibble on your clit.
“Please–please don’t–I don’t think I can–”
“I know, baby.” He coos from somewhere underneath you. “It hurts, right? I can make it all better, I promise. Just let go, baby. You can do it, I know you can.”
Encouraged by Suguru playing with your tits and the constant pressure of Satoru right at your cunt, you can’t put it off any longer. Shoko licks a stripe across your neck, and you’re gushing all over Satoru’s face as your pussy cums over and over again. Fingers dig into your ass cheeks, keeping your hips from lifting up as Satoru wrings out every last drop you have. He doesn’t stop until you collapse, exhausted underneath the staggering weight of your orgasm.
With bleary eyes, you watch as he rises from your throbbing pussy. His lips are still shiny. He never breaks his gaze from you as he licks his lips, savoring each drop.
Suguru takes his place between your trembling thighs. There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes get impossibly wider as his cock pops out from underneath his briefs. It’s already an angry, bright red.
You don’t fight this time, not when Shoko’s pheremones are already starting to drown you again. You watch as Suguru’s cock aligns itself to your battered pussy. The tip taps on your swollen clit as he rocks himself through your plush lips, once, twice, thrice, until his cock finds your hole.
You hate the way his eyes glaze over. He looks down at you with complete adoration.
“I love you.” He tells you. “I can’t wait until you love us, too.”
Shoko’s teeth find your neck at the same time he bottoms out. The pain of the claiming bite somehow overrides the fullness you feel as Suguru ruts into you over and over again, completely giving into instinct.
With that, you are completely and utterly claimed as pack.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!
“Her.”
Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
***
“You sure do love reading, don’t you?”
It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.
You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.
“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”
Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…”
“You find books more interesting than people?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug.
“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—
“Are you making fun of me?”
You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.
“What?”
You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.”
“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”
Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more.
“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.
“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”
“I’ll be your friend.”
He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive.
You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”
“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.
It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that.
“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.
“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means…
“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.
You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?”
He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right.
“You could call it studying.”
You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing.
“What’s your name, homeschool?”
You tell him.
He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”
You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it.
Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could.
That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.
***
Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.
You’re alone. As usual.
“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.
“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”
He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?
“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect.
“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”
He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way.
“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”
“Friends?” You don’t have any.
“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”
Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.”
Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.
He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.
“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”
Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue.
“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”
He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…
“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.
“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.
“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”
“Say it. Now.”
You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.”
The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this.
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”
Rafe nods, “Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“
“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”
You blink, “What?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”
He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.
“I asked you a question, homeschool.”
“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”
“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.
“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”
He stops, allows you to catch up.
“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”
“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”
You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”
“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”
*
Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…
”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.
“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.
“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”
He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.
Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.
“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.
“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.
“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”
“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”
You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”
He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”
You look aghast, “No! I would never–”
“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”
“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”
“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”
You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.
“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”
He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.
He nods, “You look pretty.”
Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.
*
On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.
“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.
Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.
“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.
“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”
He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.
“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”
Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.
“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.
“No?”
“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”
Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.
“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.
You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”
“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.
“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.
“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.
You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”
You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.
Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”
“H-Huh?”
“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.
“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.
“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”
It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.
“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.
“Wow, that was cool!”
“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”
Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.
He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.
“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”
He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”
That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.
He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…
He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.
*
On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.
“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”
You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”
Rafe grins, “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”
He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.
“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”
You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.
“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”
But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.
“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.
Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”
“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”
He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”
“You sure about that?”
He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”
Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.
All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.
You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.
*
Rafe: Hey.
Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?
He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.
Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.
Rafe: What are you up to?
A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.
Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?
It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.
He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”
He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?
“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”
A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”
“What like vacuuming and shit?”
“Yes.”
Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.
He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.
“Uh, Rafe?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A pause.
“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”
“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”
“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.
He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.
“I’d rather speak to you than them.”
“That’s not true, Rafe.”
“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”
“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”
“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.
“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”
“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”
“You’re funny, Rafe.”
You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.
“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.
“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”
He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.
“A-Are you still there?”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–
“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.
“Rafe?”
He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.
“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.
“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”
“Like, uh, at your house?”
“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”
That just makes him even more determined to be your first.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
“Rafe…”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.
“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”
That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.
“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.
“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”
*
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”
Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.
“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.
“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.
“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”
Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”
Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”
“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”
“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”
“What?”
Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”
“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”
Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”
Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”
Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”
“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”
Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.
He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.
That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.
“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”
“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.
You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”
“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”
He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.
“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.
“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”
“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.
He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.
You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.
“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.
Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.
Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”
Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”
He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”
“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”
He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.
“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.
You blink, “Um, water?”
He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”
“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”
“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”
You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.
“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.
“People have been talking about me to you?”
“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”
He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.
“Do you always drink after school?”
“Huh?”
“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”
“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”
He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.
Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.
“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”
Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”
He shrugs, “A few.”
You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”
“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.
“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”
Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.
“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”
You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”
“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”
He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.
“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.
You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”
“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”
“Hey!”
He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.
You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”
Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”
You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”
Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”
Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”
He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.
Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”
He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”
He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.
He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”
Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”
Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”
He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.
“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”
Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…
“There. Comfy?”
“Well, I guess, but…”
He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.
He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.
And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.
When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.
“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”
Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”
“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”
Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.
Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.
He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.
And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.
“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”
“Rafe, maybe not too much–”
“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.
“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”
He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.
Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”
You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”
“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.
It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.
Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.
“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.
“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”
He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–
“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”
He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”
He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”
Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”
Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.
“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.
It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.
“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”
Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.
“That’s okay,” he says.
You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”
Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.
You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”
Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.
Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”
He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”
“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”
Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.
He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.
“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”
What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.
“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.
Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.
You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.
Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.
Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.
*
Kelce: One day left, loverboy.
Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.
Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.
Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.
He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.
That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.
Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.
How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.
The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.
He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–
His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.
“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I’m scared.”
You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”
He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”
“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”
“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”
They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.
“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”
“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”
He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”
“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”
Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.
“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.
“Rafe! You came!”
You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.
“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.
At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”
It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.
“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.
“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”
“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”
He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.
You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.
Despite everything, his dick hardens.
“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”
You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.
He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.
He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”
“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”
You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”
He smirks, “I could distract you.”
“H-How?”
He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.
“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”
You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.
“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”
“H-Huh–”
“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”
You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”
It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.
He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.
Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.
“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”
He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”
“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”
“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”
Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”
He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”
“Y-You.”
“Yeah. And who’s older?”
“You are.”
“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”
You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.
Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.
He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.
He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.
“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.
“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.
“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”
“Stand up, baby.”
You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.
You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.
“Take your leggings off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.
You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.
“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”
“Wh-What?”
“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.
“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”
“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”
He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.
“Stand up straight, look at me again.”
You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.
“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.
Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.
And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.
His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.
“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”
You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”
God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.
“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”
“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?
Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.
You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.
“You have an accident, princess?”
You look absolutely aghast, “No!”
Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.
“Oh my God–”
He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”
“What?”
“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”
For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”
“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”
He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”
He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.
“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.
Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.
“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”
“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”
Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.
“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.
Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.
“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.
“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–
You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.
And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.
“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”
Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”
“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”
He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.
“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”
You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”
“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”
It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.
He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.
But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.
“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”
Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.
“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.
“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”
He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”
You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”
“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”
Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.
He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.
“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.
You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”
He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.
“Take it out.”
“N-No!”
He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”
“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”
You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”
He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”
As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”
You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”
“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”
You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.
“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”
You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”
“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”
In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”
“I am?”
“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.
“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.
Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”
“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.
“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.
“Yeah?”
Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”
God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.
Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.
“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”
‘I don’t know.”
SMACK.
Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”
“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”
“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”
You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.
You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.
“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”
He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.
“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.
But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.
“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.
“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.
“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”
‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”
“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”
Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.
“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”
“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”
“But it hurts!”
“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”
A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”
“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”
“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.
Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”
You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”
You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”
He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.
“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”
You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.
“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.
“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”
You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.
“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”
“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“
You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.
“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”
All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.
It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.
Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”
The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”
He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.
That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.
“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”
“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”
“Nooo…”
He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.
“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…
He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…
“Rafe, I… please…”
“Baby…”
His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–
“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”
“Fuck.”
Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.
He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.
“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”
“You pr-promise?”
“I promise.”
He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.
You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.
The wind laughs and laughs all night.
*
The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.
Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.
Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.
He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.
Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.
He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.
What the fuck did that mean?
His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.
That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?
Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.
Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.
Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?
“You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.
He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.
*
“There he is! The loverboy himself!”
His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.
“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”
“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”
Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”
He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.
He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.
“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.
“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”
“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.
“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.
“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.
Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”
“Then show us. That was the deal.”
He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.
“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”
Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”
He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.
“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”
He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.
And immediately locks eyes with you.
And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.
“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.
A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.
Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.
And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.
𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)
Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?
Should reader forgive Rafe?
Favourite scene/part?
Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3
syopsis: obsessive nerds satoru and suguru have fawned over you since freshman year, jointly thirsting over your instagram and watching you silently in the halls. the stoners are invited to one of choso's partys, and fuck, they get really lucky. they worship you like a goddess and end up being thrown into your perfect orbit, in a secret affair behind your horrible boyfriend sukuna's back...
a/n: this is a much needed edited re-up of ruin me!
wc: 18k || cw: so many typos... :: smut :: p in v :: deep fucking :: mmf :: oral (fem + male receiving) :: some very emotional sex :: a little angst (to comfort) :: fluff :: choso x reader if you squint :: a lil sukuna x reader (very toxic) :: name calling :: alcohol and weed consumption ac: @/mongsanghwa @/pamalechano @/hiikeu
“fuck, look at this sugu, she posted.”
satoru’s voice was hushed and frantic, but suguru didn’t even need to look, he already knew who it was. he leaned in anyway, exhaling through his nose at the beauty on satoru's screen.
your tongue, glossy and pink, flattened against the side of a ridiculously expensive erwhon gelato cone, your eyes looking up through your pretty lashes at the camera like you knew exactly what you were doing.
“shit, she’s so bad,” suguru sighed, lips curling into a sly yet crooked smile.
satoru groaned, raking his hands down his pretty face then bringing the phone closer like the pixels could bring him some sort of salvation. he zooms in on your cheekbones, your earrings, your mouth, that fuckin' mouth... then he pinches out to see it all again in it's full frame.
divine, he thinks.
“she doesn’t even know we exist,” suguru sighs, sounding almost proud of the fact. as if it made the fantasy better, or purer.
they were in the back row of their social studies lecture, tired and now, very overstimulated.
the professor was droning on about something to do with economic hierarchies, but all satoru could think about was your mouth and whether or not that was your real lip color or something expensive from sephora.
suguru’s mind wasn’t much better, he’d already saved the photo to his camera roll.
you were the shit, and not in a try hard way.
you were just it.
2000's pink fever dream is the kind of vibes you gave off. wearing whatever shoes were hot that week and some low rise jeans that hugged you snug, you flowed through the quad in tops that looked straight from a britney spears music video.
you were always laughing and draped in people who looked just as cool but still somehow dimmer than you.
there were whispers every time you passed, who you were dating now, what party you were at last night, which guy was crying after you’d ghosted him.
you were a story literally everyone wanted to tell.
but satoru and suguru didn’t just want to tell it, oh no. they wanted to live inside of it, in more ways than one...
no one looked at them. not as much as you, anyways. to put it lightly, no one looked at them in a way that was... appreciative.
sure, they were hot, that much was obvious.
satoru was tall with ridiculously good bone structure and an unfairly handsome face, he was the kind of guy you'd make eye contact with but instead of getting giddy, it makes your stomach drop like, "is he staring at me or am i just being weird and looking at him creepily...".
suguru definitely had an allure. he was pierced all over his face but not in a trashy way, dressed head to toe in black and always looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, yet still somehow better looking than everyone else.
so yeah, they're were hot. but they were weird.
they jointly have over 4000 hours on terraria. they watch stupid anime's all day and talk about different concepts and theories for hours after, and they play pokemon go and digimon all day unironically.
real nerd shit.
it was a known fact that the two could find a certain interest and obsess over it for the next bajillion years. so, when it came to you? it was safe to say they noticed quite literally everything.
like how you always posted around 11:30am like clockwork, probably right after class.
like how you changed your highlights every other week to match your current aesthetic, “🍸” was suguru’s favorite, that one had a photo of you in a tiny yellow bikini licking salt off your wrist.
like how your phone case had changed, a clear one with a blurry photo tucked into the back. satoru had spent ten minutes trying to enhance it in his camera app. it was some girl, maybe a friend? maybe someone you'd kissed.... yuck. either way, it ruined his entire afternoon.
“remember that video she posted last month?” satoru said dreamily, might as well of been thinking about a dead lover. “the one with her in the pool?”
suguru shakes his head. “don’t,” he sighs.
“she was doing that thing with her eyes, remember? like, eye fucking the camera? and she had that little chain around her waist, oh my god—"
“i said stop,” suguru snapped, though he was smiling. “i had to excuse myself from psych after that one. couldn’t stand up for ten fucking minutes.”
satoru swiped through your profile, it was as if every new photo was a different flavor of devastation.
you and your friends in the back of some expensive car. you holding a cocktail and laughing with your head thrown back. you bent over in a mini skirt, taking a mirror selfie with a little ass showing.
was this gross? definitely. did they care? a littleeee, but it wasn't like you'd give two weirdos the time of day anyway, so it didn't matter! that was their logic, anyway.
“i bet she moans pretty,” he said absently. suguru smiled and nodded. “oh, absolutely.”
satoru let out a huff. “jeez, i’d buy her a car just for saying my name.” and saying that wasn’t even absurd, the two of the boys were filthy rich.
“she always smells good, too.” satoru adds. “like… like a sexy scent. i don’t even know what it is. something grown.”
suguru huffed a laugh. “you sound so psychotic.”
“you smelled it too, though. that one time in the elevator. when she came in with maki and was on the phone with sukuna? she pressed the button and i literally blacked out, never been that close to her before.”
“right, and she had those jeans on, the real low ones.” satoru clutched his chest. “fuck. she’s so hot.”
they lapsed into silence again, both of them stewing in their own separate daydreams.
it wasn’t just that you were hot, everyone was hot in college. but you were something else, your own category.
suguru reached for satoru’s phone and swiped through your tagged photos now, which were even more the reminder that you were way out of their social circle.
there were many candid flashes of your life. you in the club with yuki and maki, glitter around your eyes and a bottle in one hand. you curled up on a dorm bed with shoko, half asleep and smiling wide with those pretty lips, your arms tight around ieri's torso. you and choso at a rooftop party, your chin on his shoulder and your fingers looped loosely around his belt.
satoru groaned. “i hate that she’s close with choso.”
“he’s like, her best friend.”
“urgh."
when class ended, the boys stood and made their way out of the room. suguru slung his bag over his shoulder as satoru joked about one thing or other, the two best friends falling into easy conversation.
as they step out into the hallway, however, all conversation stops when they spot you.
you were at the end of the hall posted up against the lockers, even the fluorescent lighting couldn’t make you look bad. if anything, it just made your skin glow warmer, your lip color glossier.
but, like always, you weren’t alone.
he was there, sukuna.
and god, he looked like a big, red, flashing warning sign, like something straight out of a sex and violence movie. he was tall and cut like a knife, his red eyes dark and oh so mean.
“gross,” satoru scoffed, ducking his head.
suguru didn’t add any quips, he just stared with clenched teeth.
sukuna had his hand on your waist, his chrome hearts rings catching in the light as his fingers dug into your flesh.
god, it was so possessive it made them sick, like he was daring anyone to look.
“he doesn’t deserve her,” satoru whispered, too quiet for anyone but suguru to hear.
“mhm, n' he cheats on her, too,” suguru muttered. “everyone knows it. choso was telling me he was touching up some girl at a bar the other week right infront of her.”
they stared at the scene like poor kicked puppies. sukuna was probably murmuring something dirty against your ear, and all you did was smile and hit his chest, acting like you both liked and hated it all at the same time.
satoru’s heart was pounding not with jealousy, or, not just jealousy, but with rage, helpless obsession. it was the possessive ache of wanting to save you from someone who didn’t deserve your attention, like at all, much less your affection.
he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and ask what you were doing, ask what you saw in him when you could have had the world.
then suddenly, as the boys are bickering over how shit of a boyfriend sukuna was, your gaze sweeps over the crowd for a second. and then it pauses, on them. or maybe just past them? maybe you didn’t see them at all? but your lashes flicked up, and satoru swore your eyes met his.
it was less than a second. a glitch in time. and then you looked away.
“we should go,” suguru said hoarsely.
satoru nodded, dazed. “yeah, yeah. let's go.”
they turned and walked in the other direction with their hearts pounding and their ears ringing, like they’d just survived a brush with a godess and came out utterly unworthy.
you on the other hand? the gaze you'd felt penetrating the side if you head earlier was driving you up the wall.
just for a moment, the faint prickle on the back of your neck, that sixth sense that someone was watching. not in a creepy way, more like a spotlight brushing over your skin. you looked up lazy and bored with your manicured hand still in sukuna’s, and there they were.
satoru and suguru. the weird ones.
the smart ones, the ones who sat in the back row and whispered loudly. they wore dark colors and always looked like they were thinking about something far too complicated to say out loud and share with the rest of the normies.
you knew who they were, obviously. not by name, by vibe. the tall one with the white hair and the other one with the bun and the earrings. they were always together, always some what quiet. always, always, staring.
they were looking at you now, or maybe through you.
you held their eyes for a second too long, or maybe not long enough? your eyes flicked over them like flipping a page, your stomach twisted a little when they blinked like they were too afraid to breathe.
and then you turned away.
“what?” sukuna asked getting all weird and possessive already, his voice low against your temple. “who th' fuck was that?”
“no one,” you said quickly, “just some nerds.”
he grunted and pressed a kiss to your cheek. it was hard and a little too showy for you, but you smiled like you liked it nevertheless.
his hand stayed on your ass the whole walk back to your pretty little dorm. on lookers offered their stares up like children seeing animal mascots on the street. and you liked it when people stared, or, you were supposed to.
that was kind of the whole point, wasn't it? being seen with him. it felt good being the girl everyone wanted yet so out of reach. it meant you were interesting, y'know? you were hot and keepable.
and sukuna was a lot of things, not really good things, but things all the same. sexy, really fucking mean, arrogant, your friends all had different names for it. toxic, thrilling, psychotic, exciting. but he was never boring, so that was a plus?
when you get back to your place, the dorm door smashes shut behind you, and suddenly he was all up on you with his heavy hands grabbing at every inch of your body, his mouth already sliding over your neck like he needed to mark you up.
you tilted your chin up and played along, somewhat. giggling when he pushes you against the wall tighter.
“i missed you,” he said, already pulling at your top. “fuck, you look so hot in this.”
“you saw me this morning,” you said lightly even as your stomach curled tight.
“not enough,” he rasped.
he kissed you hard and messy. sukuna was ever the desperate man when it came to sex, he tugged at your waistband and shoved you toward the bed, and you went.
~
it felt good, in theory...
how he just knew how to fuck you in a way that felt different to anyone else, it wasn't exactly nice, per se, but it was different, that's for sure.
your head always managed to stay up in the clouds during sex with him. way way up in the clouds.
you thought about how his hand always squeezed the fat too hard on your delicate throat. how he never asked beforehand if you were down or how he got really mean when you moaned too loud. how he always acted like he was the one doing something for you.
gross, really.
you finish up after a good half hour and your bodies collapse against the mattress.
sukuna inhales dragging smoke from the now lit cigarette between his fingers, eyes slipping across your body like he’s still hungry, or maybe just checking to make sure you’re still all there.
“you came, right?” he asks dully.
you nod. you didn’t, but he’s not looking at your face so he wouldn't know anyway.
he smirks and pats your thigh as if to say, 'good girl'. his tatted chest stretched as he inhaled deeply, they were sexy, sure, but now they just look like big flashy warnings you'd ignored.
“you’ve been weird lately,” he says curt. you roll onto your side away from him, dragging the sheets higher to hide your naked body.
“i’m tired,” you reply.
“you’re always fucking tired.” he snarls. like it’s your fault for being drained as if he’s not the reason you keep losing sleep.
he gets up. doesn’t bother with a shirt or anything, only paces toward the mirror checking his reflection. you watch him from the corner of your eye as he he adjusts his necklace and wipes his thumb across his mouth.
“i don’t like when you get quiet,” he says.
“i’m not quiet.”
“you were quiet at the party last week. and yesterday when i called, you sounded so off.” he doesn’t ask how you are, shit, he never does. it’s always, what’s wrong with you, never, what happened? he can tell when something’s different, but he doesn’t want to understand. he wants it fixed, he wants you back to normal. back to the chick that kisses his jaw while laughing at his jokes, clinging to his arm at kickbacks like a trophy wife.
“i’m fine,” you say.
you’re not, you've got that dull ache in your chest after he touches you and that knot of disappointment in your stomach when he says your name like some stupid command.
you used to feel chosen and so, so wanted, but now you just feel like a bet he doesn't like all that much.
“you’re not gonna start some shit, are you?” sukuna asks roughly,
“what are you talking about?”
he turns around with slitted eyes. “you always do this shit. pull away when things are good. look, i know i fucked up last weekend, okay? that bitch came onto me. i didn’t do shit.”
and there it is.
you hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t said a word about the girl at the bar last weekend. she had her hands all over him and he sure as hell wasn't moving, like, at all. so that whole 'she came onto me' thing was obviously bullshit.
you sit up slowly with your shaky arms around your knees. “i didn’t say anything about that,” you whisper gently.
“yeah, well, you’re thinking it. i can see. i know how your brain works.”
and that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? he doesn’t know how your brain works, hell, he only knows how to manage it, redirect it or drown it out.
he climbs back onto the bed, sitting over you and locking you in with his big, strong arms. “don’t start being weird, babe,” he says with that disgusting persuasion. his hand cups your face and his thumb strokes your cheek. “you’re mine. yeah?”
yuck.
"mhm."
he kisses your forehead sweetly like he’s doing something tender. but your skin feels... rotten, frankly.
as he peppers kisses to your face, reality starts to slowly creep into the cracks of your battered heart. you don’t want this anymore, but you don’t know what else there is.
you're looking up at him but your head is racking through the options. what else is there?
you could date a jock, maybe a business major who's destined for success? perhaps a quiet boy who actually pays attention to you.
with that thought, your mind is thrown into a daze, a nerd daze to be precise.
you think about the look those grade A hotties gave you earlier, the freakishly tall ones in the hallway. you don’t know their names, but you sure as hell remember the way they made you feel with one little glance.
hm.
before you know it, sukuna's throwing on a beater and fixing his hair in your mirror before patting your ass and mumbling a ‘later.’ like you were just another one of his hoes rather than his girlfriend.
there’s a hollow ache in your ribs, the kind you ignore, ignore, ignore, until it piles up behind your lungs, ready rot.
you sit up groggily and the mirror on your vanity catches your —admittedly— terrible reflection. you've got smudged mascara and your lipstick half gone. you look like a girl who’s just been fucked, sure, but not in a good way, kinda like an accidental one night stand kinda way...
why do you keep letting him do this to you?
you sigh and look down at your phone, deciding there was no one better to call right now than your right hand man, choso.
he picks up after two rings. “yo.”
“hey,” you say curling your legs beneath you. “you busy?”
you hear him exiting whatever room he was in then he responds, “nah. what’s up?”
“just…” you hesitate and take a deep breath, the words feet much too heavy. “i feel like shit.”
“ryomen?”
you sigh.
“he’s such a dick,” choso scoffs like he’s already angry for you. “what happened this time?”
“same shit,” you mumble. “he left without even looking at me. he barely touched me. like i was just… just there to get him off.” you despise how much you sound like a frail little girl, but you couldn't help being vulnerable in this moment.
you hear choso inhale like he wants to say something cruel about sukuna, but doesn’t wanna kick you while you’re down.
instead, he suggests, “you should come to this thing m' having tonight. it's at my place, just a few people. yuki’s coming, maybe shoko. i’ll let you smoke some of my shit.”
you press your lips together. “wow, let me? how generous of you." you smile, but it fades almost as quick as it came. "hm. but sukuna’ll be there.”
“no,” he says simply. “he doesn’t know about it."
oh? that surprises you, suddenly you feel much happier.
“what?” he adds dryly. “i’m allowed to throw a party without that asshole, and you need to get out. please?”
you hum like you haven't already made up your mind.
“you can wear that matching set, the leopard print one,” choso adds. “that ones sexy.”
you give him an excited giggle and agree.
“fine,” you say. “i’ll come.”
he hums like he knew you would. “i’ll text you the details. bring whoever you want.”
you thank him then hang up and lay back again.
sure, sukuna had basically ruined your entire afternoon, but chosos parties were always nice, and he wouldn't be there. win win!
~
meanwhile, satoru’s dorm smells like weed and really expensive cologne.
the taller guys legs are criss crossed on the bed with his shirt clinging to his broad chest, his glasses halfway down his nose. suguru’s in the desk chair off to the side with his sketchbook balanced on his thigh, pen smoothing over the page. they’re both a little baked.
“sukuna can't handle all of that, bro,” satoru says after a moment. “he’s such a fucking clown.”
“i hear ya.”
they'd been taking shots at the man for being a pissy boyfriend for the past half hour.
“she should be worshipped,” suguru echoes, voice low. “with tongue.”
satoru laughs like he's short of breath. “you’re gonna make me hard again.”
“you’re always hard.”
“only for her.”
satoru grabs the blunt and takes another hit, suguru adds a shadow to your lips, the shape of them exact from memory. he doesn’t need reference photos anymore he could draw you from bone and ash if he were ever stranded in the pits of hell.
“gross. what if she's with that flop.” satoru sighs.
he groans, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over his face. “i need to go to the gym, i can't imagine her with that dick any longer.”
suguru just keeps drawing. his phone buzzes against the desk, he glances down, then lifts it. “it’s choso.”
he picks up. “yeah?”
choso’s voice is clear. “yo, i'm having a party at my place tonight, you two should come.”
suguru glances at satoru, who’s peeking from beneath the pillow with a very interested look, they weren't really the guys to be invited to functions.
“who’s coming?”
“toji, nanami, yuki. maybe shoko. and, uh,” choso pauses. “y/n.” suguru’s grip on the phone actually quadrupled.
the two boys quite literally jitter at the mention of your name, their minds racking with the millions of possible situations that could occur tonight. this wasn't real, surely?
“y/n's coming?" satoru mouths sitting upright like an excited puppy.
suguru smiles at satoru and nods, making the white haired boy grin from ear to ear and jump up from the bed like the big goof he is.
“we’ll bring something,” suguru says, calm as ever, although, let's be real, he's fucking ecstatic. “see you soon, cho.” he hangs up and closes the sketchbook.
satoru is scrambling for a hoodie. “are we bringing alcohol or pot?”
"pot, obviously.”
“should i put on cologne or is that too much?”
“nah, it's never too much.”
satoru smiles. “okay, okay! i'll put on the nice one.”
“do you think she’ll talk to us?” satoru asks, suddenly nervous.
“no,” suguru says.
“but we’ll be near her.” satoru swallows.
“okay, yeah. near’s good.”
~
choso’s posted up on the porch like some washed up security guard.
his shoulders relax when he sees them walking up the sidewalk, two tall silhouettes backlit by the streetlights. satoru gets there first with his geeky faded digimon shirt being overshadowed by his sheer muscular mass.
“you postin’ up like a bouncer now?” he teases, breath fogging in the crispy weather.
“gotta keep the freaks out,” choso mutters, glancing between the two of them. “and then i remember i invited you.”
suguru smiles, he was dressed like a chanel model cross frat attire, for a total geek he knew how to throw a fit. black button up halfway open reveling his tribal tattooed chest and some ridiculously expensive jeans that flattered his body so well. “and aren’t you glad you did?”
“jury’s out,” choso rolls his eyes.
satoru digs into his pocket and pulls out a small tin of weed. “look, our entry fee.” he says, flipping it open and offering it like a tray of macarons. “it's really good shit, so be greatful.”
“right,” choso says, but he takes one.
“suguru bought ‘em. he’s got a good dealer,” satoru borderline whines, he doesn't like people doubting him or his best friend.
"i'm just messin with you, toru." choso pushes satorus shoulder and laughs. "are you guys gonna be alright in there? lots of people y' don't know."
“we’re always alright,” satoru grins.
“sure,” choso says. “you two have a weird effect on people.”
satoru grin's teasingly “you mean a sexy effect.”
“i mean a weird one,” choso reiterates.
suguru chuckles, “we’re on our best behavior.”
“that your best?” choso gestures to suguru’s half open shirt. “jesus.”
once they smooth inside they're blown in the face by the potent smell of alcohol and grass.
people give them glances then quickly look away like they're either intimidated or just not coherent enough to fully appreciate their beauty.
they find a couch in the corner that's low to the ground and good for people watching. suguru takes the end and man spreads out while satoru slouches beside him with his long limbs draped in studied disarray, his finger idly tapping his phone screen but not really looking at it.
frank ocean is softly floating in the background, it's overall a good kinda vibe.
they're just settling in when they notice toji. he’s up near the kitchen leaning against the counter dressed in black on black on black. he doesn’t smile at anyone and he doesn’t blink, just watches them watching him.
satoru lifts two fingers in a greeting. “toji,” he calls.
toji raises his cup in acknowledgment and stalks towards the two.
“you look well,” suguru smiles.
toji’s voice cuts across the room. “hm, what’d you bring?”
“weed,” satoru answers, grinning. “and each other.”
“i figured,” toji mutters. he takes a sip from his cup, then adds, “y'know, y/n's here.”
“oh, when'd she get here?” suguru asks trying to sound nonchalant.
“just walked in,” toji says. “looked abit sad, i can't lie."
“hm,” satoru hums looking over the crowd.
“and sukuna?” suguru asks.
toji’s yawns, “haven’t seen the guy, don't think choso invited him.”
“good,” satoru flashes his pearly teeth.
toji shakes his head as he watches them for another second. “you two are fucking sick,” he says.
“we know,” satoru replies.
“but you’re fun to watch,” toji adds, then vanishes into the kitchen.
satoru exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “i might combust.”
“oh cmon,” suguru says. “we haven't even seen her yet.” but obviously, as life would have it, they clock you.
and when you walk into the room like some higher being with that outfit, satoru breathes your name out then slaps a hand to his big stupid mouth. suguru doesn’t say anything but his hands are already itching for a pen, wanting to capture this moment in his own little way.
you looked perfect.
that’s all they can think in their half baked brains, watching you from across the room like you’re the moon and they'd never seen night before. the party smooshes around you all, orbiting the shine of your pretty smile and the flash of your earrings, the sweet ridiculous sway of your hips as you laugh at something yuki says and lean into her like you belong to no one.
they're not breathing right, they keep inhaling too deep or too slow, then holding it like they're trying to trap the moment inside their lungs.
“my god,” satoru mutters, "look at her.”
"i know..." suguru's got one of his hands rubbing his temples like this is all too much for him.
they’re stoned, yeah, but it’s the kind of high that sharpens things instead of dulling them down to a blunt smack. it makes your mouth dry and your stomach hollow and your hands twitch when you see something you want but just can’t touch.
you’re surrounded, of course. draped in others arms and flowing conversations while smiling so, so brightly, sipping from someone else’s cup.
yuki’s arms around your waist, maki’s laughing near your shoulder, shoko leaning in close to talk to you over the noise.
“i’d ruin her,” satoru says softly.
“shh, not here,” suguru murmurs.
then, choso appears, intruding their spectacle. he slips behind you like a shadow and you lean back into him freely, your head tilting toward his shoulder and your hand coming up to hold around his wrist. your fingers brush the hem of his sleeve and satoru physically can't help but twitch.
“what the fuck,” satoru huffs.
“best friends,” suguru reminds him. “remember?”
choso says something and you laugh, he wraps an arm around your waist and you don’t move away. satoru makes another strangled noise like the drama queen he is.
“calm down,” suguru says, though even his usually calm and soothing voice is aggressive now.
yet, their malice almost instantly disappears when they watch your eyes scan the room then, oh shit, they land right on them.
satoru feels it like a physical blow to the head, your gaze lands on him, then suguru, then both of them. your expression doesn’t change much, just a soft, almost curious look.
and then choso follows your gaze too, and...
fuck.
he smirks and they panic.
you smile as choso whispers something only you can hear in your ear, "you see those two over there? they've got this huge crush on you, y'know. might be worth indulging to forget about that asshole for tonigt."
you considered his words, it was the nerds from earlier, and hell if they didn't look even more attractive in the dark lighting... maybe choso was onto something.
he starts walking toward them, still holding your waist guiding you through the people like he’s bringing you home.
satoru’s heart starts thumping, suguru quickly closes the sketchbook he was about to start drawing in and sets it beside him.
“play it cool,” he murmurs.
satoru nods. “yeah, yeah! cool, i'm so cool,”
“lower your shoulders,” suguru adds.
“right.”
“stop bouncing your leg.”
“fuck me, bro.”
you stop in front of them like a beautiful monet. next to you choso cheeses. “you two remember how to say hi to a girl, or do i have to teach you?”
“hi! i- uh,” satorus voice cracks and he slaps a hand over his mouth.
“hi." suguru cuts in trying to save his best friend. you smile at him, sweet and a-lot-a-bit amused at gojos little slip up.
“hi,” you say, and your voice is warm and clear, offering satoru a smirk that makes his ears turn redder.
“this is satoru,” choso smiles, gesturing with one ringed finger. “he’s sort of a science freak, he's an astrophysics major, thinks weed makes him smarter.”
“it does,” satoru replies instantly, sitting up and adjusting his glasses while adorably avoiding eye contact with you. “scientifically.”
“right... and this is suguru,” choso continues, looking at him with a smile. “ he's an arts major. probably has a hundred drawings of you in that little sketch book.”
suguru almost choked at the call out and fumbles to skwark out a response. “hey! don’t tell her that.”
hm, this was definitely getting intriguing. you glance at him, angling your head to access him better. “oh, is that true?” you tease.
he meets your eyes shyly. “maybe."
you giggle and satoru feels it sink deep into his heart.
they could'nt believe it, you were seriously talking to them, like, right now. offering them your perfect pretty voice as you stood there radiantly gazing at them through pretty lashes. they could feel their blood rushing to all different places at the sheer proximity...
"you’re choso’s friends?” you ask, looking between them sweetly pretending to not notice the way they're practically eye fucking you. they were definitely fans, you could just tell. not to mention one of them apparently has some secret stalker sketches of you, they weren't exactly being subtle.
“yeah, classmates,” suguru throws out, rubbing his neck and adjusting his jeans while satoru still sat peering up at your figure.
these guys were a little weird, you'd thought that since seeing them in the hallway, but they were hot. like, smoking hot. “i’m a media comms major,” you giggle, “minoring in fashion marketing.”
“we know.” satoru blurts out way louder than anticipated, then catches himself. “i mean, cool. that’s cool.”
you raise a brow. “you guys stalking my linkedin or something?”
“lowkey, yeah,” suguru says unapologetically.
“jesus,” choso mutters.
but you laugh again like you don’t mind. you twirl a piece of hair around your finger. “that's... cute, i guess."
cute. she called us cute.
“mm. more like dumb freaks,” choso says fondly. and you just smile like you’re not even a little surprised. maybe you knew?...
“good,” you say. “i like freaks.” and satoru’s entire brain turns to mush while suguru clears his throat and pulls at his jeans once again.
choso drops down onto the couch with his legs spread and his back slouched, and you slip easily into the space beside him, your thigh brushing his.
“so,” you say, stretching your legs out. the hem of your skirt riding higher, “what do two scary smart guys like you do for fun?”
“this,” satoru says, pointing to his blunt.
“and this,” suguru murmurs, tapping his sketchbook, you glance over at the long haired guy.
“are you really drawing me or was that like, a joke?”
he doesn’t answer at first, just looks at you with that hesitant gaze, then flips open the sketchbook, turns it toward you, and holds it still.
your face sat staring back at you, charcoal and his smudged obsession all over the page.
hm, he was serious...
you nod, then laugh. “that’s kinda insane,” you smile, appreciative yet a little concerned, as one would be.
“yeah, he’s kinda insane,” satoru says.
“takes one to know one,” you reply, not looking away from suguru.
his voice is embarrassed now as he avoids your sparkling eyes. “do you... do you mind?”
you glance at him, then satoru, then choso, who just shrugs like he’s used to this kind of attention around you.
“guess not,” you say. “i think it’s hot, just wished i'd known of such devout fans a little sooner, y'know.”
satoru makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, suguru just hums and flips to a fresh page. he was always quieter when he was embarrassed, nervous, or flustered, and satoru could tell suguru was going insane over your careless flirting.
every word that fell from your mouth was driving the boys insane, they glanced at eachother and exchanged a silent conversation. one that said, 'i'm so fucking hard right now what the hell am i supposed to do!?' they both clear their throats and shift in their seats.
your eyes drag over to satoru next, making him tense up a little. “and you? physics, right? what do you do in your spare time?”
“i… read things. smoke, i think about time a lot.” look at photos of you, he almost stutters, adjusting his glasses again out of nervous habit.
you blink. “hm, time?”
“yeah, like, the concept of it. what it means that we experience things in sequence. how we know we’re not dreaming.”
god he was such a dork, but you loved it so far. he was cuter than suguru, one was stoic and sexy and the other was slightly more bubbly and cute, this dynamic was really starting to grow on you.
feeling confident you let the sweetness drop and the sultry tone take over, deciding to tease him in that flirty way.
“you're so weird.”
“yeah,” he says breathless at the change of mood, “i know.”
you stare at him, his big black rimmed glasses and his faded digi shirt, how big he was for such a timid seeming guy.
then you shift to suguru, he's quiet and strange, i mean, who the hell draws hundreds of sketches of someone they've never had the courage to talk to before?
yeah, they were both lowkey kinda guys, quiet and awkward. but fuck if they weren't bad as hell. catching their eye in the hallway and now meeting them at a party? the universe was surely giving you signs.
you watch as their eyes seem to wash over each and every part of your body, taking in every little detail.
you’re a little high, but not stupid. you’re used to attention but not like this. theirs feels… different. more intense, almost like they’re not flirting, more so studying.
choso slings an arm behind you, tapping your shoulder with two fingers. “you good?”
“mmhm,” you hum, leaning into his touch. “they’re interesting.”
“told you.”
“and hot.” you murmur.
satoru hears it and his breath hitches.
“you guys live on campus?” you ask, them being oblivious to the ulterior motives cooking up in your head.
“yeah, the dorms,” satoru says.
“it’s kinda gross.” suguru adds, the boys once again exchanging a look to almost check up on eachother. we're good so far, normal conversation isn't that bad!
“so you guys hang out a lot?” you ask, tilting your head.
“basically live in each other’s pockets,” choso says, tapping ash into the cup again. “they’re like married. it’s freakish.”
“shut up, it’s just practical,” suguru replies.
“yeah, no, that's hot,” you repeat again. two sexy guys living in the same dorm knowing they're both fans of you and we're currently shitting bricks over this insignificant conversation? this situation was almost too perfect to be playing out the way it was. you felt like the universe was playing some reverse harem trick on you.
you’re lounging back now as your finger traces patterns on the head of the couch right by sugurus neck.
they're almost having an out of body experience, everything is too much. your perfume is quite literally assaulting their noses in the best way, your body is moving and shifting and it's only worsening the growing bludges in both of their pants.
they feel an overwhelming urge to just pick you up and take you back to their dorm, sit you on the bed and study every little thing. ask every question they've been dying to know about you, take turns worshiping, praising, pleasuring the beauty that only existed on their phones until this very moment.
now you're talking to choso about whatever party's happening next week, engulfed in his words giving them time to debrief off to their own side of the couch.
suguru leans into satoru's ear and whisper screams like the room isn't teeming with noise. "what the hell do we do now?"
satorus still cooling down from the light teasing and rubs his eyes under his glasses. "she's literally right there, we can't lose this opportunity, bro. what should we say?"
"we could ask about her modelling?" suguru suggests.
"that's creepy." satoru shakes his head, shooting his head over his shoulder to make sure you're still busy talking to choso.
"her hobbies?"
"too basic!"
"then what the fuck do we say?!"
"you're acting like i talk to women!"
before they can finish their pathetic little plan to keep you interested, choso turns to them and speaks up.
“i’m gonna go grab a drink,” he laughs. he pushes up from the couch, a cocky smirk falls across his mouth. “don’t embarrass yourselves too hard, boys.”
suguru rolls his eyes and satoru feels his bones tense.
and just like that, you’re alone.
in this perfect little corner of the room, it’s just you and them. two boys who’ve been obsessing over you for months like it was a sport, acting unbothered every time you walked past even though they were starving in ways they’d never ever admit.
satoru leans back like he’s relaxed with his legs sliding wider, pretending he’s just getting comfy to hide the way his pants are getting tighter and tighter... his fingers tap his thigh slowly as he plasters on that wicked smile, yet inside, he feels like if he blinks wrong he’ll cry.
suguru try's to look calmer but his thoughts are loud, every one of them about where to take this next, how to keep it cool, how to not give away that he’s two seconds away from losing all of his composure.
you can pick up the sexual tension and decide to capitalise on it. “jeez, you guys always this intense?”
you fold your arms under your chest and lean in giving them a good look at your pretty cleavage. both of them glance down quickly, then immediately back up.
instead of panicking, satoru answers smoothly, “maybe you’re just distracting.”
suguru hums. “yeah, kinda hard not to stare at a girl like you.”
underneath the nonchalant-ness, they’re freaking the fuck out. since when were they able to hold up conversation without nerding out and scaring people off?
you laugh, waving it off. “i’m teasing. you’re just a bit nervous, that’s fine. you guys don’t talk to many girls or something?”
satoru gives a little shrug. “not ones like you.”
suguru leans in closer, “definitely not like you.”
you can tell that they're going to war in their own respective minds, you sorta had that effect on people. but they for some reason, made it much more obvious than other guys.
cute, you liked virgins.
behind this blatant flirting your mind drifts to sukuna, then to the girls you know he's hiding somewhere in his phone, and suddenly he's gone again. funny how that happens. if he can treat you like shit, then you can do the same.
your eyes drop to the sketchbook on suguru’s lap at the half finished sketch of yourself, he really was talented, you liked that in your men.
“so… you always draw girls you wanna fuck, orrr?”
satoru genuinely almost groans at the vulgar words coming out of such a cute mouth, but suguru doesn’t react as strongly.
“no.”
you turn your head slightly, lips turning up into a smile. “just me then?”
his eyes flutter shut for half a second like you'd caught him red handed. “yeah... just you.”
you trail your gaze down his torso deliberately, then turn to satoru.
“what about you, gojo?”
he clears his throat gently, “satoru, you can call me satoru.. and what about me?”
you lower your voice, fingers playing with your skirt. “d'you want me too? is this something the both of you like... discuss in your little nerd cave?”
he actually laughs under his breath trying for suave. “want’s a mild word...”
"hm. so, you ever think about what it’d be like?” your voice goes low. “taking me apart together?”
might as well throw the ball out there and see how they react.
and react they did, the guilty look on their faces confirmed what you pretty much already knew, they were into that freaked out throuple shit.
you continue like you’re talking about the weather, just trying to get a rise out of them, mentally and physically. “who’d start,” you say, “and who’d finish.”
your hand slides down suguru’s solid bicep and his throat bobs hard.
“you’d take turns, right?” you ask sweetly. “be real nice to me?”
satoru curses under his breath and suguru digs his nails into his knee to keep from shivering.
you smile at them, “or maybe not?”
now their heads are filled with images they’ve only let themselves fantasise about in the dark. suguru’s brain is showing him flashes, your hands bound with his belt, your mouth open and wet, your thighs trembling under both their grips.
satoru’s picturing you in his lap, suguru behind you, his fingers splayed over your throat while satoru kisses the words out of your mouth.
you lean back, finally giving them room to breathe, but they don’t. they seriously can’t.
and still, through the thick syrup of want, you feel it: the sting of guilt. you’re not drunk, maybe a bit high, bust still. when it came down to it, you were just being reckless while hurting.
memories of sukuna’s thick fingers on your waist just yesterday, the way he grunted when he finished and didn’t look you in the eye. just zipped up, threw some unsignificant words your way, and left.
you think of all the nights you cried over him and all the times you begged, all the times you forgave him just to keep things civil.
and you think of last weekend. and the weekend before that, and the weekend before that.
it seemed like you had a new story for each function you went to together, this was not healthy.
...yeah, fuck it.
they obviously want you, really badly, and you needed a good distraction. what better distraction than two tall, handsome strangers to take your mind off things?
you move so you're sitting in between them, and they part for you like the red sea. "can't let geto take all of the attention now can i?"
“jesus christ,” satoru whispers as you sit down almost ontop of him, he tries his best to keep his hands to himself as you readjust your skirt while sitting squished between them.
you catch yourself grinning before grabbing the white haired boys collar, what did you have to lose? one night, you could indulge for one night.
you lean in, suguru’s breath fans over your cheek as you press your lips to satoru’s, it was barley a brush, yet the exhale that escaped his lips was thick and needy. his hands jumped to your jaw but you pull away quick to give suguru some attention.
he meets you halfway with his eyes falling shut. his hand guides up your body and brushes your waist although he doesn’t pull you in, not yet, not unless you want it.
and you do.
so you kiss him deeper with one hand gripping his shirt and the other sliding up into satoru’s soft hair. they’re both touching you everywhere like they can’t believe this is real, they're half expecting to wake up in a cold sweat.
you pull back for air with lips bruised, and satoru’s chasing you before he even knows it, a needy, gasping thing.
your mouths meet messily with hunger. you nip his lower lip and he whimpers, then moans low in his throat as your hips shift between them, pressing firm to suguru’s thigh. satoru’s pupils are blown so wide they look bottomless.
and god, god, they want you.
"holy— are you real?" suguru manages to groan, and you feel ecstatic at the feeling.
all until the fear hits.
your eyes open, just barely and you do a quick sweep of the room. you see them everywhere, phones.
not aimed at you, but they're everywhere all the same. in hands, on laps, on tables. camera lenses you can’t see and screens you can’t control. this isn’t your dorm, this isn’t even your party, this is choso’s house. and you’ve made a career, a life, out of being seen a certain way, you can’t risk this.
not when there’s a chance he could see it. sukuna was a headache you wanted to deal with much later down the track.
you pull back pressing your palms to their chests. their mouths chase yours dazed and so out of breath, but you hush them with a kiss to the corner of suguru’s lips, a brush of your fingers down satoru’s jaw.
“we should take this somewhere more.. private.” you whisper sensually.
you slide off the couch and tug your dress into place, checking over your shoulder once as a coy smile spreads across your swollen lips. suguru’s standing eagerly and satoru fumbles with his belt that you'd pulled at earlier.
“lets go upstairs, yeah?”
you shoot down the hall and up choso's long stairway, you faintly hear them behind you whispering curses.
“jesus christ.” satoru mutters under his breath. “what's even happening...”
“this is a dream, it's gotta be.” suguru says.
“if it is, don’t wake me.”
you reach the upstairs hallway where the rooms are, and choso's standing by his bedroom door with the drink he said he was gonna grab earlier.
you look up at him and he seems to know the situation before you even had a chance to explain. his eyes flick over your body, the smear of gloss on your chin and the flushed heat of your cheeks, he doesn’t judge.
he stares behind you at the taller boys practically shaking with nerves, he tries to surpress a laugh at how pathetic his friends look. although, hes proud of them for not totally ruining their opportunity with you by saying something too creepy or out of pocket.
you step close, just enough for him to hear you over the noise of whatever shitty drake song was bumping.
“can i use your room, cho?” you ask politely. the way you say it is sweet and light, but choso can hear the not so nice undertones, the rage. the heartbreak. the fuck you of it all.
he looks like he's contemplating for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “both, huh?" he teases, earning a bashful look rom all three of you. "course, go crazy.”
you grin shyly as your fingers brush his wrist as you pass by, "thanks, love ya."
when the two men scuff by, choso nods, and yawns. “don’t fuck up my shit.”
satoru closes the door behind you with trembling fingers and suguru rubs his neck anxiously like he's ten seconds away from falling apart all over you.
they both look at you with wide eyes and unsure, after all, this was their first time.
they’re looking at you like you’re quite literally the single most amazing thing they've ever seen, and even with the air of uncertainty, they both looked so beautiful you wanted to sob.
you take a shaky step back toward the bed, and they follow suit.
they don’t rush you or fumble, they just inch closer like gravity’s dragging them to you. like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment and they’d rather die before wasting it.
you stand next to choso's big comfy bed, suguru stands close infront of you as satoru circles behind, they're both sweating bullets. you watch as their hands shake with the need to touch, to grab.
"well... go on." you whisper.l
both boys tense up, but as soon as the hesitation's gone they're scrambling to try and make this feel as natural and consensual as possible before indulging in their fantasies, like they'd always said they would if this was to ever happen.
“is this okay?” suguru asks, brushing his fingers along the bottom of your skirt. “we’ll stop if you—”
“—no,” you breathe. “no, it's fine. don't stop, just... please.”
the boys look at eachother like they'd struck gold.
satoru’s long fingers pull your tight top up and over your body, kissing at your neck as he does so. suguru stands behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a deftness that makes your thighs clench, his mouth grazing your shoulder blades as the straps fall loose down your arms.
they undress you like they’re unwrapping some beautiful luxury gift. for virgins, they were doing wonderfully so far.
suguru’s hands slide down your sides to unzip your skirt, and it pools around your ankles in a heartbeat. satoru drops to his knees to help you step out of it, and you could swear he shudders when your bare thighs come into view.
“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re…”
but he doesn’t finish.
he just looks up at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, blue and blown with complete and utter awe, he's staring like you’re some divine creature.
then suguru turns you gently, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face toward his. he kisses you slowly, and when he pulls back you’re trembling from the sensuality of it all.
you almost feel greedy having this much attention on you.
choso’s sheets are soft and rumpled beneath your thighs as they ease you down, laying you back so softly. satoru kneels beside you and suguru leans over you, and they begin to undress themselves slowly.
you cant help but groan because god, they’re unreal under all of that geeky shit.
suguru shrugs off his sweater, the hem dragging over his beautifully cut torso revealing smooth, pale skin and thick lines of muscle traced with soft black hair.
he’s covered in little scars, faint things like he’s lived a hundred lives just to get here, in this moment with you.
you can’t look away from the tattoos that curve around his chest, how they stretch over his muscle as he inches closer.
satoru pulls off his jumper in one messy sweep, ruffling his snowy hair and leaving it even more tussled than before. his t-shirt comes next, he’s a little leaner than suguru, but muscular all the same.
you stare, and they know you’re staring. i mean, you weren't being very subtle about it...
satoru goes redder in the face from this new attention, his hands are shaking again as he peels off his jeans. when you glance down, you gawk as his pretty cock slaps back against his tummy, so hard and long.
suguru’s slower as usual, keeping his eyes on you the whole time as he undoes his belt and pushes down his jeans, the snap of leather making your thighs squeeze together.
and then they’re both kneeling at the foot of the bed, fully undressed, looking at you like you’re god.
“she’s shaking,” suguru notices as his eyes trail up your bare legs. “we should start slow, satoru.”
you're genuinely overwhelmed at how methodical they seem to be, how having their undivided attention suddenly flipped the power dynamic, now you're at their mercy.
when they lay you back, when they open your thighs with trembling hands and eager mouths, you feel a flip of need in your stomach.
you’ve been touched before, plenty. you’ve been kissed, been fucked, been thrown around a bedroom by a man who only knew how to want you with his hands, not his heart.
sukuna was always rough and so, so selfish. he’d shove your knees apart without looking you in the eye, fuck you hard and fast like he was trying to pour out all of his frustration, and always left you cold and empty afterwards.
you let yourself be used, again and again. hoping that one dad, he’d see you, want you in the way romeo wants juliet.
and now? instead of that, there’s this.
satoru’s mouth hot and wet and oh so greedy as his tongue slides past your lips, moaning like he’s already got his cock inside of you.
suguru’s hands fan over your chest, groping your tits sensually, “fuck, want you so bad."
satoru pulls away from your lips with a gasp, tugging at your jeans. “fuck, want you bare. now.”
suguru butts in, “that okay?”
you nod, also breathless. “yeah,”
“good girl,” the purple eyed man smiles, his eagerness making you throb.
shit, for virgins these guys knew how to get a girl going, your mind was blown.
satoru falls to his knees and kisses your thighs feverishly, his spit drips onto your pussy before he laps it up with a filthy moan. “fuck, you’re wet,” satoru pants. “is that for us?”
you nod with your hips trembling, whines spilling out with each breath. "f—fuck! he's, yes it's for you." you groan.
suguru snakes a hand around the front for your cunt and finds your clit in record time, dj-ing the bundle of nerves using satoru's spit as lube. "aw, you like that baby? like having us both at once?"
they moan in sync when you moan out a "fuck, yes!"
satoru buries his face in your cunt like he’s trying to suffocate in it, his tongue circling your clit now as suguru toys with your nipples, his two fingers working deep inside you, slapping wet sounds into the quiet of the room. satoru's sloppy and greedy with his jaw completely soaked, eyes rolling back every time you whimper. “taste her,” he mumbles up to suguru. “holy shit, taste-”
suguru shifts positions and leans down without hesitation, then licks you right off satoru’s mouth. your knees almost give out.
“perfect,” he mutters.
“so fucking good,” satoru finishes.
they drag you further up the bed, both of them hard and leaking. you see the way satoru grips the base of his cock, flushed red and twitching, precum spilling down his knuckles. suguru’s is heavier, curved meanly upwards, all veined and dark, there's a piercing glinting at the tip.
“can we take you?” satoru pants while suguru's leaving heavy kisses up and down the sides of your shoulders.
“—yes!” you whimper, “please, please.”
the black haired ones on you first, face now buried between your thighs in place of satoru, tongue working your clit while satoru kneels beside your head, stroking his cock. “open,” he tells you, you obey, and he spits in your mouth with a devilish grin.
“swallow it,” suguru says, watching from between your legs. “good fucking girl.” he praises as he watches your throat bob.
they take turns. satoru fucks your throat slow and deep, his hands cradling your head like you're both fragile yet able. suguru sucks and licks up every inch of your cunt, his tongue curling inside you, then pulling back to spit on your clit before rubbing it in with his fingers.
“she likes that,” satoru says with a wrecked voice. “look how loud she's gettin'.”
“jesus,” suguru growls. “god, let me fuck her already—"
“wait,” satoru groans, pulling out of your throat with a pop. “i wanna be in her mouth when you go in.”
they flip you, get you on your hands and knees. satoru kneels in front of you, his cock glossy with your spit. suguru lines himself up behind you, hands firm on your hips.
you’re soaked and throbbingas he slides in with one slow, mean thrust, and you scream around satoru’s cock.
suguru groans a pornographic groan. “tight fucking pussy,” he pants. “gripping me so hard, fuck!”
“she's doing so well, taking my cock to the —fuck— to the base,” satoru gasps, thrusting into your mouth.
they fuck you in sync. suguru pounds into you from behind, each thrust making your thighs shake, cock punching deep into your cunt while satoru holds your face steady and uses your throat like a pocket pussy. tears streak your cheeks and spit drips from your lips.
you're completely and utterly wrecked, yet you’ve never felt more loved.
“gonna cum,” suguru growls, yanking you up by the hair. “gonna fill her up,”
“inside,” you gasp, pulling off satoru. “please, please come inside!”
suguru moans at that, and with one final pull, he's spilling inside you hard and deep. he keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum back up into you.
“switch,” you mumble almost instantly. “i want both.”
satoru's all breathless but he's grinning like a kid on christmas, he helps you onto your back.
suguru leans down and kisses you filthily, cum still dripping from your pussy onto the sheets.
you’re shaking, but still hungry for more of this sweet, sweet sex.
“you sure?” satoru pants, slapping his cock against your ass before lining up.
“yes,” you breathe. and when you confirm, he slides in slowly.
he tried to hold back, but the moment he bottoms out, his control shatters. he slams into you, moaning like he’s possessed, watching his cock fuck suguru’s cum into you with each thrust.
“fuuuuk, you’re dripping,” he gasps. “that’s his, huh? all that from us?” he leans down and kisses your open mouth, then pulls back to spit in it again. you swallow with a moan.
suguru watches, stroking himself with a fucked our expression. “you’re both so hot,” he sighs. “look at you two, jesus.”
after a good few deep thrusts, satoru too finishes inside you hard, his cock spamming and jerking deep in your cunt. you feel every spurt, hot and full mixing with suguru’s, dripping down your thighs.
and then, “open up,” suguru says, kneeling over your chest from his spot beside the bed.
you stick out your tongue and his seed covers the inside of your mouth. you swallow it all and the action makes the boys hard all over again.
still, they gauge that this was probably enough for the first time, and they rush to clean you up immediately.
this was sex you could seriously get used to.
~
after the clean up, you’re asleep before either of them can even utter the word 'aftercare'.
curled between them in the tangle of choso’s sheets, one leg tossed over suguru’s thigh, your cheek pressed deep into satoru’s warm chest.
your breathing is soft and steady like you’ve never slept better, like you were meant to end up right here, with both of them wrapped around you tight.
satoru stares down at you, stunned.
“she’s asleep,” he whispers.
“mm,” suguru hums beside him. “out cold.”
satoru breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “holy shit.”
suguru smiles slowly. “yeah.”
“i mean,” satoru whisper screams, “did that actually just happen? like, what the fuck?”
he looks at you again, at your bare shoulder rising and falling and how your lashes kiss your cheeks. your hand is fisted into his shirt, you’re holding onto him in your sleep.
he swallows. “fuck, man.”
suguru’s hand rests lightly on your hip, his fingers dotting soft circles over your skin, he can’t stop touching you even now. “that shit was like a dream.”
“she was perfect,” satoru agrees.
suguru's hand slides carefully up your spine and you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft whisper, and both of them freeze as to not wake you further. but you don’t open your eyes, you just sigh, sweet and content, pressing closer into the warmth of their worn out bodies.
suguru watches you like he’s studying religious scripture. “i’ve imagined it,” he says quietly. “a thousand times. how she’d sound. how she’d taste.”
satoru nods. “i thought it wouldn’t be as good as i imagined.”
“mhm, but it was better,” suguru says, voice hoarse.
“so much better.”
their thoughts drift back to how easily you let yourself be taken care of by them, letting them see you vulnerable, see you cry, even. they knew you didn't get that with sukuna.
"bet that beg's never fucked her like that.” suguru jokes, and satoru rolls his eyes. “obviously. if some virgins can outfuck that clown, that's just embarrassing.”
tthey stare at you again, admiring your pretty features as you sleep soundly.
satoru brushes a knuckle along your temple. “she was genuinely phenomenal, oh my god.” he's obviously still convinced this was all a dream.
suguru hums. “she clenched so hard on my cock, i thought i was gonna die.”
they both fall silent again, looking down at how peaceful you were.
“i hope we made her forget. about him, i mean. could tell something was up,” suguru sighs.
satoru nods. “mhm, hope we gave her something to think about instead of whatever issues they're having.”
“she deserves it,” suguru murmurs.
“yeah,” satoru says. “she deserves everything.”
"and you don't even feel the slightest bit guilty? screwing a taken women?"
"nope. not when her man is that dick."
suguru just smiles, brushing his hands through your hair and humming in agreement.
the room smells like you, they smell like you. they’ve got you on their hands, in their mouths, under their nails. you’re in their teeth, in their veins, in their bloodstream.
they'd never felt so utterly consumed before, and they wouldn't want it any other way.
~
the door creaks open just after two.
choso leans into the doorway with a curious glance, taking in the sight of you sleeping peacefully against the two boys.
“hey.” he whispers into the darkness.
satoru flinches like he’s been electrocuted.
“jesus!”
“shhh.” choso murmurs into a dry tone. “you’ll wake her.”
suguru huffs, “shit, how long have you been standing there?”
“long enough,” choso says, stepping fully into the room now. he crosses to the side of the bed like he’s done it a thousand times. “relax, m' not pissed off or anything.”
“you’re not?”
choso shrugs. “i let you guys come up, lowkey egged her on, too.”
satoru looks at him. “so you’re not… like grossed out?”
he glances down at you again, at the way you’re sleeping, deep and undisturbed with a softness on your face he hasn’t seen in weeks. he sees the glow in your skin and the tension gone from your shoulders, melted away like butter on a hot day.
he sighs. “no, she clearly needed this.”
satoru and suguru exchange a glance, unsure if they’re about to be punched or hugged.
but choso only leans over, hands surprisingly careful, and nudges satoru’s shoulder with a low murmur. “alright, up.”
satoru quirks a confused brow. “what?”
“move, she sleeps better when she’s not squished between two lanky assholes.”
“but she’s—”
“oh my fucking god, move.”
his tone leaves little room to argue, so suguru sighs, then gets up stiffly trying not to wake you, untangling himself from the bedsheets and carefully withdrawing from the warmth of your body. satoru follows, groaning quietly. you stir a little but don’t wake, just curl inward into the space they leave behind, a faint sound of protest escaping your lips.
satoru almost cries at the loss.
“go,” choso puhes, “before she wakes up and feels weird.”
suguru looks at you one more time. then nods solemnly. he pulls on his hoodie, grabs his sketchbook from the floor, but satoru just stands there, staring.
choso raises a brow. “need help?”
“no,” satoru mutters. “i’m fine.”
he pulls his shirt on inside out, then they leave without another word.
choso sighs then pulls off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his desk chair. he stalks back to the bed, careful not to wake you, then eases himself into the space satoru left behind.
you gravitate toward the new heat, you nuzzle into his chest with a little sigh, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
he smiles gently, taking in your adorably clingy nature.
“hey,” he murmurs fondly, brushing your hair from your face. “there she is.”
he doesn’t say anything else. just watches you sleep for a moment, long fingers stroking the plush of your cheek. your lashes flutter a little and your lips twitch, then you breathe his name without waking.
he closes his eyes contently, “sleep, ma,” he mutters. “you’re okay."
~
shit, your head was pounding.
your body was weighed down heavy with the kind of sex ache that makes your thighs shake when you stretch. you shudder under the covers and blink blearily into the chest in front of you.
“choso…?”
“hey.” his voice is sleepy and he’s barely opened his eyes. “mornin’, sweetheart.”
you’re nestled against him like you always are after long parties at his place, except this time your lips are swollen, your thighs are sore, and your body still sings with the memory of being ravished.
“uh, how did you—"
“js' found you like this,” he says simply, brushing a knuckle under your eye. “figured you’d want someone to keep the nightmares away or whatever.”
your heart melts.
“thank you, cho." you whisper.
he hums like it’s no big deal and like holding you through the night isn’t his favorite part of every party he has at his place.
you curl closer into him, your sleepy face tucked under his chin, breathing in his familiar scent. you and choso have always made sense, bestfriends since the beginning. you’ve never had to ask for much with him.
maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t care so much about you, if he could just be the guy who hosts the cool invite-only-parties and didn't get involved in the messy shit.
but he’s never had that option with you, no way.
not when he’s watched you make yourself small and insignificant for someone who doesn’t deserve you, he’s seen the way sukuna leaves you hollowed out and timid, he’s picked you up from the worst nights and still thought you were the best thing that ever happened to him.
he’s just there.
not because he wants anything from you, god, never, he’s not sukuna.
he just wants you to be safe, he wants you happy. wants you to know that someone sees you, that someone really gives a shit, because he really gives a shit.
so yeah, if it means slipping into bed beside you so you don’t wake up alone, brushing your hair back from your cheek while you breathe soft and steady, he’ll do it. because you’re his girl, even if you aren't really his girl. he’s always going to look out for you, no matter what.
if he can't be the one loving you right then he'll do everything he can to make those who can, do.
“hey, cho?”
“mm?”
“…do you have their numbers?” you ask shyly, trying to sound as flippant as you could.
he doesn’t have to ask who you mean, he just cheekily smiles. “yeah, baby,” he says. “i got you.”
"and cho?"
"yes?"
"don't tell ryo."
he would never, don't you worry.
~
monday
you told yourself it was just a one time thing. afterall, two guys at once was a bit much, even for you. (no matter if they were the best fuck you'd ever had.)
but then monday came.
you walk into the small campus café with your laptop tucked under one arm and your sunglasses still perched high on your pretty cheekbones, and there they were.
satoru and suguru. sitting in the back sharing a muffin, whispering furiously about whatever nerdy thing it was. normal, they hadn’t been inside you at the same time forty eight hours ago.
you almost turned around, but then suguru looks up, satoru following.
shit, they were so fucking pretty.
his eyes darkened when they landed on you like all he needed in this moment was to be close to you again, and you couldn’t move. couldn’t scoff and turn around, couldn’t not walk over to them when he raised a slow hand and curled his fingers in a quiet, come here.
so you walked over, and sat between them.
the vibe was a little akward, yet still somehow more comfortable than your expected. satoru was looking at you with that cute needy expression, and suguru smiled when his knuckles accidentally pushed at your wrist when he reached for his coffee. your stomach was flipping like a schoolgirl’s.
"you look as beautiful as ever, y/n." satoru murmurs as he grabs for your hand under the table.
"i still can't believe you're real, god, you're so cute." suguru whispers as his hands grip your thigh descreetly.
jeez, one night and they're getting this bold? you couldn't lie, you liked it.
an expectant smile crossed your lips when satoru leaned in and asked quietly, “wanna come over later?” you nodded, you knew you could never say no to these two.
tuesday
satoru keeps a bottle of lotion on his nightstand that smells like coconut and soy.
you’re not sure why that’s what sticks with you the most.
he'd kissed your thighs for fifteen full minutes before even touching you, he whispered mine, mine, mine into the hollow of your throat when you came, he looked at you after, eyes wet and mouth upturned like he’d seen something so divine.
instead of that, all you could focus on is lotion.
the smell of it on your wrists when you woke up in his bed, your body all aching and sore in the best way. when he sat behind you on the floor after your shower, hands gliding gently over your skin with the stuff, murmuring such sweet words in your ear.
“you’re so pretty like this,” he’d smile, rubbing circles into your shoulders. “all quiet and sleep.”
you let him touch you for a long time. let him press kisses down your spine, let him pull you into his lap and rest his cheek against your back as he listened to your hear beat.
you didn’t ask what this meant and neither did he, too soon for that.
wednesday
suguru brings you over to the dorm while satoru's out, and he sketches you.
you don’t know how you got to that point, one moment you were sitting on his bed in your underwear, eating strawberries from a chipped glass bowl, and the next he's looking at you like van gough looked at sunflowers.
“y/n, stay like that,” he said gently. you thought he meant it as a joke or something. maybe he was gonna do something freaky, but instead, he grabbed his sketchbook.
and then he drew you.
you followed his instructions and let him work away while you admired his beautiful face, taking in every little curvature of his blessed body. after he was through with sketching you raw, he placed his book aside, climbed onto the bed, straddled your hips, and kissed you so hard you felt him deep in your heart.
he’s quieter than satoru is and so much more intense. less prone to fidgeting, more prone to doing.
“you should be adored,” he said at one point, dragging his mouth along your collarbone as he plunged deeper inside of you. “you should be touched with all the care in the world.”
he didn’t realise you were crying until he kissed your cheeks and tasted the salt.
thursday
satoru’s the one who starts questioning every little thing first between the three of you.
at first he just acts really weird, he talks fast and says shit like “we’re not your boyfriends, right?” and, “i don’t wanna make it weird, haha, unless you do, but even then like… i dunno, just ignore me!”
you're lying on his floor in between his legs, he keeps running his fingers through your hair. you’re not wearing a bra, and he’s definitely hard, the perfect setting to have your mind turn hazy with pleasure.
but then, “do you regret it?” he asks suddenly.
"hm?"
“the weekend..” he replies. “and… everything after.”
you sit up with a confused look on your face.
satoru’s face is a mess of contradictions. he looks both nervous and cocky, like he’s daring you to reject him but also it would ruin him if you did.
you roll your eyes then kiss him rough until he's gasping for air.
“does that answer your question?” you murmur against his mouth, then he lets go of a groan.
“i’m so in love with you it’s disgusting,” he blurts out, then slaps a hand over his big mouth, turning red. “wait, pretend i didn’t—"
you kiss him again.
friday
suguru finds you in the library as you’re curled into a corner with your laptop, your hoodie's pulled over your head and your sunglasses are on. you're trying to avoid attention and pretend you’re being productive, when really, you’re just replaying the last five nights in your mind on repeat.
he smiles to himself and walks over, setting a cup of coffee by your hand. “hey there, pretty,” he says quietly.
he’s wearing glasses today with a loose button down, his hair is tied back in a low bun, he looks as perfectly put together as usual.
you grin before you can stop yourself. “hey, handsome.” he sits in the seat beside you, draping his arm over the back of your chair.
“you looked like you needed caffeine,” he murmurs. you glance at the coffee. it’s your exact order. “and a kiss,” he adds, even softer.
your face flushes hot.
“but i can wait until later.” he adds.
he doesn’t say, 'my place or yours,' but you hear it anyway.
you bite your lip, you know you weren't in a position to reject such a beautiful man. “later,” you echo, with a wide smile.
saturday
by now you stop acting like this isn't something you want.
there’s no “maybe this is a phase, maybe i just needed a distraction.”
there’s no one night stand logic that can explain the way suguru presses his face into your stomach after he comes, arms wrapped tight around your hips whispering about how he never wants to let you go.
there’s no throw away excuse for how satoru touches your face so gently, palms cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing your big lip, whispering your name as he thrusts in and out.
there’s no ignoring the ache in your chest when you leave them in the morning. your fingers hover over your phone every night, like maybe if you just called, one of them would show up at your door again. you’re not sure when this stopped being about sex.
and hell, you’re not sure it ever was.
saturday was spent overthinking.
sunday
satoru and suguru have you shared again, you're panting heavily from their joint efforts to make you finish as they caress your face tenderly, covered in sweat themselves.
"you did so well, baby. you took the both of us like a pro." satoru praises.
"it's like you were made just for us to take apart, isn't that right, honey?" suguru adds.
you could only whimper in reply from the intense moment that still hadn't been shaken yet.
the two hush you, whispering such sweet words while they kiss up and down your body trying to calm you down. you're left reeling with the thoughts you didn't want to acknowledge quite yet.
“i’m scared.” you whisper.
the boys stop their aftercare and move to hover around your face that's now somehow covered in tears.
"oh, my sweet girl... of what?" suguru asks, stroking your head as satoru rubs your cheek.
"it's just... this is getting too much. i'm scared of sukuna finding out, i'm scared of you two leaving me, or getting bored, or someone finding out, or—"
"—baby, relax. thats not gonna happen, we promise we'll—"
you cut satoru off. “but what if it’s just a phase? or something stupid we’re all into just because it’s new? what if i wake up and you guys leave? what if you don’t want me tomorrow? what if this whole thing is just…”
you're unloading everything that had been slowly eating away at you, you can’t finish through the small sobs.
suguru cuts in firmly this time. “no.”
"y/n, listen to me. me and satoru aren't going to abandon you, hell, if anything you should be the one walking away from us. were just two freak losers who got extremely lucky."
“yeah,” satoru agrees, his voice cracking halfway through it. “you’re not just something we wanted to fuck, okay? we want all of you, all of the time. but if sex is all you want to give us, then that's fine, we really don't mind.”
you close your eyes. the room is so quiet now, just your breathing and theirs, the soft creak of the floorboards as the building settles.
“it just feels so wrong... like i'm using you two to get over the pain someone else is giving me. someone who i'm still technically with..."
“we’re not taking anything negatively from this,” suguru speaks softly. “we don’t want anything you don't want. we just want you, in whatever way you want to be wanted.”
satoru exhales through his nose. “we’ve admired you for so long,” he murmurs. “we've been needing this for literal years, y/n, we're never going to just up and leave, it's a privilege you even looked our way that day in the hallway, let alone let us have you like this. morals be damned, we couldn't care less about you using us for solace.”
his confession makes you want to sob harder.
“i never thought i’d get to touch you,” suguru adds. “never even dreamed of this. of holding you like this. of being held by you, so don't worry your pretty little head, we're completley at your mercy.”
youre overwhelmed by the honesty, by the massive amount of devotion these two silly guys have you. hell, you were cheating on your boyfriend and using them as emotional anchors, they seriously were obsessed.
still, their attention always felt so pure.
“...you make me feel like i matter,”
“you do matter,” satoru assures, “you’re the realest person out there, y/n. and we lo-like you for you.”
"we love every part of you, okay? we're not gonna leave you." suguru smiles.
your eyes sting worse, and you think of sukuna, of all the nights you curled away from him after he’d taken what he wanted. you think of the mornings he didn’t even say goodbye. you think of the shame. the emptiness. the way you convinced yourself it was love when it really, really wasn't.
this, what satoru and suguru give you, is nothing like that.
you reach for them, pull them closer until their limbs are tangled in yours again, until you’re flush against suguru’s chest and satoru’s long body is draped around your back.
you close your eyes with a tight throat. “don’t let me go,” you whisper.
“never,” satoru murmurs into your hair.
“not ever,” suguru echoes, thumb stroking your waist.
~
now it was time to face the elephant in the room, after your week of emotional, intense sex with satoru and suguru, sukuna finally came over after a week of radio silence.
he basically cock blocked you just as you were about to leave your room and head to the boys, the quietness felt so disgusting when he was close.
he sits at the edge of your bed with his arms folded across his broad chest, you’re still by the door with your keys dangling from your hand, bag slipping off your shoulder.
“you’ve been weird,” he says flatly.
you blink, taken aback. “what?”
he doesn’t look at you when he says it again. “you’ve been weird. haven't texted for days. no invites.”
you gulp. “look, sukuna, i’ve just been—"
“busy?” he cuts you off, his voice deadly sharp. “yeah. busy ignoring me.” the door clicks shut behind you and your hand trembles on the knob.
“i’m not ignoring you,” you say much quieter now. “you’ve been busy too, no? with law midterms, remember?”
“don’t patronise me.” he scoffs.
“i’m not,” you murmur. “i’m trying to talk to you.”
he stands abruptly now pacing, fingers running through his pink hair in that agitated way that always comes before he says something horribly cruel.
“nah,” he mutters. “you’re trying to do damage control or some shit. every time i text, you take hours to respond. you come back home late, you dodge my calls, you’ve been hanging out with..." he pauses, squinting. “who’ve you even been hanging out with?”
"so you're stalking my location now?" you try to shift the conversation but the blank look on his face lets you know that he's not having it.
your mouth goes dry. you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, guilt, even though you told yourself a hundred times it wasn’t really bad cheating if he was doing the same behind closed doors.
“choso,” you lie. “and shoko. i’ve just been trying to keep my head on straight, kuna.”
“bullshit,” he snaps. “you’re lying.”
“i’m not!”
“don't fucking yell at me, you are.” he growls.
you can’t look at him, because he’s right, you are. not just about who you’ve been with, but about everything. about how you recoil when he touches you, you don’t like how he talks to you in front of your friends, you look for other names in your phone when things go wrong.
“why are you doing this,” you ask softly, “why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
“because you’re not the same,” he snarls. “because something’s fucking off, and you think i’m too stupid to notice!"
you feel a knot in your stomach, not guilt, but anger. you’ve kept your mouth shut for months, made excuses for him, wiped away your own tears before anyone else could see them. and now he’s standing in your dorm, looking at you like you’re the problem? like he hasn’t been slowly sucking the light out of you since the start of the semester.
“it's none of your business. you do the same thing, sukuna,” you snap.
his red eyes narrow.
“you go ghost, ignore me for days, don't call, don't text. maybe i don’t wanna tiptoe around you every day. maybe i’m tired of getting punished for needing space, or being quiet, or not wanting to fuck you every single time you come over!”
his face twists. “so that’s what this is about?”
you laugh bitterly. “of course that’s the only thing you hear!”
“i fucking knew it,” he seethes, stepping closer. “you’ve been getting dick from someone else.”
your blood goes cold.
“the fuck?”
“who is it?” he demands. “that freak choso? is it toji? what, are you on some slut streak now, trying to fuck your way through all your little guy friends?”
you’re shaking with anger now.
“get out.”
“what?”
“get out, sukuna.”
he stares at you with his chest heaving.
“don’t talk to me like that,” you whisper. “don’t come into my room and call me names and accuse me of shit that you’ve done to me.”
he laughs then scoffs, stepping back. “so that’s it, huh? i call out your bullshit and suddenly i’m the villain?”
“you’re always the fucking villain!” you yell.
...
“you’re fucking pathetic,” he spits. “cry me a river, i'm gone.”
but you don’t cry. not until after the door slams or until you hear his boots stomp all the way down the hall, not until he’s fully gone. and then you’re on the floor.
knees pulled up to your chest with your hands shaking. it’s not even the fight, it’s the months you spent convincing yourself he loved you, you forgot how to want things that weren’t him, he turned every good thing sour and convinced you that it was your fault.
eventually, your hand finds your phone. you stare at your contact list through blurred teary vision. you scroll past 'kuna's' name, you scroll past choso.
and you stop on satoru and suguru's. your chest heaves with pain, you shouldn’t. they don’t deserve this. you can’t drag them into your mess just because you’re too weak to be alone.
but you think about their little confession earlier, how they were so adamant on being there for you, and decide this is the best thing you can do.
“hello?”
satoru’s voice is expectant like he was already waiting for you to call. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out except a strangled breath. “hey,” he asks softly. “are you okay?”
and you break. “can i come over?” you whisper. “please?”
satorus heart breaks in two when he hears the gentle sob in your plea, “of course,” he says. “i’ll come get you.”
“no,” you say quickly. “don’t. i'll come.” there’s a beat of silence. you imagine him looking at suguru. maybe nodding. maybe holding the phone between them like you’re some rare bird that landed in their hands and they’re afraid to scare you away.
“we’re here,” suguru says quietly now. “whenever you want.”
you nod, even though they can’t see you. “i’m leaving now.” then you hang up.
you stumble across campus with your hands shoved deep in your pocket, all you can think about is getting to their dorm and collapsing into their arms.
when you arrive, satoru’s there with the adorable messy hair you'd grown to love. suguru stands just behind him in a black t-shirt with his hair tied back, looking scared for whatever had hurt you now.
when you walk in past the boys, the pressure seems to ease up, but you could still feel the guilt eating away at you.
satoru comes to you first with his arms open and wide, suguru follows close behind, you fall into satoru’s chest shaking. he holds you like he wants to sew your broken parts together with his hands. suguru’s arms wrap around you both from behind, breath warm on your neck.
no one speaks until you whisper, “can i stay?”
suguru laughs solemnly. “you never have to leave.”
then they kiss you tenderly, this is what you needed.
some may of preferred a soft night full of praise and tight cuddles, but you? you just needed them to take your ability to think away, there was time for that softness later, afterwards.
ithey knew you well enough by now to know exactly how to take care of you in this kind of situation, and they got straight to it.
five minutes later they've wrestled your clothes off, and satoru’s tongue is trembling in your cunt like he’s going to cry from how good you taste.
he’s murmuring your name over and over with wet lips dragging sloppy kisses over your folds, his moans humming against your clit. he sounds wrecked, like he's unworthy but taking all he can get anyway, not at all entitled or selfish.
and suguru, he’s watching as his hand slides over your stomach, tracing circles against your skin as he holds you still for satoru’s mouth. every movement is so gentle, so purposeful.
but satoru just groans, deeper, like he physically can’t help himself.
“can’t, she’s so good— fuck, you’re so fucking good—" his muffled voice is strained and needy.
he laps you up with a helpless rhythm, his hands are gripping your thighs like he’s trying to keep you there, keep you there for him to service. his glasses are long gone, his eyes are glazed, his mouth is glistening with you.
you can barely breathe, you’re crying for what seems like the fiftieth time that week. not messy out of control sobbing, just quiet, stuttering tears. and it’s not from the orgasm building in your spine. it’s from how they’re treating you so gently.
suguru notices your wet face immediately and leans in, kisses your cheek, then, “you okay, sweetheart?”
"...i just... he never—"
your voice cracks and you can't finish the sentence, not that you need to.
because they know, they know.
satoru’s pace falters just a little. suguru’s fingers rub up and down your tummy.
“he doesn't deserve you,” suguru says, so low it’s almost a growl. “he can't handle all of this.”
you turn your head and sob once, the truth of his words really hit something deep within you it seems, because then you come.
hard.
satoru groans like he’s the one finishing, licking you through it with desperate, uncoordinated strokes, gasping against you like he’s addicted to the taste of your pleasure.
your body locks, then shudders, then melts.
and suguru pulls you into his big, safe arms, kissing your wet eyelids shut, murmuring soft, incoherent things against your skin.
you blink up at him, dazed and sore.
“do you wanna stop, baby?” he asks in a quiet voice.
and you say no.
hell no, you don’t want to stop.
you want to be held, ruined, then rebuilt afterwards.
you want them to drown out everything he left behind.
so suguru fucks you slow.
he guides you onto your back, one hand cradling your face, the other stroking down your thigh as he lines himself up. you feel the thick head of his cock press to your entrance, and your fingers tremble where they’re fisted in the sheets.
he pushes in.
inch by inch.
watching your face.
watching every reaction.
he doesn’t slam, doesn’t shove, only presses in gently until he’s buried inside you to the hilt and your walls are fluttering around him.
you gasp, whimper, any sound you could possibly be making in a situation like this was pouring out in humiliating waves.
and he moans, “fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re— so tight, s-so good—"
satoru is still beside you, one hand in your hair, the other jerking himself slow, his mouth slack.
“she’s perfect,” he whispers. “she’s fucking... god, suguru, look at her.”
and suguru is, he fucks you like you’re made of glass. like this is the only chance he’ll ever get to love you. slow, dragging thrusts that push so deep they punch even the littlest sounds out of your sweet mouth.
you cling to him.
you whimper his name.
“please,” you gasp. “please! don’t stop— don’t leave—"
satoru kisses you so soft it makes your head hurt.
“never,” he says.
that seems to start the mantra of praise as they spill pretty words into the air.
"he didn’t deserve your body. or your heart.”
“we’ll take better care of you, baby.”
"pretty things like you need to be treasured."
and then, "open for satoru, sweetheart.”
you blink through the tears, still spread open and full of suguru, and then satoru is there again, cock flushed and leaking, breath ragged as he kneels by your head.
“can i?” he whispers. “i’ll go slow. i swear.”
and you nod.
because you trust them.
because you want them.
this was all happening so fast but you just couldnt seem to care.
satoru hovers your chest, his cock heavy on your lips and you open for him with tongue out, lashes wet, suguru still thrusting into you slow and deep and steady.
“fuck,” satoru breathes. “fuck, baby! just like that—"
you suck him in and he chokes on a deep, sensual groan.
his fingers curl in your hair as he starts to fuck your mouth, soft at first, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you, but you whimper and gag and grip his thigh, and he loses it.
he starts moving faster, much deeper.
the wet sounds of your mouth around him mix with the slap of suguru’s hips against yours.
you’re being worshipped and all but consumed. you can’t speak, can’t even think, you’re just feeling, a vessel for their pleasure, full of their hands and cocks and pure, undying love.
because that’s what it is.
twisted and bruising.. but it’s love.
there's no possession, or violence. just two boys who’ve been obsessed with you for years, who would rather die than see you cry over someone who didn't deserve you again.
and when they both come, satoru across your tongue with a helpless sob, suguru deep inside you with a raw groan and a hand pressed over your heart, it feels like freedom.
this is what it feels like to be fucked loved right.
you lay there soaked while they pet your hair and whisper. “so good,” satoru smiles. “you were so fucking good."
“you always are,” suguru adds. “you’re ours.”
you’re not crying now, not quite. but your chest feels split open, nerves buzzing like something too big to hold is trying to crawl out. you can’t speak. can’t move. you just lay there, fucked full and coated in their cum, staring at the ceiling like it’s got answers hidden in the plaster cracks.
satoru takes note of your dazed expression. “hey,” he says softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “too much?”
you shake your head, but your mouth doesn’t cooperate.
suguru’s weight moves behind you, he’d curled around your back after they’d finished, warm and sticky yet safe. now he leans over you, his voice a low drawl in your ear. “you’re okay, you’re safe, baby. with us.”
you nod, a tiny tremble as satoru presses a kiss to your forehead. “let’s clean you up.”
they lift you gently, one arm under your knees, one around your back. satoru carries you to the bathroom while suguru turns on the shower, testing the temperature with his hand. steam curls around your skin, soft and warm.
they step in with you, satoru supports you against his chest, water running down both your bodies. suguru kneels in front of you with a washcloth, moving like he’s handling a painting or a prayer. “gonna clean you real gentle,” he says. “you did so good for us.” the first touch of the cloth between your legs makes you shiver.
“i know, i know,” suguru murmurs. “you’re sore. we’ll be careful.”
he’s not just washing, but caring for you as he dabs away the mess between your thighs. “look at how much we gave you,” he says softly, gazing up. “you took it all. every drop.”
you shudder, just a little, overwhelmed sound. satoru kisses your temple. “it's okay, baby. it's okay."
suguru cleans the rest of you up, at this point your entire being feels free of impurities, your soul, even. its like they’ve cracked your soul open and poured themselves inside.
you look up at them, blinking through tears and steam. “you don’t just want me for sex?” you whisper.
satoru makes a strangled sound and hugs you tighter. “jesus,” he breathes. “no, never.”
“we want all of you,” suguru says. "every inch of you, baby.” you bury your face in suguru's chest, he’s also a little shaky.
“you could fuck us a thousand times,” he says, voice cracking, “and we’d still just wanna talk to you. sit next to you and listen to you talk about anything and everything.”
“we wanna know you,” suguru says. “wanna ruin every memory you had with him, overwrite them.”
your heart breaks, but not from pain, or from pleasure, but from the terrifying, beautiful truth of being seen. being known.
suguru whispers, “you’re so good to us.” then satoru kisses your forehead. “you’re enough,” he says. “just like this.”
you fall asleep so warm, soothed down into unconsciousness by their arms. now, you’re silent between them.
suguru looks over you softly, and satoru is awake too. lying stiffly beneath you, eyes wide open and glassy in the moonlight. “you know she hasn’t fully broken up with him,” suguru whispers.
satoru’s face drops like a puppies “i know.”
“hm.”
satoru exhales, rubbing gently on your arm. “i just… i don’t wanna be a secret, y’know?” he says. “feels like i’m in middle school again. like i’ve got a crush on the most popular girl in school, and if anyone finds out, i’m gonna get laughed out of the room.”
“you’re not in middle school,” suguru mutters. “you’re in a bed with her.”
“i know. js' doesn’t feel real...i keep thinking,” he says softly, “what if she wakes up one day and regrets it?”
suguru doesn’t say anything. the thought has haunted him too. “what if this is just a rebellion?” satoru whispers.
“what if she’s just pissed at sukuna and we’re… convenient?”
“we’re not convenient,” suguru says. satoru lets out a short, bitter laugh. “she's been too vulnerable with us for this to just be convenient.”
"hm, i guess..."
“don't worry toru, everything is going to be alright,” suguru says. satoru nods and curls his arms tighter around you.
he presses his mouth to your hair. “i love you,” he whispers. not expecting an answer. just needing to say it. suguru’s hand smooths protectively over your stomach. “i do too,” he says. “always will.”
you stir a little, murmuring something incoherent in your sleep. satoru freezes and suguru holds his breath, but you don’t wake, just nuzzle closer.
your body knows where you’re safest.
~
you were back in your own orbit, mentally healing from the crash out with sukuna and using the memory of satoru and suguru to ground you to whatever schedule you were trying to stick to.
you were doing really well, things seemed a little less scary when you were alone nower days.
but, you know what they say about good things.
a disturbance from your daily note revision was interrupted by a loud knock. you open your dorm door half asleep, thinking it’s shoko or maybe choso coming to check in, your voice is groggy. “hey, who is it—”
“so you're fucking them?”
it’s sukuna. he storms inside without waiting, he smells like weed and sweat and pure and utter rage. when the door slams shut behind him, it rattles the frame. “answer me,” he snarls. “are you fucking gojo and geto?”
you blink, completely stunned. your heart jumps in your chest. “what are you even talking about?”
“don’t fuck around right now!” he growls, stalking closer. “don’t lie to me, i’m not stupid.”
“we're not a thing anymore sukuna why the fuck do you care?! you walked out on me!”
he scoffs, “you think that counts as a break up? did those words ever leave my fucking mouth?" he scoffs loudly. "god, you think i haven’t noticed? you've been walking around all chappy like, like you’ve been—” his mouth twists up in disgust, “—bred.”
you freeze.
“i didn’t want to believe it,” he spits. “but you’re fucking filthy. knew it the second i saw you the other night. knew something was wrong, you’ve got that look on your face, like you’ve been ruined, like some other dick already beat me there.”
“you’re out of your mind.” you roll your eyes.
“am i? am i?!” his voice ricochets off the walls. “how long has this been going on? how long you been sneaking around behind my back? letting those losers put their hands all over you? let them stretch you out like the whore you are?”
“don’t talk to me like that,” you say quietly, not matching his energy at all.
he laughs cruelly. “why not? isn’t that what you are now? a whore? letting two guys run a train on you like you’re fucking community pussy?”
you flinch like he’s hit you.
“what’d you do, huh? let them talk sweet to you?” he sneers, advancing again. “gojo tell you you’re pretty? geto say you’re ‘divine’ like he’s reading fucking poetry off your tits? is that all it took to turn you into a cheating slut?”
youre growing really sick of this degrading asshole, he opens his mouth again to choke out another quip, but you slap him, hard.
he doesn’t react, just wipes the corner of his mouth, then looks at you with a stare darker than fury.
“don't talk about them,” you say, voice trembling with rage. “they've treated me better in one night than you have this whole relationship.” you snarl.
“so that’s it, then?” his voice rises. “you let them rail you and now you’re in love? we're just over?”
“well yes? they actually give a shit about me."
he laughs again, but it breaks off. something flashes across his face, almost like pain. then: “they don’t care about you. they just wanted to see if they could fuck the golden girl. you’re nothing special, not once they’ve both had you.”
“you don’t know a thing about them.” you stand your ground, staring daggers into his eyes.
“i know they’re pathetic. i know they’re weak little virgins who’ve probably been jerking off to your instagram for years. and now what? they tag teamed you and whispered some sweet nothings while they watched each other fuck you? did you like that? getting split open like a pornstar, is that your thing now?”
you’re seething.
“i didn’t believe it,” he spits. “choso said you were glowing. said you were feeling good lately, didn’t even think twice. just figured maybe i’d finally gotten through to you, maybe you were actually starting to feel something. turns out you were getting it from them.” he shakes his head.
you take a breath, steadying yourself. “you never gotten through to me,” you say. “never even tried, so miss me with that bullshit.”
he snarls. “don’t fucking do that. don’t act like i didn’t care about you—"
“—you cared about you, sukuna. about being right. about being the one i came back to, even when you didn’t deserve me.”
his eyes widen with disbelief. “and they do?”
“they listen to me! they make me feel safe.”
he stares at you. his breathing is hard now, chest heaving. “so what, you gonna be their little girlfriend now? hold hands in the quad with your geeky little nerd boyfriends? gonna let them show you off like a piece of meat?”
“yeah, maybe,” you say. “maybe i will.”
he shakes his head. “you’re a fucking slut.”
you feel the blood drain from your face and he notices it. he sees the pain flash in your eyes. and for a second, just a small, fleeting moment, he looks like he regrets it.
you lift your chin. “don’t call me that.”
“why not?” he snaps. “it’s what you are now, isn’t it? playing perfect on campus while you get used like a fleshlight by the two weirdest freaks in the math building.”
“get out,” you whisper.
but he doesn’t move.
“get the fuck out!" you begin to yell, walking up on him until he backs up towards the door.
"you'll miss me." he tries to push, looking you dead in the eye as he smiles with that belittling glint.
“i missed you while we were still together, fuck face.”
silence.
"whatever. m' gone." and he turns, and he leaves.
"stay gone this time." you call out, slamming the door.
you don’t hear from sukuna again after that night. you thought maybe he’d show up the next day, demanding an apology, some groveling, some ridiculous admission that you were wrong to move on. but he doesn’t.
instead, from then on he starts showing up in other ways, on your feed, tagged in blurry stories from parties, surrounded by girls who don’t know better.
you hear through the grapevine that he’s been on a spree, sleeping around. saying shit like “i’m single now, guess i gotta make up for lost time,” with a smug little grin. even maki brings it up once, rolling her eyes. “he’s just a horny cunt. it’s pathetic.” you nod, sip your iced coffee.
“he’s trying to prove he doesn’t care,” choso adds. “but he does. it's fucking embarrassing.”
instead of replying you start filling that space sukun left with something else. ever since you finally broke shit off with him, you’ve been getting closer and closer to satoru and suguru, and not just physically anymore.
you're listening to them talk about their majors in the library as they help you with your marketing assignments.
you pose for suguru whenever he wants to draw you, his new folio of work was going to be centered around you this semester, apparently.
you'd sit in the middle of satoru's bed as suguru sat on the floor looking up at you, sketching lines. satoru would be busy typing away at his computer completing his homework. it was the kind of domestic bliss you'd always longed for in a partner, and in this case, partners.
on the weekends, the boys would take you out to pretty cafes, hidden spots where the lighting was perfect and the scenary was photographable. you'd put them to work taking various photos of you for instagram, saying you've been 'slacking off lately' because of them. "the fans need something to eat. after all, you two aren't my only ones, after all."
they just smile and count their lucky stars that they were able to help you curate the very thing they obsessed over not too long ago.
their dorm became the place to be, after parties you'd all crash out together in suguru's bed, tangled in the limbs of one another.
the boys staring became a normal thing, you'd always catch them looking at you, taking apart every movement you made. it was daunting at first, but now you knew it was just because they admired you so much.
it definitely made you feel special.
you go to another party the following friday. not one of choso’s this time, but a campus wide art show afterparty in some crumbling loft. suguru’s reading a short piece upstairs for his portfolio, and you cheer loudest in the crowd, earning a soft smile from the man.
satoru stands beside you in his hoodie and jeans, chewing his lip and looking like he’d throw hands for a single glance in your direction. afterward, you snap a photo of you sitting on a couch, a flash of suguru’s rings on your waist and satoru’s hand on your thigh. a caption that says, 'soft launch?' your comments go feral.
@/tysoc23: who is she with???
@/miamiamia she’s got secret lovers now?
@/innnoooo wish that was me.
every day you spend with them, your light gets brighter. you start studying with them more often in the campus chapel between classes, lying beside them in the pews while suguru reads out loud from his religion texts, you and satoru listen with fond expressions listening to him recite the scripture.
suguru smells like amber and ink, a smell you'd grown to adore.
every afternoon spent with satoru, he walks you across campus just to detour into the physics building to show you something dumb, a chalkboard equation that “reminds him of you,” because its so complicated yet beautiful, whatever the fuck that meant.
you cherished every second nevertheless.
he makes you laugh so hard your cheeks hurt. he always knows when you’re about to cry, even if you don’t.
they don’t push and they don’t ask for more than you’re ready to give. and yet, you want to give them everything.
satoru starts leaving one of his hoodies in your dorm becuas he knows how cold you get when they aren't there. suguru brings you incense and hangs it by your mirror. their things start to trickle in, little tokens, little bits and pieces.
one night, you fall asleep with your head on suguru’s chest and wake up to satoru’s fingers in your hair, his sleepy voice whispering something like, “she’s so perfect.” you pretend to still be asleep.
sometimes you wake up alone. sometimes you wake up tangled between them, your legs draped across suguru’s lap, satoru’s breath hot on your neck. and sometimes, on soft mornings, when the world is still, one of them will whisper that they like being your favorites.
you still don’t define it, but everyone, including the three of you, can tell you're a thing.
~
sukuna watches from the jealous, seething sidelines, and you know he was.
you catch him across campus sometimes, lingering too long when you walk by. you hear about the girls he’s sleeping with, the way he drinks too much now and picks fights with guys he used to ignore. you don’t feel anything for it anymore, pity, anger, jealousy, none of it.
it's just a good, fair distance.
~
a few weeks pass by of healing, love, friendship, all that lovely gooey shit.
you’re sitting at a tiny booth in a tucked away cafe, one of those old ones that still plays jazz from a radio and serves lattes in chipped ceramic mugs. your hands are wrapped around your cup, legs crossed under the table, suguru’s sketchbook open between you.
“this doesn’t look like me,” you tease, squinting at his latest drawing.
“it’s not you,” suguru murmurs, smirking faintly. “it’s the concept of you.”
“oh my god,” satoru groans from your other side, halfway through stealing the sweet foam from your latte with his spoon. “can we go five minutes without suguru seducing you with dumb art terminology?”
“i’m not seducing her,” suguru says, without looking up. “i’m studying her. for my project, duh.”
“same thing,” satoru mutters, dropping the spoon into your saucer and leaning over your shoulder. “let me see.”
you tilt the sketchbook so he can look. his chin brushes your temple and his breath is warm.
“whoa,” he says, genuinely awed. “she looks… weird but hot.”
suguru glances up and happily shrugs. “that’s what she is.”
you roll your eyes, but your smile is shy. “you guys are so weird.”
“and you like it,” satoru beams.
you bump your shoulder into his. “i guess.”
suguru just hums, pencil still moving. “you keep saying that like we didn’t catch you doodling our initials in your notebook last week.”
you go still. “…you went through my notebook?”
“you left it open.”
“that’s private!”
“you drew little hearts too,” satoru gasps. “and put my letters before his, you love me more!”
“i’m leaving.”
“you’re not,” suguru says calmly, flipping the page again. “you haven’t finished your drink.”
you fake roll your eyes, but genuinely, you've never felt more at ease.
the three of you orbiting each other so naturally, like this was always fated to happen.
you catch suguru’s eye, then he smiles at you softly. satoru tosses a sugar packet at you and sticks out his tongue. you laugh. and it’s good, more than good, actually. it's perfect.
you think you could do this forever, forever with these two insanely hot nerds who just so happen to be just as infatuated with you, as you are them.
forever intertwined with these people who look at you like you're made of gold.
you knew for the rest of your life, you were going to be deeply rooted in the narrative that was satoru and suguru, and god, not you, nor them, would have it any other way.
a/n i hope you liked this re-vamp! if you saw any typos... no you didn't. (i suck, ik i need to proofread plz don't throw tomatoes at mama)
frat!gojo likes to secretly fuck librarian!reader…
you’re only a couple years older than him, but somehow scored a job at the college library. He thinks you’re so cute, sitting behind the desk, jotting down notes and keeping things organized. The first thing his eyes notice when he steps in is your button down blouse and skirt. He knows you’re in dress code, but he can easily picture what’s underneath, your shirt tight against your tits, and your skirt hugging your ass. He’s very aware he’s a perv. He keeps nasty photos and videos of you in a hidden folder on his phone, made for his eyes only.
He has pictures of you with his cum covering your face and tits, videos of you deep throating him in the back of the library, pictures of your cunt stretched around his cock. The list goes on. You’re such a slut and the average person wouldn’t even know. They don’t know how desperate you get for dick that you’re willing to fuck in a public space. He’s surprised neither of you have gotten caught, but that’s the fun in it.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He leans against the desk, looking down at you.
“Gojo, go away. I’m working,” you sigh, putting a book in the return bin.
“I just wanted to say hi,” he chuckles.
“Unless you’re here to return that book you checked out, I don’t wanna talk.”
He leans in closer towards you, smirking to himself as he reaches over plays with the collar of your shirt, pretending to fix it. “Isn’t your break soon? Maybe we can talk then?” He licks his lips.
Fifteen minutes later and Gojo has you on your knees in the employee only bathroom, your tits out and his cock down your throat. Both of your hands cup your tits, pulling at your hard nipples as he fucks your face. Spit messily coats your chin and drips onto your chest, your lipstick smeared across your face and his shaft.
“Stick out your tongue, baby.” He pulls out of your mouth, pointing the phone towards your face as he slaps his heavy cock on your tongue. He lets out a breathless chuckle, smiling down at you. “You’re such a fucking mess. Stand up and let me get a look at your pussy.”
You’re quick on your feet, hiking up your skirt as you bend over the sink, spreading your legs for him. The cold air hits your warm cunt, sending shivers up your spine. Gojo walks up behind you, spreading your ass, pointing the camera at your dripping pussy.
“No fucking panties? You were hoping I’d come visit you today, huh? So wet just from sucking my dick.” He stood up straight, rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, nudging against your puffy clit.
“Nngh! Hurry up my break ends soon!” You say between moans, gripping the edge of the sink.
“Impatient, are we?” He sucks in a deep breath, the swollen head of his cock pushing past your folds, your gummy walls wrapping around him inch by inch, stretching your poor cunt. “Mmmm, fuck you’re always so warm and tight.” His hand swats against your ass as slowly begins to move his hips.
You can feel yourself squeeze around him, sucking him back in each time he gets close to pulling out. The fat of your ass smacks against his hips, the sound echoing off of the bathroom walls. “Ah! Yes, yes!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Look at how fucking tight you’re gripping me, holy shit—fuck!” He groans. He points the camera towards the point where you two meet, capturing the way your pussy leaves a creamy ring around the base of his cock, squelching each time he pushes his hips deeper.
Your legs feel like jelly as he continues to hit that sweet spot at the very back. You can feel his cock throb against your walls, nestling his cock deep inside of you, his hips flush against your ass. “Ah! Fuck!” You squeal. He snaps his hips again, his strokes fast and ruthless, your entire body being knocked forward against the sink. “Just like that! Please, please,” you pant. Sweat clings to your skin, your body heating up the closer the orgasm draws near.
“You about to cum already?” He mockingly says. “What a greedy pussy.” He scoffs.
“Gonna…cum! Oh my godddd—I’m cumming!” Gojo slaps his hand over your mouth as you have a screaming orgasm. He can feel your pussy clench around him as he continues to fuck you, continuing to hit that sweet spot of yours to turn your brain into mush. Your body shakes in his hold, looking down at his phone to make sure he’s capturing the whole thing. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips, watching the way you coat his cock in your cum, covering it in white.
“Fuck! There you go! Yes, yes!” He grunts, thrusting into you hard, your ass rippling against his hips as he grows desperate to reach his orgasm. He bites down on his lower lip, trying his best to conceal his own moans so you two won’t get caught. “Oh shit…I’m gonna cum…oh fuckkk.” His jaw goes slack, tempted to cum inside of you but he quickly pulls out, his hand pumping his cock, nasty and slick. Thick ropes of warm cum land on your messy pussy, costing your folds and even some of your ass. His hips twitch, his cock sensitive as he drains every last drop. He breathes heavily, smacking your ass as he records the mess you both made. He ends the recording, laughing to himself.
“You got it all over me, Gojo!” You huff, feeling it drip between your legs.
“I’m sorry. Here.” He grabs some paper towels, wiping you up as best as he could.
“You’re lucky I have a pair of underwear in my bag.” You stand up straight, fixing your skirt and shirt. “My makeup!” You gasp, looking at your smeared lipstick and runny mascara in the mirror. “I can’t walk out like this!” You turn to him, smacking his shoulder.
“Not my fault you suck dick so good. Just say you were crying or something?” He shrugs.
“Ugh, whatever. I have to go. Don’t let anyone see you walk out this bathroom or—”
“Or we’ll both be in big trouble. Yeah, I know.” He nods, adjusting his belt and pulling his shirt down. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He gives you a sleazy smile, pulling you in by your waist.
“Maybe…we’re supposed to be really busy tomorrow.”
He sucks his teeth and roll his eyes. “You always say that and yet it’s never true. Come on, sweetheart, I can see that smile on your face.”
You turn away from him, trying your hardest to hold back your smile. “Fine. Tomorrow.” You nod.
“Can’t wait.” He kisses your cheek before you pull away. “Aye! Send me some pictures of you in the shower tonight, yeah? I’m in the mood for some soapy titty pics.”
“Whatever, play boy!” You roll your eyes, walking out of the bathroom, hearing him laugh at your response.
series synopsis: when you’re promised to the gojo clan, you do what any sane person would do: panic.
you sabotage the wedding, ruin the dress, and even try to scale the palace wall the morning of the ceremony—only to be caught by the groom himself.
satoru gojo is everything you expected and nothing you wanted: beautiful, arrogant, and far too amused by your misery. but as the ceremony closes in and your family tightens its grip, you realize this marriage isn’t just tradition—it’s control.
and when gojo kisses you at the altar like he’s claiming something that was never meant to be his…
you start wondering if he’s just another cage.
or the only way out.
tags: arranged marriage, blackcat! reader x golden retriever! satoru personalities / dyanmics, slow burn, eventual smut, distant gojo, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, fluff, forced marriage / marriage of convenience, reader has trauma, abusive family (but not detailed), family drama, etc
#1 — the garden escape
promised to a man you’ve never met, you’re determined not to go quietly. with a garden wall and a questionable escape plan between you and freedom, one unexpected encounter might change everything… or ruin your day entirely.
#2 — bride to be
despite your best efforts, the wedding goes on, but nothing feels as simple as it should. between family pressure, high expectations, and a man who’s far more than he seems, you realize some arrangements might be harder to resist than you expected.
#3 — ballroom affairs
satoru's little stunt causes you to get in trouble with your mothers. later, on the dance floor, you discuss your plans for your honeymoon.
#4 — trouble in paradise
the honeymoon starts with rules, boundaries, and far too much awkward politeness. but satoru has a habit of bending rules—and maybe hearts—just enough to make you question what’s really off-limits.
#5 — the final day
between sightseeing, chaotic bets, and too many of satoru’s ridiculous ideas, your honeymoon turns into a whirlwind of laughter, mischief, and unexpected intimacy, proving that even arranged marriages can have their own kind of magic
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumberi i hope u like!!!!
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knows what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He only has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
pairings: aged up neteyam x mangkwan female reader
notes: obsessed neteyam, gradual dark neteyam, reader is varang’s mean younger sister, manipulation, angst/comfort, miscommunication trope, forbidden lovers, neteyam is a literal yearner, reader is realistic, love at first sight for neteyam, selective amnesia, reader is disgusted by neteyam’s demon blood, betrayal, smut & suggestive themes, p in v sex, themes of noncon & dubcon, breeding, spitting, tummy bulge, big dick neteyam.
word count: 34.5k (i literally have no brain juice anymore)
prompt: from the moment you had your blade pressed against his neck, all he could think of was how beautiful you are. he does not care if you’re a mangkwan and he does not care if you are disgusted by him, you are what he wants even if he has to go to extreme lengths to get you.
masterlist
credits to @uzmacchiato (divider)
The dense canopy of Pandora's forest filtered the midday sun into dappled shafts of light, casting shifting patterns on the undergrowth as Neteyam soared above on his ikran. His form, honed by years of vigilant scouting, blended seamlessly with the creature's sleek blue hide, golden eyes scanning the perimeters of Omatikaya territory with unwavering focus. The wind whipped through his braided hair, carrying the earthy scent of moss and distant rain, but today, an unfamiliar tension hummed in the air like Eywa herself was holding her breath.
A flicker of movement below caught his sharp gaze. A cluster of Na'vi figures darting through the underbrush, their movements predatory and coordinated. He signaled his ikran with a subtle shift of his thighs and the beast banked sharply, descending in a controlled spiral toward a concealed ledge. Wings folded with a soft rustle as he dismounted, his bare feet silent on the mossy ground. Crouching behind a thick fern, bow already in hand, Neteyam peered through the leaves, his heart steady but alert.
What he witnessed chilled him.
A raiding party from the Mangkwan clan of fierce warriors painted in ritualistic ash, their bodies smeared with the dark residue of volcanic soil that marked their savage tradition. They had ambushed a small group of Olangi travelers. The Olangi clan, a peaceful foragers from a neighboring grove, were outnumbered and overwhelmed, their pleas echoing faintly through the trees. The Mangkwans moved with brutal efficiency, spears glinting as they subdued their prey, but it was the figure at the center that seized Neteyam's breath.
You.
Leading the raid with an air of unchallenged authority, your form cut an intoxicating silhouette against the chaos. Ash coated your skin like a second hide, obscuring the true hue beneath in swirling patterns that accentuated the sharp angles of your jaw. Even veiled in grime, your beauty pierced through with full lips curved in a predatory smile and eyes like smoldering embers, scanning the fray with calculated glee. Your body was clad in minimal hides, a beaded top that strained against the soft perky swell of your breasts, rising and falling with each commanding breath, and a loincloth that hugged the firm curve of your hips, revealing toned legs braced for action.
Neteyam found himself entranced, curiosity gnawing at him. What lay under that ash? Smooth azure skin, perhaps, glowing with the vitality of your clan or something rarer, more alluring?
But beauty masked cruelty.
He watched as you circled a kneeling Olangi male, his kuru held taut by one of your warriors.
The victim's pleas tumbled out in desperate sobs. "Please, we mean no harm. Eywa, mercy!"
Your laughter rang out, mean and cutting, a sharp trill that sliced through the air like a blade. "Your goddess has no dominion here."
It wasn't joyous, it was mocking, laced with sadistic delight as you raised your obsidian knife, the edge catching the light. The Mangkwans deferred to you utterly, their eyes on you as if you were their spiritual guide yet Neteyam knew you weren’t the clan’s leader.
During a prior scouting run with his father, Jake had pointed out Varang, the true Tsahìk of the Mangkwans. Tall and imposing with an aura of unyielding command. That wasn't you. So who were you? Varang's kin, perhaps her younger sister, wielding influence through blood ties? Or a favored enforcer, a prized weapon in her arsenal? The mystery only deepened his fixation, his gaze lingering on the way your ash-streaked arms flexed, muscles coiling like vines ready to strike.
The Olangi's kuru dangled vulnerably, the warrior presenting it for your ritual severing. A fate worse than death, severing one's bond with Eywa. Neteyam's jaw tightened, a surge of protectiveness igniting in his chest. He couldn't stand by, nocking an arrow with fluid precision, he drew back the bowstring, the familiar creak grounding him. His aim was true, released with a whisper, the shaft flew straight, embedding in the hand of the Mangkwan holding the kuru. The warrior yelped, dropping the kuru as blood welled, the Olangi collapsing in shock.
You hissed sharply, a venomous sound that reverberated through the trees, your head snapping toward the underbrush where the arrow had originated. Your ember eyes narrowed, piercing the foliage as if you could will the shadows to part. Though the leaves concealed him, your stare felt like it locked onto his golden ones, a challenge unspoken.
Neteyam held his breath, pulse thundering in his ears.
"How amusing." You chuckled lowly, the sound dripping with dark amusement a thrill of the hunt sparking in your veins, your lips twisting into a smirk that revealed sharp canines.
Shifting your attention, you glanced at the injured warrior clutching his hand, pain etching his features.
"Tend to that." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand, voice cool and authoritative boredom masking your intrigue.
No time for weakness in my ranks.
Grinning to yourself, a secretive curve of your mouth that hinted at games yet to play, you barked orders to your group. "Retreat! Take what we came for."
The Mangkwans obeyed instantly, their weapon’s clubs thudding against Olangi skulls to knock them unconscious, hands snatching woven satchels of herbs, glowing crystals, and carved totems as prizes of the raid. They melted into the forest like smoke but you lingered a moment, casting one final lingering look toward Neteyam's hiding spot. Your smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with promise of a predator sensing prey nearby before you turned, your form vanishing into the green.
Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a heartbeat, muscles uncoiling as relief washed over him. Slumping against the fern, he berated his caution for being too close and too reckless. The raid's echoes faded, leaving only the rustle of leaves.
Then, cold steel kissed his throat.
His golden eyes flew open, meeting yours up close. Sadistic glee swirling in their depths like storm clouds over the sea. You had circled silently, a shadow among shadows, your blade now pressed under his chin, tilting his head back against the earth. The ash on your face cracked slightly with your predatory smile, revealing glimpses of smoother skin beneath, flushed with exertion.
The bow and arrows lay discarded beside him, the telltale fletching matching the one that embedded in your warrior's hand.
"Nice shot, forest boy." You purred, voice laced with mocking admiration and excitement bubbling beneath the snarl, your breath warm against his skin. "Had a good time interrupting my fun?"
He didn't answer, lips pressed into a thin line, inwardly cursing his lapse. How had you slipped past? His body tensed beneath you, but he held still, assessing.
You tsked, a sharp disappointed sound, your snarl twisting your features as you surged forward. With effortless strength, you pinned him to the ground, knee digging into his abdomen, the blade angling deeper. Its tip pricking his flesh just enough to draw a thin bead of blood. The metallic tang mingled with the forest's humidity, your weight settling over him dominantly, thighs clamping his waist in a vise of muscle and heat.
From this vantage, you were breathtaking.
The ash smeared across your cheeks like war paint but proximity unveiled nuances. The elegant slope of your nose, the way your braids framed your face, swaying with each controlled breath. Your body pressed against his firm one, soft perky breasts heaving through the scant hide while your thighs hugged him possessively, the firm ridges of muscle flexing. The loincloth rode up slightly in the struggle, teasing the shadowed juncture between your legs, a forbidden glimpse that stirred something primal in him.
Neteyam's gaze betrayed him, trailing downward despite the danger. Over the generous curve of your breasts, nipples faintly outlined against the fabric from the adrenaline rush, then to the powerful expanse of your thighs gripping him like you owned him already.
You hissed again, low and threatening as irritation flared hot in your being, the sound vibrating through your chest as you caught his wandering eyes. Leaning in closer, blade steady, your face hovered inches from his. "I'll cut your throat for that."
He stared up at you dazed, the world narrowing to the beauty before him. The cruel spark in your eyes, the subtle sheen of sweat tracing a path down your neck.
Words escaped him before he could cage them, voice rough with unintended awe. "You're beautiful."
Your eyes widened fractionally, the sadistic gleam flickering with surprise as an unwelcome heat coiled low despite yourself but you didn't falter. The blade nicked deeper against his skin, a warning as you ground your hips down experimentally, testing his resolve.
"Flattery won't save you, skxawng." You snarled, though your voice held a husky edge, curiosity warring with cruelty.
The pressure of your body against his sent unwelcome sparks through both of you, his cock twitching involuntarily beneath the confines of his own coverings, your breath hitching as you felt it.
Neteyam's hands, bound by instinct not to fight yet, flexed at his sides, golden eyes locked on yours now, unflinching. The forest seemed to hold its breath around you, the distant calls of ikran fading into irrelevance. He could smell the ash on you, mingled with the wild scent of your skin, earthy and intoxicating.
"Why do they follow you like that?" He asked, voice steady despite the blade, deflecting while his mind raced.
Attraction bloomed dark and insistent in him, a shadow creeping over his usual honor. You weren't just beautiful, you were a storm and he found himself drawn to the eye.
You laughed then, a mean throaty sound that vibrated against him, amusement laced with dark promise, tilting your head to study him like prey. "Maybe you're not as foolish as you look."
Your free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his toned abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle tense. The touch was teasing and cruel, testing boundaries that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Your breasts brushed his chest with the movement, soft and enticing, the ash transferring in faint streaks to his skin.
He swallowed hard, your blade's edge a razor reminder, but his body betrayed him, hips shifting subtly upward, seeking more friction.
"Let me go." He murmured, though it lacked conviction as desire thread through the plea, eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your hip, the way your loincloth shifted, hinting at the heat of your cunt beneath.
"And miss this?" You countered, voice dripping with sadistic playfulness as the thrill of power surged, pressing the blade just enough to draw another drop of blood.
But your eyes, those ember depths, held his. A challenge, an invitation to the darkness you both sensed brewing. The raid's adrenaline still pumped through your veins, mingling with this unexpected tension, your thighs tightening around him as if to claim victory.
Neteyam's breath came ragged now, the softness of your form contrasting the hardness of your intent, igniting a fire he hadn't anticipated. In that moment, amidst the ash and threat, the future Olo'eyktan's resolve cracked, a darker hunger awakening for the woman who could lead with cruelty and beauty in equal measure. The forest watched, silent witness to the spark that could consume you both.
"Who are you?" He repeated, his voice a low rumble with frustration edged in fascination, refusing to yield even as the steel bit into his skin. "Why do they follow you?"
You tilted your head slowly, braids swaying like dark serpents against your ash-smeared shoulders, your expression an enigma. Your eyes were narrowed to slits, unreadable as the depths of a hidden cenote. The motion caused your torso to shift, the beaded strands of your top grazing his chest once again with a whisper of friction, your soft curves molding briefly against the hard planes of his warrior's build.
After a deliberate pause, you leaned in closer, lips parting to reveal the edge of your teeth.
"I am Varang's younger sister." You murmured, voice smooth as polished obsidian, a hint of pride sharpening the words. "Her Tsakarem."
The revelation hung between you like a taut bowstring as Neteyam's mind raced.
Tsakarem, the heir apparent, groomed to ascend if fate claimed Varang. High standing indeed, woven into the spiritual fabric of the Mangkwan with threads of power and ritual. Your authority made sense now, the way your warriors had deferred, eyes alight with reverence. But it also sparked unwelcome questions in him. Were you already mated? Bound in tsaheylu to some brutal consort, your being entwined with another?
A surge of fury clawed at his chest but he shoved it down, jaw clenching as he focused on the way your thighs still gripped his sides, their toned length flexing with subtle control. Your eyes flicked to his face, catching the flicker of turmoil, and you pressed the knife deeper, the edge singing against his flesh as the thrill of dominance coursed through you.
"What clan are you from?" You demanded, your breath ghosting over his cheek, warm and laced with the metallic tang of anticipation.
"Omatikaya." He answered, voice steady despite the sting, his gaze never leaving yours, golden depths locking with yours.
You threw your head back and laughed, the sound rich and mocking, echoing through the undergrowth.
"Oh, the clan of that tawtute turned Na'vi?" You sneered, lowering your face again, lips curling in contempt. "The clan of Toruk Makto?"
"He's my father." Neteyam replied, a quiet defiance threading his tone pride warring with the vulnerability of your proximity, his hands twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to reach up and trace the curve of your jaw.
Your grin widened, sharp and predatory, teeth flashing as you savored the revelation, a spark of malicious delight igniting. The expression transformed your features, cheekbones sharpening and full lips stretching over a sadistic curve making you appear even more alluring in your cruelty.
"Ah, so you're a filthy sky demon then." You hissed, voice dripping with revulsion, loathing twisting like a vine in your gut at his unpure lineage. "How disgusting."
His heart clenched painfully at the look in your eyes.
Pure unfiltered disgust as if he were tainted by his human heritage, unworthy of the ground you straddled. It stung deeper than the blade, a rejection that fueled the shadows creeping into his soul. Yet even as pain lanced through him, he couldn't tear his gaze from the line of your neck, the way sweat beaded along your throat, tracing a path down to the valley between your heaving chest.
"What is your name?" You pressed, the knife steady, your free hand now resting on his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to anchor him, curiosity sharpening your focus amid the hate.
"Neteyam." He said simply, the word escaping like a confession, resignation mingling with an undercurrent of longing.
You laughed again, meaner this time, a throaty bark that vibrated through your core.
"Neteyam, the filthy sky demon." You mocked, rolling the name on your tongue like a curse. "My sister would be pleased that I bring the kuru of Toruk Makto's son before her."
Your eyes gleamed with dark promise, imagining the trophy, his kuru severed, a symbol of Mangkwan supremacy dangling in your marui.
Panic flickered in Neteyam's chest but it warred with an unwillingness to harm you. If he fought back now, twisting free and overpowering you, his hands might mar that flawless skin, leave bruises on your arms or that captivating face. Eywa, he wished for a disturbance, anything to shatter this moment without violence. As if the Great Mother heard his silent plea, the air stirred with the powerful beat of wings slicing through the canopy, followed by urgent voices calling his name, echoing from above.
"Neteyam! Where are you?" Lo'ak's shout cut through the trees laced with worry, while Jake's deeper timbre joined in, commanding and steady.
Relief nearly escaped him in a breath but he held it, watching your reaction.
You heard it too. The approaching ikran, the unmistakable cadence of Omatikaya warriors. A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral frustration boiling over like lava, your beautiful features twisting into a mask of fury.
"Interrupt me again next time." You growled, leaning down until your lips nearly brushed his ear, voice a venomous whisper rage simmering beneath the threat. "And I'll have your kuru hanging from my marui."
With a fluid motion, you dismounted him, your thighs releasing their grip, leaving a ghost of warmth where they'd clamped. Your body uncoiled, ash flaking from your limbs as you rose, knife still clutched in your fist. You shot him one last glare, hateful and disgusted, eyes raking over him as if committing his form to memory for future vengeance. Then without another word, you melted into the foliage, your form vanishing into the green shadows with the silent prowess of a seasoned hunter.
Neteyam lay there for a moment, staring at the canopy above, the imprint of your weight lingering on his hips like a brand. He missed it already, the press of your curves, the dangerous allure of your scent. A low groan escaped him as he shifted, arousal evident in the insistent throb beneath his loincloth, a betrayal of his body's response to your dominance.
Shaking his head to clear the haze, he sat up slowly, snatching his bow and arrows to drape across his lap, concealing the evidence of his desire.
"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak's voice broke the silence first, crashing through the underbrush with his usual reckless energy.
He skidded to a halt beside Neteyam, tail flicking in concern, while Jake approached more methodically, his gaze sweeping over the unconscious Olangi people sprawled nearby, their forms battered and queues mercifully intact.
"Yeah." Neteyam replied curtly, forcing composure into his tone as he adjusted his position, rising to his feet with deliberate slowness.
Jake turned to them, his broad frame casting a long shadow, eyes sharp with paternal scrutiny.
"What happened here?" He asked, voice gravelly worry etching lines around his eyes.
"Mangkwans raided the Olangi." Neteyam explained, slinging his bow over his shoulder, the wood cool against his heated skin. "They were about to cut off their kurus. I intervened from the brush, shot an arrow to stop it."
He kept the details sparse, omitting the blade at his throat and the intoxicating weight of you atop him.
Jake tensed visibly, muscles coiling under his blue skin like a predator sensing threat. "Who was leading the raid? Varang?"
Neteyam's mind flashed to your face, those ember eyes, the cruel tilt of your lips, the ash-veiled beauty that haunted him already.
"No." He said, voice even a shadow of obsession stirring. "It's her sister. The Tsakarem."
Jake and Lo'ak whipped their heads toward him in unison, surprise widening their expressions.
"You saw her?" Lo'ak blurted, brows shooting up intrigue sparking in his mischievous gaze.
Neteyam nodded once, curt and evasive.
He'd done far more than see you. He felt you, he breathed you but those truths stayed buried, coiling dark in his chest like a secret vow.
"Let's move." Jake commanded, already kneeling to check on the nearest Olangi, his hands gentle as he assessed wounds. "We need to help them. Bring them back to Omatikaya."
Neteyam inclined his head in agreement but as they gathered the dazed travelers by supporting limp arms and murmuring reassurances, his gaze drifted to the spot where you'd vanished. The undergrowth seemed to whisper your being, a siren call pulling at the edges of his honor. The future Olo'eyktan felt the first true fracture in his resolve, a darkness blooming not from duty, but from the cruel beauty who'd marked him without a touch.
As ikran cries heralded their departure, he mounted his own bond-beast last, the wind carrying him homeward yet his thoughts lingered in the ash-scented wilds, chasing the ghost of your snarl.
Meanwhile, you sprinted through the tangled roots and bioluminescent vines, heart pounding with a mix of fury and something sharper, more unsettling. The forest blurred around you, the towering trees with bark etched like ancient scars turned into the familiar scorched ones but your mind replayed the encounter.
Those golden eyes staring up at you unafraid, calling you beautiful amid the threat. Disgusting sky demon, you reminded yourself, snarling under your breath revulsion clashing with an unwelcome curiosity.
Your legs pumped with relentless energy, thighs burning from the raid and the brief wrestle, the loincloth chafing against sweat-slicked skin. Ash flaked from your arms as you vaulted a fallen log, landing with cat-like poise, your breaths coming in sharp bursts that made your chest ache.
Why had you let him live?
The question gnawed at you even as your marui came into view. Woven from volcanic fibers, perched on stilts over a steaming pool. Warriors milled about, tending stolen goods such as shimmering crystals piled in nets and herbs bundled for Varang's rituals. You slowed, straightening your top where beads had shifted, exposing a sliver of your midriff, the soft undercurve of your breasts rising with each calming inhale.
Your sister's voice called from within, authoritative and probing but you waved it off, slipping inside to wash the encounter away.
Water from a nearby basin splashed over your face, rinsing rivulets of ash to reveal the true azure of your skin, freckled with faint glowing spots that danced like stars under the dim light. You stared at your reflection in the rippling surface, cheekbones flushed from exertion, lips still curved in residual disdain, eyes smoldering with unresolved fire.
Neteyam.
The name echoed, stirring a heat you crushed down. He was the enemy, a filthy intruder on your domain. Yet as you traced a finger along the scar on your palm from past battles, you couldn't shake the memory of his body beneath yours, stirring instincts you hadn't anticipated.
Varang entered then, her taller frame filling the entrance, eyes narrowing at your disheveled state.
"Little tsmuke, the raid—success?" She asked, voice like grinding stone, concern veiled in command.
You met her gaze, forcing a smirk. "More than. We took what we needed."
Omitting the details, the blade, the almost-kill.
She nodded satisfied but you turned away, mind already plotting the next border push. Deep down, though, a thread of anticipation wove through your thoughts.
Would those golden eyes seek you again?
The Tsakarem of Mangkwan didn't yield to weakness but this sky demon had cracked something open in you, a fissure where darkness and desire might mingle unchecked.
The air in the Tsahik's marui hung heavy with the scent of healing herbs, bitter yarrow and soothing aloe mingling in the steam rising from clay bowls.
Neteyam sat rigidly on a woven mat, his broad shoulders tense beneath the dim glow of suspended lanterns that cast flickering shadows across the curved walls of pandora vines. The shallow nick on his neck throbbed faintly, a reminder of your blade's kiss but it was nothing compared to the deeper ache gnawing at his core.
His grandmother Mo'at, the revered Tsahik, was occupied elsewhere in the communal space, her hands deftly tending to the battered Olangi refugees who huddled in clusters, their bioluminescent markings dimmed by exhaustion and pain. Murmurs of gratitude and soft chants filled the air as she moved among them as a pillar of calm authority.
Instead, it was Alayni who attended to him, the young healer-in-training whose gentle presence had long been a fixture in his life.
She knelt before him, her slender fingers working with practiced care, dabbing a cool poultice onto the wound. Alayni was pretty in a soft unassuming way, her eyes a warm amber that often darted shyly from beneath long lashes. Her braids were neatly bound with feathers, signifying her devotion to the healing arts and her movements were fluid, almost reverent, as she applied the salve.
She had always been kind to him.
Slipping morsels of fresh fruit into his training satchel when he pushed himself too hard under the midday sun or lingering after lessons to ask about his day with a blush coloring her cheeks. His parents adored her, Neytiri saw in her the quiet strength of a future Tsahik while Jake appreciated her steadiness, a counterbalance to the chaos of their family. She was one of the potential mates they urged him to consider, especially now, with his ascension to Olo'eyktan looming in just a year.
Neteyam had entertained the idea once.
Alayni would make a good mate. Loyal, nurturing, her shyness a balm to his burdens. She had expressed her interest subtly but persistently. A lingering touch during healings, invitations to walk the glowing paths at dusk, her voice soft hope trembling in every syllable as she suggested they share a meal by the river. He had even agreed a few times, out of duty, their conversations polite but devoid of the spark that now eluded him entirely.
But that was before you. Before the raid, before your ash-streaked form had pinned him down, your eyes burning with contempt that only fueled the fire in his blood.
Alayni was pretty, yes, but she paled against the vision of you. Your fierce beauty a storm to her gentle breeze, your cruelty a magnet to his unraveling restraint. He wanted you with a ferocity that bordered on madness, even after mere moments in your presence. He craved you despite the disgust twisting your lips when you spat "filthy sky demon," he craved you despite the enmity of your clans carving chasms between you. You were the enemy, a Mangkwan Tsakarem destined to lead raids that spilled Omatikaya blood, yet the thought of your thighs straddling him, your blade at his throat, consumed him like a fever.
It was absurd, this pull. A betrayal of everything he stood for as the future leader but he couldn't deny it. His heart raced at the memory of your scent and his body stirred unbidden, a low heat pooling in his core.
As Alayni's fingers brushed the edge of the wound, her touch feather-light and caring, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her amber eyes searched his golden ones, wide with unspoken affection a flicker of longing softening her features. But Neteyam kept his stare fixed on the far wall, where woven tapestries depicted Eywa's embrace, his jaw set in quiet detachment.
His mind wandered relentlessly to you.
The curve of your hips as you dismounted, the snarl that bared your teeth, the way your laughter had vibrated through him like a challenge. How could he see you again? Touch you? The forest was vast, borders tense, but he would find a way. Scout the edges, risk the shadows, anything to glimpse that fire once more.
"There." Alayni murmured finally, tying off a thin strip of leaf bandage with delicate precision satisfaction warming her voice. Her hand lingered, sliding down to caress his arm in a gesture of concern, her palm warm against the corded muscle of his bicep. "Are you alright, Neteyam? That cut... it could have been worse."
Her fingers traced a subtle path, innocent yet hopeful, her breath catching slightly as she awaited his response. In her mind, visions danced. In a year, when Jake stepped down, she could be at his side, Tsahik to his Olo'eyktan, their kurus entwining in tsaheylu under the Tree of Souls. The thought made her pulse quicken, a giddy flutter in her chest.
Neteyam nodded curtly, his voice flat and dismissive impatience edging his tone as he rose to his feet, the mat rustling beneath him. "I'm fine. Thank you, Alayni."
He didn't meet her eyes, already turning toward the entrance, the weight of his bow slung across his back a familiar anchor.
"Neteyam." She called out softly standing as well, her form silhouetted against the herbal steam, disappointment tinged with persistence. "Do you want to take a walk later? The glowworms by the falls are blooming. I thought... we could talk."
Her hands clasped together, twisting nervously, the beads on her wrists clinking like a plea.
He paused at the flap of the marui, the humid air of the village filtering in, carrying the distant calls of ikran. His mother would beam if he accepted, see it as progress toward the merging they craved. But today, the will eluded him, drowned out by the echo of your mocking laugh.
"I have something to do." He replied over his shoulder, the words clipped regret buried under resolve.
"Oh." She echoed faintly, the syllable hanging like a wilted petal, a quiet hurt settling in her posture as she watched him go.
Neteyam stepped into the bustling heart of the Omatikaya village, the high trees weaving a cathedral of leaves overhead, but his thoughts plotted a solitary path. He would scout the borders at dawn, venture closer to Mangkwan lands than wisdom allowed. Risk be damned, he needed to see you again, to unravel the enigma that had ensnared him.
The next day dawned with a veil of mist clinging to the forest floor, the air crisp and alive with the symphony of awakening life.
Neteyam mounted his ikran early, the creature's leathery wings cutting through the canopy as they soared toward the contested fringes. His heart thudded with anticipation, golden eyes scanning the terrain below, rivers snaking like veins, clusters of ferns hiding potential threats.
Hours passed in fruitless search. There were no raiding parties, no ash-painted warriors, only the indifferent pulse of Eywa's domain. Disappointment settled heavy in his chest, a dull ache as he urged his ikran toward home, the wind whipping his braids like accusations of folly.
Just as resignation crept in, a flash of color caught his eye. A solitary figure by the river's bend, nestled in a sun-dappled clearing. His breath hitched, deep in his gut he knew it was you.
With a sharp command, he guided the ikran into a steep dive, landing silently in a thicket nearby, the beast's talons sinking into moss without a sound. Dismounting swiftly, Neteyam crept forward, his warrior's grace muting his steps, excitement pounding in his veins like war drums. The underbrush parted under his careful hands, leaves whispering secrets as he approached, heart racing with a mix of thrill and trepidation.
There you were, reclining on a bed of soft moss beside the lazily flowing river, the water's gentle murmur a lullaby. Sleep had claimed you, your body lax in repose, unguarded in a way that stole the air from his lungs.
For the first time, your face was bare, no war paint or ash to veil your features, washed clean by the river's touch. Your true azure skin gleamed under the filtered sunlight, smooth and unmarred, dotted with subtle bioluminescent freckles that shimmered like scattered stars across your high cheekbones and the bridge of your nose. Your lips, full and slightly parted, curved in the faintest hint of relaxation, a stark contrast to the snarls he remembered. Long lashes fanned against your lids, framing eyes hidden now but etched in his memory as embers of defiance. Strands of your dark hair, freed from the raid's bindings, cascaded over the moss like midnight rivers, framing the arch of your neck.
You were breathtaking, vulnerability wrapping around your fierce beauty like a fragile shroud. Out here, alone, with only the river as sentinel, you seemed almost ethereal. Chest rising and falling in slow even rhythms, the soft swell of your breasts straining gently against the thin weave of your top with each breath. No armor, no blade in hand, just you exposed to the world, to him. Anyone could stumble upon you like this. A hunter, a rival, a man like him and do... something.
The thought sent fury through Neteyam, his gaze lingering, possessive and hungry. His eyes trailed downward, drinking in the rest of you with unrestrained fervor.
Your arms were folded loosely beneath your head, elbows bent, revealing the toned length of your limbs, muscles subtly defined from years of wielding weapons and commanding warriors. The curve of your waist dipped invitingly where your top rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of taut midriff, the skin there flawless and warm-toned, inviting touch. Your legs stretched out languidly, one knee bent in sleep, the other straight, showcasing the powerful thighs that had pinned him so effectively, now relaxed, their azure expanse glowing faintly in the light. The loincloth rode high on your hips, simple yet accentuating the flare of your form, the fabric clinging to the subtle contours beneath.
Every inch of you spoke of strength wrapped in allure, a siren in repose, and Neteyam's breath grew shallow, his body responding with a surge of heat, fists clenching at his sides to restrain the urge to close the distance.
You stirred faintly in your slumber, a soft sigh escaping your lips as a breeze rustled the leaves overhead but your eyes remained closed, lost in dreams unknown.
Neteyam lowered himself silently onto the moss beside you, the soft earth yielding under his weight like a conspirator in his forbidden vigil. The river's gentle current whispered nearby, a serene counterpoint to the storm raging within him.
His golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed first on the rise and fall of your chest then drifted upward to your face. His gaze lingered on those parted lips, plush and inviting, a stark vulnerability amid your warrior's form. They begged to be claimed and the thought sent a shiver through his frame, his tail flicking restlessly behind him.
Lower still, his eyes traced the delicate beaded necklace top that clung to your torso, the strands of iridescent woven fibers draping just enough to shield the peaks of your breasts from full view. Yet the swell of them was evident, they were firm and rounded, rising with each breath in a rhythm that mesmerized him, the azure curves peeking teasingly at the edges where the beads shifted. They were soft yet perky, a contradiction to the ferocity he knew you wielded and he imagined their weight in his palms, the warmth and plushness yielding under his touch.
Further down, the simple loincloth of supple hide and vines rested high on your hips, concealing the most intimate sanctum of your body, the place he yearned to uncover as selfish curiosity burned in him.
What secrets lay beneath that barrier?
The smooth contours of your mound, perhaps flushed with the same azure hue, the delicate folds he fantasized would glisten with your essence. He wondered at the scent. Maybe it would be musky and wild, like the forest after rain mingled with your unique fire and the taste? Maybe it would be sweet and tangy on his tongue, a forbidden nectar that would drive him to madness. His breath hitched, a low heat coiling in his abdomen as he shifted closer, the air between you thickening with unspoken tension.
Unable to resist any longer, Neteyam extended a hand, his callused fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the darkness creeping into his soul. Your skin was impossibly soft there, like the finest moss under moonlight, and as he caressed the curve of your face, you nuzzled into his palm instinctively, a sleepy murmur escaping your lips.
The simple act undid him, it was a glimpse of innocence beneath your cruel exterior. He grinned, fangs peeking through his lips, a mix of affection and hunger lighting his features, marveling at how cute you were in this moment, stripped of your armor and snarls. This woman, who had threatened his life with such venom, now sought comfort in his touch without knowing it.
Biting his lower lip to stifle the growl building in his throat, Neteyam leaned down, his braids falling forward like dark curtains. He had to taste you, just once, to etch this reality into his being. His lips pressed softly against yours in a tentative peck, the contact electric. Your mouth yielding like ripe fruit, warm and plush, sending a jolt straight to his core.
And yet it wasn't enough, the hunger gnawed deeper.
Emboldened, he traced his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, lewd and deliberate, savoring the faint saltiness before parting your lips further and sliding inside. He explored with unrestrained greed, his tongue curling against yours, sucking gently as a groan threatened to escape him, pleasure rumbling low in his chest. The intimacy was intoxicating, as if you were already mates bound in tsaheylu, your flavors mingling in a dance that blurred the lines of enemy and desire.
You stirred beneath him, a haze of sleep fracturing as awareness flooded in. Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes widening in shock at the invasion.
There he was, the Omatikaya warrior from the raid, Neteyam.
His face inches from yours, his tongue delving deep into your mouth with shameless possession. The wet heat of him, the bold suction on your tongue, it was an assault wrapped in seduction, his breath hot against your skin. Disbelief warred with fury as you registered the intimacy, your body tensing like a coiled spring. Your hands flew up to shove at his chest, palms pressing against the firm planes of his pectorals, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath.
But Neteyam only groaned aloud now that you were awake, a sound of raw need vibrating against your lips, his large frame pinning you gently but firmly as he deepened the kiss. His mouth claimed yours harder, tongue thrusting to muffle your rising protests, swallowing your gasps in a fierce tangle that left you breathless. The world narrowed to the slick slide of him, the scrape of his fangs against your inner lip, the way his body heat seeped into yours like an unwanted brand.
Finally, he pulled back, a glistening thread of saliva bridging your lips, shimmering in the dappled light. He grinned down at you, eyes dark with triumph and yearning etched in the curve of his mouth.
"I've been searching for you." He murmured, voice husky and low, intensity lacing every word as if confessing a sacred vow.
Rage ignited in you like dry tinder to flame. With a feral snarl that bared your sharp teeth venom dripping from the sound, you lashed out, your leg snapping up to kick him squarely in the ribs. The impact sent him reeling sideways, a grunt escaping him as he rolled onto the moss. Your hands scrambled to your side, fingers closing around the hilt of your dagger, yanking it free in a blur of motion. You surged to your feet, blade glinting as you loomed over him, your form coiled for violence, breasts heaving with each furious breath that strained against the beaded top.
"You filthy demon." You hissed, voice laced with disgust, hatred sharpening your tone like your weapon, the dagger poised at his throat. "How dare you do that to me? Touch me like some lowly beast in heat?"
Your free hand wiped at your mouth as if to erase the lingering taste of him but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed a flicker of something else. Intrigue at the boldness of his claim, the way his words hung in the air like a challenge.
Neteyam didn't flinch even as the tip of your blade nicked his skin anew, a thin bead of blood welling up. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his muscular torso flexing under the thin straps of his chest covering, golden eyes locked on yours with unyielding fervor.
"I can't stop thinking about you." He confessed, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered desperation underscoring his plea. "From the moment you pinned me down, your fire... it haunts me. Tell me your name. Let me know who has captured me so completely."
His gaze roamed your form again, not with shame but with open yearning, tracing the wild tangle of your hair framing your furious expression, the taut lines of your abdomen glistening with a sheen of river mist, the powerful stance of your legs planted wide in defiance.
Disgust roiled in your gut, hot and acrid, at this Omatikaya intruder who dared invade your solitude and your body with such audacity. He was the enemy, son of the sky demon Toruk Makto, a threat to your clan's dominance and yet, the memory of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, lingered like a poison you couldn't quite spit out. Intrigue twisted through the revulsion, what madness drove him to seek you out, to kiss you as if you were his destined one?
Your grip tightened on the dagger, knuckles paling fury warring with a treacherous curiosity in your eyes.
"You think you can waltz in here and claim what isn't yours?" You spat, stepping closer, the blade pressing harder against his jugular. "I should gut you here, leave your corpse for the viwiswasp to feast on. You're nothing but a pest, a filthy sky spawn with delusions."
But even as the words lashed out, mean and cutting, a part of you hesitated. The way his chest rose and fell, mirroring your own ragged breaths, the earnest plea in his voice that clashed with the warrior's resolve. You wanted to kill him, to end this absurdity with a swift strike, to reclaim the control he'd stolen in that kiss. Your arm trembled slightly, your beauty twisted into something lethal as your lips curled in a sneer, eyes blazing with the cruelty that defined you as Varang's sister, the Tsakarem destined to lead with iron will.
Neteyam's hand rose slowly, not to defend but to reach for you, fingers brushing the air near your wrist longing softening the edges of his gaze.
"Kill me if you must." He whispered, voice thick with emotion a dark passion fueling his defiance. "But know that even in death, I'd want you. Your fire, your cruelty, all of it. You're no enemy to me, you're the one who's awakened something I can't ignore. Your name... please."
He wanted to love you, to pull you into his world of shadows and bind you there, consequences be damned.
Your heart thundered in your ears, a war drum echoing the chaos of betrayal and unwanted heat that his touch had ignited. The dagger trembled in your grasp, its razor edge kissing the pulse point at Neteyam's throat, where his azure skin flushed with a mix of exertion and unbridled want. His golden eyes held yours unblinking, a predator's stare that refused to yield even in the face of death.
If giving him this scrap of yourself, of your name, would sever this madness then so be it.
"If I tell you my name…" You growled, voice low and edged with finality threat weaving through each syllable like thorns. "You must leave me alone. Swear it on Eywa or I'll carve your heart out here and now."
But you didn't wait for his oath, the words spilling from your lips like venom you needed to purge.
"(Y/N). Now leave me be or I'll make sure you die by my blade."
The name hung in the humid air, a reluctant offering that tasted like ash on your tongue. Your lips curled into a savage snarl, fury twisting your features and fangs glinting as you wrenched the dagger away and spun on your heel. Your bare feet sank into the cool moss, propelling you toward the river's edge, where the water's gleam promised escape from his suffocating presence. Every muscle in your body coiled with the urge to flee, your hips swaying in a warrior's stride, the loincloth brushing against your thighs like a reminder of the vulnerability he'd exploited.
"I can't do that." Neteyam called after you, his voice a rough timbre that cut through the rustle of leaves desperation cracking the edges of his resolve.
He rose fluidly, his form unfolding like a shadow detaching from the earth, broad shoulders rolling as he took a step forward, undeterred by the blood trickling down his neck.
You whirled around, disbelief flooding your veins like ice water, your wild mane of braids whipping across your shoulders in a dark cascade. The motion made your beaded top shift, the shells clinking softly against the curves of your chest, drawing his gaze for a fleeting heated instant before you jabbed the dagger toward him accusingly.
"Why do you keep insisting?" You demanded, your voice rising in incredulous outrage confusion sharpening into a blade of its own. "Are you stupid, forest boy? We are enemies, I’m born of a clan that spills blood for sport and yet you want me?"
Your free hand gestured wildly between you, emphasizing the chasm that no words could bridge. Beauty radiated from you even in anger, the full swell of your mouth still tinged with the ghost of his kiss, a flush blooming across your collarbones like forbidden wildflowers.
"You and I could never be." You continued, the words lashing out with cruel precision, scorn dripping from your tone like poison. "My sister, Varang, would sooner see you flayed alive than accept you as the one to claim her tsmuke. She'd rip out your eyes for even dreaming it. And your precious Omatikaya? They'd never accept me. A Mangkwan, the Tsakarem who leads raids into your lands. What a fool you are, chasing shadows that will only lead you to ruin."
In your mind, he was a pathetic spectacle. This golden-eyed warrior, son of legends, reduced to begging at the feet of his foe. His persistence grated against your pride, a fool's errand that mocked the iron walls you'd built around your heart. You turned away again, shoulders squared, the dagger sheathed at your hip with a decisive snap, determined to outrun his folly.
"I don't care." Neteyam replied, his words steady and unyielding, a quiet fire burning beneath the surface, stepping closer until the heat of his body brushed the air at your back.
But you didn't listen, didn't let the plea sink in. You vanished into the underbrush, the forest swallowing you whole, leaving him with the echo of your name and the sting of rejection.
Ever since that day, he haunted your steps like a specter woven from Pandora's own mists. Neteyam followed you through the tangled wilds of Mangkwan territory, a silent shadow at times, his presence a prickle at the nape of your neck when you scouted alone. Other moments, he'd emerge from the foliage, voice soft yet insistent, murmuring words meant to chip away at your defenses.
"The way you move through the trees, it's like you're part of them." He'd say one afternoon, golden eyes tracing the graceful flex of your calves as you leaped across a fallen log, your frame twisting mid-air with effortless poise.
Or in the hush of twilight, as you sharpened your arrows by a flickering fire, he'd linger at the periphery, commenting on the stars reflected in your gaze, how they mirrored the fierce spark within you.
He was persistent, a relentless force driven by a singular goal. To soften you, to peel back the layers of cruelty until the woman he'd glimpsed in your sleep, the one who nuzzled his hand, emerged fully.
His approaches varied, sometimes bold with questions about your hunts, drawing out tales of Mangkwan prowess that made your chest swell despite yourself. Other times, quiet vigils where he'd simply watch, his muscular form leaning against a trunk, the scars on his arms catching the light like badges of battles fought for a cause, now fixated on you. Each encounter left you seething yet a treacherous warmth stirred in your core, his unwavering attention a balm to the isolation of your role as Tsakarem.
Weeks blurred into a tense rhythm, his pursuit weaving into the fabric of your days until one night, under a canopy heavy with the scent of night-blooming vines, you found yourself cornered.
Not by force but by the weight of his words.
You'd been tracking a hexapede through a secluded glade, the moon casting silvery paths on the dew-kissed ferns, when he appeared, blocking your path with a vulnerability that disarmed you. His braids were tousled from the chase, framing a face etched with raw honesty, the broad planes of his chest rising and falling as if he'd run for miles to reach you.
"Every duty, every breath I take without you feels empty." He confessed, voice a husky murmur, longing threading through like vines around your resolve. "You're not just an enemy, (Y/N). You're the fire that lights my darkness, the cruelty that makes me feel alive. Let me show you, let me prove that clans mean nothing when Eywa binds two souls like this."
His hand reached out, not to grab but to hover near yours, the calluses on his fingers speaking of battles and bows, his golden eyes locking onto your lips with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.
The air thickened, charged with the unspoken pull that had simmered since that first kiss. Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath ghosted your skin.
What was it about his persistence, the way he saw past your snarls to the beauty you wielded like a weapon?
Your body betrayed you, leaning in, the soft peaks of your breasts brushing his chest through the thin barrier of beads, sending sparks racing down your spine. His lips met yours in a tentative press then deepened as you responded, tongues tangling in a heated dance that tasted of forbidden fruit and shared secrets. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, the world fading to the firm press of his hips against yours, the low groan he emitted vibrating through you like thunder.
But reality crashed in like a tidal wave. Images of Varang's disapproving glare, the blood-soaked raids between your clans, the impossibility of it all. You remembered who you were, the Tsakarem, Varang's unyielding sister, not some lovesick dreamer.
With a gasp, you shoved him back, your palms slamming into the unyielding wall of his abdomen, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath. He stumbled, eyes wide with shock and hurt confusion flickering in their depths but you didn't let him speak.
"Do not come see me again nor follow me." You commanded, voice breaking with a mix of resolve and regret steel hardening your tone to mask the tremor.
Your chest heaved, the beaded strands shifting with each ragged breath. You backed away, beauty sharpened by the pain of denial. Eyes stormy with unshed tears, lips swollen from the kiss, the lines of your body poised for flight.
"You and I... we could never be. Go back to your forest, Neteyam. Forget me or the next time I see you, my blade won't hesitate."
You turned and melted into the shadows, leaving him kneeling in the glade, the echo of your rejection a wound deeper than any dagger could inflict. "(Y/N), wait—"
The night closed around you but his presence lingered like a scar, a persistent ache that neither distance nor denial could fully erase.
Weeks dragged on like vines choking the life from a once-vibrant tree and Neteyam hadn't caught even a whisper of your shadow flitting through the undergrowth. It was as if Eywa herself had woven you into the ether, erasing every trace of your presence from the tangled borders where your worlds collided. The forest, once a realm of purpose and patrol, now felt hollow, its bioluminescent glow mocking the void you'd left in his chest.
He patrolled the edges of Omatikaya territory with mechanical precision, his bow slung across his back, but his golden eyes scanned not for threats, but for the sway of a familiar form cutting through the mist-shrouded ferns.
Distraction clawed at him, a relentless predator that turned his thoughts into a storm of obsession. Training sessions blurred into forgotten commands. He'd miss cues from his father's strategies, his mind replaying the ghost of your lips against his, the way your body had arched into the kiss before rejection shattered the illusion. Your beauty haunted him, the elegant sweep of your neck as you snarled threats, the curve of your hips that spoke of battles won and raids led with unyielding command.
It consumed him, this dark hunger that twisted his once noble heart into something feral, nights spent pacing his marui pod, fingers tracing the air where your warmth had once pressed against him. Sleep evaded him, replaced by visions of your eyes flashing defiance, your full mouth curving in cruel dismissal.
His family noticed the fracture in their golden son, the way his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his once-sharp focus dulled like a blade left too long in the rain. Meals passed in silence, his portions untouched, until Lo'ak, ever the bold sibling, cornered him one evening by the central fire pit. The flames danced across their azure skin, casting flickering shadows that mirrored the turmoil in Neteyam's gaze.
Lo'ak dropped onto the woven mat beside him, his tail flicking with casual concern, lean muscles shifting under his arm bands as he leaned in.
"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak asked, voice laced with brotherly worry, a teasing edge softening the probe, his ears twitching forward. "You've been off lately like you're hunting ghosts or something."
Neteyam nodded absently, his jaw tightening as he poked at the embers with a stick, sparks rising like fleeting hopes. The motion was rote, his mind elsewhere, tangled in the memory of your scent.
Lo'ak wasn't convinced, his brow furrowing as he studied the distant look in his brother's eyes.
He nudged Neteyam's arm, the contact grounding but insistent. "Did something happen during the Mangkwan raid before Dad and I found you? Spill it."
Neteyam stilled, the stick snapping in his grip as the question yanked him back to that fateful clash. The ash-streaked warrior who'd pinned him with a blade, your body a taut bowstring of lethal grace. The memory ached like a fresh wound, your name a thorn embedded deep in his being.
He exhaled sharply, golden eyes darkening with the weight of confession.
"The Tsakarem of Mangkwan." He murmured, voice rough with longing, a raw edge betraying the storm within him. "I want her. (Y/N)."
Lo'ak's eyes widened, stupefied, his mouth parting in shock as he processed the impossibility. His golden brother, the perfect heir, ensnared by an enemy? The very heart of Mangkwan cruelty?
He leaned back, running a hand through his braids, disbelief etching lines across his face. "Bro... you know Dad and Mom would never approve. She's one of them. The ones who raid our allies, spill blood like it's water. What the hell, Neteyam?"
Neteyam's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin, a fortress against the truth that echoed your own words like a cruel refrain.
He knew it, his Dad’s stern lectures on duty, his Mom’s unyielding gaze on clan purity but it did nothing to quench the fire you'd ignited. Your rejection replayed in his mind, the push of your hands against his chest, the storm in your eyes as you declared your worlds irreconcilable. It only fueled the madness, making him crave the challenge of breaking through your walls.
As the brothers' tense exchange hung in the air, a soft rustle drew their attention.
Alayni emerged from the shadows of the surrounding pods, her steps hesitant, shy glances darting toward Neteyam like fireflies seeking light. Her frame was draped in healer's vines, the gentle swell of her hips swaying with quiet grace, her face framed by loose tendrils that caught the firelight, highlighting the soft blush on her cheeks. She carried a small pouch of herbs, a pretext for her approach, but her eyes betrayed the deeper intent.
Lo'ak spotted her first, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, the pat teasing and knowing amusement dancing in his tone. "Looks like your admirer is here for you. Don't mess this up, golden boy."
With a wink, he rose and sauntered off, leaving Neteyam to the awkward solitude.
Neteyam rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, but he schooled his expression as Alayni settled beside him. Closer than usual, her knee brushing his thigh in a tentative claim of space. The warmth of her proximity was gentle, unthreatening, her fingers twisting the pouch nervously as she met his gaze.
"How are you?" She asked softly, voice a melodic lilt shyness threading through like delicate vines, her full lips curving in a hopeful smile. "It feels like I haven't seen you around since I treated your wound. You've been... distant."
Neteyam shrugged, his broad shoulders lifting in a noncommittal motion, the scars on his arms flexing subtly under the fire's glow.
"Duties." He replied curtly, voice flat as an evasion masking the turmoil, his mind already drifting back to you, the one whose touch lingered like a brand.
Alayni leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his ear, preparing to bridge the gap with words of care, her hand hovering near his as if to offer solace. But before she could speak, shouts erupted from the treeline, harsh cries of victory and the thud of bound feet against the earth.
Neteyam's head snapped up, heart thudding against his ribs like a war drum as he spotted his father and the warriors returning, their forms silhouetted against the fading light.
The captives trailed behind, ash-streaked skins marking them as Mangkwan raiders, their bodies slumped in defeat. Five in total, wrists bound with sturdy vines, but one sight stopped Neteyam's breath.
You.
Unconscious, your form cradled in the arms of a warrior, head lolling against his chest, the ash paint smudged across your high cheekbones and the elegant line of your jaw. Your braids hung limp, framing a face pale from exhaustion, the resilient curves of your body draped in tattered raiding gear that clung to the subtle flare of your waist and the firm strength of your thighs.
The others were dragged roughly, but you were carried like a precious cargo, even in enmity.
He scrambled to his feet, abandoning Alayni mid-breath, her confused expression lost in his haste. Legs pumping, he wove through the gathering crowd, following Jake and the warriors into the large containment hut at the village's edge. The structure loomed, woven from sturdy branches and hides, its interior dim and partitioned for holding foes.
The captives were deposited inside. The four males shoved into a far corner, their glares defiant as their hisses of Mangkwan curses filled the air.
You were placed apart, in a secluded alcove screened by a heavy cloth drape, your unconscious form laid gently on a mat of woven reeds. The warrior who carried you stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow, as Jake oversaw the securing of the space.
"Dad, what happened?" Neteyam demanded, voice edged with urgency concern sharpening his tone like a drawn arrow, stepping into the hut's shadowed confines, his tail lashing behind him.
Jake turned, his massive frame blocking the entrance momentarily, eyes weary from the skirmish but sharp with command.
He wiped a streak of dirt from his arm, the muscles there corded from years of battle. "We were about to capture Varang. Had her cornered in the ravine but the female blocked it, took the hit meant for her. Bought enough time for their Tsahik to escape."
The female. You. The only one among them, your role as shield a testament to the fierce loyalty that bound you to your sister in fire and ash.
Neteyam's gaze flicked to your still form, hidden now behind the cloth, a pang twisting in his gut.
"She's the Tsakarem." He supplied, the words heavy, a mix of protectiveness and dread lacing his revelation.
Jake's eyes widened, surprise flashing across his stern features as he processed the implications, his hand pausing mid-gesture. "She's important to the Mangkwans then. Varang will probably come after her. Ransom or rescue, doesn't matter. We can't let that slide."
"She will." Neteyam confirmed, stepping closer, his voice low and resolute, the ache of your vulnerability fueling his words. "That's her younger sister. Varang won't rest until she's free."
Jake nodded at the confirmation, his expression hardening into strategic resolve, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder in brief solidarity. "We will keep a tight watch then. I'll ask them questions later. See what we can pry loose about their next moves."
With that, he turned and strode out, the warriors filing after him, leaving the hut in tense silence broken only by the captives' low growls from the corner.
Neteyam lingered, the air thick with the scent of sweat and earth from the raid. He approached your alcove, parting the cloth with a steady hand, the fabric whispering against his fingers. There you lay, tied loosely at wrists and ankles to prevent escape upon waking. Vines that bit gently into your skin, marked by fresh bruises blooming like dark petals along your arms and the arch of your collarbone.
Still as beautiful as he remembered, even in captivity. Your lashes fanned against your cheeks, full lips parted slightly in unconscious repose, the soft rise and fall of your chest drawing his eye to the swell beneath your disheveled top, beads scattered like fallen stars.
He wanted to see you again, to clash words and wills in the wild freedom of the forest but not like this. Bound and broken at the mercy of his clan. Not with his family's eyes now fixed on you, a prize in their war. Kneeling beside you, the mat dipping under his weight, he reached out, callused fingers tracing the curve of your cheek, brushing away a smudge of ash to reveal the smooth glow beneath. Your skin was warm, alive with the pulse he knew so well, and the touch sent a shiver through him, desire warring with regret.
Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Gentle, lingering, tasting the faint salt of battle and the sweetness he'd stolen before.
"Foolish girl." He whispered against your mouth, tenderness laced with dark possession, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light.
The words were a caress and a claim, his thumb stroking the plush line of your lower lip as he pulled back, golden eyes devouring the sight of you, vulnerable yet unbroken. In this moment, with the world outside plotting your fate, he vowed silently to shield you. From his clan, from Varang's wrath, from everything but the bond that refused to die.
You stirred faintly under his touch, a soft murmur escaping your throat, but consciousness eluded you still. Neteyam remained, a sentinel in the shadows, his heart a battlefield where love and enmity bled into one.
Hours slipped by in the dim hush of the containment hut, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke from the raid. Flickering torchlight danced across the woven walls, casting elongated shadows that twisted like serpents in the undergrowth.
You stirred slowly, the haze of unconsciousness peeling away to reveal the ache throbbing through your limbs, a dull fire from the blow that had felled you, protecting Varang's escape. Your eyelids fluttered open, gaze sharpening as the world came into focus. The sturdy reeds beneath you, the vines binding your wrists and ankles in a loose but unyielding embrace, and worst of all, the two figures looming nearby.
Neteyam knelt close, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on hunger, broad shoulders tense under his warrior's harness, the lean cords of muscle in his arms flexing as he leaned forward. Beside him stood Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, his massive frame radiating authority, scarred torso marked by battles long past, tail swaying with restrained impatience.
A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral disgust curling your lips like a predator's warning, your body coiling against the restraints as you bared your teeth. The sight of them, your captors and enemies, ignited a blaze in your chest, your form tensing, the subtle strength in your thighs pressing against the mat as you tested the bonds.
Jake crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unyielding, a hint of weary respect in his tone. "Your warriors stabbed themselves refusing to talk. You are the only one left."
You met his eyes, a smirk twisting your full mouth despite the vulnerability of your position, the line of your jaw lifting in defiance. Ash still clung in faint traces to your high cheekbones, accentuating the beauty of your features.
"Their loyalties bind them to us." You replied, voice smooth and laced with pride, a mocking edge sharpening the words, your chest rising with a steady breath that drew attention to the swell beneath your tattered top.
Jake tsked, shaking his head, the sound rough like gravel, underfoot frustration etching faint lines around his eyes. "You're one stubborn clan."
You hissed at him, the sound sharp and venomous, hatred flashing in your stare, ears flattening against your skull as you glared at the legend before you, the human-turned-Na'vi who embodied everything your clan despised.
"You will remain here, captive." Jake continued, his voice firm, command underscoring the decree. "You'll be our leverage if your sister ever decides to attack."
A growl rumbled deep in your chest, directed solely at him. The Toruk Makto, the anomaly who dared threaten your bloodline. Your fingers curled into fists within the vines, nails digging into your palms, the taper of them drawing faint crescents on your skin.
Jake sighed, the exhale heavy with the weight of leadership, and clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture paternal and trusting as a subtle nod of handover. "Keep watch on her. The responsibility is on you."
Neteyam nodded, his expression composed outward, calm masking the thrill surging through his veins, but inside, glee bubbled like a hidden spring. He alone would guard you, tend to you, unravel the fortress of your resistance. As Jake strode out, the flap of the hut falling shut behind him, the space shrank to just the two of you, the air humming with unspoken tension.
"Baby." Neteyam murmured, voice low and intimate, affection warming the endearment as he shifted closer on his knees, his warm breath ghosting over your bound form.
You recoiled, disgust twisting your features, revulsion flaring hot in your gut, your head snapping back as far as the position allowed, the cascade of your braids shifting across your shoulders.
"Don't call me with that filthy tawtute terms of yours." You spat, words dripping venom as anger sharpened each syllable, your torso arching away from him.
He ignored the barb, golden eyes gleaming with unshakeable resolve as he leaned in, the scent of forest and him invading your senses. "Why did you let yourself get captured?"
You snarled baring fangs, fury igniting your gaze like struck flint, straining against the vines that held your wrists above your head, the motion pulling taut the supple curve of your arms.
"I am protecting our tsahik." You hissed, loyalty a shield as unyielding as your will, your voice echoing the sacred bond to Varang.
His lips curved into a grin, wide and boyish yet edged with something darker, delight sparkling in his eyes, the sharp angles of his face softening in the torchlight. "I've missed you."
You rolled your eyes, the gesture exaggerated, exasperation warring with the unwelcome flutter in your chest, turning your face away, the slope of your neck exposed in the motion, beads from your disrupted adornments clinking softly.
"I've missed your lips." He added, voice dropping to a husky whisper, desire threading through like vines claiming a tree, his fingers reaching out to trace the plush contour of your mouth, calluses rough against the sensitive skin.
You shook him off with a jerk of your head, the touch igniting sparks of unwanted heat irritation flaring alongside a traitorous shiver.
"Do not touch me, demon." You commanded, tone icy, loathing masking the conflict stirring within you.
But he only grinned wider, happiness radiating from him like bioluminescent blooms, his joy unmarred by your barbs as he settled back on his haunches to simply watch you, the weight of his gaze a caress in itself.
The days that followed blurred into a rhythm of captivity and unwelcome intimacy, the hut your world narrowed to woven walls and the single guardian who haunted your every waking moment.
Neteyam was the only face you saw, his presence a constant. Bringing woven baskets of fruit and roasted meats, feeding you with deliberate care. His fingers would brush your lips as he offered bites of sweet berry, the juice staining your chin, and you'd snarl with defiance in every bite, snapping at his hand like a cornered ikran, yet he persisted undeterred, his touch lingering on the delicate skin of your jaw.
He touched you freely, hands roaming while you snarled and twisted as fury boiled beneath your skin, the vines holding you fast to the mat or a sturdy post when he deemed it necessary. Stolen kisses came unbidden, his mouth claiming yours in quick heated presses when your guards were down, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you bit back with rage fueling the clash of teeth.
He was utterly smitten, golden eyes devouring every inch of you with the way your chest heaved with indignant breaths, the flex of your thighs as you kicked futilely, the wild beauty of your stare that promised retribution.
One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the hut's slits in golden shafts, he untied your ankles just enough to pull you onto his lap, your back pressed against the solid wall of his chest. His arms encircled your waist, strong and unyielding with possessiveness in his hold, the heat of his body seeping through your sparse coverings.
You snarled writhing, disgust and something perilously close to anticipation warring within, but the bonds on your wrists kept you captive to his whims.
"Shh, just relax." He murmured against your ear, tenderness laced with command, his large hands sliding upward, cupping the soft perky mounds of your breasts through the thin beaded top.
His thumbs circled the peaks, teasing them to firm points, desire evident in the hitch of his breath as he massaged your breasts with slow deliberate strokes that sent unwelcome jolts through your core. The sensation was maddening, the rough pads of his fingers kneading the yielding flesh, tracing the alluring undersweep before pinching lightly, drawing a gasp you couldn't suppress betrayal in the sound.
Your body arched involuntarily, nipples hardening under his touch, the azure skin flushing with heat as he lavished attention, his lips grazing the curve of your shoulder.
"See? You like it." He whispered, smug satisfaction coloring his voice, nipping at the tender skin there, his hips shifting subtly beneath you, the growing hardness pressing against your lower back.
You growled low, humiliation burning alongside the forbidden pleasure, twisting your head to glare at him, but the fight in your eyes dimmed fractionally with each passing day.
Weeks wove onward, the passage marked by the changing light outside and the subtle shift within you.
The snarls grew less fervent, your body anticipating his arrivals from the brush of his fingers to the the warmth of his frame, though you'd never admit it, never let the fondness crack your armored facade. You'd avert your gaze when he fed you, lips parting almost eagerly for the morsels, or lean into his massages despite the huffs of protest, a secret thrill coiling in your belly.
His touches became a ritual with his hands exploring the lines of your sides, thumbs dipping into the dip of your waist, or tracing the strong taper of your legs, always pushing boundaries while you feigned outrage.
One evening, as the stars began their vigil beyond the hut, Neteyam had you straddled across his thighs once more, your bound hands resting on his shoulders for balance.
The air hummed with humidity, your skin glistening faintly, the elegant fan of your lashes lowered as his palms worked their magic on your breasts again. This time bare, the beads pushed aside to expose the soft rounded swells. He kneaded them with reverence, awe in the gentle pressure, rolling the sensitive buds between fingers slick with shared sweat. His mouth following to lave hot open-mouthed kisses along the valley between.
Your breath hitched, conflict evident in the stutter, hips rocking subtly against him, the friction igniting sparks that blurred the line between hate and hunger. He groaned against your skin as need roughened the sound, one hand sliding down to grip the firm curve of your ass, pulling you closer as his tongue flicked teasingly.
It was in this haze of intimacy, bodies entwined like mates in the privacy of the alcove, that Alayni slipped into the hut unseen, her steps silent as a healer's grace. She had come under pretense of checking the captives' wounds, her pouch of salves clutched tightly, but the sight that greeted her froze her in the shadows.
You and Neteyam, lost in each other, his hands worshipping your form, your head thrown back in a moment of unguarded surrender.
Fury ignited in her chest, hot and consuming jealousy twisting her features into a mask of rage, eyes narrowing to slits.
Neteyam was supposed to be hers. The shy glances she'd cast, the wounds she'd tended with lingering touches, the dreams of bonding under Eywa's gaze. And now, here he was, defiling that future with you. An enemy, a Mangkwan witch, doing filthy things that should have been hers alone. Her fingers tightened on the pouch, knuckles paling, as she watched his mouth claim a nipple, your soft moan piercing the air like a betrayal.
But anger birthed cunning.
Alayni's lips curled into a smirk, cold and calculating as vindictive glee sparked in her gaze, she backed away silently, melting into the night. She knew just what to do, whispers to the right ears, seeds of doubt sown in fertile soil.
Varang would come for her sister but before that, she'd ensure this forbidden flame was snuffed out, one way or another.
The days dragged on in the stifling confines of the hut, your world reduced to the flicker of torch flames and the relentless pull of the vines that bound you. Whispers from beyond the woven walls hinted at unrest, scouts reporting movements in the ash-choked territories but you paid them little mind, your thoughts a whirlwind of simmering resentment and the unwelcome echoes of Neteyam's touches.
Unbeknownst to everyone, Alayni moved like a shadow through the camp, her steps light and purposeful as she sought out a Mangkwan scout. With a healer's gentle facade masking her venom, she slipped him a message etched on a leaf. The location of the Omatikaya's hidden holding ground, the precise hut where you were kept. Satisfaction curled her lips as she watched him dispatch immediately after hissing at her.
Varang would come, of that she was certain, and once you were ripped away, the stain you'd left on Neteyam's heart would fade, leaving her path clear.
She bided her time with calculated grace, weaving herself deeper into the fabric of the Sully family.
Mornings found her at Neytiri's side in the healer's marui, her hands steady as she ground herbs for poultices, her voice soft with feigned humility, adoration shining in her wide eyes as she praised Neytiri's wisdom. Evenings brought her to Jake, offering insights on the refugees' wounds, her touch lingering just a fraction too long on his arm as she murmured concerns for the clan's future.
Approval warmed their gazes, nods of encouragement that fueled her ambition. Everything unfolded as she envisioned. His parents' favor solidified, pressure mounting on Neteyam to seal the bond before the shadows of war encroached further.
One humid afternoon, as the sun dipped toward the canopy in a blaze of amber, Alayni slipped into your hut unannounced, the flap rustling like a conspirator's whisper.
You lay there, wrists still secured to the low beam overhead, your frame stretched out on the mat, the faint sheen of sweat tracing the elegant hollows of your collarbones. Your azure skin glowed softly in the diffused light, the subtle freckles across your shoulders like scattered stars, and your chest rose in steady rhythms.
She knelt beside you, her posture demure yet predatory, knees folding gracefully onto the earth as her tail flicked with restrained triumph. Her fingers brushed the edge of the mat, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your body.
"So this is where my soon-to-be mate has been occupying himself with." She said, voice honeyed with mock pity as a saccharine smile curved her lips, eyes glinting with malice.
You stared at her blankly, eyes narrowing slightly as you took in her features.
"Who?" You asked tone flat, your head tilting just enough to let a braid slip over your shoulder, brushing the firm flesh of your bicep.
Her grin widened, sweet as overripe fruit, revealing the gleam of her teeth as she leaned closer, the scent of healing herbs clinging to her like a veil.
"Neteyam." She purred, the name rolling off her tongue with possessive delight, triumph lacing the revelation. "We will be mated earlier than planned, as per his parents."
Something twisted in your chest. A sharp unexpected clench that stole your breath like thorns snagging delicate vines. Your heart stuttered, a betraying ache blooming beneath your ribs, but you schooled your features into impassive stone, the high planes of your cheekbones unchanging, your gaze steady as unyielding rock.
All this time, his whispers, his hands mapping your skin like sacred territory, his stolen kisses that left you breathless and conflicted, they were lies woven around another. A potential mate waiting in the wings while he toyed with you, the enemy captive.
Sick demon bastard.
"Put him on a leash then." You replied, forcing a grin that mirrored hers, malice flashing in your stare like lightning over ash plains, your voice dripping with feigned amusement. "So your future mate will stop coming to pester me."
The words tasted like bile but you held the expression as you met her stare head on.
Meanwhile, across the camp in the central marui, Neteyam stood rigid before his parents, the air thick with the scent of spiced tea and unresolved tension.
Jake's broad frame filled the space, his scarred arms crossed over his chest while Neytiri sat poised nearby, her fingers tracing patterns on a woven mat, golden eyes watchful.
The news fell like a stone into still water. A mating with Alayni, sealed in just one month's time, earlier than tradition dictated, a safeguard against the uncertainties of leadership should fate claim both Jake and Neytiri in battle.
"It's for the clan, son." Jake said, voice gravelly with finality, concern etching deeper lines into his brow, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the weight meant to ground him.
Neytiri nodded, her tail curling supportively around her leg gentle resolve in her tone. "Alayni is devoted and strong, she is who we have chosen. She will stand beside you as Olo'eyktan's mate."
Fury burned through Neteyam's veins, hot and unquenchable, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles bunched along his sharp jawline.
He didn't want her. Not her shy glances, not her dutiful presence, they were chains disguised as comfort. No, his thoughts raced to you. The fire in your snarls, the beauty of your form yielding under his touch, the forbidden pull that consumed him. You, with your pretty eyes that pierced like arrows, your body a landscape he longed to claim eternally.
He said nothing, golden eyes darkening with suppressed rage, turning on his heel without another word. The marui's flap snapped shut behind him as he stormed toward your hut, craving the solace of your presence, the one anchor in this storm of obligation.
He pushed through the entrance, the dim interior unfolding before him like a betrayal frozen in time.
There you were, bound and defiant, but your face. Oh, Eywa, your face, it was lit with a grin that sliced deeper than any blade. The malicious glint in your eyes was back, amplified tenfold, a savage spark that echoed the day he'd first seen you amid the raid's chaos, ash-streaked and commanding.
Beside you knelt Alayni, her expression a mask of innocence shattered by the scene.
"Look, your future mate is here." You said, the words laced with venomous glee as your grin widened, teeth flashing as you tilted your chin upward.
The coldness in your stare pinned him, stripping away the fragile warmth he'd coaxed from you over weeks of stolen intimacies.
Neteyam stiffened, his broad chest heaving with a sharp inhale, the lean planes of his abdomen tensing beneath his harness.
You knew. The progress, the softening glances, the reluctant leans into his embrace crumbled to dust before his eyes. Alayni had poisoned it all, her meddling a dagger to his desires.
His gaze flicked to her, fury igniting like dry tinder. Without a word, he lunged forward, large hand wrapping around Alayni's slender wrist in a grip of iron, frustration boiling over in the tremble of his fingers. He dragged her up and out, her body stumbling in his wake, the flap whipping shut behind them.
You watched them go, the grin on your lips turning colder and sharper, like frost on volcanic glass a hollow ache gnawing at your core despite the armor. They did look good together, her demure form tucked against his towering strength, a picture of clan-approved harmony. And that truth stung more than any admission, a barb lodging deep, twisting with the realization of your own foolish vulnerability.
Outside, in the shadowed alcove between huts, Neteyam released Alayni with a shove, whirling on her as a hiss escaped his throat, low and guttural rage vibrating through the sound, his ears pinning back flat against his braided hair.
"What did you tell her?" He demanded, golden eyes blazing, the sharp angles of his face hardened into lines of accusation, his tail lashing like a whip.
Alayni glanced up at him through her lashes, the gesture shy and fluttering, feigned innocence veiling the satisfaction in her depths, rubbing her wrist with delicate fingers.
"That we will be mated in a month." She replied softly, voice trembling just enough to evoke pity, a subtle pout forming on her lips.
Neteyam growled, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder, frustration etching fury across his features, stepping closer until his shadow engulfed her.
"You ruined everything." He snarled, fists clenching at his sides, the cords of muscle in his forearms standing out in stark relief.
"I was just saying the truth." Alayni countered, chin lifting with quiet defiance, resolve strengthening her tone, eyes locking onto his. "Especially since it's been blessed by your parents. It's for the good of the clan, Neteyam."
He opened his mouth to retort, words of denial and desperation bubbling up, but the air shattered with a deafening roar. Explosions ripped through the camp, blooms of fire and ash erupting from the perimeter like vengeful spirits unleashed. The ground trembled, screams piercing the night as warriors scrambled, bows drawn and ikran screeching overhead. Mangkwans, fierce shadows descending from the shadows, their forms painted in war cries and fury.
They had come for you.
The chaos erupted like the fury of Eywa's wrath, the night sky fracturing with bursts of flame and acrid smoke that clawed at the senses.
Neteyam froze at the threshold of the marui, his hand outstretched toward the flap, every fiber of his being screaming to reach you, to shield you from the encroaching storm. But another explosion thundered closer, shaking the woven platform beneath his feet, the ground vibrating with the impact of Mangkwan ikrans diving from the shadowed cliffs. Warriors' cries pierced the air, sharp desperate calls to arms and he knew with a sinking dread, that duty bound him first.
His golden eyes lingered on the shadowed interior for a heartbeat longer, the pull toward you a magnetic ache in his chest before he spun away, muscles coiling like a predator's as he sprinted into the fray. m
Alayni stood forgotten in the dust, her form shrinking in his wake as he vanished among the leaping shadows of Omatikaya defenders.
Inside the marui, the world tilted on its axis. You had barely settled back against the mat, the vines around your wrists a familiar rasp against your skin, when the first boom reverberated through the walls, deep and ominous, like the rumble of volcanic depths stirring awake. Your eyes snapped open, head lifting as the air grew thick with the scent of scorched earth and distant blood.
What was this? Another raid? Or something far worse, born of the tensions that had simmered since your capture?
The flap burst open without warning, a silhouette materializing in the torchlight like a specter from the ash plains. Tall and imposing, her frame clad in the jagged armor of Mangkwan war paint, stripes of obsidian gleaming across her broad shoulders and down the powerful lines of her thighs.
Varang, your sister, the unyielding force of your clan, stepped forward, her presence filling the space with an electric menace, her tail lashing once in sharp triumph.
"Little tsmuke." She rumbled, voice low and edged with possessive glee, a fierce grin splitting her face, revealing the sharpened points of her canines as her amber eyes locked onto yours with predatory affection.
Your breath caught, a surge of relief flooding through you like cool rain on parched soil, your body shifting upright despite the bindings, the subtle flex of your toned abdomen drawing the loincloth's edges taut against your hips.
"Varang." You whispered, the word laced with raw vulnerability, hope flickering in your gaze, your full lips curving into a tentative smile that softened the sharp beauty of your features. "You came for me?"
She moved with purposeful strides, her large hands reaching for the vines with swift efficiency, slicing through them with a hidden dagger that flashed in the dim light. The fibers parted with a soft snap, and freedom rushed back into your limbs, a tingling warmth spreading from your wrists as you rubbed the faint red marks blooming on your azure skin.
Varang's grin widened, menacing and triumphant, her broad chest heaving with barely contained energy, the intricate scars across her collarbone catching the fire's glow like badges of conquest.
"Yes." She said, tone brooking no delay, commanding resolve in her stance as she gripped your arm, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "Come."
You followed her out into the night, the marui's warmth giving way to the chaotic symphony of battle.
The village platform teemed with motion. Omatikaya warriors leaping between branches, their forms blurring as they nocked arrows and unleashed volleys into the descending horde. Mangkwan fighters swarmed from the treeline, their ikran shrieking as they clashed mid-air, talons raking through flesh and wing. Explosions bloomed sporadically, grenades of volcanic powder hurled by your kin, igniting the underbrush in furious orange. The air hummed with the twang of bowstrings and the guttural roars of combat, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the earthy musk of sweat-soaked bodies.
Your bare feet padded softly over the woven walkways, heart pounding in sync with the frenzy, your unbound arms swinging freely for the first time in weeks, the cool night breeze kissing the exposed curves of your waist and the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the beaded strands.
Then, amid the turmoil, you spotted her. Alayni, huddled against a nearby post, her slender frame trembling in the flickering light, wide eyes darting as if seeking an anchor in the storm.
Varang strode past without a flicker of acknowledgment, her focus laser-sharp on escape but you couldn't hold back.
A snarl tore from your throat, low and feral fury igniting in your gaze, your lips peeling back to expose teeth in a vicious baring, the line of your neck tensing as you leaned toward her.
Varang's hand clamped down on your shoulder, firm and unyielding, halting your advance mid-step.
You glanced up at her, confusion etching across your face, the high cheekbones flushing faintly with the heat of your anger.
"She was the one who told us where you were. I would have cut her kuru off but we will be wasting time." Varang explained, voice a gravelly murmur as disgust curled her upper lip.
The revelation hit like a spear to the gut.
This fucking bitch, going to such depraved extremes just to claim Neteyam? Betraying her own people, inviting destruction upon them for a twisted shot at his bond?
Rage and amusement simmered in your veins, hot and unfiltered, but you channeled it into a smirk, slow and menacing, your eyes narrowing to slits that gleamed with cruel intelligence. You stepped closer to Alayni despite Varang's hold, your posture shifting into one of mocking poise, the graceful sway of your hips accentuating the lithe power in your legs.
"You became a traitor to your people just to have him?" You taunted, voice silky with venom as a low chuckle bubbled up, your head tilting to let a braid sway against the smooth plane of your shoulder. "Do you think you'd be mated with him once they found out you were the one who caused this destruction, their deaths?"
You giggled then, the sound cruel and crystalline, echoing like shattering glass amid the distant clamor, your laughter laced with derision as you watched her eyes sharpen, the shy facade cracking to reveal the venom beneath.
Alayni's features twisted, her soft mouth compressing into a thin line, but she forced a grin in return, brittle and defiant, her hands clenching at her sides, knuckles paling against her blue skin.
"No one will know." She hissed, the words dripping with false sweetness, a predatory glint flashing in her gaze, her chin lifting in haughty challenge. "Because you won't be here anymore to tell him."
You met her stare with a taunting calm, your smirk unwavering, the corners of your mouth quirking upward in serene mockery, your body relaxed yet poised, the subtle rise and fall of your chest betraying none of the storm within.
Varang's fingers dug into your arm then, urging you onward with a sharp tug, her massive form shielding you as she propelled you toward the edge of the platform.
"Enough." She growled, impatience sharpening her tone, her free hand gesturing toward her waiting nightwraith in the shadows.
Hesitation gripped you like invisible chains, heavier than the vines ever were.
Over those endless days and nights, fondness had crept into your heart for Neteyam. Unwanted and insidious, a warmth that bloomed in the wake of his persistent touches, his whispered promises that now rang hollow. You had grown accustomed to the way his golden eyes softened for you, the reverence in his caresses tracing the valleys of your spine, the heat of his body pressing close in the dim hut.
But to stay?
To linger as their prisoner, forced to witness him bound to this scheming viper in a month's time? No. The betrayal stung deeper than any wound. He had lied, omitted the truth of his impending mating while his hands roamed your skin, murmuring of futures intertwined, of desires that now felt like cruel jests. Your chest tightened, a sigh escaping your lips, soft and resigned, your shoulders slumping ever so slightly, the curve of your back arching as you drew in the smoky air you were familiar with.
You ran then, matching Varang's powerful strides, your legs carrying you with renewed vigor over the swaying bridges, the wind whipping through your hair and cooling the flush on your cheeks. The battle raged around you, but your focus narrowed to escape. The distant calls of your ikran, the path to freedom amid the chaos. Behind you, the marui faded into the night, a chapter closing with bitter finality.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of skirmishes before Neteyam could break free, his bow still humming from the arrows he'd loosed into the fray, his chest heaving with exertion, streaks of soot marring the defined ridges of his torso. He raced back to the marui, ignoring the sting of superficial cuts along his arms, his mind a singular blaze.
You.
Bursting through the flap, he scanned the interior, the empty mat, the severed vines scattered like discarded shackles. His heart plummeted, a cold void yawning in his chest, the lean muscles of his frame going rigid as denial clawed at him.
He whirled out, golden eyes landing on Alayni, who lingered outside, her posture a picture of feigned distress, arms wrapped around her slender waist as if to ward off the night's terror. He ignored the way she reached for him, her fingers brushing his elbow and fixed her with a glare that could shatter stone.
"Where is she?" He demanded, voice rough and edged with panic, his jaw clenching, the sharp planes of his face taut with desperation, tail flicking erratically behind him.
Alayni's expression crumpled into one of artful fragility, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears, lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him, her voice emerging soft and quivering, laced with sorrowful conviction. "She ran away, Neteyam. Her sister came and freed her. I told her you wouldn't want her to leave but she was happy to be free. Said she didn't want to be here... nor be in your presence."
Silence crashed over him like a tidal wave, his breath stalling in his lungs, the world narrowing to the echo of her words.
You really didn't like him. All those weeks,the stolen moments where your body arched into his, the fleeting softness in your gaze, the reluctant sighs that he mistook for yielding, they were illusions, born of captivity's coercion. You had endured him, nothing more, your responses a prisoner's survival, not a spark of true connection. The fire that had burned in his soul for you flickered and died, leaving only ashes in its wake, his heart turning to ice, numb and unyielding.
His broad shoulders sagged imperceptibly, the golden light in his eyes dimming to shadowed resolve.
Alayni stepped closer, her hand finding his arm again, this time with gentle insistence comfort threading her tone, a subtle smile curving her lips as she pressed the advantage. "It's okay, Neteyam. She is a Mangkwan, she's been wanting to escape. At least our people will have no problems anymore, and in a month, we will be mated."
He didn't pull away, the words settling over him like a shroud.
Acceptance seeped in, cold and inevitable, you did not want him, and perhaps it was time to let the obsession fracture, to forge ahead with the path laid before him by clan and kin. The battle's din faded to a distant roar as the warrior's mask slipped back into place, burying the remnants of his shattered longing for you.
Since then, weeks had slipped by like shadows fleeing the dawn, each day etching deeper lines of detachment into Neteyam's once-vibrant spirit. The lush canopy of the Omatikaya village hummed with its eternal rhythm, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of ikran wheeling overhead, but for him, the world had dulled to a muted haze. His golden eyes, once alight with the fire, now stared out with a steely impassivity, scanning horizons not for wonder, but for threats to be neutralized.
The raid led by Varang had receded into memory, its scars healed on the village platforms, yet the wound it inflicted on him festered unseen, a quiet erosion of the warmth that had defined him.
Tuk, with her boundless energy and innocent delight, felt the chill most acutely. She bounded up to him one evening as he sharpened his blade by the communal fire, her small hands clutching a fresh weave of beads, iridescent stones and feathers intertwined in a pattern mimicking the bioluminescent vines that glowed at night. Her tail swished with eager anticipation, freckles dancing across her cheeks as she thrust the creation forward, her wide eyes sparkling with hope voice bubbling with excitement.
"Neteyam, look! I made this for you, it's like the stars we saw last eclipse!"
He paused, the whetstone halting mid-stroke against the obsidian edge, his broad shoulders tensing beneath the woven straps of his chest harness. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, tracing the delicate craftsmanship in her tiny fingers, the way the beads caught the sunlight and shimmered like captured fireflies. But the spark didn't ignite, no smile curved his lips, no playful ruffle of her hair followed.
Instead, he nodded curtly, resuming his task with mechanical precision, his jaw set in a firm line, voice flat and distant, devoid of the affectionate lilt she craved. "It's nice, Tuk. Put it with the others."
Her face fell, the joy draining like water from a punctured gourd, her ears drooping as she clutched the beads closer to her chest. She lingered for a beat, searching his profile, hoping for the brother who would scoop her up and declare it the finest gift Eywa ever bestowed. But he turned away, eyes fixed on the blade's gleaming surface, and she scampered off, shoulders slumped, the weave trailing forgotten in her wake.
The once-loving brother and son had hollowed into a shell, his movements efficient but soulless as if the essence that bound him to family and clan had been leeched away. All because of you, your escape a silent verdict on his delusions, a rejection that echoed in the empty spaces of his nights.
He threw himself into duties with relentless fervor. Leading patrols along the outer borders, training young warriors in the art of silent strikes, overseeing the weaving of new nets for the ikran handlers. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but his mind was a fortress, walled against reminiscence of you.
He avoided the routes where fate had first tangled your paths, the shadowed glades where Mangkwan raids had brushed too close to Omatikaya lands. No longer did he linger at the river's bend, where the water ran swift and clear, its banks lined with ferns that whispered secrets to the wind. Those places, once alive with the thrill of pursuit and stolen glances with you, now held only ghosts. He charted new paths, deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew thicker with the scent of moss and blooming nightflowers, forcing his focus to the tangible such as the snap of a branch underfoot or the distant roar of a thanator claiming territory.
Jake and Neytiri watched from afar, their concern a quiet storm brewing in stolen moments by their marui.
Jake's brow furrowed as he cleaned his rifle, a human relic he rarely touched these days, his massive frame leaning against a post, eyes tracking Neteyam's solitary figure vanishing into the treeline. The change had been stark, a full revolution from the son who joked with Lo'ak over shared kills to this impassive sentinel. It started after Varang's assault, the explosions that had torn through the night like Eywa's judgment, and though the Mangkwan leader had retreated with her forces, the aftermath lingered in Neteyam's silence.
"He's not himself." Jake murmured one evening, his voice rough with worry, arms crossed over his broad chest and the lines around his eyes deepening as he gazed at Neytiri.
Neytiri nodded, her braids swaying as she stirred a pot of herbal stew, the steam rising in fragrant curls that carried notes of healing roots. Her golden eyes, sharp and knowing, held a mother's intuition, tracing the invisible threads connecting her son's withdrawal to the captive who had slipped away.
"I think it is the Mangkwan tsakarem." She said, conviction lacing her tone, her tail curling thoughtfully around her ankle, fingers pausing on the wooden spoon as a memory of your face surfaced. "I believe she has woven herself into his thoughts. The attack... it freed her but it broke something in him."
Jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his braided mohawk, the weight of leadership pressing on him as surely as the humid air. They had suspected as much, the way Neteyam's gaze had lingered on the empty marui, the subtle flinch at mentions of Mangkwan scouts. But pushing him now, with the mantle of Olo'eyktan looming in a year's shadow, would only drive the fracture deeper.
"Let him be." He decided, voice resolute yet tinged with reluctance as be stood to clasp her shoulder, his callused palm warm against her skin. "He'll find his way. Duty will anchor him."
Alayni, meanwhile, bloomed in the vacuum of his detachment, her happiness a radiant veil masking the shadows of her deeds.
Two weeks until the mating ceremony and the village buzzed with preparations of fresh flowers woven into garlands and chants rehearsed under the great tree's glow. No one knew of her betrayal, the whispered coordinates she had passed to Varang's men, the calculated risk that had invited chaos to claim you and clear her path. To the clan, she was the dutiful future tsahik, her shy smiles and gentle hands a perfect counterpoint to Neteyam's stoic resolve.
She walked beside him now on a routine patrol, her steps light and synchronized with his longer strides, the sway of her hips accentuated by the fitted loincloth that hugged her slender curves. The sun filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns, gilding her azure skin and highlighting the subtle bioluminescent freckles dusting her collarbone. Alayni glanced up at him often, her dark eyes alight with unspoken triumph as a soft giggle escaped her lips, brushing a leaf from his arm, fingers lingering on the firm swell of his bicep.
"The forest feels peaceful today, doesn't it, Neteyam? Like Eywa is blessing our union already."
He nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead on the winding path, the play of light and shadow across his chiseled features unchanging.
Accompanying her was duty, escorting his future mate through the clan's territories, ensuring her safety amid lingering threats from rival clans. His hand rested on his knife hilt, posture alert, the lean lines of his torso shifting with each measured step, sweat beading along the ridge of his spine from the midday heat. To him, it was rote, a task etched into the rhythm of leadership, devoid of the spark that had once ignited at your proximity.
But to Alayni, every moment was victory incarnate.
She had won, the enemy tsakarem fled, the obstacles in her way shattered, and soon his kuru would bond with hers under the eyes of the clan. Her heart raced with giddy elation, a flush warming her cheeks as she imagined the ceremony. His strong hands on her waist, the tsaheylu sealing their fates. She linked her arm through his pressing closer, the soft press of her breast against his side a deliberate intimacy, voice breathy with feigned shyness yet her eyes gleamed with possessive delight.
"I can't wait for the weaving of our kurus. It'll be perfect, won't it? Just us, forever."
Neteyam murmured agreement, the words automatic as his mind was elsewhere, on maps of patrol routes or on the warriors awaiting his command.
He tried with iron will to banish thoughts of you from the recesses of his soul. He would be Olo'eyktan soon, the weight of the clan on his shoulders, mated to Alayni in a union forged for stability and strength. There was no space for yearning, no indulgence for a ghost who had recoiled from his touch, who had fled at the first chance, eyes cold with disgust rather than desire. You hadn't loved him, your responses had been chains of circumstance, feigned to survive the cage of captivity.
The realization was a blade at his chest, twisting deeper with each suppressed memory.
Yet, in the quiet hours when the village slumbered and the stars wheeled overhead, your image weaseled in unbidden. He would lie on his mat, the thatch roof above him a barrier against the night's whispers but sleep evaded him. Visions assailed of the arch of your neck as you tilted your head in defiance, the silken glide of your skin under his fingertips during those stolen intimacies, the reluctant parting of your lips that he had mistaken for surrender. An ache bloomed in his chest like thorns embedding in its flesh, a hollow throb that echoed the void you had left.
He clenched his fists, nails biting into palms, forcing his breath steady as his eyes squeezed shut, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he willed the phantom away.
Duty. Clan. Future.
The mantra repeated, a shield against the erosion but the cracks persisted, widening with every heartbeat of his.
In the days that followed, the preparations intensified. Alayni flitted about with renewed purpose, her laughter ringing clearer as she helped Neytiri select ceremonial beads, her fingers deftly sorting the vibrant strands. Neteyam joined when required, his presence a steady anchor amid the festivities, but his smiles were rare, reserved for elders and children who demanded them.
Jake pulled him aside once, during a strategy session by the war council, his father's hand heavy on his shoulder voice gruff with concern, eyes searching his son's face for the boy he remembered. "Son, whatever haunts you, face it. Don't let it consume the leader you're becoming."
Neteyam met his gaze evenly, the golden depths unyielding as his shoulders squared with a nod crisp and final. "It's handled, sir. The clan comes first."
But as he walked away, the forest closing around him like a living shroud, the ache resurfaced again as a persistent whisper of what might have been, tangled forever in the undergrowth of his resolve.
Hours went by, the eclipse had long since painted the sky in deep indigo, the bioluminescent vines along the village platforms casting a soft ethereal glow that did little to ease the knot of worry twisting in Neytiri's chest.
She lay beside Jake in their marui, the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad back a testament to the exhaustion of leadership, his braided kuru draped loosely over the woven mat. But sleep eluded her, her golden eyes flicking toward the entrance flap, where the night sounds of Pandora filtered in.
Neteyam was late, far past the hour warriors returned from solitary vigils or patrols. Her eldest, the pillar of their family, had become a ghost in his own home, his steps silent and his words fewer than the stars above.
With a quiet resolve, she rose, her lithe form unfolding gracefully, the faint scars from old battles tracing faint lines along her arms like maps of survival. She draped a light shawl over her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her azure skin, and slipped out into the cooling air. The village slumbered, maruis dimly lit by inner fires, but her hunter's instincts guided her toward the outer platforms, where the great tree's roots intertwined with the earth.
There, perched on a low branch overlooking the valley, she found him. Neteyam with his back to her, broad shoulders slumped under the weight of invisible burdens. He stared upward, the starlight reflecting in the wet trails of tears carving paths down his cheeks, his golden eyes distant and shattered.
Her heart clenched like a fist around a thorn, a sharp ache blooming as she witnessed tears streaming freely from the face of her unbreakable son. In all her years, through battles and losses, she had never seen him cry. Not as a fierce young warrior facing his first hunt, not even when Kiri's visions had shaken the family to its core. These past weeks, he had been a hollow vessel, his laughter silenced, his touch withdrawn, but this vulnerability cracked the shell wide open, exposing the raw wound beneath.
She approached softly, her bare feet padding against the mossy wood, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling his solid frame against her chest.
"My son." She murmured, her voice a gentle caress laced with sorrow, her chin resting on his shoulder, braids brushing his ear as she held him close. "What ails you? Speak to your sa'nok."
Neteyam sighed, a heavy exhale that carried the weight of unspoken tempests, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He leaned into her embrace, the tension in his neck easing fractionally, but words remained locked behind clenched teeth.
How could she understand?
The gravity of his love for you, a Mangkwan woman, an enemy incarnate had pulled at him like an undertow, drowning his sense of self. Each day chipped away at his resolve, the choice between duty to clan and the selfish pull of his heart a torment that left him adrift. He was losing pieces of himself in the effort to bury the ache, to forge ahead as the future Olo'eyktan.
"I am tired." He finally whispered, his voice cracking as he wiped at his face with the back of his hand, the muscles in his jaw flexing as fresh tears welled. "I cannot do this anymore, Mom. The weight... it's crushing me."
Neytiri's heart fractured further at his confession, the raw despair in his tone echoing the cries of a wounded ikran. She tightened her hold, her arms encircling his torso, fingers splaying across the firm planes of his abdomen as if to anchor him to the world.
She had suspected for weeks that this shadow over him stemmed from you, the woman who had been his captive, the one whose escape had coincided with his unraveling. Whispers of your name in council meetings, the way his gaze sharpened at mentions of Mangkwan movements, it all pointed to a bond forged in secrecy and strife. But she said nothing, offering only the silent strength of her presence, her tail curling protectively around his leg. In the quiet, she sent a fervent prayer to Eywa, her mind weaving pleas through the neural network of the land.
Great Mother, guide my son through this storm. There must be purpose in his pain, a path unseen amid the chaos.
The night deepened around them, mother and son entwined in shared silence, until exhaustion finally claimed him, his head lolling against her shoulder. Neytiri guided him back to the marui, her steps steady despite the turmoil churning within.
Soon, dawn broke with the first calls of prolemuris swinging through the canopy, painting the forest in hues of gold and green. Neteyam rose with the sun, his face a mask once more, his eyes hooded and expression schooled into impassive resolve.
Today, duty demanded he scout the eastern fringes, perilously close to the glades where he had first glimpsed you weeks ago, your form a vision of lethal grace amid the raid's fury. He had avoided those paths like a festering wound but intelligence from outriders reported Mangkwan activity stirring anew and evasion was no longer an option.
He joined Jake and Neytiri at the ikran roost, along with a cadre of warriors.
Neytiri watched him from afar as he checked his bowstring, the morning light catching the subtle sheen of sweat on his brow from the humid air. Memories of the previous night flooded her, the vulnerability in his tears, the plea in his voice and now, seeing him revert to this emotionless sentinel, her worry deepened like roots delving into soil. His movements were precise and efficient but there was no spark, no anticipation in his posture.
Alayni hovered at the periphery, her presence a flutter of nervous energy amid the preparations. She had risen early, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of impending union, and now she approached Neteyam with a sway in her step, the beads of her top clinking softly. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his cheek, the kiss lingering a beat too long, her hand brushing the curve of his arm, voice soft and adoring, eyes sparkling with feigned innocence as she pulled back slightly.
"Stay safe, Neteyam. Come back to me whole."
He nodded, the motion mechanical, his golden eyes sliding past her without warmth, fixed instead on the horizon.
Neytiri observed the exchange, her tail flicking in subtle disapproval, the contrast between Alayni's eagerness and her son's detachment a stark reminder of the fractures in his spirit and the duty they had handed to him.
The group saddled their ikrans, the massive creatures rumbling with impatience, wings unfurling like sails in the breeze. Neteyam mounted with fluid ease, his thighs gripping the creature's sides, the bond forming through their queues in a pulse of shared intent. With a collective cry, they ascended, the wind whipping through braids and loincloths as the forest shrank below, giving way to the vast expanse of floating mountains and vine-draped cliffs.
The skies were clear at first, the patrol weaving through thermal updrafts, Jake leading with hand signals sharp and commanding.
But peace shattered like fragile crystal, an ambush erupting from the clouds and the forest below, Mangkwan warriors on their own direhorses and winged mounts descending in a hail of fire-arrows and poisoned barbs. Flames licked at the air, ignited by incendiary tips, while the sharp whistle of shafts cut through the roar of wings.
Neytiri and Jake unleashed war cries that echoed across the valleys, primal and fierce, their ikrans diving into the fray. Neteyam clenched his teeth, the familiar surge of battle adrenaline sharpening his senses, but beneath it thrummed a deeper tension, his heart pounding not just from the clash, but from the scan of faces below, searching for yours amid the chaos.
No sign of you and the absence twisted like a knife at him. Disappointment that you weren't there for him to see once more and yet relief that you remained untouched by this violence.
He urged his ikran higher, bow drawn in a blur, arrows flying true to fell two attackers in mid-air, their bodies plummeting with guttural cries.
On the ground, Neytiri broke from the aerial skirmish, her ikran landing with a thud amid the underbrush as she spotted Varang, her form a whirlwind of aggression with war paint streaking her face in crimson patterns.
They clashed blades, Neytiri's movements a dance of lethal precision, her body twisting to evade a swipe snarling with protective fury, eyes blazing as she parried, the clash of metal ringing like thunder. Jake and the other warriors followed suit, dropping to engage the Mangkwan foot soldiers, the forest erupting into a symphony of grunts, screams, and the sizzle of flames devouring foliage.
Neteyam circled above, his ikran banking sharply to loose another volley, the wind tearing at his queue as he targeted a rider closing on Kiri's position.
It was going well, the Omatikaya numbers swelling as reinforcements crested a ridge until a shadow flickered in his periphery. An arrow, swift and unerring, punched into his chest just below the collarbone, the impact a searing bloom of agony that stole his breath. His grip faltered, the bow slipping from numb fingers, and he tumbled from his ikran, the world spinning in a vortex of sky and green.
Neytiri gasped, her head snapping upward mid-fight, horror etching her features as she saw her son plummeting as a dark silhouette against the sun. Jake's roar joined hers, raw and desperate as his face contorted in dread, fists clenching around his knife as he shouted orders to cover.
Neteyam fell far, the ground rushing up mercilessly as his body slammed into the earth with a sickening thud, head bouncing against a root, his vision exploding in stars before blackness edged in.
"Neteyam!" Neytiri's scream tore from her throat, a mother's anguish that pierced the din of battle.
The spot where he fell into was an inferno's cradle, flames from stray arrows encircling the clearing, vines crackling and popping as they fed the blaze. Smoke billowed thick and acrid and without intervention, the fire would claim him, his labored breaths already ragged from the embedded shaft and the impact of the fall.
You arrived on the fringes of the skirmish, the scene unfolding like a nightmare etched in firelight. Your eyes widened at the sight, Neteyam crumpled amid the chaos, his chest heaving around the protruding arrow, blood staining the azure expanse of his torso in rivulets that soaked his harness. Your heart clenched as a vise of unwelcomed emotion squeezed it tight, the pulse of it echoing in your ears over the clash of weapons. Torn, you gripped your bow tighter, gaze flicking to your sister locked in combat with Neytiri then to your warriors pressing the attack.
Aid them, your people and your blood or the enemy who had haunted your thoughts, his touch a ghost that lingered in fevered dreams?
He's the enemy. Let him burn, let the flames erase the complication he brought to my life.
You turned your back, the wind catching the loose strands of your braids, whipping them across your face like accusations. But your body halted, muscles locking as if Eywa herself rooted you in place.
You couldn't—wouldn't—leave him to this end.
The weight of what passed between you, the tangled web of resentment and reluctant pull, demanded closure. This would be the last, a one final act to sever the thread, to walk away unburdened. With a curse under your breath, you ran to him, your legs carrying you through the underbrush.
The heat battered you as you reached the flames' edge, the air shimmering with intensity but you plunged in, hauling his weighty form by the arms. His body was heavy, limp yet solid, shoulders broad and unyielding even in unconsciousness, the corded strength of his arms dragging across the scorched earth.
You pulled him free, grunting with effort, the muscles in your back flexing under the strain. Laying him on clearer ground, you assessed the damage. The arrow jutting from his chest, fletching charred at the edges, blood pulsing steadily from the wound, soaking the ground in dark pools.
You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you as concern warred with caution.
The severity was dire, his pulse thready under your probing fingers. But you were not just a mere warrior, you were also a healer and a tsakarem, healing coursed through your veins like the forest's lifeblood even with the violence in your being.
Kneeling beside him, your hands moved with practiced urgency, pressing woven leaves from your pouch against the entry to staunch the flow, murmuring ancient invocations to Eywa for mercy. The herbs' bitter scent mingled with the metallic tang of blood, your fingers smeared crimson as you worked, the curve of your neck arching forward in concentration, eyes fierce with determination.
Varang spotted you from across the fray, her snarl twisting her features mid-clash with Neytiri, eyes narrowing in disbelief and fury voice booming over the din, laced with betrayal as she parried a strike. "(Y/N)! What are you doing? Come, we have to leave!"
Neytiri, locked in the duel, glanced toward the sound, her gaze landing on you bent over her son, a flicker of stunned gratitude warring with the battle's rage in her.
More Omatikaya warriors surged forward, tipping the scales, forcing the Mangkwan to retreat.
You didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the call. Your focus absolute, hands pressing firmly to seal the wound, willing his life to hold.
Varang shot you one last glare, venomous and pained, before snarling at Neytiri with a guttural promise of unfinished business and then she signaled the fall back. Her warriors melted into the trees, their forms thundering away, leaving the air thick with smoke and the echo of conflict.
Your focus narrowed to the rise and fall of Neteyam's chest, each shallow breath a fragile tether to life, the arrow's shaft now crudely bound but the wound beneath pulsing with insistent threat. Sweat beaded along your temple, tracing a cool path down the arch of your cheekbone, your eyes locked on his face, the sharp angles softened in unconsciousness, the full curve of his lips parted as if in silent plea.
You didn't notice the delicate swirl of an atokirina, that ethereal seed of Eywa, drifting lazily on an unseen current, hovering above you both like a benediction unspoken.
Neytiri saw it, though. Her golden gaze catching the pale spinner as it lingered, a luminous point against the hazy sky, before floating onward. Her breath hitched, a profound shiver rippling through her frame, her shoulders seeming to pulse in quiet awe.
Eywa's will.
She broke from the fray with Jake at her side, their footfalls urgent through the trampled ferns, weapons still gripped tight but lowered in the face of this revelation.
You sensed their approach before you saw them, the rustle of leaves and the heavy cadence of warrior steps pulling your attention. Instinct flared of enemies closing in and you hissed low, a feral sound vibrating from your throat as you shifted away from Neteyam, your body coiling like a viper ready to strike. Your tail lashed behind you, the tip slicing the air with agitation, while your fingers twitched toward the knife at your hip, the leather sheath warm against your hip bone.
They were still foes, the Omatikaya who had chained you and humiliated you and you'd meet them with fangs bared, your toned legs braced against the earth, ready to spring.
Jake opened his mouth, his broad jaw setting with the intent to command, but Neytiri's voice cut through first, steady and resonant, her eyes fierce yet softened by gratitude, one hand extended palm-up in a gesture of uneasy truce. "You will come with us."
He paused, confusion flickering across his scarred features, but he moved without protest, kneeling to gather Neteyam's limp form. The future leader's weight sagged in his father's arms, head lolling against Jake's shoulder, the azure skin of his neck exposed in vulnerable slackness.
Other warriors converged, their ikrans circling low with throaty calls, assisting as Jake hoisted Neteyam toward the nearest mount, muscles bulging under the strain along his arms and back, the harness straps digging into his flesh.
You snarled at Neytiri, the sound raw and defiant, your tail flicking sharper now, brushing against the back of your calves as your fangs glinted in the dappled light. Your posture was rigid with suspicion as you rose to your full height, the beaded strands of your top shifting with the heave of your chest. "I will not be your captive again. Touch me and I'll carve my freedom from your hides."
Neytiri regarded you, her own tail curling thoughtfully at her side, the fire in your eyes mirroring the unyielding spark she knew from her own youth, the same blaze that had drawn Jake to her across clan lines.
Mercy stirred in her chest, unbidden and perplexing. Was it the debt of your aid to her son or the atokirina's silent sign that compelled her?
She straightened, her silhouette cutting a commanding figure against the fading smoke, voice firm and laced with an undercurrent of respect as she turned toward her ikran. "You will not be captive. You saved him, pulled him from Eywa's grasp. I believe the Great Mother has plans. Come, you waste time."
Suspicion coiled tight in your gut, a serpent ready to strike, yet beneath it hummed an inexplicable pull. A whisper urging yes, born of exhaustion, of the chaos you'd wrought by choosing him over your kin.
You hissed once more, baring your fangs in a final warning as your lips curled back, the sharp points catching the light as your ears flattened against your skull. "Lie to me and I will not hesitate to draw my blade even if it means my end."
She met your gaze without flinching, recognizing the kindred fire, the warrior's unbreaking will. With a nod, she mounted her ikran, the bond queue connecting in a soft neural sigh, wings unfurling with a leathery snap.
You approached cautiously, every sense alert. The warmth of the creature's hide under your palms as you swung up behind her, your thighs clamping around its sides, the curve of your hips settling against Neytiri's back. The ascent was swift, wind tearing at your braids, carrying the scent of singed earth and distant rain as the group soared towards their home.
The village emerged like a living tapestry below.
Jake dismounted first upon landing, Neteyam's body cradled securely in his arms, the young warrior's limbs dangling limply, blood crusting along the wound's edges. He ran toward Mo'at's healing marui, feet pounding the woven platforms, Neytiri and you following at a urgent pace.
Eyes turned as you passed, Omatikaya faces hardening at the sight of your Mangkwan markings, the ash remnants of war paint streaking your arms and thighs, whispers rippling like wind through reeds. You ignored them, chin lifted defiantly, your strides long and purposeful, the sway of your hips fluid despite the knot of unease in your belly.
Inside the marui, the air hung thick with the aroma of medicinal pastes and smoldering herbs, shelves lined with jars of glowing extracts. Mo'at moved with ancient grace, her wrinkled skin etched with the wisdom of seasons, drawing Neteyam onto a low pallet woven from supple vines. Her hands, gnarled yet precise, peeled back the hasty bandages you'd applied, assessing the damage with a cluck of her tongue as her eyes narrowed in concentration, fingers probing the inflamed flesh around the arrow's path.
You shifted uncomfortably near the entrance, arms crossed over your chest, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against the crossed forearms, your bare midriff taut with tension.
What madness had brought you here, into the heart of enmity? Why save this man, the one whispered to be bound to another in mating rites, his future woven without you?
Once assured of his survival, you'd slip away, beg for Varang's mercy, atone for the betrayal etched in your choice to heal, to drag him from flames.
Neytiri noticed the storm brewing in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunched slightly under invisible weight. She guided you to a woven mat beside her, her touch light on your elbow as she settled cross-legged.
"Sit. The weight you carry shows in your eyes."
Jake hovered nearby, his confusion etched in the furrow of his brow, arms still bearing faint smears of his son's blood as he glanced between you and Neytiri, tone edged with bewilderment. "Neytiri, why bring her? She's Mangkwan, an enemy blood in our home."
Mo'at's voice rose then, steady and authoritative, cutting the tension as she worked a poultice into the wound her movements rhythmic, the paste's earthy scent filling the space. "He is in critical condition. The arrow pierced deep, nicking the lung's edge. Without the temporary aid to stem the bleeding, he would have crossed to Eywa's embrace already."
Both parents turned to you, realization dawning as Neytiri's gaze held quiet thanks, Jake's a grudging respect.
"And the head trauma is severe, his skull bruised from the fall so visions may haunt him upon waking. He will recover but stress must be barred from his path. No extremes of anger or despair, lest the balance tip and fracture his spirit. Do not put him in situations where he will experience such."
Jake and Neytiri nodded solemnly, Jake's hand squeezing his mate's shoulder, resolve hardening his features. "We'll guard him like the tree itself."
You sat quietly, the breath easing from your lungs in a slow sigh of relief, your fingers unclenching from where they'd dug into your palms, leaving crescent marks on the soft pads.
He would live, the man whose golden eyes had pierced your defenses, whose touch lingered like a forbidden echo.
Neytiri looked at you then, not through the lens of a deadly warrior but as a mother whose heart swelled with gratitude, her expression softening, the lines around her eyes crinkling with unspoken emotion. "You have our thanks. Your hands brought him back to us."
Rising, you met her gaze steadily, your voice even despite the turmoil tail curling loosely at your feet, posture straightening with resolve. "He breathes. My part is done. I will leave now before your people remembers what I am."
She shook her head gently as her braids swayed, tone insistent yet kind, a hand gesturing to the marui's depths. "Stay the night. The forest paths grow treacherous after battle and dawn will light your way clearer. Tomorrow, go with Eywa's guidance."
Hesitation gripped you as visions of Varang's wrath flashed along with her snarl of betrayal but the offer Neytiri gave bought time, a buffer against the storm you'd unleashed. You nodded curtly, the motion causing a loose braid to slip over your shoulder, brushing the gentle slope of your collarbone.
Mo'at interjected, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she pointed to a partitioned alcove, the entrance draped in soft kelp weaves. "There is space in the marui for you. Rest there, no harm under this roof will fall upon you."
You inclined your head uncomfortably, the unfamiliar kindness chafing like ill-fitted armor, and retreated to the indicated area.
The partition muffled the outer sounds, but voices filtered in with familiar cadences of concern, perhaps Neteyam's siblings clustering with worried murmurs or that scheming Alayni's honeyed tones probing for weakness.
You sighed deeply, sinking onto the low sleeping platform, the woven fibers cool against your skin. Gazing at your hands, still faintly stained with his blood and nails chipped from the frantic extraction, you felt the weight crash down.
What have I done?
Varang's face loomed in your mind, her loyalty unyielding and yet you betrayed her, your blood for him. A traitor in your own eyes, cast adrift by a mercy you couldn't explain, the contours of your form curling inward as doubt gnawed at your thoughts.
The first light of dawn filtered through the woven walls of the marui, casting a soft glow that danced across the kelp partitions like whispers from the great tree itself.
You stirred from a fitful sleep, the platform beneath you cradling the subtle curves of your body with its resilient fibers, though no true rest had really come.
The air hummed with distant murmurs, low voices laced with concern, the rustle of movements that spoke of vigil. Neteyam's family, no doubt, gathered in their quiet desperation.
Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the dim interior, a stray lock of ebony hair falling across your forehead, brushing the high plane of your cheek as you sat up. The faint ache in your muscles from the previous day's chaos lingered, a reminder of the flames you'd pulled him from, your frame still bearing the subtle smudges of ash along your arms and the line of your neck.
Pushing aside the drape with a steady hand, you stepped into the main chamber, the cool floor mats yielding under your bare feet, toes curling slightly against the texture. There they were, clustered around Neteyam's pallet. Neytiri's poised form kneeling closest, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his azure skin, while Jake stood sentinel nearby, his broad shoulders tense.
The siblings hovered at the edges, Tuk's small hands fidgeting with a beaded string, Lo'ak's jaw set in watchful silence, and Kiri sitting to the side with a faraway look.
You remembered them from his stories when he was pestering you and you remembered how you tried so hard to tune him out as you rolled your eyes.
Neteyam's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his features serene in repose, full lips slightly parted as if dreaming of battles yet unfought.
Your gaze locked with Neytiri's across the space, her golden eyes holding a depth of unspoken understanding, the faint lines at their corners deepening as she rose fluidly. The others' stares prickled your skin. They were curious and wary, the weight of enmity pressing like unseen hands, save for Jake whose attention remained fixed on his son, oblivious or perhaps deliberately so.
You held your ground, chin lifting subtly, the soft undulation of your torso accentuated by the morning light as it played over the beaded strands draping your chest.
Her voice emerged, a hand extending in quiet invitation as she closed the distance, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill of suspicion. "Are you about to head out? The paths await but let me see you safely beyond our borders."
You nodded once, the motion causing your braids to shift, one grazing the delicate hollow of your throat.
Before words could form, her fingers encircled your wrist, firm but not forceful, the calluses of a huntress brushing your smoother skin. "Okay, I'll take you with my ikran. The skies are clearer at this hour."
Together, you moved toward the exit, your steps synchronized in wary alliance, the chamber's herbal scents fading behind you. Halfway there, Tuk's voice pierced the air like a sudden arrow, high-pitched with unbridled joy as her tiny frame bounced as she pointed, eyes wide with wonder.
"Neteyam! You're awake!"
Neytiri gasped beside you, a sharp intake that reverberated through her body, her grip tightening momentarily on your arm before releasing as she whirled, long legs carrying her back in a blur of urgency. His family converged instantly, a protective circle forming around the pallet, voices overlapping in a cacophony of relief.
Jake's baritone cut through as his hand raised in caution, posture rigid as he scanned his children's eager faces. "Easy, give him space. Let him breathe."
You didn't turn, didn't allow the pull of curiosity to drag you back.
Relief flickered in your chest that he lived, that his spirit is unbroken but seeing him now, vulnerable and surrounded by their bond, stirred too much. Your tail flicked once, a subtle lash against your calf, as you fixed your gaze on the exit, the woven flap beckoning like freedom's edge.
A groan echoed from the pallet, low and pained, followed by Neytiri's voice, thick with emotion as tears glistened on her lashes then spilling down the curve of her cheek as she cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw.
"Ma Teyam, my child, you're awake. Eywa has returned you to us."
Neteyam's first words hung in the air, raspy yet insistent, freezing you mid-step as his voice threaded confusion and longing, golden eyes blinking open to search the faces around him. "Where's my mate?"
Your heart clenched like a fist around a thorned vine, a sharp twist that stole your breath, the muscles of your back tensing beneath the thin straps of your top.
He meant her, that conniving soft-spoken healer, the one fate had chained him to.
The betrayal you'd wrought for his sake soured further, urging you toward escape, but Neytiri remained entangled in the moment, her form a barrier you couldn't breach without drawing eyes.
He spoke again, urgency sharpening his tone as he propped himself up slightly on one elbow, the defined planes of his abdomen flexing under the strain, beads of sweat gathering along his collarbone. "Where is my mate? Why is she not here? Where is (Y/N)?"
Silence crashed over the marui like a sudden storm, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of a nearby incense burner. You couldn't believe the words echoing in your ears. Your name on his lips like a claim, a delusion born of fever or fracture. His family still shielded him, their bodies a living wall, blocking any chance of his gaze finding you.
What madness gripped him?
Jake broke the hush, his voice measured, laced with concern as he kneeled closer, one large hand resting on Neteyam's shoulder, fingers splaying across the flesh there. "Kid, what do you mean mate? Talk to me, clear your head."
Neteyam frowned, confusion etching furrows across his forehead, his ears twitching slightly as he tilted his head, the kuru at his back shifting against the pallet as he scanned the circle of faces. "Huh? She's my mate. What do you mean what do I mean, Dad? We chose each other, it is done."
Neytiri exchanged a fleeting glance with Jake, her expression a mask of reassurance as she smiled gently, though her eyes held a storm of questions as she leaned in, her braids falling forward to brush his arm. "What's the last thing you remember, Ma Teyam? Tell your sa'nok, help us understand."
He groaned again, wincing as he pressed a hand to his temple, his fingers threading through his hair as his voice faltered, piecing together fragments like scattered leaves.
"We were together in the forest... deep in the glade, away from eyes. We mated, bound our kuru. I remember the warmth of her, falling asleep in her arms... then nothing. I woke up now. Why am I here? Where is she?"
Jake's mouth parted, words forming on the edge of his tongue but Neytiri's hand clamped onto his forearm, urgent and unyielding as her nails digged lightly into his skin, a silent reminder of her mother's grave warning, her gaze flicking to the tsahik for affirmation.
No stress, no shadows to cloud his fragile recovery.
Mo'at inclined her head subtly from her perch nearby, her weathered features serene, the wisdom in her eyes underscoring the peril of truths unspoken.
However, shock rippled through you like a current, your pulse thundering in your ears, the arch of your neck flushing with heat.
What sorcery had befallen this demon blood?
The forest encounter, the stolen touches, and the heated whispers had been a fever dream of his desire, not a true bonding. Yet here he proclaimed it as reality, your name woven into his delirium.
Your fingers curled at your sides, nails biting into palms, the soft pads whitening under pressure.
Jake rose then, his frame casting a long shadow as he leaned toward Neytiri whispering low, his jaw clenched in resolve. "I'll get Norm, let him scan the boy's head, figure out what's twisted in there."
He straightened, striding past you with purposeful steps.
You shifted sideways instinctively, pressing against the wall's curve, your body folding into the shadows to evade Neteyam's searching eyes, the faint scent of his blood still clinging to your skin like a ghost.
The drape parted again, admitting Alayni in a rush of hurried grace, her form halting abruptly at the sight of you lingering near the threshold. Her face fell, features draining of color, eyes widening in a flash of alarm as her lips parted in silent accusation, her tail coiling tight behind her as panic etched sharp lines around her mouth.
What is she doing here?
The enemy in their sanctum, everyone would know her schemes, the whispers of betrayal she'd sown.
You couldn't suppress the satisfied smirk curling your lips, a predatory glint in your gaze as you savored the tremor in her composure, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her wrap.
She glared daggers, a venomous spark in her eyes, before hurrying inside voice pitched with concern, dropping to her knees beside the pallet, her hand reached out to caress his cheek, nails grazing the smooth azure expanse. "Neteyam, are you okay? We've been so worried—"
He recoiled at her touch, jerking back with a hiss as his body tensed, shoulders hunching as if her fingers burned, golden eyes narrowing in instinctive rejection. "Don't touch me. My mate would not like that, keep your hands to yourself."
Alayni froze, confusion clouding her features as she glanced around the circle, her posture crumbling slightly. The gentle swell of her chest heaving with rapid breaths, seeking answers in their stunned expressions. First, you're here like some honored guest, unwatched and unchained and now Neteyam denying their bond, as if the ceremonies planned for days hence meant nothing.
"What do you mean? You have no mate, Neteyam. We will be mated in several days. It's all arranged, for the clan—"
His stare was blank and unyielding as he leaned away further, the muscles along his arms corded with tension, voice flat with conviction that brooked no argument. "I am mated, Alayni. Do not disrespect me and her by saying that. I've chosen, Eywa witnessed it."
Alayni's mouth opened for protest, words tumbling forth in a desperate rush as her hands gestured wildly but Lo'ak's fingers closed around her wrist, firm and ungentle, his grip steady as he pulled her back with a warning growl low in his throat.
"Enough, let him rest. You're making it worse."
Neytiri forced a smile then, thin and strained as she rose to her full height, her frame interposing as she pried Alayni from Lo'ak's hold, guiding her toward the entrance with a maternal hand on her shoulder.
She had once favored the girl.
Her respectful demeanor, the sweet softness that promised stability for her son, the shy affections that bloomed like night flowers. It was why she'd championed the union, envisioning harmony in their future. But now, Alayni's invasiveness grated, a threat to the delicate balance of Neteyam's healing. What she'd once seen as endearing now loomed as disruption, especially with the girl's recent clinginess fraying nerves that are already taut.
Her tone remained even, laced with polite finality as she steered Alayni through the drape, the fabric whispering against their forms. "Go now, child, rest and prepare for the day's duties. He'll need quiet to mend, we'll call when he's stronger."
Alayni resisted briefly, a flicker of indignation in her eyes, but Neytiri's unyielding gaze quelled it. As she was ushered out, you caught her eye from behind Neytiri's shoulder, your smirk deepening into something triumphant as your lips curved wickedly, the sharp tips of your fangs peeking as you watched her retreat.
Stupid bitch, starting to pay her karma.
The satisfaction bloomed warm in your chest, a counter to the earlier ache at the unraveling the web she'd spun.
The marui's air thickened with the scent of medicinal herbs and lingering tension as footsteps approached from beyond the drape. The flap parted with a soft rustle, admitting Jake first followed by a figure that made your eyes narrow in instinctive distrust.
He was another of those sky people avatars, shorter and bulkier than the Na'vi around him, with blue skin stretched over an unfamiliar musculature, his movements jerky and mechanical as he hauled a satchel bulging with strange, gleaming devices. In your eyes, he was just another demon in disguise, his eyes too round and probing behind a mask of false familiarity.
Neteyam's family parted slightly to allow them access, his golden gaze widening in confusion propping himself up on his elbows despite the wince that tugged at his full lips, the cords of his neck straining as he tilted his head.
"Dad? Norm? What's all this?" His voice carried a mix of bewilderment and faint alarm, the sharp angles of his shoulders tensing beneath the thin covering draped over his torso.
Jake placed a reassuring hand on his son's arm, the gesture firm yet gentle. "Just a check-up, son. Norm here's gonna make sure everything's healing right, no big deal."
Norm nodded efficiently, unpacking his tools with practiced haste. A handheld scanner humming to life, its blue light flickering like captured bioluminescence, and thin probes that beeped softly as they connected to Neteyam's temple and chest. The warrior submitted with reluctant patience, his ears flicking at each unfamiliar sensation as his chest rose and fell in shallow rhythms, the bandaged expanse over his ribs shifting with each breath.
You remained unseen, a ghost in the periphery, gratitude coiling in your gut that he hadn't glimpsed you yet, sparing you the complication of his fractured gaze.
The assessment dragged on, Norm murmuring readings under his breath, Jake hovering like a sentinel. Finally, they withdrew, the group filing out into the humid morning air. Norm repacking his gear with a satisfied grunt, Mo'at gliding behind with her staff tapping rhythmically, Neytiri close at her heel, her posture a blend of maternal poise and veiled anxiety.
Curiosity tugged at you drawing your steps toward the exit despite the risk. You hovered just inside, the soft swell of your hips swaying faintly as you strained to catch their words, the faint breeze carrying snippets through the kelp weave.
Norm's voice filtered back, clinical and detached gesturing vaguely at the air as if diagramming an invisible wound.
"Selective amnesia, most likely from the trauma to his skull. Concussions like that can scramble memories, make him fill in gaps with what his mind wants to believe. It'll probably clear up with rest but no pushing him. Avoid contradictions, let it fade naturally."
Mo'at's response came sharp and authoritative, her aged frame straightening one hand raised in admonition. "Precisely. No stress, Jake Sully. His spirit is fragile as fresh-woven thread, negative winds could unravel it further."
Jake glanced over his shoulder then, his eyes locking onto yours through the partial drape.
You met his stare blankly, your expression a mask of cool indifference, the line of your jaw set firm, lashes casting shadows over your irises.
He sighed heavily, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder as he rubbed a hand over his hair before nodding to Mo'at. "Understood. Thanks, Norm. Appreciate you coming out here on short notice."
He clapped the avatar on the back, steering him toward the path, their forms receding into the foliage.
Mo'at turned fully to you then, her wrinkled features softening into a knowing smile as she extended a gnarled hand in gentle summons, the beads on her bracelets clinking softly. "Come, child. He searches for you. Eywa's threads bind him still even in confusion."
Hesitation rooted you for a beat, your bare feet shifting against the mat, toes flexing into the fibers as doubt warred with obligation. But you moved forward, weaving through the siblings' loose circle, your presence rippling the air like a stone in still water. Neytiri observed from the side, her arms crossed over her chest, the arch of her back rigid with unspoken calculations.
Neteyam's eyes ignited at the sight of you, a spark of pure recognition and warmth flooding their golden depths as his face brightened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a boyish smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Baby, where have you been? I've been calling for you. Come here, let me see you."
Words failed you, caught in the tangle of your throat like thorns. Your pulse quickened, the delicate skin at your wrists flushing as you glanced desperately at Neytiri. She stepped in seamlessly, her voice a soothing murmur kneeling beside him. "She was just helping Mo'at with some herbs, Ma Teyam. Nothing to worry over. You're safe now, all of us here."
He nodded absently, already shifting to rise as his elbows dug into the padding, his torso twisting with intent, the play of muscles along his flanks evident even through the strain. But a sharp hiss escaped him as pain lanced through his chest. He glanced down, fingers probing the white bandages wrapped taut around his ribs, tracing the edges where faint bloodstains bloomed, his brow furrowing in dawning alarm.
"What happened? Why am I... like this?"
Neytiri's response flowed quick and fabricated, her tail flicking once in reassurance as she pressed him back gently, palms flat against his shoulders. "A minor fall during a hunt, nothing more. You're mending well but rest is key. No straining this body of yours."
Lo'ak chimed in from his perch nearby, his tone laced with concern as he leaned forward, one hand hovering as if ready to steady him. "Yeah bro, don't push it. You've been out cold, give yourself a break."
Tuk, unable to contain her awe any longer, stared up at you with unabashed wonder, her small fingers twisting in her lap, round cheeks dimpling as she beamed, the innocence in her voice cutting through the heaviness.
"You're pretty like the glowing vines at night."
Neteyam caught the words, his grin widening into something radiant and possessive as he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest despite the wince it provoked, his gaze raking over you with unabashed adoration. "She is, isn't she? Eywa blessed me beyond measure with the most beautiful woman as my mate."
Heat bloomed across your cheeks, a traitorous warmth that clashed with the snarl building in your chest. Your fangs ached to bare but Neytiri's sharp glance pinned you, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly, a silent command as she rose.
"I'll speak with her first, important matters."
She drew you aside into a quieter nook, the privacy of the woven screen shielding your exchange, her sigh heavy with exhaustion as her shoulders slumped slightly, the taper of her ears drooping as she met your eyes. "Please, play along just until his memories return. It's a delicate weave we're threading here."
A hiss bubbled up, low and frustrated, your claws flexing at your sides, a flicker of resentment darkening your features.
This wasn't the plan. It was only saving him from the flames and slipping away into the wilds. But now pretending this farce of a bond?
It deepened the chasm with Varang, a blade twisted further into your sister's trust, your loyalty fracturing like dry earth under storm.
Yet you exhaled sharply, the breath stirring the beads at your throat. "Just for today then I'll leave. I've lingered too long already, debts are paid."
Gratitude softened Neytiri's gaze, her hand squeezing your forearm in quiet alliance. "Thank you. Eywa sees your heart."
Eywa, their false goddess.
You refrained from speaking it and returned to the pallet together, his siblings' eyes tracking your approach.
Mo'at interjected then, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she gestured toward the exit with her staff, the carved wood glinting. "He may leave the healing hut now. Rest in your family marui where care is close."
Neteyam's confusion creased his forehead anew as he tilted his head, his kuru swaying as he pushed to sit fully, ignoring the twinge in his side. "Why the family marui? I have our own, shared with my mate. That's where I belong, with her."
Neytiri froze for a heartbeat then mustered a feigned grin, her lips curving upward in playful conspiracy, though tension lined her jaw. "Oh yes, of course you can sleep there. Silly of us to forget."
Relief lit Neteyam's face, a grin splitting wide as he eased to his feet with Lo'ak's support, his brother's arm slung around his waist, the lean power of his legs steadying as he leaned into the aid.
You walked in silence beside Neytiri, your steps measured, the sway of your form guarded against his occasional glances.
She guided the group to a nearby empty marui, its entrance framed by dangling vines that swayed like welcoming tendrils, the interior sparse but inviting with a low cot piled with fresh furs.
"I'll bring your things later." Neytiri explained smoothly as she waved a hand at the empty space, her posture relaxed in fabrication. "You forgot them before, rushing off to tend to (Y/N). Always so devoted."
Neteyam nodded, his attention fixed on you. Golden eyes tracing the cascade of your braids down your back, the subtle glow of your skin under the filtered light, though you kept your gaze averted, fixed on the horizon.
Kiri approached then, her touch feather-light on your arm in a soft pat, wordless solidarity in her empathetic eyes before she stepped back.
Tuk waved enthusiastically as she bounced on her toes, her laughter bubbling. "Bye! Take care of him, he's grumpy when hurt!"
Lo'ak gave a curt nod and Neytiri mirroring it with a final meaningful look before they departed, leaving the marui's quiet to envelop you.
You lingered at the entrance, the woven threshold framing your silhouette, arms crossed over the gentle rise of your chest as Neteyam settled onto the cot, his form reclining against the bolsters, long legs stretching out, the bandage peeking from beneath his wrap as he watched you expectantly.
"Baby, what are you doing all the way over there? Come here. I've missed you too much already."
You restrained the urge to roll your eyes, the old grudge simmering within you. Alayni's shadow, the secrets he'd buried back then, it fueled a quiet fury that tightened your lips. With deliberate slowness, you crossed the space, perching on the cot's edge at a careful distance, the furs dipping under your weight, your thighs pressing together in restrained tension.
He frowned at the gap reaching out, his hand encircling your waist with insistent warmth, drawing you nearer until your hip brushed his, the heat of his body seeping through the thin barriers. "Why so far?"
Without waiting, he leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there before his lips pressed soft lingering pecks along the column of your throat, tracing the pulse that fluttered beneath.
You shifted away slightly, a hand rising to his chest, gentle but firm against the bandaged expanse to halt him. "You must not move so much, your wound will reopen if you keep this up."
"I don't care, the ache is nothing compared to being without you." He dismissed it with a low hum undeterred, nosing deeper and inhaling your scent like a lifeline, his free arm looping around your midriff to anchor you. "You always smell so good."
Your eyes rolled despite yourself, exasperation sharpening your tone as you leaned back just enough to create space, though his hold persisted. "Do you not listen? Rest means rest, not this."
A grin curved his lips, playful and unrepentant as his eyes sparkled with mischief. He tilted his head, the sharp line of his jaw brushing your shoulder. "I do listen but my mate is just so irresistible. How can I resist when you're right here, pulling me like the tide?"
The words ignited a storm within you. The urge to drive your claws into his chest, to end this delusion with finality, to flee into the jungle's embrace, and beneath it all, a treacherous pull to lean in, to claim those lips and drown the betrayal.
Your breath hitched, eyes flashing as your voice dropped to a warning growl. "If you do not stop, you will sleep in your family's marui tonight, without me."
He chuckled, the sound rich and affectionate, as he tugged you flush against him now, his head resting on your shoulder, one hand tracing idle patterns along your arm, savoring the silken texture of your skin. "I don't want to be away from you, ever. Even for a night. You're my world, (Y/N). Tell me you feel it too. The bond, the pull. We've always been this way, haven't we?"
You stiffened, the weight of his touches pressing like chains, his body molding to yours, warm and insistent, nuzzling closer as if to weave your scents together anew.
"Neteyam..." It came out softer than intended, a conflicted murmur as your hand hovered over his, torn between pushing away and letting it linger. "Just... be still. For now."
He hummed contentedly and undaunted, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone, his fingers interlacing with yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow circles. "As you wish but I'm not letting go of you."
The marui fell into a charged hush, his affection a balm and a burden, the line between pretense and peril blurring with every shared breath.
You spent the entire day ensnared in Neteyam's unyielding embrace, his body a constant insistent presence against yours. He was every bit the spoiled brat his amnesia painted him to be. Demanding, playful, and utterly oblivious to the storm raging within you. From the moment the morning light had fully crested the horizon, he refused to release your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours in a grip that was both tender and possessive, the calluses on his palms rough against your smoother skin.
"Feed me." He murmured during the midday meal, his voice a low rumble and laced with mischief.
He propped himself up on one elbow, the lean muscles of his forearm flexing as he gestured to the woven basket of fruits and roasted kelp strips. His golden eyes sparkled with expectation, the sharp angles of his cheekbones highlighted by the soft luminescence filtering in. You hesitated, the curve of your shoulders tensing beneath the lightweight shawl draped over them, but his pout, lips pursing in exaggerated plea, drew a reluctant sigh from you.
Slicing a piece of sweetfruit with your knife, its juice glistening on the blade like dew, you held it to his mouth. He leaned forward eagerly but paused just before taking it. His breath warm against your fingertips, eyes locking onto yours with feigned innocence.
"A kiss first." He demanded softly, tilting his head so his kuru brushed your thigh. "For every bite. It's our thing, remember?"
Irritation flared hot in your chest, your free hand itching to deliver a sharp smack to that smug jawline as the taper of his ears twitched in anticipation. Yet, beneath the annoyance, a treacherous warmth bloomed low in your belly, spreading like sunlight through mist. His affection, fabricated or not, wrapped around you like the humid air itself. You leaned in grudgingly, pressing your lips to his in a brief chaste touch, your mouth soft against the firm warmth of his, the faint taste of herbs from his earlier tonic lingering.
He hummed in satisfaction, finally accepting the fruit, chewing slowly while his gaze never left your face.
This ritual repeated through the afternoon. Bite after bite, kiss after kiss, each one pulling you deeper into the pretense. His laughter bubbled up between mouthfuls, light and carefree as his chest vibrated with the sound, though he winced slightly when it jostled his bandaged ribs, the white wrapping stark against his azure skin.
"You're too good to me." He said after one particularly lingering peck, his hand sliding up your arm to trace the delicate ridge of your collarbone. "How did I ever deserve you, baby?"
You only answered with an eye roll, willing yourself to calm.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the interior in hues of amber and violet, he grew more reflective, his clinginess evolving into quiet confessions. He pulled you onto the furs beside him, your legs tangling with his as he recounted the day he first laid eyes on you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, fingers idly stroking the cascade of your braids that spilled over your shoulder.
"It was during that raid, I thought you were the most beautiful creature Eywa ever wove, all fire and grace in one breath. Even with your blade at my throat, I couldn't look away."
Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, your pulse thrumming in your ears as you absorbed his words. The memory twisted in your mind, the confrontation, the kiss that had ignited everything yet led to this tangled web. Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice steady despite the knot in your throat shifting slightly, the soft swell of your hips pressing into the furs as you turned to face him.
"What do you think of Alayni?"
He blinked, surprise flickering across his features, the smooth plane of his forehead creasing. "Alayni? She's... nice. She's been around since we were children, always helping with the young ones or joining hunts. Reliable, like a sister almost."
The answer hung there, innocuous yet loaded. You pressed further, curiosity sharpening your tone with your eyes narrowing, lashes casting faint shadows on your high cheekbones. "Do you like her?"
His eyes widened, golden irises flaring with incredulity, leaning back as if the question physically pushed him.
"Like her? How could you even ask that when I burn for you alone?" He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him, though it carried an edge of disbelief. "She's shown her interest. Blushing around me, weaving extra beads for my gear but I don't see her that way. Never have. My heart's been yours from the start."
You wanted to roll your eyes, the truth bubbling beneath your restraint.
Oh yes, but you were set to mate her if fate hadn't intervened.
The words clawed at your tongue but you swallowed them, maintaining the fragile peace.
He studied your expression, a sly smile curving his lips as he reached out to cup your chin, thumb brushing the plush curve of your lower lip. "Are you jealous? Tell me baby, does it sting knowing others vied for me?"
A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral as you bared your fangs briefly, the lines of your neck corded with tension as you pulled back from his touch. "No. Jealousy is for the weak. I'm merely curious about your tangled loyalties."
His smile deepened, brimming with adoration as his eyes softened, he drew you nearer, his broad palm splaying across the small of your back.
"Alayni was just one of the candidates my parents pushed before I met you. They thought her steady, a good match for a future Olo'eyktan." He paused, gaze distant, reliving the memory of when you left. "I came to the marui where you were that night, heart heavy because I'd just learned they'd chosen her. I didn't want it, I wanted you. So I went there to confess everything, to seek comfort in your arms but I saw you with her first. She told you, didn't she? But twisted it to make it seem like it was decided long ago, that I was playing you all along. She lied, (Y/N). It wasn't set in stone, I was ready to fight it from the moment I knew."
Your eyes grew wide, the revelation crashing over you, pupils dilating in shock as pieces clicked into place.
So he hadn't been deceiving you, not entirely. The betrayal you'd nursed, the fury at his supposed duplicity... it shifted, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.
"I almost went through with it, you know. Why you fled with your sister that night, she said you wanted nothing to do with me. I believed her, let the pain fester." He chuckled then, the sound bland and tinged with bitterness as his shoulders rolled in a shrug, the play of tendons in his neck visible as he tilted his head. "But then you came back, told me the truth... we mated, formed tsaheylu under the stars. It was perfect until I woke up like this with no recollection of why I'm bandaged."
The words hung false in the air, his mind's desperate weave to fill the voids. None of it had happened, the bond a phantom of his selective forgetfulness. Frustration boiled within you, a scream trapped behind clenched teeth, claws aching to rake through flesh, to lash out at the cruel irony.
But you schooled your features into neutrality, jaw setting firm as you met his gaze evenly. "I... see."
Undeterred by your reserve, he pulled you closer, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as his nose traced the sensitive hollow there, inhaling deeply as if committing your essence to memory. With a gentle tug, he guided you both down onto the furs. Mindful of his injury. you positioned carefully at his side, your head resting on the unbandaged plane of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with yours.
"I see you." He whispered fervently, lips brushing your temple in soft reverent kisses, each one a feather-light promise. "Since the day you held that blade to my throat, your fire called to mine."
You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you amid the whirlwind, teeth pressing into the tender flesh, a faint metallic tang blooming as you held your silence.
His affection enveloped you like a cocoon, warm and suffocating, lulling the day into evening's embrace.
The next morning dawned with a hush, the first rays piercing the marui's weave before Neteyam's eyes fluttered open. You stirred early, slipping from his arms with the stealth of a shadow, your movements fluid and silent, the contours of your legs uncoiling as you rose, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor.
Pausing at the threshold, you cast one last look back at him, his handsome features softened in sleep with his lashes fanning dark against his cheeks, the strong bridge of his nose casting a subtle shadow, lips parted in quiet breaths that stirred the air.
A pang twisted in your chest before you turned away, vanishing into the misty paths without a backward glance.
You wouldn't wait for Neytiri. By then, Neteyam would stir, his questions a net you couldn't afford to tangle in further. The jungle welcomed you back, vines parting like old allies as you wove toward the treeline, the weight of departure lifting with each step. Just as the clan's central paths faded behind you, a figure emerged from the underbrush.
Alayni, her posture rigid with venom, arms crossed over her chest as she blocked your way, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"Had fun playing mates with mine? Taking advantage of his amnesia like the snake you are?" She spat, her voice dripping with accusation as she stepped closer, the aggressive sway of her hips belying the fury in her clenched fists.
You grinned at her, slow and evil, letting the malice curl your lips as your head tilted "Just as much fun as he had. Clinging, kissing, whispering sweet nothings. You should thank me for keeping him occupied."
She hissed lunging nearer, her breath hot and ragged as her fangs flashed. "Why are you even here? Skulking around like you belong?"
Your snarl matched hers, a guttural warning as your tail lashing behind you, claws extending slightly as you held your ground, the poised strength in your stance unyielding. "Don't worry, I'm leaving and never coming back. You won't have to betray your people again, teaming up with my sister to raid your own clan just to dispose of me in your twisted way."
Her grin twisted maliciously, a flash of triumph in her eyes lips pulling back in a sneer, one hand gesturing dismissively. "It was worth it. Every scream, every flame because it means Neteyam will be mine."
You pouted mockingly, the expression dripping with sarcasm as you puffed your cheeks slightly, eyes rolling in exaggerated pity.
"You had your people slaughtered, homes reduced to ash, all to eliminate me and claim him? You're not just delusional, you're a traitor through and through. Soon, your clan will uncover your rot and they'll see you for the venomous wretch you are."
Disgust curled your features, a final withering glance raking over her figure, the lines of your face hardening before you spun on your heel. Without another word, you melted into the foliage, the jungle swallowing your form whole, leaving her seething in the undergrowth.
The jungle's embrace felt mocking as you pushed through the dense foliage, the vines brushing against your arms like accusatory fingers. Your clan's territory loomed ahead, the familiar spires of woven huts rising against the canopy but the air hummed with a tension that set your nerves alight.
Once, the gazes that met yours were filled with awe, reverent whispers trailing your steps as the Tsakarem, the chosen one destined to weave Eywa's will into the clan's future next to your sister. Now, those same eyes shifted uneasily, darting away or narrowing in suspicion, the subtle flinch of shoulders and the hurried averting of faces speaking volumes.
You had betrayed them, after all, by dragging that Omatikaya warrior from the flames, his blood staining your hands as surely as your mercy had branded you a turncoat. Just as Alayni had sold her own people to the shadows for a chance at Neteyam's side, so had you fractured the bonds of your kin. The weight of it settled in your gut like river stones as you stepped into the clearing.
Whispers rippled through the gathered figures. Warriors pausing mid-stride, healers glancing up from their herbs with lips pressed thin.
Dread coiled tighter when she appeared.
Varang, your sister, emerging from the central marui like a specter carved from obsidian. Her presence commanded the space, broad shoulders squared beneath the weight of adorned armor, the scars across her arms a testament to battles won. But it was her face that chilled you. Blank, devoid of the fiery rage that usually ignited her amber eyes or twisted her full mouth into a snarl. This emptiness was worse, it was eerie and calculating, a void where her vicious fury should have roared.
"Tsmuke." You murmured, voice cracking despite your effort to steady it knees bending slightly as you lowered yourself in supplication, the soft curves of your torso shifting under the thin straps of your top. "Forgive me. I... I couldn't let him die there. Eywa's will—"
"Eywa's will? The boy had you believing that false goddess who abandoned us?" She approached, her movements deliberate, the powerful swing of her tail betraying nothing.
Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your kuru with a gentleness that belied the threat as her nails grazed the sensitive neural tendrils, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as she caressed it like a fragile vine. The touch was almost tender for her being yet it carried the promise of something darker.
"You are a traitor to your people." She said flatly, her voice a low monotone that echoed unnaturally in the hush as her eyes locked onto yours unblinking, the sharp angles of her jaw set like carved stone. "To your own sister. I should claim your kuru for that, sever it clean, or perhaps your head to remind all of divided hearts."
Horror bloomed cold in your chest as she drew her blade, raising it with fluid precision, the metal glinting in the dappled light, her biceps flexing with restrained power as she looped the edge toward your kuru. You breathed out sharply, bracing for the pain, your muscles tensing along your spine as your heart pounded against your ribs.
But she halted, the blade hovering inches from you before she withdrew it, letting your kuru slip free from her grasp. Her expression remained a mask of indifference, shoulders rolling back as she sheathed the weapon, the beads in her hair swaying with the motion. "You are not welcome here anymore. I have no use for divided loyalties, there is no place for traitors among the Mangkwan. Leave this place and if you ever return, I will not hesitate to forget you are my blood."
The words landed like a spear to the core, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach as a wave of nausea churned, you rose unsteadily, legs wobbling beneath the strength of your thighs. You bit your lip hard, the sharp sting drawing a bead of blood that you tasted metallic on your tongue, and turned away without another plea. The clan's stares burned into your back as you walked, first heavy steps then a numb stride, your heart a leaden ache in your chest.
Exile.
You belonged nowhere now, a ghost adrift in Pandora's vast wilds, your cruelty once a shield now a hollow echo of your being.
Hours blurred into an endless trek, the jungle's symphony fading to a distant hum as exhaustion clawed at you. Your feet ached against the uneven terrain, the sway of your hips slowing with each mile. The sun climbed and dipped, painting the undergrowth in shifting patterns, until the rush of water drew you onward.
The river, the same crystalline vein where Neteyam had found you before, time and time again, his persistence a thorn in your side. It curved invitingly, fringed with glowing ferns but solace it offered right now was a lie.
You collapsed onto the mossy bank, knees buckling as the fight drained from you curling into yourself, silent tears carved warm paths down your cheeks. Sobs caught in your throat, muffled against your knees, the isolation crashing over you like the current's foam.
"This is what happens when you try to leave me."
The voice sliced through the quiet, low and resonant, startling you upright. Your head snapping up, braids whipping across your damp face, eyes wide with wary as you scanned the shadows.
There he was, Neteyam, stepping from the treeline in all his imposing glory, the sunlight gilding his azure form. But this was no vulnerable soft version, his face was etched with darkness, his golden eyes hooded and intense, the usual warmth replaced by a predatory gleam as his broad chest rose steadily. The faint scars on his arms standing out as he moved with purpose, his tail flicking like a whip.
"What are you doing here? How did you—?" You stammered, scrambling back on your hands as your palms sinked into the cool mud.
He chuckled, a dark velvety sound that sent chills racing across your skin. He closed the distance with unhurried strides, his long legs eating the ground. Crouching beside you, he invaded your space effortlessly, his heat radiating like a forge. One knee pressing into the earth, forearm resting on his thigh as he leaned in, the sharp cut of his jaw tilting toward you.
"I followed you." He said simply, amusement curling his lips fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to touch you, eyes tracing the tear-streaked glow of your cheeks. "I wasn't asleep when you slipped away."
Confusion swirled with the resolve in your chest. You straightened, forcing firmness into your voice as your chin lifted defiantly, the subtle curve of your neck exposed as you met his gaze, refusing to cower. "Leave me be, Neteyam. This isn't your concern."
He tilted his head, a knowing grin spreading across his features though the shadows in his expression deepened the hollows of his cheeks. "You're mine. Why would I leave you alone? We've danced this evasion too long, it's time you accept it."
A snarl tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained. The culmination of betrayal, exile, and this relentless pursuit bubbling over. Your fangs bared, the muscles of your shoulders coiling as you lunged forward slightly, claws extending in warning. You didn't care anymore about Neytiri's pleas to play along, to shield him from stress or negativity. Your world had shattered and his delusions were the final straw.
"I'm not yours! We aren't mated, none of it was real. You're supposed to be with that woman, Alayni. You hit your head in that fall. It's selective amnesia twisting your memories, making you think we're bonded when we're enemies. Demon blood runs in you and you're tainting everything, leave me alone!"
The words spilled out in a torrent, your chest heaving with the force of them as your breath comes in sharp bursts, the soft peaks of your breasts straining against the fabric as fury flushed your skin a deeper hue.
You expected shock, denial, perhaps anger but he remained calm, face blank as a still pond, absorbing every accusation without a flicker. His arms folding loosely across his torso, the defined ridges of his abdomen shifting subtly with each even inhale.
"Are you done, baby?" He asked softly, the endearment laced with dark affection, voice dipping low, one corner of his mouth quirking as he watched you unravel.
Confusion made your lashes fluttered along with disbelief as you looked at him. "Did you not hear what I said? It's all a lie, your mind's broken!"
"I heard you loud and clear." He replied evenly, unfolding to rise slightly, towering over you even in his crouch as his shadow fall across your form. "You think I'm stupid? That I don't know the truth of it all? I know everything, baby."
Your mind reeled, questions piling like storm clouds as your pulse thundered in your ears, fingers digging into the earth for stability as you searched his face for deceit.
What game was this?
He leaned closer, grin widening with a flash of something primal in his eyes. It was dark and unyielding possession, his pupils dilating as the golden hue sharpened like a predator's stare.
"I do not have selective amnesia." He tapped the side of his head, the words dropping like stones into deep water.
"What?" The syllable escaped as a whisper, shock rooting you in place as your body goes still, the taper of your waist tensing as realization dawned.
"Do you not get it, baby?" His grin softened into something almost tender, hand reaching out to caress your face lovingly. His palm cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the high plane of your cheekbone with feather-light pressure, calluses rough against your silken skin. "It was all a ploy, (Y/N). The confusion, the clinging, the fabricated memories. I orchestrated it to keep you close without resistance from my family, the clan, or even you. I needed you unbound, willing in my arms, away from the barriers who wants to keep us apart."
Shock rippled through you, the extreme lengths he had gone to. For you. This enemy, this forbidden flame, leaving you breathless. Your eyes widening, the vibrant irises reflecting his intensity as your lips parted in stunned silence.
Insanity woven from obsession stared back at you in his gaze.
"You're insane." You breathed, shaking your head in denial trying to twist away, the sleek strands of your braids swaying as your shoulders rolled back, seeking distance from him.
He chuckled again, the sound rich and unrepentant, pulling you flush against him with effortless strength. His arms encircling your waist, his chest a solid wall of warmth pressing into your softer frame, tsking softly as you resisted. "You made me this way."
You pushed against his chest, not with full force but enough to test the boundary, your palms flattening against the firm planes of muscle there, feeling the steady thrum beneath azure skin marked by faint healing scars.
"You're still gonna be mated to Alayni." You insisted, voice edged with defiance lips pressing into a thin line, the subtle quiver of your chin betraying the storm within. "We are not truly mated. She's what your parents want, what the clan demands. This changes nothing."
Neteyam tilted his head, golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on reverence, but his gaze drifted inexorably downward, fixating on the full curve of your lips. His pupils darkening as he leaned fractionally closer, the sharp line of his nose nearly brushing yours, ignoring your protest like a whisper lost in the wind. He didn't flinch, didn't argue, instead a soft hum escaped him as if your words were mere ripples on the surface of his resolve.
"She won't be." He murmured finally, voice low and threaded with certainty as one of his hand sliding up your back, fingers tracing the delicate ridge of your spine through the thin weave of your top. "Once my parents and the clan know what she did, Alayni will be cast out like the poison she is."
Shock rippled through you anew, widening your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of bluff breath catching, the slope of your shoulders tensing beneath his touch.
"What do you mean?" The question tumbled out, laced with suspicion.
Did he know? Had the threads of deception of that bitch unraveled further than I realized?
A grin split his features, slow and predatory, revealing the gleam of his fangs as amusement danced in his irises, tail curling possessively around your calf.
"I heard every word from your conversation with her earlier." He confessed, the admission rolling off his tongue like a secret long savored. "How she betrayed our clan, orchestrated the attack that brought death and ruin to so many. She sold us out for her own ambitions, your escape included."
The pieces clicked into place, stealing your breath.
When you'd risen that morning, believing him lost to sleep in the cot, he hadn't been. He'd lain still, eyes cracked just enough to watch you slip away, granting you a mere twenty seconds' head start before rising silently. His instincts had guided him through the underbrush, shadows cloaking his pursuit until he caught the murmur of voices.
Yours and Alayni's, sharp with accusation.
He'd lingered at the edge, ears attuned to every damning syllable. Alayni's confession, her gloating over the attack she'd ignited, the way she'd twisted your departure not as rejection of him, but as her calculated strike to claim what she coveted. Rage had simmered in him then but so had resolve, fueling his steps as he trailed you deeper into the wilds.
From there, he'd shadowed you to the Mangkwan borders, concealed among the vines as you faced Varang's cold judgment. Witnessing your banishment, exiled for the mercy you'd shown him had ignited something primal in his chest. His heart had burst with a twisted joy, not from your suffering, but from the irrefutable proof of your bond.
You'd chosen him over blood, over everything. No longer could you deny the pull between you.
He wanted to laugh at how successful his plan had worked.
It all stemmed from that fateful night, long before the ploy took shape. He'd woken in the dim glow of the marui, the haze of injury lifting just enough to catch his parents' hushed voices. Jake's gruff concern, Neytiri's soft recounting of your heroism.
You, the Mangkwan Tsakarem, his enemy, had saved him.
For weeks, his world had been a void, convinced you'd fled because you couldn't bear his touch, his clan's shadow tainting any future with you. But hearing of your sacrifice breathed life back into him, a spark that demanded action.
Right then, amid the quiet vigil of his family, he'd devised the selective amnesia. A performance to bind you to his side without the chains of duty or suspicion snapping shut. When morning came, he'd stirred with feigned confusion, clinging to you as his “mate,” weaving tales of a bond forged in secret. His grin had widened inwardly as belief took root. Lo'ak's wary glances, Jake's reluctant nods, even Alayni's frantic interjections when she knew, it all swallowed the lie whole.
His grandmother’s counsel had sealed it, her wise eyes warning against stress that might fracture his fragile recovery. He knew his parents would honor that, allowing you unrestricted access under the guise of healing him. No forced mating with Alayni, not while he played the vulnerable son. And his mother... she'd softened, her fierce maternal love yielding to the sight of him animated again, how she saw the hollow shell of who he was weeks past was banished by just your presence.
She wanted her son whole and you'd become the key to that illusion.
He intended to exploit every fracture, every concession. You were his obsession, the fire that consumed his thoughts, and he would claim you fully. No matter the cost, the lies, or the darkness it demanded from him.
You breathed out shakily, the weight of his machinations settling over you like a shroud, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, the soft swell of your form molding against his as resignation flickered in your gaze.
"So you know." You whispered, not a question but an acknowledgment, the fight ebbing from your limbs.
He nuzzled your nose then, an affectionate gesture laced with possession as his breath fanned warm across your skin, the bridge of his nose gliding gently against yours in a promise of intimacy.
"She will pay for taking you from me." He vowed, voice husky with a blend of love and unbridled obsession, eyes half-lidded, the raw edge of his tone vibrating through you.
You heard it all in his voice, the devotion twisted into something fierce and unrelenting, the madness born of longing.
He was the architect of your chaos. The raid's echoes, Alayni's schemes, Varang's blade at your kuru, all traces led back to this pull between you. Yet, against the ache of loss, attraction bloomed unbidden within, a heat coiling low in your belly. Now knowing the depths he'd plumbed, the deceptions, and the risks just to ensnare you... it stirred something reciprocal. His love was a storm, dark and consuming, but genuine in its fervor.
Darkness wasn't alien to you. As Varang's shadow, you'd wielded cruelty like a blade, reveling in its sharp clarity. Your clan, your sister, they were ghosts now, severed by your choices. What remained? Emptiness or the shelter of his embrace? He'd toppled empires of tradition for you and in his arms, you could rebuild from the ruins.
Your gaze lifted, locking onto his with a newfound resolve, lashes fluttering once as you held his stare. Slowly and deliberately, you drew him down as your lips parted to capture his in a kiss. Hesitant at first then deepening with the surrender you'd long resisted.
Surprise flashed in his eyes, a brief widening before satisfaction curved his mouth against yours. Hands tightening on your hips, pulling you flush as he responded with fervor, tongue teasing the seam of your lips in hungry invitation. He kissed you back like a man starved, pouring weeks of pent-up yearning into the press of mouths and the tangle of breaths.
His body ignited, mind flooding with visions of you.
The plush give of your breasts against his chest, the rounded allure of your hips begging for his grasp. He craved to peel away the barriers, to uncover the dusky peaks of your nipples for it to harden under his gaze, to part your thighs and breathe in the musky essence of your arousal, to lap at the slick heat until you shattered in his mouth.
The kiss ignited like dry tinder under a spark, Neteyam's mouth claiming yours with a ferocity that left no room for retreat. His tongue swept in, bold and demanding, curling around yours in a slick dance. You gasped into him, a sound he swallowed by the deepening press of his mouth. Your hands fisting the straps of his woven belt as denial flickered one last time in your chest. But his grip on your waist tightened, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips, pulling you impossibly closer until your curves molded to his unyielding frame.
"Mine." He growled against your lips, voice roughened by weeks of suppressed hunger.
He sucked on your tongue then, drawing it into his mouth with a wet obscene pull. His teeth grazing the sensitive underside, his low moan vibrating through you as saliva pooled and trickled at the corners. It was filthy and possessive, his obsession laid bare in the way he devoured you as if your very essence was the antidote to his torment.
You pulled back fractionally, breath ragged, the arch of your neck exposed as you tilted your head. Strands of dark hair cascading over one shoulder, catching the river's glow in silken waves.
"Neteyam... this is madness." You whispered, voice laced with lingering resistance, lips swollen and glistening from the onslaught of his hungry mouth. "We can't—Alayni, your clan—they'll never accept—"
His laugh was low and predatory, rumbling from deep in his chest as he nuzzled the curve of your jaw. Hot breath fanning your pulse point, fangs scraping lightly in a tease of possession.
"Fuck Alayni. Fuck the clan. You're the only one I see, the only one I crave." He captured your mouth again but this time his hand roamed lower, cupping the rounded swell of your ass through the thin fabric of your loincloth, kneading the flesh firmly eliciting an involuntary arch of your back. "Look at you. Soft, perfect, made for me. I've dreamed of this body every night, wanted to touch myself to the thought of burying myself inside you. Give in to me, baby. Surrender to what we both want."
His words coiled around you like vines, a manipulative silk weaving through your doubts. You were no innocent. Cruelty had been your armor but here, stripped by his gaze, vulnerability cracked through. And the heat building between your thighs betrayed you, a slick ache that made your denial ring hollow.
"I... I shouldn't." You murmured, even as your fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, your nails dragging lightly, feeling the taut flex of muscle.
"But you will." He coaxed, voice dropping to a husky whisper as lips brushed your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine. "Because you feel it too, this pull, this need. Let me show you how good it can be. Just say yes and I'll make you forget everything else."
His free hand slipped under your top, callused palm gliding up your ribcage to cup one breast, his thumb circling the peak through the fabric drawing a sharp inhale from you as it pebbled under his touch.
Your resistance crumbled under the weight of his desire. You nodded, a small surrender, and he wasted no time. With deft fingers, he untied your top, letting it fall away to reveal the soft perky mounds of your breasts, nipples dusky and erect in the cool air.
Neteyam's breath hitched, eyes widening with reverent hunger as he stared with pupils dilating, a low groan escaping as he traced the curve with his gaze, committing every detail to memory.
"Eywa... so beautiful." He breathed, voice thick with awe leaning down to capture one peak in his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded the other.
Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your head falling back and throat bared, a soft whimper slipping free as your fingers threaded into his braids. He lavished attention on your chest, alternating between sucks and gentle bites leaving faint red marks that bloomed like petals on your azure skin, his obsession evident in the way he murmured praises against your flesh.
"These tits... fuck, I've wanted to taste them since the first time I saw you. So full, so responsive. Want to watch how they bounce for me."
Your body responded traitorously, hips grinding against his thigh as arousal soaked through your coverings. He sensed it, a wicked grin curving his lips as he pulled back eyes dark with intent, trailing kisses down your sternum.
"Eager already? Let me see all of you." His hands worked at your loincloth, peeling it away to expose your core as your thighs parted instinctively, the cool air kissing your heated folds.
For the first time, he beheld your pussy. It was swollen, glistening with need, the musky scent rising like an intoxicating fog.
Neteyam inhaled deeply, nose brushing the softness of your inner thigh, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss, a shudder rippling through his broad shoulders. "Oh fuck, your scent."
He buried his face closer, tongue darting out to lap at the juices trailing down your thighs, savoring the tangy essence with a filthy groan.
You cried out, legs trembling as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, the flat of his tongue pressing firm, coaxing more of your arousal to drip in his awaiting mouth. "Neteyam—ah!"
The sensation was overwhelming, his mouth relentless in sucking your folds, circling the bundle of nerves with expert flicks. His fingers parting you wider, exposing every inch to his voracious hunger. Your juices leaked freely now, coating his chin as he feasted, the lewd sounds of his slurps and your moans filling the air.
"Taste so fucking good." He rasped between laps, voice muffled against your heat, one hand pinning your hip while the other teased your entrance. "Dripping for me, aren't you? This pretty little cunt leaking like it knows it's about to be claimed."
He spat then, a deliberate dollop of saliva landing on your frothing core as he watched it mix with your slick before diving back in, tongue plunging deep to gather every drop.
Ecstasy built swiftly, your walls clenching around nothing, but he pulled away just as you teetered on the edge lips shiny, eyes gleaming with dark promise. "Not yet. I want to feel you come around my cock first."
Rising to his knees, he shed his own coverings, revealing his massive length. The flared head already beading with precum standing proud against his abdomen, the sheer size making your eyes widen in a mix of awe and apprehension.
You reached out tentatively, fingers wrapping around the girth barely encircling it, feeling the velvet heat pulse under your touch.
"It's... huge." You breathed stroking experimentally, thumb swiping over the tip drawing a hiss from him.
"All for you." He panted guiding your hand, hips bucking into your fist as he watched your face. "Gonna stretch you so good, fill you up until you're ruined for anyone else."
He positioned himself between your thighs, rubbing the head along your slit, coating himself in your combined wetness, teasing your swollen clit with each pass.
"Wait—Neteyam, we can't... not fully." You protested weakly, even as your body arched toward him in anticipation.
"We can and we will." He murmured manipulatively, nipping your lower lip as his eyes locked on yours with hypnotic intensity. "Just the tip first then the rest of my cock, baby. Let me in, surrender this much and I'll make it worth it."
He pressed forward slowly, the broad head breaching you and stretching your walls with a burn that bordered on pain before morphing into exquisite fullness. You moaned, nails raking down his back leaving red trails that made him growl in approval.
"Too much... oh." You gasped but your legs wrapped around his waist urging him deeper.
"That's it baby, take me." He cooed inching further, watching your face contort in pleasure, his own features twisting with restraint. Once fully sheathed, he paused letting you adjust to the bulge forming low in your belly, his hand pressing against it feeling himself inside you. "Look at that, my cock making a home in your tummy. You're made for breeding, aren't you?"
You mewled at his words and he began to move then, slow thrusts that built to a punishing rhythm with his hips snapping in lewd slaps, the riverbank echoing the sound. Love bites peppered your neck and shoulders, his teeth sinking in just enough to mark, scratches from your nails mirroring on his skin, a canvas of mutual claim.
"Fuck, you feel so good. Gripping me like you never want to let go." His words were shameless as raw sweat beading on his temple.
Pleasure mounted coiling tight until you shattered as your walls convulsed around him, a cry tearing from your throat and body arching off the ground, stars bursting behind your eyelids.
He didn't stop, chasing his own release with frantic drives. "Coming inside you. Gonna flood this pussy, make it mine."
He spilled, hot ropes of cum painting your depths, sloshing audibly with his final thrusts, the excess leaking out around his base obscenely.
But one round wasn't enough.
He flipped you onto your hands and knees, re-entering with a single brutal stroke, hand fisting your hair gently, arching your back as he pounded deeper.
"Again. Need to feel you milk me dry." He demanded, spitting into your open mouth this time, watching you swallow with a filthy grin.
The second climax hit you harder, mind fogging as he filled you anew, your tummy bulging visibly now, a lewd testament to his claim. By the third round, you were fucked dumb. Limbs heavy, moans incoherent with eyes glazed, body limp as he rutted into you from behind, one hand rubbing delicious circles on your clit.
"So good for me. Dumb on my cock, just how I like you." He praised, nipping your ear, his free hand roaming to squeeze your breast and pinched your nipple.
In your haze, he moved with purpose. Gathering your kuru, he connected it swiftly with his own. Tsaheylu forming in a surge of connection that bound your souls, the bond electric, amplifying every sensation as he thrust through your overstimulation. You felt the gravity of his love and obsession with you. How he wanted to etch himself into your being until he’s all you’ll ever know. How he was ready to defy everyone and leave his clan just to be with you. How he wanted to fill your pussy over and over again until you give him a big family. He burns for you and he will burn for you if he must.
You whimpered realizing too late but the pleasure drowned the protests bubbling up in you.
"Now it's real." He whispered triumphantly, voice laced with obsession and his eyes wild as the bond deepened. "Mated for life, no escaping me anymore. I'll take you home and no one can touch what's mine."
"Neteyam, what have you—" You slurred but he silenced you with a deep kiss, tongues tangling as he drove toward another peak.
"I'll make you a mama." He vowed between thrusts, manipulative edge sharpening his tone as his hand splayed over your lower belly pressing the bulge. "Keep getting you pregnant every damn time. Swelling with my seed so everyone knows who you belong to. Your sister, Alayni, the whole damn clan, they'll see you're mine forever. You just have to give in fully baby, surrender yourself to me."
The words, the bond, the relentless pleasure, it broke you.
Or perhaps remade you.
As he came again, cum sloshing deep and overflowing in thick rivulets down your thighs, you clung to him, your denial shattered. You were mated truly now and escape was a faded dream. In his arms, you found a twisted peace. His darkness mirroring your own, binding you to him.
Your body trembled in the aftermath, every nerve alight with the echoes of ecstasy and the profound weight of the bond now thrumming between you. Neteyam's cock remained buried deep in your walls, a deliberate barrier sealing his cum within your tender overworked folds. The raw heat of your core clenching sporadically around him, holding back the warm flood that threatened to spill. A soft whimper escaped your lips as overstimulation lingered like a sweet ache.
"Shh, baby." He murmured soothingly, his voice a low rumble against your ear as one large hand stroking the sweat-damp curve of your spine. "You did so good. So perfect for me."
His tone wrapped around you like a cocoon, possessive yet tender, the darkness in his eyes softened by satiated affection for you.
Your vision swam in a haze of bliss, eyelids heavy as you gazed up at him with your lashes fluttering, the lines of your face flushed with exertion, a faint sheen of perspiration highlighting the subtle glow of your skin.
"Neteyam—" You breathed, the word half-protest, half-plea, your voice husky from cries long silenced by his kisses.
He grinned then, a slow, predatory curve of his lips as he drank in the sight of you.
Naked and utterly claimed, scattered love bites blooming like violet bruises along your collarbone and the swell of your breasts, faint red welts from his nails marking your hips where he'd gripped too fiercely in the throes. Your beauty struck him anew, wild and unmarred by the world's judgments, every curve and stripes a testament to the obsession that had driven him to this.
Leaning down, he captured one dusky nipple between his lips again, suckling with gentle insistence as his tongue flicked the sensitive tip drawing a fresh gasp from you as sparks reignited low in your belly. He released it with a soft pop, only to claim your mouth in a lingering kiss. Lips molding to yours, the taste of shared passion still lingering on his tongue, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.
Without withdrawing, he shifted, strong arms banding around your waist to pull you upright with him. His cock still lodged deliciously inside, shifted angles that sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, your walls fluttering in response. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle there, the stripes on his arms pulsing faintly in the dim light, a mirror to the bond's electric hum.
He stepped into the shallow river, the cool water lapping at your joined forms as he waded deeper. Cradling you against his chest, the current swirling around your thighs and teasing the sensitive juncture where you remained connected. Droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing rivulets down the defined planes of his torso as he began to wash you both. His free hand dipping into the stream to cup water over your marked skin, gentle swipes cleansing the evidence of your frenzy, though his eyes never left yours, still dark with lingering hunger.
All the while, he stole nasty smooches from your lips. Quick heated presses that deepened into tongue-tangling explorations as his fangs grazed your lower lip, a low hum of approval vibrating from his throat each time you yielded to his advances.
"My mate is so fucking pretty." He growled between kisses, voice thick with raw adoration as his gaze raked over you, from the tousled waves framing your face to the subtle sway of your hips in the water. "All full of my cum and marked. Look at you baby, mine in every way now."
You felt him stirring within you, thickening once more as arousal rebuilt. The lazy twitch of his hips pressing him deeper, sloshing the trapped seed inside you with obscene wet sounds that made your cheeks burn. A groan built in your throat, the sensation both soothing and igniting, your body betraying any semblance of fatigue.
"Do you not get tired?" You groaned, the words tumbling out as he mouthed at your nipple again, his teeth nipping the pebbled flesh, his hot breath fanning across your chest while the water buoyed your weight.
He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations straight to your core as he lifted his head to meet your eyes, his own gleaming with unquenchable fire. "I'd fuck your pussy every day and still complain it's not enough."
The shameless declaration hung in the air, filthy and fervent, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, urging a subtle grind.
Your cunt pulsed at his words, a fresh wave of slick easing the way as desire coiled anew. Your inner muscles squeezing his cock involuntarily drawing a hiss from his parted lips. He responded in kind, fucking up into you with languid thrusts. Each roll of his hips deliberate, the friction building as your clit ground against the coarse texture at his pelvis, sparks blooming in your pussy with every press.
"You're so beautiful, baby." He whispered reverently, voice laced with awe, his free hand cradling the nape of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw as he held your gaze.
The water splashed softly around you, a rhythmic counterpoint to the deepening cadence of his movements.
Capturing your mouth once more, he parted your lips with his tongue, only to pull back slightly. Spitting a deliberate saliva into your open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you swallowed, the act intimate and depraved. Then he dove in, sucking on your tongue with voracious pulls. Teeth grazing, saliva mingling in a messy heated exchange that left you breathless.
The pace quickened, his thrusts growing firmer despite the lazy intent. Your bodies rocking in the current, the bond amplifying every sensation until pleasure crested like a wave. You came first, a muffled cry against his lips as your walls clamped down. Stars fracturing your vision, limbs tightening around him in shuddering release. He followed moments later, spilling anew with a guttural moan. Hot pulses joining the existing warmth, the fullness overwhelming as it sloshed within you.
This time, he withdrew gently, the sudden emptiness making you whine softly. A trickle of his cum escaping to mingle with the river's flow. He cleaned you up for real then, thorough and attentive, rinsing away the remnants with cupped handfuls of water. Fingers careful over your sensitive skin, tracing the insides of your thighs before helping you into fresh coverings from his nearby pouch. He dressed himself swiftly, the woven fabric hugging his powerful frame, his kuru draped over one shoulder still tingling from the bond with you.
Scooping you into his arms, he cradled you bridal-style against his chest. Your head nestling into the crook of his neck, the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulling you. You snuggled closer instinctively, limbs heavy with exhaustion, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours like a balm.
He grinned down at you, that obsessive light in his eyes undimmed as his fangs peeked through before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"Go to sleep, baby." He coaxed softly, voice a gentle command as one hand rubbed soothing circles on your back while he began the trek back towards his clan. "When you wake up, we'll be back in our marui as mates. Nobody can set us apart now."
Your eyes fluttered closed, the fight drained from you entirely. A quiet warmth blooming in your chest at the depth of his love, twisted as it was, mirroring the shadows in your own heart.
"You're still a disgusting demon to me." You mumbled, the words laced with weary affection rather than true venom you used to hurl at him.
He chuckled, the sound rich and fond echoing softly in the night, adjusting his hold to keep you secure as your breathing evened out. "And you're still beautiful to me."
As sleep claimed you fully, the world faded to the rhythm of his steps, the bond a unbreakable tether pulling you into his darkness.
His smile turned into a dark smirk as he continued to walk with you in his arms. He wasn't done yet. His plan still yet to unfold. He wasn't gonna rest until he's sure nobody will be an obstacle and he sure knows who to start with first.
Alayni will be an example of how far I'm willing to go for you, baby.
He laughed to himself as he realized, he really was obsessed with you.
Synopsis. Research on the Herwi clan of Pandora is both sparse and sacred. Current reports claim the existence of an icebound Na’vi residing in the bitter sub-zero mountains of Pandora: snow-white and unforgiving, as elusive as the fleeting snowflakes. Though physical evidence of these people are so far non-existent, and so are the eyewitnesses alive to tell the tale.
As a scientist on Pandora, you have only one goal: to prove the existence of the Herwi clan. As olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan, Gojo Satoru has only one goal: to make you his mate.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!scientist!reader, Na’vi!Gojo, Avatar AU, based on James Cameron’s movies, snow Na’vi, hidden tribes, snowy setting, scientific research, Shoko cameo, plot, culture, Na’vi language (translations at the end), Eywa, YEARNING Gojo, fated mates, size differences (he’s 11 feet), oraI (f + m rec.), standing oraI, pússydrúnk Gojo, fìngering, bíting, spìtting, cervìx kìssin’, trying to fit, he’s BIG big, feraI Gojo, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, MANHANDLlNG, matíng presses, monsterf-ing (Na’vi), rough s, stopping you from running, p sIapping, p talking, dúmbifícation, chokíng, cIit pinching, he’s slightly lNSANE, slight bréeding, mentions of kids, overstím, creampíes, cúmfIation, cúmpIay, bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.2k
A/N. This one’s to all the lovely babygirls who’ve been begging for this heheh, I lob you all <33
“Satoru of the snow—once the ice disappears so shall your name.” One amongst the elder members of the Hunt sighs.
Gojo Satoru was a phantom figure before them. He led the way—towering and lithe. Long ivory hair dancing in the flurry. Bioluminescent freckles upon skin such a pale blue that it was practically white. Even amongst the Herwi, Gojo stood out.
Their olo’eyktan. Their leader.
He cuts a pathway through the wind and snow, carrying the carcasses of several snow beasts that he’d hunted himself. They rested upon his strong shoulders - the group’s largest catch, as always - and Gojo was unyielding to the howl of Pandora’s highest peaks. These mountains were a crown upon the young Na’vi’s head.
The elder clicks his tongue, “Do you not believe it is time for this clan to see our olo’eyktan mated-”
“So let the snow melt.” Had it been anyone but Gojo Satoru, then these words would be lost to the snowstorm. “But I shall forever remain waiting for my mate.”
“But the absence of a tsahìk-”
“Mawey- do slow down.” For not the first time since their trek started, Gojo is turning his head behind him. He might have been a firm leader, but he wasn’t unfair. He watches the Herwi hunters that extend from his feet to far beyond hills of ice and frost - some middle-aged and weathered by the snow already, some fresh-faced and cold with the eagerness to prove themselves. Following them were six-legged canines they called txeylan—powerful hinds pulling sleds piled high with hunt. “The younger ones are having trouble keeping up.”
Gaping, the elder looks between his leader and the younger members near the middle of their group. Flanked by older Na’vi. “But- but olo’eyktan-”
He’s looking up at the irritated sky, “I will see no further talking.”
Though there is an easy smile across his face, the elders know not to cross him. Senior in age—only age.
They bowed their heads and looked away above all because he is their leader, but below that - deep, deeeeeep below what their prides would allow them to ever admit - because they knew he was stronger. The strongest.
The heir born of a blizzard, Satoru of the snow.
It was said he opened his eyes during the coldest night of that year. Ice-blue. Bitter blue. Like the pools of crystallized water that the Herwi people would dance their celebrations upon - and that night they held the longest celebrations to date. Arms in arms and singing songs. And giving thanks and giving the young his first taste of snow.
And though the position of olo’eyktan had an aspect of inheritance to it either way, it was undeniable that the world had just borne their future leader.
He’d grown up taller than other Na’vi his age. Stronger. Stormy flurries wherever he stepped, and a blizzard himself.
There almost seemed to be a gap between him and everyone else.
Gojo had been sixteen when he was officially granted the mantle of ‘The Strongest’ by the clan. It was only about time, and only because of the elders’ reluctance that it’d taken this long.
And now it was impossible to say whether he was more loved or respected as a leader: the more boisterous of the younger Na’vi certainly loved him, the elders couldn’t stand him, the ones of mating age just couldn’t get enough of him. Though it was all for naught.
In all the twenty-eight years that he’d sifted through these snows - in all the ten years since he’d come of age - Gojo hadn’t so much as looked at another with a degree of infatuation.
Not for a lack of propositions- in fact, if you asked his attendants then they’d tell you that Gojo had a surplus of propositions. At least five Na’vi would stroll up the familiar pathway to his underground hut, calling out sing-song wishes to braid his hair, to walk amongst the ice glaciers together, to mend his fur clothes.
Hopefuls.
His attendants were ordered to send them all away with a gift from the olo’eyktan and a firm rejection (though, Gojo finds that that certainly didn’t deter them…)
They just didn’t seem to understand why such a suitable young Na’vi seemed to be waiting…watching…for something even he himself didn’t seem to understand. Always turning his blue eyes to the skies, ever since he was a child, always, always-
Gojo stops in his tracks.
One of his arms raises to halt the procession behind him.
The Na’vi hunters freeze.
The Na’vi hunters let their tails swish.
The txeylan sniff the air.
Gojo’s long pointed ears twitch in every direction before resting in a single direction up ahead - where the belly of the snow seemed to swell with something. Something that the recent snowstorm had swallowed.
“Olo’eyktan…” One of the younger Herwi behind him whispers. “What is it?”
“Mawey. It might be a dead snow beast.” He hisses, though he knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t uncommon for even the creatures of these terrains to be bested by nature. But something about the figure in the snow was…different from the hounding things they hunted. Much more delicate, much more scrunched in on itself.
Gojo keeps his hand held high in the air and passes on his hunt to the nearby clansmen. Still holding onto his bow and arrows, he edges closer. “Ì’awn- the clan stays here while I investigate.” Leaving no room for a word edgewise.
The wind whips his long hair and kuru as the Na’vi steps closer. And some maddened part of him almost feels that it was as though Eywa, their goddess, herself was trying to get him to stay away.
But an even madder part of him wanted to get closer—needed to get closer.
He was being drawn in.
Making not even a single noise with his padded feet, he’s crouching down before the unmoving figure and using his long skeletal fingers to wipe away those dredges of snow.
Away from a face—
He gasps.
The rest of the Herwi startles behind him, “What is it- what is it, olo’eyktan?”
“Is it a snow beast? Must we commence the rituals-”
“Cease! Are those fingers it has-”
“Five?”
But Gojo doesn’t answer their queries, instead he’s silently pressing his ear to the swell of the body’s chest and—ba-dump!
Listening to that faint heartbeat.
He’s not sure how this little human was still alive, and he pulls back to look at them- the first he’s ever seen. Gojo has already heard the whispers from other Na’vi clans, of these aliens named mankind whom had settled upon Pandora a few years ago.
He’s heard about humanity’s wits, their machinery, their greed.
He’s heard of the way they’ve hurt his people.
But he’s never seen one up so…close. Were they all this small? How could something so small be so destructive?
Gojo tilts his head down at you and runs one of his cold indexes down the side of your masked face, did they all look so hurt by the cold? He can’t imagine that it didn’t hurt- after all, the only reason that the Herwi had managed to reside in these mountains for hundreds of years was because of its harsh environment. Not human nor animal nor Na’vi wanted to be here—but Gojo always loved this place, as did his people.
He wondered whether it was such passionate love or hate that drew the little human in his arms to climb such peaks. To come this far.
He can’t help but lean down and scoop the human up into his arms.
“O-olo’eyktan what is the meaning of this-”
“Fnu- shhhh.” Gojo responds in his native language, “She’s resting.”
The olo’eyktan carries the human all the way back the treacherous path to his clan huts.
And every time he looked down, he could see the way that smaller body fell and rose with each faint breath. He could see the flying of human-made coats that did nothing to fight off the cold of Pandora. He could see the pen and notebook stuffed inside it as if they were the most precious treasure of all.
He can see you.
.
.
.
Day #1 in the Herwi village:
Woke up in what seems to be the healer’s hut, a wide insulated space that is more or less steeped into the underground with a berth of the entrance AS (above snow). Capped dome on top. Walls are composed of wooden planks on the interior flanked by compact ice from the outside, decorated in the thick furs of what appears to be snow beasts. Long book shelves. Kindling lantern of something bioluminescent and emitting heat. Shockingly warm inside. Vents are present but small to prevent an excess of thin air. Separate storage spaces and areas for examination, implications of advanced surgery and medical procedures taking place far beyond what we humans can understand.
Though Herwi healing techniques seem to be similar to that of other Na’vi clans (particularly the Omaticaya) in terms of relation to Eywa and natural resources, it must be noted that Herwi healing makes prominent use of ice for anti-inflammatory and vessel constricting methods.
Sparse presence of herbs and more emphasis on pressure points (for a copy of the Herwi circulatory system diagram see Page 8…), though the olo’eyktan reassures that there are a multitude of flora endemic to the Pandoran heights.
The olo’eyktan seems particularly eager to give a tour?
With your eyes blinking open…you think you’ve died and gone onto whatever there was afterwards.
It would’ve been just like you to meet your demise during the pursuit of your research- the higher-ups at your laboratory predicted the same thing. The last thing you remember before blacking out was feeling faint - weeks of hiking up this arduous peak and you’d run out of your provisions a few days ago, surviving on only melted ice to fill your belly. At least, until the sudden threat of a snowslide had resulted in you abandoning your tent and bags behind for escape.
From then on it had only been: you, your pen, your notebook with your research, your translator, and your burning passion to find the Herwi.
It was no surprise that you didn’t last long.
But you suppose you just didn’t expect the ‘afterwards’ to be a blue, blue summer sky.
Oh—how you missed the cloud-frothed ocean of blue down on Earth. It was never quite the same on Pandora, and you’re just beginning to wonder whether heaven was really home-
“Yawne, txen?”
Before your muddled mind realizes that this really wasn’t your sky after all.
What you were looking up into were the eyes of a Na’vi warrior.
He’s leaning his overlarge body above yours, and you’re pressing yourself flatly against a mattress—one that was made of copious amounts of furs and the softest spun wool to make you feel as though you were floating up on the clouds.
But the farther you’re getting, the more he dwarfs you with his curious peering.
Closer.
And the only thing you can do is look up into his handsome blue face- the lightest of blues you’ve ever seen.
Now, you have to start this off by saying that every single Na’vi you’ve seen was beautiful—every single one of them.
But you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone like him before: long white hair, blue eyes almost like a Metkayina, and glowing spots scattered like snowflakes across his cheeks. Heavy eyelids. Taller than your average Omaticaya. Perhaps a bit bulkier, as well.
If you tilted your head just past his looming figure then you could take in the tufted fur clothing he wore, slightly more coverage than of Na’vi from the more tropical areas; with patterns of rosettes peaking out wherever his skin was exposed and dotted like a fainter version of a snow leopard’s. From your own planet.
But you were not on your own planet.
Far from it.
You’re realizing with a jolt that he was one of the Herwi clan-
“Are you…” And though you’d dreamed and wished and hoped for this day for so long—right now you find yourself absolutely speechless. “Are you- fuck.”
To which he only beams- “Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey.” His pearly white teeth are on full display, one little dimple crinkling at the edge of his smile. He just looks so handsome like this that you almost lose your breath- no. It must be the hypothermia that’s getting to you. It must be. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that he almost sounds utterly relieved—“Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung?”
Before he can say anything more, you’re digging in your coats- or at least attempting to. It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle behind the thick blankets and realize that you weren’t wearing those humanly thin layers you did when climbing up the mountain. Well-fitted for the Earth’s cold, but not for the harsh ever-winters of Pandora.
Instead you were wearing…a thick woolen coat?
Much too large on you- almost comically so. It had sleeves that reached a few feet past your fingertips, draped down to your toes, and enough space that you could hide at least five of you inside it.
No translator.
No pen. No notebook-
He sees this smaller figure fluttering about worriedly and tilts his head curiously, “‘Upe lu nga fwew?” Before handing you your notebook and pen from a table behind him.
“Pardon? Ah- thank you so much—!” You beam at him, and he beams back. But looking into his blue eyes once more, you feel a sudden sense of helplessness wash over you. “But I’m sorry, I still can’t understand you.”
At this the Na’vi furrows his pale brows - you’re not quite sure whether he knew what you were saying, but he seemed to have picked up on your emotions. Nudging his large face against yours with a purring sound, “Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga.”
And a part of you somewhat melts- “I said I really can’t- hahah.” You half-heartedly try to push his incessant face away with a laugh, taking particular delight in noting how happily his tail was swishing. Fluffier with more fur than you’ve observed on other types of Na’vi, also covered in pretty rosettes that swayed to and fro.
It’s right now that you wished you had the patience to stay behind and immerse yourself more in the Na’vi language lessons your laboratory had provided. Most scientists didn’t even go out into the field until they were experts - but you were too antsy, too greedy to know. Something seemed to have called you here whether it cost you your life.
Given you’d picked up on some phrases here and there, but it seems that the Herwi had a different accent from the clips played in those listening tests. Slightly softer, slightly more of a whisper.
Like the breath of winter, his words cooled your mask and heated up something entirely different inside of you. “Oe pey ngim krr.”
Before you know it, the Na’vi clasps both your hands in his—and you’re startled by just how large they are, just how cold. You’re analyzing the way his pale fingers hold your own as if it was all that was tender in the world.
Intertwining.
“Ngim krr.” He looks at you with those azure eyes seriously, opening up the palm of your right hand and touching his to yours. Palm against palm. Breath against breath. “Nìt'iluke.”
You get the feeling that you were missing something very important- “I’m sorry I really wish…I’m so sorry to ask any more of you- I really am. But have you happened to see my translator anywhere?”
“Tìnga’prrnen?” He cocks his head in confusion, trying to mouth the word.
“Erm- yes?” Hoping that he understood you, “My translator—” You emphasize the syllables- “It’s a little device to understand you-”
You’re gesturing between the two of you- and you swear you see the light blue Na’vi pale. “Tìnga’prrnen? Oe?”
“Yes?” You knew that ‘oe’ referred to oneself.
He balks- maybe you were getting through to him? “Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen-”
“Skxawng.”
Before he’s suddenly cut off by a hard smack to the back of his head- and you’re looking up just in time to see another Herwi Na’vi enter the hut. The dimorphism between this particular strand of Na’vi wasn’t anything too prominent, you find - both were tall, both were pale, both had long tails and rosettes scattered across their agile bodies.
The only real difference was that the one at your bedside was more rugged, with even more pure-white beads woven into his hair. Though that you could chalk up to their separate duties within the clan.
She walked inside as though she owned the place, throwing her long loose hair behind her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch as she shuts the other man up—as she brings out a black earpiece from behind her and hands it to you. “I believe this is yours. It was dropped in the rush outside.”
“O-oh!” You’re surprised to find that it was none other than your translating device. Taking it gratefully, “Thank you so so much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
At your baffled expression - as far as you knew, the Herwi were the last remaining uncontacted clan of Na’vi, with no knowledge of humankind nor their many languages. “I learned your language from my books-” Gesturing around her - you were right to assume that this was her hut, filled to the brim with ointments and books. Mostly of Na’vi origin, but you could spy a few in English and Japanese. “-sent by friends in the Omaticaya. I find your human stories are…quite amusing.”
“I see.” You breathe.
She gestures at herself, “Ieri Shoko of the heart.” Then at the male Na’vi member, “Gojo Satoru of the snow. I apologize for him, he is our olo’eyktan- also the one that found you.”
“So you’re my saviour.” You’re looking towards him- Gojo once more. He catches your eyes and looks away with a pale blue hue dusting his face. “Irayo nga.” Giving your thanks (one of the few phrases you could speak with complete confidence).
You’re looking towards him- He shudders, “Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen.”
As soon as he’s saying it, Shoko smacks her hand on her forehead- and you wonder what exactly he means.
So without further ado, you’re fixing the earpiece onto yourself.
“Idiot.” Shoko’s turning back to Gojo, “You know that’s not what she meant?”
Gojo crosses his arms and huffs- “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if it’s for her-”
“Not even Eywa could make that happen.”
“Getting preg-”
“Hello?” Testing—and if the way both Na’vi jerk their heads to you in slight surprise is anything to go by, then you’d say that the translator was working rather well. It was less an earpiece that translated and more a device to target that part of your brain that communicated and understood foreign languages.
Allowing you to both understand and speak in the dialect of the Na’vi - an invention by yours truly, of course. You’d (as close as) perfected it just last year for this expedition. “Can you understand me?”
Gojo stares at you with wide blue eyes.
With his pretty lips parted.
With his tail swishing back and forth.
“I see y-”
“We understand you.” Shoko nudges him roughly in the ribs, “I apologize if we’re a bit startled- it’s the first time we’re seeing a human in person.”
“I could’ve guessed that.” You giggle, flickering your eyes over to the starstrack Na’vi. Though you were equally as such. Somehow you speaking in his language just seemed to make him…“But I want to emphasize that I come in peace- I just want to learn as a scientist, not even my laboratory knows exactly where I am. And I intend to keep it that way.”
Shoko crosses her arms and looks gravely at you, “What do you want?”
“To learn. To research you and your people.” You look between them both, “To confirm the existence of the Herwi clan has been a dream of mine for a long time- not for the papers or the accolades, but because I just wanted to know you.”
“And how can we trust you?” Shoko says, getting nudged by Gojo afterwards.
“I won’t reveal anything you don’t want me to.” Determination dripping in your tone, “Not even if they kill me for it.”
They appraise you, and it’s silent for a beat before Shoko looks at Gojo.
And Gojo nods.
Shoko shoots you a barely-there smile, “Well…human, what do you want to know?”
.
.
.
After you woke up, it was after a long talk and almost three or so hours later that you’d gotten up- Shoko and Gojo had both rushed to your side. Waving them off, you’d attempted to shrug off the coat and hand it back to Gojo - long since realizing that it was his - but he’d almost been offended by the gesture.
Refusing.
He’d kept a hand behind on the small of your back to steady you with every step climbed towards the entrance. And once you were out- you could practically feel the storm freeze around you.
Colder than cold.
The Herwi looked at you with fear.
They stopped in their tracks and didn’t even look to breathe until Gojo had followed right after. And standing beside him like that, you’d been made too aware of the drastic height difference between you two. The average Na’vi was about nine to ten feet tall, though by the look of it the Herwi of the snow were much larger than their oceanic counterparts—slightly thicker, with limbs that were long and covered in sparse fur to protect them from the cold.
The Herwi average was about ten feet, you’re finding.
Though Gojo stood at a proud eleven feet (11’1 as you come to interrogate out of him more precisely later on) and rested his hand gently upon your shoulder. They had faint scars on them that marked him as a warrior, and you could feel the slight callouses send shivers across your coat-swathed body. His tail curled around your thigh.
You don’t think you even came up to his stomach-
“My people…” He announced in booming Na’vi. “-as some of you may know from the hunt today, we have a guest.”
You shift at the stares.
“More importantly, my guest. And we will make her feel welcome like family.”
“Family?” The whispers came.
“But she is one of the sky people…”
“Part of the family is…but if the olo’eyktan says so…”
“I’ve never seen him so casually touchy with someone before-”
“Shhhhhhh!”
“I understand if you are scared, and to those who wish it- you are free to leave and never interact with her while she is here.” Though none of them do move. Fixated. “But to those who aren’t, I urge you to share the beauty of our culture.”
To which you’d gulped before introducing yourself as you had to Shoko and Gojo.
.
.
.
Day #2 in the Herwi village:
The governing system of the Herwi is quite reminiscent to that of other clans - made up by a singular olo’eyktan or olo'eykte, accompanied by a tsahìk (though Gojo assures proudly that he is not mated as of writing this), and a council of clan elders that act as an advisory board.
Most decisions are made solely by the wisdom of Gojo himself, though large choices require a vote from the council as well as his people. Such requisites are rare, however, as it seems the olo’eyktan’s impact extends to the non-council people in such a way that they trust him with everything. (For more on the lovely reception and the sheer popularity of Gojo Satoru see Page 11…)
Governing seems to be harmonious if a little quietly tense in regards to certain elders that disagree yet are ultimately obeisant to their olo’eyktan.
This scientist in particular caused a little stir in the Herwi leadership once a research visit was proposed by the olo’eyktan to the rest of the elders. Though initial reactions had been reluctant, after a terse discussion, ultimately six moons had been granted to collect all appropriate research (due to be checked by the elders prior to leaving). No more. No less.
Six moons should be more than enough!
Shoko might have let it slip that it was Gojo who used his privilege as olo’eyktan to convince the council…and he wasn’t too happy that they’d granted you merely six moons (five days if you’re counting the first night there) to stay here. He wanted to gawk at this new human more, you supposed.
But you were so very grateful to each and every one of them either way - even those wizened elders who scowled at you suspiciously wherever you passed. Though even glares seemed sweet when you were living your dream, hm? And it best be believed that you were taking advantage of every single second you had with the clan - every single second.
Because this was exactly what those cigar-smoking higher-ups had laughed at you for.
They thought you were chasing a myth.
The Herwi people had been so gracious as to offer you an empty hut, despite Gojo’s fervent insisting that you take his and he can simply tough it out in the cold outside-
And the next day you were up early- perhaps a little too early for the olo’eyktan who’d apparently tracked your trail and followed you around for an hour. Before he finally managed to stop you in the middle of your field study - helping out a young Herwi mother take care of her crying toddler, whilst learning about Herwi childcare techniques - and raised his bag full of food.
Breakfast.
You’re smacking your hand against your forehead as you’d completely forgotten - not quite out of the ordinary for when you got too immersed in your work. But it was different when you had someone seeking you out to take care of you…
And so after sharing the abundance of breads and berries and soups (far too much for but the two of you) with the Herwi mother and child, the two of you sit outside her hut and admired the view of the village. The soft half-sun that melted across the capped peaks, a buttery layer of light that was not even half as bright as on Earth.
But somehow gentler.
Gojo’s raising one berry to his lips before- “Ah…” His mouth drops when he takes a glance at you- more accurately, at your masked self. And he’s stopping in his movements, “Excuse me for just a second, beloved.”
“Oh? Of course.”
You watch as he’s standing up and sprinting light-fast towards the edge of a great steaming lake in the horizon. His figure’s crouching down and cupping his hands in the sparkling water, bubbling with fury. Gojo brings it up to his face and whispers a mantra that you couldn’t quite determine. Not from where you were sitting.
Before carefully bringing it right up to you- “Drink, beloved.”
He gently leans down to let his fingertips meet your mask.
And you’d had no option—you consider it for science, though a part of you knew you didn’t have to linger your lips so much on his cold skin- but you lift your mask up and drink it.
Once the water floods your throat, you knew something was different.
Your lungs quiver.
Once.
Twice.
And you’d found yourself able to breathe—
Breathing on Pandora.
“How did you…” As you gasp, Gojo reaches out and removes the mask off of you completely. He’d let the earpiece stay on, of course, but lightly grazed his cold digits against the shell of your ear and made you shiver. “I don’t even know what to say- thank you. I didn’t even know this was possible—no other Na’vi clan let alone a mere human has discovered a way to let us breathe normally on Pandora.”
“For you. Lake Yapay.” Gojo says, large hand still cupping your face. “It steams great billowing heat in the day, and freezes by night. Here in Herwi, we use its water to expand our lungs during snowstorms.”
And you want to write it down- you know you should, but the pen in your fingers won’t move. Or more accurately, your fingers won’t move.
He continues, “This land is alive and works in mysterious ways. It has worked for you, beloved, as I knew it would.”
“Thank you again, olo’eyktan.”
“Satoru.” He interjects.
“Satoru.”
He smiles as if it meant the world.
And so your feast commences.
“You have to remember to eat.” Gojo says to you as he scoffs down a sweet paste made of ice-blue berries, “How will you brave the winter storms otherwise? Of course, I will protect you—and yet still.”
“Well, I sure hope I survive six more nights for my research then, hm?” You joke.
But you hadn’t expected Gojo’s face to darken, for him to shake his head. “It’s not fair.”
“Pardon?”
“Six more nights…” And you hadn’t exactly expected him to be so…invested in your research - you admit that you would benefit more from a longer period of studying the Herwi, but you were ready to take what was given. He looks down at the glaring snow and whispers—more to himself. “It’s not fair. I will correct it.”
“Correct?”
“Oh?” And you look from him to the village straight ahead, “Well, I’d be happy either way, Satoru.”
Just then that little Na’vi you’d been helping to watch over before comes waddling and giggling out of the hut to hold onto you- and you pick her up readily.
Gojo took one look at the two of you and shivered.
Shivered.
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Day #3 in the Herwi village:
Hunts are an imperative part of the Herwi lifestyle—not only is it how the people are nourished, but it’s a social activity, it’s a coming-of-age activity.
As aforementioned, hunts are commenced and led by none other than the olo’eyktan. A large group of Herwi warriors shall trek across the icelands in one unit, and it was quite interesting to note that most of the younger hunters are positioned in the middle where they are less likely to get injured during such a trip.
It is in the middle of their hike that Gojo will alert when the group is to split up: Snow beast hunters and snow marine stilts. Divide and conquer seems to be the only strategy that somehow tames such an unforgiving environment, and Herwi marine-hunters seem to be picked from the most patient of warriors. They carve out a hole in the middle of frozen bodies of water (never Lake Yapay, this divine body is never harmed) and each positions themself atop a tall icicle beside it to escape prowling beasts and currents. Crouched and ledged atop one, the sheer core strength and balance is divine once they cast their lines and wait.
On the other side of things, we have the Herwi beast-hunters. Using a large variety of weapons, the most popular is noted to be the bow and arrow - used by the olo’eyktan himself. They stalk in the cold white billows of snow with not even a single shiver, they lay in wait for hours, they tire their prey out.
And nevertheless this scientist found today’s hunt rather interesting…
The third and fourth days had passed by in much the same fashion - except for the slight tweak in your routine that included opening your hut door and finding the olo’eyktan standing there every single morning.
Always with food, always with a smile, always with some interesting niveous flower for you to press into your notebook. Then afterwards the two of you would set out to help you interview the Herwi people of all ages and backgrounds, to take samples, to explore the natural fauna, to even join Gojo on one of his Hunts on the third day.
They admitted that they didn’t focus on hunting as much as they normally did on that trek, too enamored with this strange little human that had showed up one day and had their olo’eyktan glued to her side.
You interviewed hunters and elders (well, the ones that didn’t ignore you completely or were on the verge of cursing you out until they caught their leader’s eye) until your mouth hurt. And Gojo had taken you into the best spot with natural Pandoran fauna, making you jot down notes until your fingers cramped.
Once the sun was beginning to set and the Na’vi were getting ready to head back to their village for the night, you’re taking the opportunity to interview some of the young hunters. Gojo was off in the distance making up for the slightly lowered hunt by ice-spearing more snow beasts. And you were more than happy not to distract him while he took care of his olo’eyktan duties- after all, the other hunters were nice. Never having seen a human before, they’d been more than happy to answer your questions.
Ribbing each other, guffawing as they answered, placing their hands down on you and ruffling your head from above.
Almost as if you were a plaything- and you admit it was in the name of science, you didn’t mind it too much until a particularly boisterous hunter about Gojo’s age had kept swatting at you no matter how many times you politely moved away. Until he’d caught you on the scruff of your coat and tried to lift you up—
You hear the sound of bones breaking before you realize what it is.
Whipping your head behind you in an instant to see that Gojo was behind the other hunter and pulling his hand hard enough that you hear other Na’vi cry out.
He lets go of you, of course, and you watch with widened eyes as Gojo then bandages his fellow Na’vi’s arm himself. Though you note that he doesn’t apologize.
Gojo didn’t leave your side for a single second after that.
That night after the dinner by the lake, Gojo walks you to your hut and sleeps outside in the bitter cold- no matter how much you tried to get him to take up the bed inside. He’d insisted.
After mating, he’d said.
You wonder whether your translating device was malfunctioning…
(See Page 26 on Herwi possessiveness…).
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Day #4 in the Herwi village:
Beads.
A well-known part of Na’vi culture, one of the most recognizable, perhaps. The scientific community has written long and extensively on the importance of bead-sharing in the Omaticaya clan, however, this scientist shall be the first to detail the beauty of how this tradition extends to the Herwi clan.
According to the artisans of this village, beads aren’t fashioned through molten stone or seeds or clay—given the availability of such in this environment. Rather, they’re made with snow.
Never-melting snow.
Yes, the design of hona beads from snow is a practice unique to the Herwi clan. Broken off from the hardest icicles growing at a peak of Mt. Hoet said to touch the sky, not only is it a treacherous passage to get to those specialized bits of ice, but the process of making the beads finds itself just as arduous. These icicles are then welded into delicate beads and dipped into the waters of Lake Yapay at night, letting them soak and then carried to freeze at the highest peak once more.
This process is repeated until the beads are as hard as diamonds on Earth- perhaps even harder. Never-melting. Never-breaking. Never-forgetting. Though not too hard so that the Herwi will be unable to carve unique patterns and symbols special to themself. Rinse. Repeat.
Though the clear meaning of such is ambiguous, it is most certainly a way of showing appreciation - as one would have to love someone very much to do this, no?
It was on your fourth day amongst the Herwi clan that Gojo didn’t show up with a beautiful flower or trinket from the terrain- instead, he’s bounding up to you with a string of beads and knotting it against the side of your face.
Pushing it back and taking you in with it.
Without a question.
“Satoru, did you…” You’re holding the line of beads up to the sunlight and watching the little patterns glimmer. They were slightly frosted and flurried like the smallest of snowglobes, “Did you make this for me?”
And you swear they had the most intricate design of clouds on them, swirling and tumbling.
“Of course.” He smiles proudly. “Us Herwi are taught how to design our very own hona beads ever since we were children, and as Na’vi coming of age we walk up the path to make the first one for ourselves…as adults we make one for our family or…” Mates.
“And this- god, I need to…write about this but I can’t even imagine how long this would’ve taken.”
“Four days.” Gojo cocks his head and looks down at you- and that brilliantly confident grin of his plasters across his face once more. “For most it takes four years, but for you I did it in four days.”
“Oh, they’re just amazing.” You run a hand down the ice-cold globules, “Thank you, Satoru.”
He holds your hand as he leads you out into the village.
Gojo tells you that night to wear those very beads to the clan dinner - once a week (at the very least) after a particularly successful Hunt, the Herwi people will get together for a massive feast. You’d heard excited whispers about it from the public you surveyed, and it seems that the olo’eyktan had chosen tonight.
Night had begun to fall, and you were dragged playfully by some younger girls straight to the edge of this vast frozen lake. Past snow-capped huts that stuck out of an even more snow-capped ground like eager heads, and ice-jeweled trees and frozen rivers and pathways lit with bioluminescent algae trapped in lanterns of ice.
It was a world in frost.
Where Na’vi had gathered with their families, their friends, their food—all in an array of tables that circled the crystallized body of water like a wedding ring.
Under the snowy night sky they communed.
“You are wearing my- I mean your hona beads.” Gojo had beamed as he eventually caught up with you and guided you himself. He led you by hand again - even though you weren’t exactly quite sure why…at least it kept you from being toppled over by the other tall Herwi rushing to snag their own seats. “You look beautiful with them, beloved.”
And you weren’t quite sure what to say- though the bubbling pit at your stomach certainly wanted you to tell him something. Instead you divert the topic, “You hunted today as well, yes? Is there anything here that you hunted?”
To which he looks at you with a rather cocky smile, “Beloved, I have hunted more than half of the feast tonight. Trust that you will enjoy it.”
And you might have joked about him being presumptuous- but you really did enjoy the feast.
Under a star-studded sky and glimmering lanterns that twinkled like the freckles upon Gojo’s face, he led you to the very head table that no other Na’vi dared touch. It was rather obvious that this one was meant for the olo’eyktan himself, but what was curious was when your seat had been placed right next to his.
Perks of being a special guest, you suppose?
Shoko was beside you and shot you an amused smile, before preening for another Herwi next to her with a scar that ran across her face and half-braided hair.
“Utahime.” Gojo had whispers in your ear, “Shoko’s mate.”
“Ah- I see!” Pen quivering in your hand, you’re jotting down your observations in your notebook under the table. “Perfect. I’m quite curious about the mating rituals of the Herwi, you see. Do you suppose I’d be able to ask them some questions later on in the night?”
“Don’t ask them questions- ask me.” Gojo huffs. Brows furrowing. Lower lip jutting into a pout.
He leans over and wraps his arm around the back of your chair. Squirming, “O-oh…but you’re not mated yet, are you, Satoru?”
“Nope!”
“Right…” But then how could you ask him about mating if he wasn’t—nevermind.
Because just then the group in charge of cooking for the clan had rounded the tables and begun placing their most savored delicacies on top of them. Meats upon vegetables upon berries that you’d seen growing naturally across the mountainside they lived on. It was steaming hot and everything that you could dream of.
Whether you didn’t like meat, whether you didn’t like vegetables- there was always something there for you.
Most of the richest dishes were allocated around the olo’eyktan and your single table, stuffing the surface to the brim until you had to squeeze next to Gojo for space. Of course, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps too busy piling his place with the sweetest treacly milks and frozen desserts that he could reach.
After dinner came the dances.
It happened every night after the community dinner when everyone - full and satisfied by then - would start humming and chanting their ancient hymns. Echoing into the sleepy snow and the ever-young night, someone would pull out two snow beast-skin drums by then. Thumping away to the songs of the snow.
Children ran off and made snow-prints and snow-fights in the mountains of powder. Family members would begin drowsily feeding each other and insisting they eat more. Others traced their own hona beads and promised they’d make ones for the one they love.
More would punch small holes through the frozen lake and bring the water up to their mouths, of which a sudden blow would make the water freeze and scatter out into the air in twinkling snowflakes. Emulating the stars themselves.
Snow-breathers.
They’d sing, they’d sound, they’d show off and then…the first mated couple would walk onto the middle of the frozen ice.
Then the second.
The third.
The fourth and the fifth and the sixth-
What a way to end the night, love warming the cold air and couples twirling around each other with their tails intertwined. Usually, you’d be content to clap and attempt to sing along—
But then Gojo stands up- and you almost believe he was ready to leave the table altogether…until he’s reaching his hand out to you.
You.
And you look around in slight surprise- almost as if expecting someone to materialize right beside you and take Gojo’s hand instead. But the only thing you’re getting is Shoko’s approving nod from next to you, before she lets herself be dragged by Utahime onto the frozen lake.
And so you’d danced.
Rather an interesting sight considering the height difference, you admit—but it was beautiful. Gojo scoops you up into his arms with one steadied underneath you, the other holds one of your hands in his.
So much larger. So much more powerful.
And yet so gentle.
He twirls you around to the music and you laugh at the wind stinging your face.
“Satoru, you’re going to drop me—”
“I should rather die than drop you.”
“But- but what of the other Herwi that will be mistaken?” You ask then, already sensing the envious looks that were thrown your way.
“There goes my dream of being tsahìk, I’m almost sure of it now-”
“But I haven’t been able to try my luck with the olo’eyktan yet-”
“Oh shush, girl! You seriously think any of us had a chance?”
You look into his handsome face, eyes trained on you despite all the whispers and disturbance amongst his people. Only you. “You won’t be able to find a mate this way.”
Something unreadable in his blue eyes, flickering with fire from the tables and something else entirely. “Perhaps I don’t want one.”
“Well that would be entirely your decision.” You place your hands on his broad shoulders, flexing as they move you around with ease. “But it seems in Herwi tradition, the olo’eyktan is wont to take a mate.”
He raises a white brow, “And who should you believe must be my mate then?”
You didn’t quite know how to answer that.
Averting his eyes- and those of the Na’vi staring at you two. “W-well, Herwi has many fine women and men. Reykol is the best singer.”
“I do not want Reykol.”
“Tìtaron is a good hunter.”
He pulls you closer, “Yes, she is a good hunter. But I am better, and I do not care for Tìtaron.” Reaching up one hand to brush away the snowflakes that had begun dusting your face, “I believe I have already been fated to. Even before I was born, I have already chosen.”
You swallow, “Who, Satoru?”
He only smiles.
“Who?”
But he does not answer, you’re twirled around once more and the moonlight catches your dangling beads.
“Is that…”
“Surely our leader isn’t saying what we think he is saying-”
“But look at him, he looks so…happy.”
You turn your head to catch the fact that most of the Herwi were looking at you, whispering behind their hands. In hindsight, you think that perhaps it was not a coincidence that they ogled you - and particularly the hona beads that you’d been gifted. Not a coincidence at all.
You wore his signature because you were his.
And they all knew you were his.
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Day #5 in the Herwi village (the last day):
Leaving tomorrow, a perceptive scientist may notice that there is only one thing missing from this comprehensive research into the Herwi clan.
The source of Eywa.
As a deity to all Na’vi people, her influence seeps into the songs and prayers of even the highest terrains on Pandora. Into the healing. Into the well wishes. Into the belief system of a people so accepting and harmonious that their tree of Eywa does not need to be visibly present for her will to be carried out.
But as for where she resides here…
Your fifth and final day was less research and more saying your goodbyes to all the friends you’d made in the Herwi clan. You’d be leaving first thing tomorrow, before the sun even rose, according to the sternest of the elders.
Gojo hadn’t met you outside your hut that morning, and you’d idled away the time packing and repacking your bag of samples and books. Thrice, before you started to believe that he might not come after all.
But that was alright, ultimately believing that he’d show up later on in the day, you visited all the healers, the hunters, the dancers, and the chefs. The mother and toddler you’d grown close to on your first day here, and even a stray elder that had sought you out to bow goodbye.
All the young Na’vi and the old Na’vi.
All the Na’vi that had come to not fear you and the Na’vi that had found you endearing at first sight.
They’d warmed up to you since you first came here. They gave you gifts, each of them, and your heart ached as you thought of leaving.
Goodbyes were always painful - but perhaps one most of all. Gojo.
He still hadn’t met you by the end of your route, and you’d circled the village about twice by the time you were done. He was nowhere to be seen.
It was almost as if he’d disappeared into thin air.
It was with a heavy pit in your stomach that you started to head back to your hut—your last dinner with the Herwi people would be in a few hours. Afterwards, Gojo had previously arranged for you to be accompanied by some of the clan’s best warriors on your trek down.
You just thought that’d include him.
Perhaps you could sleep it off until the final dinner- and you were shutting the door just behind you…
Before sounds a hurried, hasty knock—
You open the door to see the olo’eyktan of the Herwi tribe.
Panting. Covered in snow.
“My apologies, I have spent the day clearing the pathway for us.” Gojo huffs out, leaning against your door frame with one hand. The other reaching out to you—“Come with me, beloved?”
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The Herwi source of Eywa was inside an ice cave.
One that would get blocked when the goddess herself did not wish to be seen, one that Gojo had torn through layers of packed ice to burrow a pathway for the both of you. He’d carried you all the way to the gaping mouth of blue ice and ghost snow.
Closing in on you like arms of rime beckoning you to the tree of Eywa. The Tree of Winter.
The cold embrace of a mother.
One you were still not quite sure whether you were allowed to see—but Gojo knew he wanted you to see. He saw you.
At the end of the cave was an ice column about eighty feet tall and naturally formulated to look like the winding branches of a tree. Dripping to the ground in phantom white snow, each one delicate and graduating from white to blue. There almost seemed to be a glowing aura about it.
Clear mirrors making up the tree’s vines. Honed tips of the icicles rising from Pandora and stabbing down towards it. The top of the tree reached where the cave roof was hollow, beaming a circle of light from the skies that donned Eywa in innocent pink.
You gasped at the white snowsprites that bounced off of the tree and onto your two bodies.
Where Gojo stand with his back straight, his meaty thighs spread—pearly white teeth biting down to stop himself from fucking moaning at the feeling of your mouth sliding up n’ down his hot cock.
While you were standing.
You didn’t even have to get on your knees.
His eleven foot figure loomed above you, one hand on the back of your head and the other pumpin’ his furious erection. Your maw slips down his puckered tip and he shivers- bucking ever-so-slightly and hitting the back of your throat dead-on—
And yet he wasn’t even fully bottomed out.
He wasn’t even fully bottomed out.
The sudden realization makes you claw at the sides of his blue skin with a whine- direct vibrations that make the puckered tip lodged inside your mouth twitch. He’s sploshing out even more syrupy pre like he couldn’t stop it.
He’s not even trying and it’s already so much, cascading like a waterfall down the front of your chin.
“Now- hah, now.” One of Gojo’s prolonged fingertips reaches out to smear away the slippery sheen across your face- at least, that’s what you think he’s doing.
But instead you’re feeling him curve his rude digits between your lips and push those dewy droplets inside. Shovelling his cock just a little bit deeper, “S’not good to waste it, beloved. Open your mouth and take it all like a good girl, yes?”
“Mmmpf-” A damn miracle that you could get out that much sound in the first place. You’re pulling off to answer, and Gojo jerks his hips a lil’ to chase your damp mouth. “You’re saying you want me to take it all—?”
He shivers, leopard-like tail twitching. “Yes.”
And right before your very eyes, you can see his shaft throb even bigger.
Harder.
The prettiest bluish-pink on his tip, one with a divot that leaks out a line of precum. You’re following it with your dazed eyes- before the next thing you’re seeing is a close-up of it.
Gojo has his massive hand plastered to the back of your scalp and is pushin’ your head in, digging his dripping wet tip against the back of your throat. With a groan, the Na’vi pins you to him and hammers out a few sloppy thrusts of his cock.
Again and again.
Slurp after slurp—
“Gonna take it all- hah- my entire cock inside that pretty mouth, yes?” He’s cocking his head to the side and asking down at you sweetly. And he might look all in control, but Gojo’s voice fucking breaks at the very end of his sentence.
Right in synchronization with the way you were draggin’ your sizzling tastebuds down the veiny sides of his erection. Just the cutest tongue that was eagerly lapping up everything he was giving—“Doesn’t matter if you’re a lil’ human, you’re gonna take the leader’s biiiiig cock, aren’t you?”
Removing yourself from his thickened tip with a wet pwah! “Y-you’re really serious about the-”
“Yes.”
And he’d apologize for cutting you off later- hell, he’d grovel at your feet if he has to. But right now all Gojo can think of doing is holding onto the back of your head and strollin’ his thumb down the column of your throat. The olo’eyktan can feel that fat cylindrical intrusion where his cock was pumping in and out- and he’s sliding his fingertip dooooooown that bulge. “Aren’t you a scientist, beloved?”
“Y-yes?”
“Then aren’t you curious about just how far a human can take Na’vi cock?”
“Well…” You blubber out, “I guess so-”
“Then consider it for your research.” With each syllable he’s cutting your breath off by thudding his cockhead against the roof of your mouth. “Then just fucking- haaaaah—” And you’re finding that the pre Na’vi cock exuded was actually rather sweet- almost like honeydew flooding up your mouth n’ being slid all round by the intrusion of his shaft. “-take it.”
“Mmmpf—ngh.” Tears were streaming down your face by now, wetting your cheeks and making the Na’vi wipe them away with his thumb.
“Don’t cryyyyy—” He’s airily calling out, almost nothing like the level-headed Na’vi you’d met before. “Big girls don’t cry. Don’t worry- m’gonna give you all of my cock, beloved.”
“S-Satoru-”
But each of your broken yowls were being bullied back in with his bludgeoning wet tip, bruisin’ away its splitted end anywhere and everywhere.
He swabs into the tiniest nooks and crannies inside your mouth with his sheer size, leaving your knees utterly weak where you were still standing. He’s holding your head up to his cock- “C’mon- feel.”
You peer up at him in confusion.
“Feel for your research.” Fluttering his long pale lashes down at you, a sultry smile spreads across his lips. “How many loooong thick inches you’re being given. How many veins are filling ya up. How many times I hit the back of yer throat like this-”
A shuddering slam right where you were most tender. “Please-”
“M’helping you with your- fuck, research.” He chuckles down lecherously, “By shutting that smart human mouth of yours up.”
“Fuck-”
“Feel it- just feel.”
He thrusts so hard that his heavy ballsack smacks! against your chin, “Feel the way that lil’ mouth of yours can barely even take me. Feel how fat my balls are with cum just for you. Count them? Wanna calculate the girth?” Until it was stinging a permanent girth on your skin, rubbed raw with impact. “Feel the way I- ngh, bruuuise your throat n’ those sensual lips until anyone that talks to you knows I’ve been here.” He’s babbling on stupidly by now, eyes falling more n’ more half-lidded by the minute. He’s holding on tightly to your restless head and shoves- “Feel the way I fuck my mate—”
Gojo trails off as if shocking himself, and you’re snapping your teary eyes up to him with a muffled- “What?”
But you don’t know whether it’s on cue, you don’t know whether it’s the startle of being caught- but Gojo’s slamming his cocktip way past the back of your throat and cumming.
Oozing out hot dollops of cum that take over your pretty mouth.
Shaft throbbing furiously. Balls twitching like no other. He throws his head back and squelches straight down your throat, and you can feel the thickness of it plug up your voicebox.
So sweet.
So much.
And you’re not sure whether it’s a Na’vi thing or it’s a Gojo thing that he’s cumming so much in one go.
Loooooong miry stripes that trickle down the sides of your mouth- he leans down and pushes them back between your lips with one of his thumbs. Ivory sap constantly leaking down onto your tastebuds, he feels the heady slip n’ slide of his cock against those wads of cum. “Fuh-fuck…”
And then he’s not moving, merely clasping the back of your head and bringing you firmly up against his slender pelvis.
Your nose rubs against the tufts of white on his abs before you realize that he’d just bottomed-out—just once, like he’d promised.
And it was enough to send you reeling, feeling the pushback of his swabbin’ tip. Pouring out even more heady liquid every time he was draaaaging down your velvety tongue.
The tip of your tastebuds flicks his sensitive slit just right and you can feel him pulse deep inside. “Feel me in there?” Gojo’s groaning from above. “Feel how much I ache for you. Feel the volume of my cum- are you counting it?”
“I-I—”
But evidently your half-sob wasn’t enough.
And the Na’vi is reaching down and pinching your nostrils together with his free hand. “Ah ah- focus on your research, beloved.”
And you’re struggling uselessly against his mean action, to which Gojo watches with a predatory gaze at the way you huff n’ sputter. And he has the audacity to snicker-
“I really can throw you around like a ragdoll, huh?”
It’s as if the realization had just struck him and he’s shuddering.
It almost feels like ages before he’s finally pulling away with a loud plop!
An excess of your cum was leaking out of your maw and threatening to drip onto the floor- “Tch, this is a sacred place, my human.” He’s rasping out—swipin’ up the frothed white cum as if he wasn’t absolutely desecrating you. Pushing those clingy wads between your maw.
He then guides his honed tip to glide across your lips, gluing your lips shut with all his seed.
And Gojo can’t help but admire you- peering up at him with his towering height. All covered in his syrupy slick and speechless, unable to talk even if your voicebox had been left intact.
He smiles, tail swishing happily to and fro. “My human.” Gojo leans all the distance down to kiss you upon your sopping wet lips. “My m- pretty human. My pretty human…”
But you don’t have enough sense at the moment to ponder too long on his little slip-up before he’s bending down close with his hoarse mouth against the shell of your ear.
Making you feel so sensitive.
“-did ya get enough research yet?”
And then he’s good on his other promise: throwing you around like a ragdoll.
Before you know it, Gojo’s thundering down onto his knees upon the frozen floor - taking you right along with him. He grabs his fur coat from a little ways away and makes you rest down on top of it. With ease.
Back flat on the coat. Legs spread high in the air.
Twisted around the back of Gojo’s neck and locked in place-
“Satoru-” You look around the Tree of Winter that only seems to glow even brighter, the snowsprites buzzing. “-are you sure we should be doing this h—oh.”
Gojo doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t have to.
He’s merely unhinging his jaw and letting his loooong pinkish tongue drip out. It was glossy with ravenous saliva, thick at the base, and curved at the tip. The end of it dripped tantalizingly with spittle- almost torturously.
Achingly needy.
There was an almost feline quality to it that made your thighs clench.
“N-nevermind.”
The only thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo had his tongue stuffed against your wet core and swabbin’ away until you saw white—“M-mmmpf.” His mouth was just so large that he could engulf your pussylips with a single bite, honed canines grazing the outer edge of your cunt while he kisses inwards. “My pretty mate- my tasty mate.”
It’s almost as if he was pussydrunk already.
With just a single slurp of his curvaceous tongue glidin’ up and down your slit, Gojo has his blue eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips bucking. Wildly. “Why didn’t Eywa tell me that you’d taste so good-”
“Oh my—” Your back arches while his thickened fingertips come between your legs to pinch your puckered pussy into his mouth. Pushing you against him even more - greedy. “Shit, it just feels so-”
Smack!
And without a single warning, Gojo has his roverin’ fingertips slamming down on your pussy. Straight on top of your slit where your clit was hidden, it sends shockwaves of both pain and pleasure up your spine.
You’re gasping and staring down at him-
“Now now, no cursing- be good before Eywa, hm?” That damn hypocrite - and you could see it in that sultry smile of it. Gojo was getting off on the way you’d squirm your cunt restlessly against his face, sighing into the way he starts fucking your pussy once more. “Or else m’not gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours out, ya hear?”
You gape, “That’s not fucking fair-”
Smack!
“What was that, beloved?”
“I said—”
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
Until Gojo’s leaving your pussy raw and needy, and even then he wasn’t done with you- he has the audacity to purse his plump lips and spit. Spit. Letting the sharp strike of saliva make you shiver—
“What was that?” He asks you in such a breathy tone, such a ruined tone. Gojo spoke like if you told him you needed him right now then he would simply shatter.
And you can only gulp at the state that he was in - you’ve researched Na’vi during times of high pressure, during battles, during their coming-of-age ceremonies. But never had you met one that simply seemed so…feral. “I-I’ll be good, Satoru.”
He smiles like he’s been wanting to hear those exact words for years.
Fingertips jittering with excitement, he then reaches for your intertwined ankles with his tail.
Locking them in place, Gojo murmurs. “Good…” Before he’s getting ready to dive straight back into your sweetened cunt once more, “Because you better not run-”
And you don’t get to ask just what might constitute you running from his mouth. His tongue.
You don’t get to ask just what it meant when he looked at you with that dark inkling of something carnal, as if he was about to devour you whole.
You don’t get to ask anything, in fact, and whatever questions were already in your throat burst into a zillion pieces at the feeling of him pushing his tongue inside your hole. Properly.
Not lapping away coquettishly on your outer cunt, not slurpin’ up all your treacly juices.
Gojo had his tastebuds stuffed inside your entrance and was draaaaagging them all across every orifice inside of you. Thrusting his entire length in and out at a rapid pace, you could feel the edge of his chin hitting your base with every movement.
Inside and out.
Inside and out.
But the sheer speed of him wasn’t even the bit makin’ you the most dizzy- see Gojo’s Na’vi tongue was something amazing. Something incredible.
Just so large and lavish that it was stretching your walls out like never before.
“P-please-” You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything like this- the way that Gojo’s textured tongue would mold against your walls, the way he’d pinpoint even the tiniest orifices with his flexible tip, the way he’d expand and contract his tongue purposefully. Until you saw white. Bucking—“Please it just feels so-”
“Where’d ya think you’re going?”
And the slur in his voice makes you pause- “Wh-what…?”
The last thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo tightens the rude grip of his fingertips on your pussylips. And the other one of his hands holds onto your waist to haul you back down onto his mouth- you hadn’t even realized that you’d been edging away in sensitivity.
“Didn’t I tell you not to run?” Spankin’ those rugged fingertips of his down on your clit once more. You get the feeling that Gojo’s meanly choosing your clit because he knew that’d make you clench ‘round his tongue even more. “Don’t run. Don’t even move.”
“You’re just so fucking- ngh, big and you expect me not to move?” You wail out in indignity.
“Well, who told you to fuck a Na’vi warrior?” He’s countering, those half-lidded eyes of his twinkling with humor. “Better yet- who told you to fuck the olo’eyktan-”
And you suppose you had no explanation for that.
Especially not even Gojo was pumping his thickened tongue into you so fast that any and all explanations in your throat start to dissolve. Instead being replaced by the most pathetic whines and groans as he keeps fucking your pussy greedily.
As though Gojo was a man parched.
Because your wettened pussy was more refreshing to him than the waters of the lake- and if he could, he’d have his head stuffed between your legs every second of the day. Simply slurpin’ up every dewy droplet that escaped out of you, Gojo catches even those tiniest of wads.
Slipping his looooong tongue inside—you’re driven damn near mad once he slithers his length in and grazes your g-spot.
Hips bucking, eyes snapping open. “H-how did you even manage-”
“Ah ah—” His familiar tut, and soon enough you’re glued back down onto his pretty mouth again. Gojo doesn’t even need to try to ease you pliably back onto his face no matter how much you try to run- but oh, it was just so fun to watch your sultry surprise. The way you only got wetter when he manhandled you. “So this is that cute lil’ g-spot human have, hm? I thought it was just something in Shoko’s anatomy textbooks.”
“You- you read her textbooks…” You ask.
“All day and all night.” Gojo replies with a smirk, his ears twitching as he hears the quickening of your heartbeat. “Only Eywa knows how much I’ve touched myself imagining this.”
“Oh—”
It hits you like a flash of lightning- and so do the sudden swipes of Gojo’s tongue reaching your sweetest spots. Thud-thud-thud-thud he’s ricocheting against your bundle of nerves rapidly, making it echo like your own heartbeat in your ears. Thud-thud-thud-thud—
“Shit-” And suddenly you understand- you thought you understood before? But no, now you understand why Gojo had been telling you not to run away initially.
“Don’t run.” He warns.
Because all you’re feeling are the large stripes he’s licking up your slick walls, and the only thing you can think of doing is bucking. Rutting. Reaching for his lips wildly- though your body moves torturously as if you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to run away—“Shit.”
“Don’t run.”
But how could you not run from it? How could you not even move when Gojo had your body teased n’ toyed with till absolutely no end?
He was hammerin’ his tongue against your g-spot furiously—and you were sure by now that he has the exact pattern of his tastebuds bruised right on that area. Shapin’ your velvety walls to his tongue, Gojo dives in just so animalistically.
And you can’t help but buck. You can’t help but arch your back. You can’t help but reach your hand out and attempt to grab onto something- anything for dear life.
Again and again. “Shiiiiit is it even allowed to feel this good-”
But the Na’vi leader merely stops your hands with his own, folding them neatly into his hair. Holding onto his clammy scalp- “As Eywa wills it.” He smiles and your cunt’s just so sensitive by this point that you can feel the exact degree of curvature of his grin. “Which reminds me…”
And for your profanity you’re getting three more direct spanks, “Shit-”
One more.
Before you feel him then twist his fingertips on your throbbing clit and pinch- “Ya reeeeally can’t be a good girl f’me, huh?” Gojo asks you with a smile, though there was a hint of something in his voice that reminded you why exactly he was the olo’eyktan of such a large clan. “Look at you—”
“Sh-shit, that feels so-” But he isn’t listening, and you’re fighting the heels of your feet against his broad back.
“Look at you.” He’s tightening his tail on your ankles and dragging you back down. He’s spitting down through clenched canines, every single word sending sparks up to your hazy brain. Barely even working by this point, surely. “Swearing. Squirming. Moaning like a slut and trying to escape- as your leader, I should punish you, beloved.”
“No more pussy spanking—” You whine, “Just makes me so sensitive…”
“I’m not talking about pussy spanking, beloved.” To emphasize his point he gives just a light tap on your sensitive nub once more.
It leaves you shaking to wonder just what else he has in store for you- though you don’t have to let your mind grapple in the dark for too long. Because in absolutely no time - just a few more vulgar thrusts of his tongue - you’re feeling the sudden plump intrusion of something slender at your hole.
It certainly couldn’t have been his tongue, because you knew what that ridged texture felt like.
It certainly couldn’t have been Gojo’s cock, because you’d tasted that and you knew he had a much larger circumference.
So that left only one option—Gojo had your pussylips spread apart and your entrance gulping up every inch of his fingers. They just looked so stark with their blue color disappearin’ into your hole, and Gojo’s increeeeedible length making you feel so full.
Two of them were all that were shovelled inside- and yet he was already stretching for your very cervix on his first thrust inside. He scours the spongy end of your pussy then slides back out—in and out, in and out, in and out.
Each time his knobbly joints push against your g-spot and left you crying-
“Feel my fingers inside you?” Gojo rasps ruthlessly, his mouth wrapped around your throbbing clit. Groaning at the way you grow even wetter- Na’vi senses were strong, and he could smell the impending orgasm on you. “Feel the way I reach for your- hah, womb all inside? Feel the way I can fuck a baby in you so easily?”
“Yes-” You answer to them all, “Yes yes yes yes—”
And before you can say anything more, his powerful tail hauls you down. Bashin’ in even deeper with his plush fingertips. “Feel the way I’ve found eeeevery cute spot of yours? Feel the way I know your pussy inside and out?”
“Yes- fuck.” And you don’t even care if you’re ‘punished’ any more for breaking Gojo’s stern rules. Gojo himself was slamming his knuckles red and raw against your cunt, fucking his human’s tight pussy. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Feel the way m’making you mine—?”
“Satoru, m’gonna cum-”
“Note it down in your research.”
And then you’re exploding straight into your high - and you know it’s the best you’ve ever had.
Your eyes fall shut and the only thing you’re seeing behind them is pure black with stars of white, pulsing against your bleary vision in time with the furious throbbing at your cunt. Little zaps of pleasure shoot all the way down to the tips of your toes every time he’s moving his maw across your core. Sharp. Sensitive. He’s wedged between your legs and lappin’ up each pulse.
Sluuuuurp—!
Long, aching drags of his tongue. They’re roverin’ over the most sensitive spot of your clit, meanwhile his fingers were glazed in slick n’ fucking you stupid already.
Gojo thrusts you through your high as if he was angry at you. As if he can’t get enough. As if he’s losing his damn mind and you n’ your pussy are the only reasons why-
It takes you only a minute more for your wave of bliss to taper out, fully riding through it.
And then only another minute more for you go from fucked straight to overstimulated by a few more of his rovering thrusts. He swabs your g-spot once more and you think you’re bawling- “S-Satoru, I’m already done-”
But he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to hear you.
In fact, you couldn’t sworn that he was grabbing onto your right thigh with his free hand and keeping himself plastered even more into your cunt-
“Satoru—!” You’re calling out helplessly, “Satoru, I’m already- ngh, done-”
“Mhmmmm?” Muttering something wet underneath his breath, and you have to strain your ears to actually hear him. Breathy. Panting. “Research- fuck! More…”
“I can’t even- oh.” It was almost dangerous just how potent he was with his mouth and fingers, and before long your thighs were starting to shake with sensitivity. Causing you to grab onto his scalp even tighter and-
“O-oh.”
And accidentally tug on the long braid of white hair thrown over his shoulder—his kuru.
Did that manage to…
Your breath hitches, and you’re reaching out to graze your fingers down his kuru once more-
“Fuh—fuuuuck.” Gojo throws his head back in a voice that almost sounded like a whimper, his slick lips quivering. His skin covering in goosebumps. His erection throbbing from where you could spy him. His entire large body shakes with the zaps of hypersensitivity going down his spine, “D-don’t think you know what you’re getting into, beloved…” His murky breath clouds out in front of him.
“You sure?” You challenge - what a privilege it was to see him break.
The olo’eyktan grits his teeth—-“I’m warning you…”
But when were you ever one to listen to warnings?
Without thinking much of it, you tighten your hand ‘round his kuru and tug—
And then he’s on you in a split-second.
He’s not even moving- he’s grabbing onto your hips and bodily puuuulling you right back down till your cunt lips kiss his cock. He’s pushing your legs up until your kneecaps hit your tits. He’s hunching his entire body forwards and-
“Sh-shit.” Your eyes widen, “Satoru, did you just-”
“Yes.”
Just you teasing his kuru is enough to make Gojo spuuuurt out in creamy wads of cum once more, coating the outer part of your pussy in a thick layer. It feels hot and wet on top of you, streaming down to drench the coating. Before he’s swervin’ his swollen tip inside and fucking you-
No hesitation. No preparation.
You’re getting what you deserved, and that was to be fucked like an absolute anima by the Na’vi.
“You don’t know what you’ve done.” He’s spitting- straight into your hotly opened mouth. Those sharp canines of Gojo’s nipping at your bottom lip, “You don’t know what you’ve done- you don’t know what you’ve done-”
“Shit, shiiiit—Satoru.” Moaning out his name like a broken record player. He’s bullying out harsh semi-thrusts against your cunt that leave you scrambling for breath- just shovin’ his puckered tip inside, just tasting the inside of your pussy with his cockhead, just trying to fucking fit.
“Sayin’ my name like that and you don’t even fucking—” Before Gojo feels your soppy walls clench tightly ‘round him, and his lips part a little before racing down and spitting on your cunt. “Fucking fit.”
“You say that like it’s so easy-” You sob out.
He was pistoning his hips into you ferally.
The only thing he was doing was stretchin’ out your cute hole a few times, just so big that you’re being push-push-pushed up the fur coat you were splayed out on-
A hand at your throat.
“Don’t. Fucking. Run.”
And you don’t have the chance to tell him that you weren’t actually running and in fact it was just his roverin’ hips forcing you upwards- but before you could do that, Gojo’s already rendering you speechless with his cock.
He’s grabbing an even tighter restraint of your neck.
He’s manhandling your entire body down like he’s crazed.
He’s juuuuuust barely managing to squeeze in a sultry inch of two of his massive length- the mere sensation of that in itself enough to send your mind bursting into a heap of stars. It was almost numbing on your lower half, to have this much of him fitted inside you.
Stuffed inside you.
Throbbing inside you.
And it seems that the only one more affected by that fact wasn’t you - it was Gojo Satoru himself. Head falling into the crook of your neck. Tail flinching as it now wraps around your right thigh. Mouth parting with an agonized groan.
“F—fuck.” He’s echoing out hollowly into your ear, “Fuck, you’re so fucking…tight.”
Gojo spits out the word as if it was the very reason the olo’eyktan was shattering right about now. And almost on cue, those sopping wet walls of yours clench ‘round his tip and makes the Na’vi yelp—
“Fuck, don’t do that.” He’s shuddering through his sloppy strokes, his split-ended tip filling you up with dewy precum. “Fuck, don’t do that unless you want to be taught what happens when you pull on the kuru of a Herwi like me, little scientist.”
“What happens?” You ask innocently.
“S’why I’m telling you to fucking—oh.”
Just a few more pulsating clenches of your cunt, and Gojo shivers as though he’s being held hostage by your wet walls.
He bears his canines and snarls at you in the way you’d seen Na’vi do when they want to signal, to intimidate, to mate.
But you stare up at the olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan with determination.
And he’s giving you one final probe-
“I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.”
He breathes out against the shell of your ear, almost like the last whisper of his sanity before Gojo stares into your wide heart-eyes—and he’s reeling his hips back to plunge.
Uncaring how unready your poor entrance was.
Uncaring how your tiny human body shakes underneath his larger one.
His fat cock swipes between your glittery folds and puuuuushes against the instinctual restraint of your hole, all the way until you start to tremble- and he knows he can’t push any more. He knows he can’t break you.
He’s fighting back every sudden primal urge in him that just wants to fuck you all the way inside- and furiously pumps his solid inches back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping a hand always on the top of your stomach for when he’s feeling his hard globular tip push upwards.
Gojo was just so big that he could feel himself sinking in from the outside-
“And that’s not a promise, beloved.” Gojo’s pale brows furrow as his cockhead starts swabbin’ even deeper after each thrust, “That’s not a promise- that’s not even a challenge-”
“Th-then—?” He’s pushing doooown on your overstuffed core and you find it hard to breathe, both pressures from between your legs and from Gojo pushing on your cylindrical tummy bulge was just…
The olo’eyktan grins when he watches his cute lil’ human struggle to take his entire cock, the bluish hue of it spreading apart your thighs. He reels his slender hips back in quite the long drag—before ultimately hammering- “It’s an oath. Before Eywa.”
A divine oath.
Added to the fact that Gojo was slamming his ruddied tip into you with each syllable- and you could never forget about the sheer size difference. The way that it helped him bend over you and fold you in half as though nothing but a lawnchair—your ass was cleanly dangling off the floor with how much Gojo was bending you.
A mating press. The meanest one you’ve ever seen.
You’re hit with the sudden inclination that you weren’t about to walk out of here any time soon.
And Gojo seems to be doing well on that fact- he hadn’t completely bottomed-out yet, but he was still drilling into you with such fervour. Streaking his cum from before across every inch of you, a layer of white that you feel from the inside.
Feverish cocktip swabbin’ all the way at the back of your cervix, full balls smacking your cunt.
Every time he was hurtling his hips forwards, it almost felt as if the ground beneath you was trembling.
It almost felt as if he was hitting each of your geysering spots without even needing to try. Just so big that the veiny sides of his cock rubbed n’ dubbed up against those orifices unfairly.
It almost felt as if you were losing it-
“So I think you’ll have a loooot of fuckin’ research, beloved.” Gojo snickers, his tail flicking you playfully. And at this point you’re not even sure what the conversation was about, just knowing that it was the background music to the lecherous thwacking of his hips on yours.
So hard that you could feel the wads of his high from before glazing your insides. Dripping all the way near the rim of your cunt before being pumped back inside.
He pushes down on top of that bulge once more and watches you whine, “I almost don’t want to, mmm, ask what it’ll be about…”
“Ohhh, y’know—” Gojo trails off airily, something shaky in the back of his tone that sends shivers up your spine. It makes you almost content to know that you’ve gotten him so pussydrunken- but then again you weren’t too far behind. He tilts his head to the side and looks at you through partially closed eyes, smiling. “-human-Na’vi babies.”
And it’s with that that Gojo finally - finally - drills his cock all the way to the hilt.
Bottoming out.
His breath catches at the realization.
Blue eyes widening. Mouth watering.
It feels so different to have your hot innards surrounding him entirely- and fuck, Gojo wasn’t even sure whether a human like you would be able to take all of him. But it seems that you really were made for him, yes? Every curve and edge of you. Every bit of your cunt that he gives an experimental buck into, before pumping inside like a madman-
Pounding you into the smooth ground of the celestial temple.
It feels like you’re being thrust into heaven itself because of the way he was so big, big, big—all the way from the purple-ish tip that was zig-zagging your walls, to the oversized tummy bulge he was fucking into you, to the way he had you folded. Manhandled.
Gojo’s only lasting a few strokes before he’s crushing you to him so hard that it almost hurts- “Right here—right here.” The hand atop your stomach pushes down where his ruby-red tip was kissin’ and kissing at your womb. “You’re gonna have a lot ta research about fucking- ngh, getting bred by the fucking olo’eyktan. A lot to research about carrying my next heir, yeah?”
“Yes…” Arching your back into him.
“And then here—” That very hand now drifts down to the in-betweens of your pussylips and rubs his thumb over your clit. He’s drawing little circles and hearts on top of your sensitive nub that makes you wrack with pleasure, “Yer gonna have to research giving birth to such a biiiig baby, beloved.”
You shiver at the thought, mostly excitement.
And he purrs as he rubs his cheek against the sweaty crown of your head, “But s’okaaaaay- I’ll help you through every step of it, beloved. My mate.” The Na’vi’s staring down at you lovingly, fucking you filthily. “M’gonna breed you all full, okay? You might just have to research more about Na’vi phenotypes- heh.”
You can only nod. “Please…”
And before you can dwell too long on that last particular word—mate—he’s continuing. “And then you don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing- I can take care of eeeeverything. I’ll wash our kid. I’ll dress our kid. I’ll feed our kid. I’ll do everything and anything just please-”
“Y-yes?” Your voice cracks.
And he winks down at you almost mischievously, “Let’s do some research together on when I’ll be able to breed you all full of my cum next, hm?”
And with only a few more vicious thrusts, you’re feeling your second wave of pleasure tonight take over. You knew it’d been bubbling inside your veins for some time now- and right now it almost felt as if that euphoria was overflowing.
Overspilling.
Just like the gushing wads of slick that drivel over the front slit of your cunt and leave you so wet that you feel like a waterpark. Just rhythmic bursts of your high that leave your body loose and limp, shaking a bit every time that Gojo’s cockhead plummets inwards.
Head muddled.
Eyes rolling to the very back of your head.
This might just be the best orgasm of your entire life, and your wave of pleasure is looooong and drawn-out with how many times Gojo thrusts his cock in to fuck you through it. “Shit, Toru—”
Again and again and again.
Each time hitting the target of your g-spot dead-on and watching as you gush around him even more.
You were at Gojo’s complete mercy…almost.
Shaking. Your hands find themselves in his hair once more- or more precisely grazing the long length of his kuru. “Satoru.” You’re breathing out as he shivers carnally, “Satoru, I want it- ngh, inside.”
His eyes widen, “Demanding something of the olo’eyktan, are you?”
“Inside, Toru.” Desperate now.
To emphasize, you’re lightly tugging on his kuru and watching as it makes the Na’vi above you shudder. His cock pouring out heaps of precum that only act as a warning for something…more. “F-fuck, better keep this all in until tomorrow-”
At the very least.
You’re honestly not sure if you can keep it all in even now—because then Gojo’s throwing his head back and cumming long and hard. Harder than he ever thinks he has before- his seed dribbles out of him like a gooey waterfall, taking place inside every nook and cranny you have.
Heavy balls clenching almost aggressively as they empty out inside you.
He’s swervin’ each ounce of it inside by dragging his globular tip, that reddened cockhead making you swear you taste Gojo all the way at your throat.
Flooding.
Your toes curl, it almost feels as though he’s fucking you into a third and fourth high altogether-
“Until tomorrow-” Gojo barks out through his smoky tone, “Until always-” After reaching his high so many times in one night, his sparks of euphoria just rip through him. And you can feel the sheer intensity of it by the way his slippery slick thwacks! against the back of your pussy, hot and heavy. It seems to inflate you from the inside, “Until we have our…fuck.”
And it’s not like Gojo to let up a sentence. Especially one that wavered with emotion.
“Until I have…” He starts again, blue eyes twinkling. “…you.”
Right now he was cupping the side of your face with his left hand- accidentally…or perhaps not…dslodging the translating device from your ear.
And then the Na’vi olo’eyktan leans with his forehead pressing down on top of yours.
Dragging his hand down the side of your head, where his beads for you twinkled in the glow of Eywa’s tree. Breathing out the words—“Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si.”
He looks at you with a slightly sad smile as if he was almost bitterly glad you didn’t understand. Though little did he know…“Oel ngati kameie, Satoru.”
And the look on his face was worth all the time you’d spent poring over Na’vi language books with Shoko these past few days. At least you understood this.
You grin, “I did a bit of research myself.”
He holds you tight, he holds you as if he wanted you two to become one.
More so.
Eventually—after about four or so more rounds, and once you were thoroughly shattered and kept on begging for it, Gojo had swiped his long kuru into his hand and raised it up to you. You yourself didn’t have one, but if there was anything you learned from being with the Herwi people—it’s that love comes in all forms and differences.
You press your lips to his flower-like nerves at the very end of his braid. Immediately, a rush of something between you two and you understand what he meant about being mates.
You feel what Gojo sees.
You feel what Gojo smells.
You feel what Gojo hears.
You feel what Gojo tastes.
You feel what Gojo feels.
You feel complete.
.
.
.
Day #6 in the Herwi village (day after the mating):
The ancient of the Herwi clan were one of the only believers in fated mates, of one who had been destined to walk beside you upon this good planet through Eywa’s will. It was said that life does not flower until one meets one’s fate, not even the skies shall migrate, not even the ice shall melt.
Two souls bound to meet.
And until then one can only look up, up, up…
This scientist was found in quite the curious position as mate to the olo’eyktan on the morning after.
Re-entering the village, hand-in-hand, it was inevitable that the Herwi people would stare. Not only was it quite past the deadline of six moons given, but each bore resemblance of a mating session that could’ve been spotted a smile away.
Bite marks. Bruises. Slight falter in walking.
Not to mention that it seems word had spread about the…inoccupancy of the Tree of Winter just the night prior. (Additionally for more on Herwi stamina read Page 69…)
Circling back, the stares were rather unabashed. Some gasping. Some ribbing. Some tuts by elders of the clan who then again turned around with a smile.
It was obvious that they had been praying for the olo’eyktan’s happiness for a long, long time.
It must be noted that congratulations were doled out heavily at the communal dinner that night. Food. Dances. Parades.
It must be noted even further that preparations for coronation at the Herwi tsahìk shall be taking place in a week’s time. Who would have thought, a human being a tsahìk? Who would have thought that humans had fated mates as well?
For this scientist’s final note, preparations are already being planned meticulously for the arrival of a new heir to the Gojo name.
And that leaves the scientific community with one last thing, now that fluency in the Na’vi language is on the path to be attained: the glossary.
Tsahìk - Head shaman, high priest, interpreter..
Olo’eyktan - Male clan leader.
Mawey - Calm.
Txeylan - Best friend.
Ì’awn - Stay.
Fnu - Be quiet.
Txen - Awake.
Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey. - You’re alive- oh, you’re alive.
Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung? - I’m happy. Awake? You’re awake? Are you injured?
‘Upe lu nga fwew? - What are you looking for?
Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga. - Beloved? I’d give you anything.
Oe pey ngim krr. - I’ve been waiting a long time.
Tìnga’prrnen - Pregnant.
Tìnga’prrnen? Oe? - Pregnant? Me?
Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen. - You want to get me pregnant?
Fì'u - This.
Irayo nga - Thank you.
Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen. - I wouldn’t mind being pregnant.
Lake Yapay - Lake Steam.
Hona beads - Endearing.beads.
Mt. Hoet - Vast.
Kuru - Neural queue.
Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si. - I see you, my mate.
Oel ngati kameie, Satoru. - I see you, Satoru.
A/N. It must be acknowledged that Herwi culture was influenced by some aspects of Inuit culture, as well as some aspects of my own Sinhalese culture! Both such beautiful cultures that I was honored to research more in-depth on. Also this Na'vi vocabulary bank was used, and for longer Na’vi sentences this translator was used and might not be fully accurate ahhh-
—summary: you might be a little jealous of varang, so you have to show who's really the boss around here (and who's freakier).
—pairing: recom!miles quaritch x female!avatar!reader
—word count: 2k
—content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, a lots of riding, some porn with some plot, established relationship, age gap, baddie!reader, authority kink, reader is jealous of varang, sub!miles, dom!reader, probably ooc!miles, they match each other's freak.
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
Okay, you might be a little jealous. You weren't exactly opposed to Varang, per se. She was powerful, fierce, a little out of her mind—of course, she'd been through a lot—and she was definitely a valuable ally.
But in recent days, she had been very persistent in getting close to Miles, too much for your liking.
And lately, persistent didn't even begin to cover it.
Varang was always there. At Miles' side during briefings, leaning close when they spoke in low voices, brushing past him with deliberate confidence. You told yourself it was strategic—she was a leader, after all—but it still made something sour twist in your chest every time you caught the way her hand lingered on his arm just a second too long.
You tried to ignore it. Tried to be mature about it.
You failed spectacularly.
You're angry.
Miles can definitely see it in the whiplash your hips brings every time you bounce down on his lap, your pussy engulfing his full length as you bottom out, his heavy balls flushed up against your ass.
His hands, big, familiar and calloused from the scars of a thousand battles, are cuffed behind his back, twitching from the carnal urge to reach out and touch you, to hold you. It hadn't been very difficult to handcuff him; you know, for some reason, he always gives in when it comes to you.
You have the man practically crawling around behind you. When no one is watching, that is, because to everyone else he's the big, scary Colonel Quaritch.
“W-what's this about, hm?” he purrs, with that sharp-toothed smirk on his face, all smug even though he's basically at your mercy. His amber eyes, glowing in the darkness, scan your pretty, frowning face, as if he could find the source of the savage ferocity behind the way you're fucking him today, though he doesn't complain. “Fucking little pussy is dripping wet, what's gotten into you t-today, kid?”
“I didn't say y-you could talk,” you hiss back at him, making a particularly hard bounce with your merciless hips, your flesh slapping against his and producing a wet, rhythmic sound. Your long nails dig into his broad shoulders, clawing at the still-healing scars that you yourself had carved into his skin. That makes him hiss and half-close his eyes, rolling them back in his skull.
“Jesus, darlin',” he manages to choke out, his voice a scorched-earth rasp. “You're... you're gonna kill me—fuck— slow down, baby—”
You're surprised he hasn't slipped out of the handcuffs yet; he usually would have done so by now. But you also know that Miles loves to play with you, to be part of your little game.
His eyes flutter open again the moment he realizes you're not moving, sitting pretty and flat on his lap.
You're pretty good at holding an angry facial expression, because you can feel his cock up your fucking throat, buried balls deep until he is grazing your womb, poking that one special sweet spot he just knows is the one.
Your tail swings furiously behind you, whacking his away as he tries to touch yours and curl around it, as he usually does when you're fucking. But not today.
Your hands land on his chest, pushing him and forcing him to lie flat on the floor, grunting at the awkward position of his hands on his back under his weight, and yours.
“Easy—” he hisses an all-soft command, looking up at you, his ears flattening in submission.
You press your hand over his mouth, silencing him as you start moving again over him, even harder now, your pussy fluttering and squelching, stretching out extremely around his massive thickness. You still struggle to take him all in, even after all this time and all the fucking.
You bite your lower lip, holding back a little cry when Miles, predictably misbehaves and thrusts his hips up just enough, chasing after yours, bullying his cock so deep up inside you that you can already feel a couple of tears well up in your pretty eyes.
“You think I don't realize what you're—hmph—” his snarky tone cracks as he struggles to speak coherently, his sharp fangs gleaming in the candlelit glow as he bites and lick your hand away from his mouth, “...what you're doing, huh? I'm a soldier, baby. I know when someone's defending their territory.”
His skin crawls at the sight of your eyes squinting in evident annoyance, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead.
Quite obviously, that is your problem, and Miles is happy to push you your limits. He loves to tease you, loves to see you all worked up. He loves to watch the rage light up your eyes like flames, ready to burn everything in your path. That gets him hard as a rock.
But you don't answer him. You just focus on rolling your hips around dangerously hard, rocking back and forth, up and down with all your strength, letting your full weight impact over his thighs, the sound of your flesh slamming against his is filthy, wet, and oh, so fucking hot that it has him seeing stars every time he blinks.
“She doesn't look at you like an ally,” you hiss after a couple of minutes riding him like it's the last thing you're doing, looking down at him in all your glory from above him. “She looks at you like a conquest. Like— like she can take what belongs to me.”
“And what are you gonna do about it, huh?” he teases back, sweat glistening over his tattoos when your fingers trace the black ink, creeping up his biceps very slowly. “You gonna mark me up, kid?”
You don't answer with words. Instead, you slide your hands up through his bare abdomen to his throat, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch under your fingers.
He can't bark shit back at you, because you begin to move in slow, grinding circles, engulfing every inch of his cock while your arousal coats his thighs and ground.
“I thought you liked being used?” you response with another little question, your lips curling into a little pout of mock pity, your thumb pressing a little harder on his throat and you can feel his heart pounding fast against your fingertip. “You like being dragged around like a little bitch, hm?”
“Don't push it now—” Miles growls back as best he can amidst a tense sigh, for your hands are still locked around his neck, disproving your accusations, of course, but anyway, his hips are pushing upward needily. “Hah— gonna cum all over me, then? Gonna use me, pretty girl?”
You can't even hear him, bouncing up and down on his cock more quickly, in pursuit of an orgasm that's been building tighter in the pit of your belly.
For whatever reason, he now has his hands free, one of them tight on your waist, helping you to keep the brutal pace, and the other is urgently grabbing your kuru and without much thought he links it with his.
You gasp, your back arching so sharply it’s a wonder it doesn't snap right there, as his thoughts slam into yours—a chaotic, swirling storm of possessiveness, darkness, and a fierce, unwavering loyalty that sends electric jolts through all your body.
Connecting with Miles is never gentle—it’s a sensory overload of war, hatred, and an all-consuming, obsessive hunger for you.
Through the Tsaheylu, you don't just feel your own pleasure; you feel his. You feel the way his cock pulses inside you, the way his heart hammers against his ribs like a trapped animal, and the white-hot intensity of his focus on you only. There is only the overwhelming, blue-tinted vision of you looking down at him, dominant and beautiful.
You see yourself through his eyes: a goddess of rage and desire, the only thing that actually matters to him in this crazy fucking world.
“Mhm, t-there you are,” he rumbles, his voice vibrating through the bond and into your very bones. Both of his hands on your waist tightens, his large fingers bruising your skin as he takes over the rhythm, thrusting upward with a primal desperation. “There's my pretty girl. I see you”
That makes you reach your climax, and it hits you with the force of a physical blow. You let out a strangled cry, your head falling back as your vision goes blurry with tears and pleasure.
You're drenching him now as you squirt all over his lap and low abdomen, your cum smearing all his throbbing cock and balls.
And when the last ripples of your orgasm begin to trickle out of your body, you halt all motion, sitting pretty on his thighs, your legs still wobbling on either side of his hips. His hands are appreciatively groping your ass, silently urging you to keep moving. But no, you're in charge today.
Your hands are flat on his chest, pressing against his pecs to support your own weight, catching your breath, his dog tag pendant flickering the light and shadows under the candles.
“Dammit, kid,” Miles whistles, a rough, triumphant chuckle vibrating through his throat. “If I knew jealousy made you ride like a fucking banshee, I would’ve let Varang touch my arm a lot sooner.”
And as all good things come, all things go.
A second later, you're up on your feet, abruptly disconnecting the Tsaheylu and slipping out his still-erect cock from inside you, letting it plop up against his abdomen. The sudden disconnection makes him hiss and growl, looking up at you with a frown, visibly displeased.
You stand over him, your legs still trembling and slick with the evidence of your release, looking down at the man who could level a forest but currently looks like a discarded god on the floor of your tent.
Miles doesn’t move at first. He just lies there, his chest heaving, his skin gleaming with sweat and the translucent sheen of your cum. His cock is still twitching, weeping a few thick pearls of pre-cum onto his stomach, but you don't give him the satisfaction of a second glance.
“Don't say her name when you're with me,” you snap at him, your ears down in annoyance.
“You're just gonna leave me hanging like this?” he is almost pouting, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He shifts, propping himself up on his elbows, the muscles in his arms bulging as he stares up at you in awe. “She can stand wherever she wants,” he continues. “She can talk. Touch my arm. Run her mouth.” His lips curl, sharp, seductive and sexy. “Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
“Good. Next time,” you warn him, looking down at him with eyes blazing with the purest fire, “don’t joke about it.”
His hands find your calves, thumbs brushing slow, grounding circles into your skin and his tail snakes its way up around your leg too.
you broke up three weeks ago. it wasn’t even dramatic. you were tired. tired of the late nights, the missed calls, the constant deflection when things got serious. 𝓖ojo never said what he felt. he only fucked it into you, over and over, until you were too numb or too dumb to remember why you were mad in the first place. but this time, you didn’t fold.
he sent a message today.
📱 hey. left my sunglasses and some shirts at your place. mind if i swing by?
you read it and didn’t reply. an hour later, another one pinged in.
📱 don’t leave me on fucking read.
you stared at it, thumb hovering. then locked your phone and tossed it onto the couch. you knew it would get under his skin. you knew that man, cocky, spoiled, used to being the sun everyone orbited. you used to revolve around him too. until you learned how to burn.
you didn’t expect the knock. a sharp, deliberate thunk thunk thunk on your front door twenty minutes later. your stomach dropped.
you padded over barefoot, heart racing. when you opened it, there he was—satoru gojo in black joggers and a tight white tee, arms crossed over his broad chest like he hadn’t practically begged for your attention hours ago. his sunglasses hung low on the bridge of his nose. you could see the storm in his pale blue eyes.
“you think you’re cute?” he asked dangerously quiet.
“i think i don’t owe you shit,” you replied, trying to shut the door.
but his hand slapped flat against it, pushing it open with ease. “wrong answer.”
you stumbled back as he stepped inside like he owned the place, slamming the door shut behind him with one fluid movement. “i don’t belong to you anymore, gojo,” you hissed.
“that so?” he grabbed your wrist and yanked you into his chest. “then why’d you leave me on read? twice?”
“because i can.”
his grin was razor-sharp. “oh, baby. bad, bad idea.”
he walked you backward until your back hit the wall. his hand curled around your throat as a warning. his body pressed against yours, heat radiating through your skin. “i should remind you how to behave,” he murmured. “but i think you want me to lose it.”
“you’re delusional,” you spat.
“you’re wet,” he said calmly. “i can feel it.” his fingers slipped under the hem of your sleep shorts. one touch between your thighs, and he hummed low in his throat. “dripping.”
you slapped at his chest, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. the other slid into your waistband and dragged the fabric down until it pooled at your feet. he dropped to his knees without ceremony.
“satoru—!”
“shut up,” he growled. “you had your chance to talk to me. now all i wanna hear is you moaning.”
and then his mouth was on you, devouring like a man starved. his tongue curled and licked and sucked until your hips shook and your knees buckled. he didn’t stop. you came once, then again and still he held your wrists tight while his tongue ruined you, your slick dripping down his chin. when he finally stood up, you were trembling.
“still think i don’t own you?” he asked ragged.
you didn’t answer. so he turned you around, bent you over the arm of the couch, and pushed into you raw and deep, making your back arch and a broken sob leave your throat.
“that’s what i thought,” he whispered, dragging his teeth over your shoulder. “you’re mine. no matter how many fucking texts you ignore.”
he fucked it into you like a promise. deep, slow strokes that hit the spot he’d memorized, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair. you came again, biting down on a pillow to muffle the sounds. he kept going. kept fucking into your drenched cunt. when he finished inside you, it was with a guttural growl and his hand sliding down to rub slow circles into your overstimulated clit.
“next time you leave me on read,” he murmured, sweet and cruel against your ear, “i’ll fuck you on your front porch.”
summary — there is no vampire slayer more terrible at his job than Satoru Gojo, yet for reasons completely unknown, no immortal has ever survived an encounter with him. you, the overindulged daughter of the vampire king, have been forbidden from leaving the castle tonight. the infamous slayer is out hunting. your father is worried. the vampire community is hiding. you, however, have a date. surely nothing will go wrong.
♱ word count — 17k
♱ content warning + tags — MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem reader, fluff, some angst, supernatural au, plot with smut, eventual smut, slow burn, hidden enemies to lovers... until it's not, mutual pining, vampire typical violence, vampire naoya, unprotected piv, reader is thirsty - literally and figuratively, satoru impales you but not with a sword.
♱ a/n — merry christmas! tis' the season for vampires (>.<) apparently, i'm still in my monster era, but at least this is set in winter. i hope you enjoy it ♡ 〢 art: yan yu jun (weibo) and pinterest, rose divider: @ divinyae
There was one name vampires feared, and that name was Satoru Gojo. Not because he was good at hunting them down, but because he was incredibly bad at it, and still managed to kill them.
It was one thing to be turned to dust at the hands of a slayer. It was quite another when that slayer didn’t even carry a holy sword, yet would somehow end up impaling them. Embarrassing, really. No respectable vampire who was worth their fangs could stomach the thought that someone so incapable would be responsible for their final demise. They’d be the laughing stock of New Transylvania, and that certainly wouldn’t do well for their reputation as blood-thirsty immortals.
For this reason alone, whenever the night winds blew word that Satoru Gojo was prowling about, the wisest thing for a vampire to do was keep a wide berth from the infamous slayer.
Because no one, alive or undead, wanted to be made a fool of.
By a fool.
“Which is why you will not be leaving this castle tonight, my dear.”
You crossed your arms and pouted. You’d been tarrying about your father’s study for the last hour, hoping he’d change his mind. But tonight, no matter how you twisted and turned your words, he seemed determined to remain unswayed.
Frankly, it was annoying you to no end. Your father had always been resolutely obstinate, but rarely when it concerned you. Every bloodsucker, far and wide, freshly turned and centuries old, knew that the King of Vampires, Sukuna, could never deny his daughter her heart’s content. You were the apple of all four of your father’s eyes, and all you had to do was simply exist.
It had been this way since the beginning. You occupied the largest wing in the castle, which was redecorated every season according to your mood, while the furniture in Sukuna’s own wing remained as permanent as the prime immortal himself, unchanging since the dawn of time. You loved roses, so Sukuna had captured employed a team of alchemists and gardeners to drape the expansive gardens with every imaginable species of the flower, and to ensure they were in perpetual bloom all year round, including winter. Whenever you attended any of your father’s audiences, it was customary to greet you first before Sukuna, and whenever you were absent, it was customary to ask after your well-being before uttering anything else. The more creative a compliment towards you that one could conceive, the more inclined Sukuna was to listen to their plights.
No request you made, however fanciful, however outrageous, was too much for Sukuna to grant.
Except this. Except when it concerned Satoru Gojo.
“What if I bring Uraume along?” you tried again. “Certainly you won’t object to that.”
“It changes nothing. And Uraume is busy. The blood moon is less than a month away, and there is much left to be prepared for the Red Feast. Our pens are not yet fully stocked. I should like to avoid feeding our guests rat wine during the night of my daughter’s betrothal announcement.”
“Then all the more you should let me go out tonight,” you pressed. “Since, my dear father, I have yet to decide who I wish to be betrothed to.”
“Mmm, and you seem to be taking your own sweet time with it.” Sukuna raised an inquiring brow at you. “I should think a hundred years was long enough for you to find someone to your liking. And since we’re on the topic of suitors, this Zenin boy you are so insistent on meeting tonight—I was under the impression that my daughter had better tastes than that.”
“What’s wrong with Naoya?”
Sukuna did not look amused. “Only in so much as I believe him to be a waste of your time. The boy has no respect for our ways and behaves like a rabid gutter rat during hunting season. If he weren’t a Zenin, I’d have him staked out under the sun by now.”
“Well, I disagree. He’s been perfectly nice to me.”
“Everyone is nice to you, my dear. Unless they’d like to perish most painfully. And I said the boy is a waste of time, I never said he was stupid. He’s a power hungry maniac—“
“Speak for yourself, father.”
“Yes, but I am powerful. The Zenin boy merely thinks he is, in which, he is sadly mistaken. You are my only daughter. The Crown Princess of the Night. You will be the Queen of Vampires when I retire. I’d hoped you’d at least settle on someone more… amenable. Someone who delights in giving you everything as much as I do.”
“But he stirs something in me, father.” You didn’t want to say it was because Naoya gave good head. “And he’s always bringing me gifts. Like tonight. He said he has something he wants to show me, and that I won’t want to miss it.”
“There is not much difference between wanting something and pure stupidity.”
“Are you calling me stupid?”
“Far from it, but you will be if you insist on going out, which you will not. I do not wish to wake tomorrow night only to discover I am short of a daughter.”
Naturally, for someone who was used to getting everything you wanted, hearing the word ’no’ was an unusual experience. You weren’t used to it, and you certainly didn’t like it.
Your beaded slippers tapped the cold stone floor with equal persistence. You huffed. “I fail to see what’s so dangerous about this slayer. It’s all merely rumours. Surely if he’s so incompetent, then there’s nothing to be worried about Satoru Go—“
Your father’s answering growl was vicious, causing you to hesitate. The glow of the candelabras caught in all four of his ancient eyes, and you saw that his irises had deepened from a glittering crimson to icy black voids.
“Never speak his name in these walls.” But Sukuna must have caught your slight flinch, because his tone softened immediately. He sighed, and put down the tome he was reading, finally paying you his full attention. “Ask yourself this, daughter—if there are rumours abound of a singular individual, then is there not some truth to them? Incompetent he may be, but there is a reason he is called the Six Eyes. And if he truly is as lousy as they say, then why have none of our kind managed to survive an encounter with him?”
You frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. If no vampire has survived the Six Eyes, then who is spreading all these rumours? And how do we know they’re true?”
Sukuna watched you in silence, as impervious as the gargoyle statues carved into the castle’s exterior. His fingernails, sharpened to wicked points, rapped against the intricately carved mahogany desk before him.
“That is a story for another day, dear daughter,” he said at last, and picked up his tome. “The only thing you need to be concerned of tonight is staying within the castle grounds. I’m certain you will find something to occupy yourself with for one night. Go torture one or two of the gardeners should it please you. But if you do feed on any of them, remember to let Uraume know so we can find a replacement.”
He waved one of his four hands, signalling that your conversation had come to an end.
You wanted to argue. Wanted to stomp your foot and demand he put that tome down again. But you resisted. You were smarter than that. Your father might acquiesce to most of your wishes, but he wasn’t a pushover. Whining he could take, but a tantrum you knew for a fact he wouldn’t tolerate. His default mood was already surly, and toying with his temper by showing your own was a bad way to go about it.
No. Safer to just do it behind his back.
Which was why the moment you left your father’s study, you announced to your servants you were going to sulk and wished to be left alone, then proceeded up to the castle’s highest tower, and leapt right out the window.
Your eyes closed, savouring the sensation as you plummeted down and down and down. The thrill of it. And when you opened them again, you saw that the ground had nearly swallowed up the distance. You grinned.
Not yet. Not until the last seconds.
A rise in your chest. A tingle. A beat? You clutched on to the feeling. A feeling you couldn’t name but could not resist chasing.
Three…Two…One… the ground expanded around you.
You shifted.
Great membranous wings sprouted out your back, unfurling. Then you were soaring up and away, into the night sky, the cold winter winds beating against your colder skin, and with your back to the moon, you flew further and further away from the cliffside castle you called home, headed for the forest.
Up here, among silence and the stars and pale, silvery light of the moon—the only light you ever knew—your breaths eased, and you could not help but wonder if this feeling was as close to what the humans described as peace.
For vampires did not feel like humans did, yet it fascinated you so. That all it took was a beating heart to conjure an unfathomable amount of emotions, and if you dared admit, was the one thing about humans you envied. Because the thing in your chest—if you even had one—had never once moved. It was still when you were born, and would remain so for eternity.
You spotted the clearing where you were to meet Naoya, the midpoint between the castle, the Zenin Estate and the human settlements. But you remembered your father’s warning about the Six Eyes. That Satoru Gojo was on the hunt tonight. Your predator’s vision zoomed in like a magnifying glass, searching through the darkness of the trees below.
You saw Naoya. He was in his vampire form. The idiot. Every creature of the night knew to hide their true form this close to the human settlements. No one wanted to scare their food away. If word spread that a vampire was skulking about nearby, the towns would go into lockdown, merchants would stop travelling through the forest routes, and the slayers would be deployed in droves. There would be no food for the vampires to hunt. They’d have to live off animal blood for weeks, a poor substitute compared to their usual sustenance.
And then you realised Naoya wasn’t alone. He was kicking something on the ground. Something small and limp—
A human.
You descended, your wings angled for a quick landing, diving into the shadows of the forest. The moment your feet touched the snow-covered ground, silent and swift, you immediately shifted into your human form.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you hissed, not bothering to greet him.
Naoya turned around, eyes glinting in the darkness. His arms spread out in welcome. “Finally. Took you long enough. It’s not nice to keep your betrothed waiting, princess. I was growing bored and was about to start without you.”
“You’re not my betrothed yet. And is that...“ Your eyes widened at the bloody lump of flesh, unmoving on the dirty snow.
“Your gift. To celebrate our union.” Naoya grinned, fangs flashing. “Don’t worry, it’s alive. Barely. But still breathing. I’d never feed you expired produce.”
“Naoya, that is a child.”
“So it is. Females are always so perceptive, aren’t they?” Naoya spared a glance at the prone body. A girl that looked not even past ten years of human age. “Go on. Have the first bite. Or we can do what we usually do—you may feed on it while I feed on that cunt of yours. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my little slut—”
“We’re not supposed to feed on children,” you cut him off. “It’s against our rules, and the pact my father made with the first mortal king. You know this. Hunting them down this young will only dwindle our supply.”
But Naoya seemed genuinely surprised. “You’ve never tried a child before? And here I am thinking you’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.”
You stared at him. “How long have you been feeding on children?”
Naoya shrugged. “Long enough to know they taste better than aged blood. They’re sweeter. Fresher. Like a clear, crystal lake.” He grabbed the child, dragging its body through the slush of snow and earth before dumping it in front of you. “There’s a first time for everything, princess. Try it. You’ll never want go back to sucking aged blood once you do, trust me.”
“No,” you said, firmly. “Return it. Make it seem like an accident. If the humans find out you’ve been hunting their young, the pact will be annulled and the slayers will have free reign to invade our lands. And the child deserves to experience mortal life before becoming our prey.”
Naoya frowned. “I don’t remember you being this… opinionated. It’s unbecoming of you, princess. I think I much prefer that mouth of yours when it’s moaning my name.”
“I’m serious, Naoya. Put the child back where you found it.”
He moved then, like a fault in time, a warping of space, his preternatural speed placing him behind you before you could blink. With him in his vampire form and you in a human’s, your own reflexes were dulled, and the next thing you knew, he had his fist in your hair, his fangs grazing up your neck.
Naoya licked the shell of your ear. “Don’t play coy, princess. If this is your way of asking me to fuck you before we feast, then it’s better to just beg.”
“I’m not playing around, you idiot.” You tried pushing him away, but his grip on you tightened, sharp fingernails digging into your skin. Good sex or not, you were starting to question why you liked him at all. “Stop. I mean it. Let go of me or else—“
But Naoya was laughing. “Or else? Or else what?”
A rip. He’d torn through the neckline of your dress. Your sleeve split down your shoulder.
“Admit it,” he was saying. “You like it when I treat you like a disobedient slut. When I shut that mouth up with my—aargh! What the fuck?“
Naoya’s grip loosened, his head snapping around, then down.
There was something white on the ground. Something so mundane yet so out of place in the middle of a forest that it confounded you just as much.
Was that… garlic?
A rustle in the silence.
A man was standing in the clearing, as if he’d materialised out of blank space like an apparition. The first thing you noticed was his white hair, as white as falling snow. Then his eyes…
“Ah… excuse me, miss,” he seemed to be speaking to you. In one of his gloved hands was another bulb of garlic. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be in a bit of a pickle. Might I offer you some assistance?”
The sudden presence of another—human? Yes, he was definitely human. You didn’t before, but you caught his scent now. Smelled the blood flowing in his veins, rich and heady and oh so sweet…
But how could a human have evaded your senses? Even Naoya, in true form, hadn’t noticed the man until he’d shown himself. It baffled you, and apparently Naoya as well, because he was as speechless as you.
You asked the only question that came to mind. “Who are you?”
The man stepped forward, moonlight casting silver lines across his face, pale and young and pretty; illuminating his tall, lithe figure, clad in the simple leathers of a village hunter.
He cleared his throat. “Well, you see, I’m a vampire slayer. And that there, as I’m sure you are already aware, is a vampire—“ he gestured at Naoya, somewhat carelessly. “I regret to tell you this, miss, but that thing isn’t going to kiss you if that’s what you’re expecting.”
“You’re a slayer?”
He must have thought you were rendered stupid because he spoke slower this time. “Yes, ah… I’m sure you’ve heard of the occupation. I slay vampires for a living. As in return them to dust. Vanquish them. Kill them, to put it simply.”
“You pelted me with garlic, you fool,” Naoya growled, having recovered from the man’s unexpected intrusion. “Only an imbecile would do that.”
The man’s—slayer’s—eyes, a deep entrancing blue that glowed in the darkness like the heart of a flame, settled on Naoya. “Well, it caught your attention, didn’t it? So I’d say it worked.” His tone hardened then. “And shame on you. Preying on a child and giving such a lovely lady false hope. I don’t tolerate rakes who go around breaking hearts, much less vampires. And it seems you are both.”
But Naoya was laughing. “Oh, you are hilarious. What kind of slayer confronts a vampire without holy silver? It almost makes me want to spare you out of pity, which I won’t, just so you know.”
The slayer merely grinned. “I’m not asking you to, fiend. In fact, I was actually planning on hitting you in the head again.”
His answer only amused Naoya further because he finally released you, red eyes gleaming with newfound excitement, as if he’d found a new sport.
“Is that so?” Naoya bared his fangs, tongue licking the tip. “Because my suggestion is that you’d better run, slayer. Run fast, and run far. I’m feeling generous so I’ll count to ten, and when I catch you, your throat will no longer be attached to your head.”
To your surprise, the slayer laughed right back. “I wouldn’t bother counting if I were you. I might not use swords, but I’ll have you know I’m quite fast.” He crooked his fingers at Naoya. “Come on, try me.”
Everything in your mind snapped into place then. The man’s sudden appearance. That he called himself a slayer. The garlic. That he wasn’t intimidated by Naoya even without a holy weapon. Your father’s countless lectures swam in your head, solidifying into the only plausible conclusion you now could not deny.
This man—he was no ordinary slayer.
You spun to warn Naoya. To tell him to run. But it was too late. He’d already moved, and it was like he’d stretched through the clearing in a single step, no longer next to you but where the slayer stood—
Or had been standing.
You could have sworn upon your entire undead existence that the slayer hadn’t so much as twitched a muscle. But what you saw with your own eyes was irrefutable. He was there one moment, and then he was simply… not. He’d disappeared like a ghost—no, that wasn’t right. He’d swerved, like a gust of wind, and before Naoya’s fangs could bite into nothing, the slayer was already behind him.
“Watch out!” You shouted.
The slayer must have thought you were talking to him because he was smiling at you. “Not to worry, my lady. I promise you I have quite a lot of experience in handling vampires—“ Then he did it again, moving as the air moved, feinting another one of Naoya’s deadly slashes. “Not as much as other slayers, come to think of it. Perhaps a higher kill count, though I can’t be sure. Still, quality is better than quantity, that’s what Suguru always told me. Then again, he liked to think he was very profound…”
He continued like this, rambling on and on while he dodged every attack Naoya threw at him. No matter what Naoya did, no matter how many times he tried, clawing and slashing and pouncing, he couldn’t touch the slayer. Not even a brush. And this only incensed him further.
“You dare play tricks on me?” Naoya growled, furious, but you could tell he was growing tired. His movements were lagging. “No human can possibly move this quickly.”
Perhaps it was your imagination, but the slayer’s impossible blue eyes seemed to glow brighter. “My gratitudes for the compliment. For that, you get a present.”
It took less than a blink—not even—for the slayer’s fist to connect, fingers splayed as he smashed the garlic he’d been holding this whole time in Naoya’s face. Another hand was wrapped around Naoya’s neck in a chokehold, lifting him off his feet for half a second before slamming him onto the ground.
Naoya was gasping now. The gasps turned into splutters as the slayer’s boot came down on his face, smooshing the garlic into mush.
“Take—her—princess…”
The slayer put a hand to his ear, but eased the pressure of his boot slightly. “I’m sorry, what was that? You know, it’s rude to speak with your mouth full.”
Naoya heaved, one hand struggling to claw at the slayers leather boot, to no avail, while the other feebly pointed a finger in your direction. “S-spare me—you can have her… she’s the princess...“
Your eyes widened, your body growing rigid.
Oh, that bastard. He would sell you out to save himself. You suddenly regretted you’d ever entertained him as a suitor at all.
“Princess?” The slayer lifted a brow, but his boot was twisting into Naoya’s face once more as those blue eyes glanced your way, sparking your veins, yet you never felt your blood turn so cold as it did now.
“I…” Your mind screamed at you to run. To shift into your winged form and hurtle into the sky. But the compounding thought of your father’s words and the sight before you—Naoya flailing in the snow, the slayer’s unnatural speed, those blue eyes… your muscles were frozen in place, as if dreading the thought of moving.
“My lady, you never mentioned you were royalty,” the slayer said, perhaps a little awestruck. “You should have said so. I would have addressed you with your proper title. I mean, I knew you weren’t from the villages, because I would have noticed if someone as beautiful as you—ah… my apologies, now I sound like a cad. But you are, ah, that is to say, beautiful. Very much so—“ He paused, glancing down briefly. “Excuse me, Your Highness. I’m just going to…”
He stomped on Naoya’s face again. And again. And again. And you watched in horror as a wet crack pierced through the clearing.
Naoya went still.
“Again, I apologise,” the slayer said, finally removing his now bloody boot off your former suitor. “You shouldn’t have to see that. But I should warn you not to go near it since it’s still alive. There are only two proven methods to completely vanquish a vampire—holy silver and sunlight. Don’t be afraid though, I might not have any silver on me but I have a way to make sure this one won’t regenerate before—“
“You’re—“ you found your voice at last. “You’re the Six Eyes.”
The slayer grinned, and it took everything in you to keep from turning on your heels and running as he approached you.
“At your service.” He bowed, then took your hand and kissed the back of it. “And it’s Satoru, Your Highness. Satoru Gojo.” He winked. “Now, let’s get you and that child home, shall we?”
He was prattling again.
“There, all done. I made this one extra deep, so I don’t think it will be able to crawl out any time soon. Well, I guess it could sprout wings, but I made sure to break all its bones just in case. Besides, I doubt it will wake up until sunrise, so it doesn’t matter since it will be fried to a crisp…”
You stared into the mouth of the pit, in which Naoya had been tossed, his body swallowed by darkness. A part of you almost felt bad for him, but then again, he did try to offer you up on a platter to save his own sorry ass.
The Six Eyes—Satoru Gojo—dusted his gloved hands, cheerfully, as if he’d finished tending his garden and not condemning one of your kind to dust. “You’re very lucky this one’s quite dense, Your Highness. The only reason I managed to track you down was because it was dumb enough to assume its vampire form this close to the borders. And to think, I was about to take a nap and miss out on meeting the most beautiful person I’ve ever—”
“Are there more of these pits around the area?”
“Huh? Oh, yes. Took some time to dig them all,” he said, a little too proudly. “They’re quite effective, if I do say so myself. Helps to keep the vamps trapped since there’s only one of me, and I can’t be out patrolling all the time. I installed spikes at the bottom, too. Holds them in place until either me or the sun arrives, whichever comes first.”
You didn’t know if you were more horrified or impressed with his methods. They were odd, certainly unorthodox. Every slayer you’d encountered previously (and killed, but he didn’t need to know that) treated a silver sword like their third leg, brandishing and poking the weapon in your face, desperate to impale you with it.
But not the Six Eyes. Not Satoru Gojo. Apparently, he preferred throwing root vegetables and digging holes in the ground.
So this was what the rumours meant about him being incompetent but effective. All this while, you’d assumed he was just some dunce with luck on his side. But you knew better now. There was nothing lucky about that incredible reflex—Naoya’s speed was unrivalled among vampires, but the way Satoru Gojo had so easily taken him down, as if he was swatting a fly… no mere mortal would ever be able to accomplish such a feat.
“I have a question, Six Eyes” you said, trying not to sound as though you were prying. But you had to know more about him. For your own survival, of course.
“Anything, Your Highness. All you have to do is ask.” He’d picked up the child and was gently cradling its mousy-looking body, and the sight of it—of something so fragile, so helpless, in his arms—you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if it was you instead. “You are under my protection from now on. Until I return you safely to your home, whatever you wish, whatever you desire, I am at your disposal.”
You would have found it charming, if it weren’t for the fact that you were the very creature he hunted.
“Are you—“ There was no way around it except to put it plainly. “Are you human?”
He seemed genuinely taken aback by this. Perhaps slightly insulted—no, that was not it. You saw his brows furrow, his smile fall away. Almost as if he was…
“Have I given you cause to be afraid of me?” His concerned tone confirmed it. “Do you distrust my nature? Because I swear upon heaven and hell that my blood is mortal. I slay creatures of the night. I’d never hurt you, Your Highness. Please believe me. May lightning strike me dead if I—“
“Well, it’s just that what you did to Nao—that vampire—I’ve never seen a human move that fast.”
“Oh, you mean my excellent perception.” Like a turning of the page, he was back to smiling. “Why didn’t you just ask? It’s not a secret. Not really. I’ll tell you all about it if you want. Takes an hour to reach the nearest village, so we have plenty of time. I’ll drop the child off first and then escort you back to—ah, which kingdom did you say you’re from?”
You stiffened. “Kingdom?” You pointed in a random direction. “It’s that way.”
“Are you sure? It’s all mountains over on that side.”
“Ah… I’m not sure. I thought it was. I’m not very good at… maps.”
“The closest kingdom that way would be where Poenari Castle is. Come to think of it, I did once hear the princess there was renowned for her beauty, but I’ve never been—
“Yes, that’s the one,” you said, quickly. If he’d never seen the place before, then it would make it easier to fabricate a story until you found a way to escape him.
And you would have to do it soon. In a few hours, to be precise. Before the sun rose and you were turned to dust.
But for the time being, your immediate problem was Satoru Gojo and his insistence on becoming your knight in shining armour. You were not unaware that you were now probably the only vampire to have survived an encounter with the Six Eyes. A disturbing thought, since you were currently stuck with him, and the only thing saving you was your very, very wise decision to stay in your human form.
“Great! Then we’d better get moving,” he said, and began leading the way, leaving you with no choice but to follow him further away from the vampire territories. “It’s going to take us at least six days’ travel to Poenari Castle."
You halted.
Six days? You didn't have six days. You didn't even have six hours.
"We’ll stock up on supplies and hire a carriage in the village. Can’t have a princess travelling on foot the whole way—“
“I—I can’t go to the village.”
He stopped, and gave you a confused look. “Why not? Are you tired? Are you hurt? Did that vampire bite you somewhere I didn’t see?”
“It’s just—well, the thing is—“ You racked your brain for any plausible excuse, pulling up whatever you could recall about New Transylvania’s human settlements, whatever your father had told you about them. But all you could remember was that it had its own castle, not so different from your own…
A castle. With a king and a queen. And more importantly, there was a prince…
An idea started to form.
“Well, you see, I can’t go to the village because I don’t want the prince finding out my whereabouts,” you said before you could regret it. “I’m betrothed to him. I—I ran away. I got lost. A vampire found me. Then you came along.”
You felt a strange hammering in your chest when he didn’t reply immediately. When all he did was just look at you with those bewitching blue eyes, and it was as if he had put you under a spell. Was this what humans felt like when vampires compelled them? Because you couldn’t look away either.
Anger. Hatred. Fear. Regret. Humans were so simple to read, even when they thought they were hiding it. But with the Six Eyes, you only had more questions. Had you convinced him? Did he believe you? Or could he tell you were lying? It only drew you in deeper.
But then he was nodding. “Well, that explains everything,” he said at last. “I was actually wondering what a princess from a far away kingdom was doing in the middle of a forest at night in New Transylvania, but I thought it impolite to ask.” He turned sharply in another direction. “Change of plans. No village. We’re heading this way now.”
You hesitated. “Where are you taking me?”
Satoru Gojo’s smile widened. “To my home, of course. I’m guessing you need a place to hide, am I right? And contrary to what everyone believes, I don’t actually live in the trees.”
You should have just gone to the village.
Now you were stuck in the dining room of a decaying manor, alone with a vampire slayer, trying not to grimace as a bowl of what looked harrowingly similar to sludge was placed on the long table. Thick and brown and steaming. Not so different from the stuff Uraume fed to the humans in your castle’s pens.
And the smell—it was odious. It made you want to gag. But the last thing you wanted to do was insult the Six Eyes.
“Is something wrong with the stew, Your Highness?”
Your face must have shown it because he’d stopped stirring his own bowl.
“No, not at all.” You smiled, tightly. “It’s just that… I’m not very hungry right now.”
Unfortunately, your stomach chose that moment to betray you, a growl echoing throughout the silence of the dining room.
The corners of his eyes crinkled upwards. He pressed his lips together, as if trying to keep a straight face, and perhaps, for the first time, your cheeks warmed.
“I know it’s not on par with the kind of fare you’re used to," he said. "But I promise you it’s not as bad as it looks. You must have been out in the cold for hours. A little nourishment will make you feel better. At least take a few bites before you retire for the night.”
Bite. What you’d really like to bite was him. You hadn’t fed the whole night, and it didn’t help that his scent was very, very appealing. Such as humans had different tastes in the food they ate, vampires, too, had their own preferences. Your father favoured bitter blood, with a healthy dose of misery and suffering. Naoya—before you knew he preyed on children—always took his blood young, barely cross the coming of age. And as for you—
There was no blood that smelled as exquisite as what was flowing in Satoru Gojo’s veins.
You tried not to think about how delicious his neck looked, and forced yourself to pick up your spoon. You skimmed the surface of the stew, avoiding the dubious chunks bobbing about, brought it to your mouth, and took a very, very tiny sip.
It was horrendous. You were better off eating rat shit.
With every five scoops he took, you made yourself take one, swallowing down each mouthful with so much force that it must have looked like torture, because he was grinning.
You frowned. “Do you find me funny, Six Eyes?”
He chuckled, and leaned slightly forward. “More entertaining than funny, I assure you, Your Highness. And please, it’s Satoru. Only dead things call me Six Eyes.”
You didn’t miss the irony of it. “Right… Satoru—so, do you live here alone?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “There’s my little witch boy, Megumi. But he comes and goes whenever he pleases. Unless I need him for a job, he mostly boils grass and sells them as love potions in the villages.”
You counted your lucky stars. Apart from this Megumi fellow, the only occupants here were Satoru and the child he’d left sleeping in one of the rooms. That should make it easy for you to escape this creepy estate—and creepy it was, even for an immortal predator such as yourself. Unlike the candle-lit halls of your own castle, this place was the epitome of doom and gloom. Barren. Mottled. Inside, the cold stone walls were thick with shadows, the dusty furniture like forgotten skeletons. The grounds surrounding the manor house were not much better, resembling a graveyard for dead leaves and brambles, surrounded by towering iron fences, affixed with spikes at the top.
Thank Lucifer you had wings. You’d wait until he retired for the night, and then make your escape.
You steeled yourself, and finished the foul stew. You had a couple of hours left until sunrise. If you hurried, you’d be able to reach your castle before you were reduced to corpse dust.
“Thank you for the meal,” you said, standing. “If it’s alright, I’d like to rest now. Tonight’s… adventures have left me positively exhausted.”
“Of course, of course.” He rushed to his feet, and began leading the way out the dining room and up a creaking grand staircase to a hall full of doors. He stopped at one of them, and opened it, standing aside for you to enter. “The best room for the best—ah… never mind. After you, Your Highness.”
As you squeezed past him, this close, all your thoughts narrowed on how good he smelled, and a particularly delicious spot just below his ear.
Satoru’s voice lowered, his previously circumspect manner switching like the sudden turning of tides to something that sprung heated coils below your stomach. “You’re staring, Your Highness,” he said, those blue eyes fixed on you. “Do I have something on my neck?”
You regretted flinching. “What? N-no. Nothing. I wasn’t…” your voice trailed off. You cleared your throat, and quickly put as much distance between yourself and him as possible. “Well, good night. And you don’t have to call me Your Highness.”
“Oh?” Satoru leaned his broad frame against the door like a very tempting feast. Your empty stomach fluttered. “Then what should I call you?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as if you’d be around to hear it. “I’ll, ah, see you in the morning.”
He gave you a smile you couldn’t decipher. “I’ll be waiting, princess.”
When he finally left, you loosened the breath you’d been holding all this while. He might still be lurking around so you couldn’t leave just yet.
Left with time to kill, you began pacing around the surprisingly lavish room. It had been cleaned out, almost like Satoru had expected to have guests. Perhaps this was where he usually slept, and was courteous enough to relinquish it to you for the night. But he was also courteous enough to kill Naoya, so you should stop thinking about him.
You didn’t know how long you waited, but you deemed it long enough that he was most likely sleeping by now. The bedroom’s window was too small for you to squeeze through, which left you with no choice but to slowly—ever so slowly—turn the knob and inch the door slightly ajar.
The yawning silence of the hallway greeted you as you peeked out. Darkness had never bothered you—your vision was built for it. You slipped out of the room, wincing as the door creaked shut behind you.
Your feet made no sound as you hurried past the stained glass arches and down the grand staircase, taking two steps at a time. Thankfully, some of your vampiric abilities were still ingrained in human form—night vision, superior stealth—and you reached the carved double doors of the manor’s entrance without any trouble.
Your hands reached for the dull brass handles when a loud yawn broke through the silence.
You spun, your chest seizing, and found the child Naoya had almost beaten to death standing by a small archway, looking very much alive.
The child yawned again. “About time. I was getting sick of standing around.”
You frowned. “I’m going for a stroll. Go back to sleep, child.”
“A stroll?” A familiar voice spoke then. A voice that froze your entire body stiff. “In the middle of the night? How odd you are, princess.”
Out of the shadows in the archway, like a spectre that hadn’t been there before, stepped Satoru Gojo.
He smiled. “Would you like some company? I’m wide awake, as you can see, and Megumi here doesn’t mind. We’ll bring him along just in case.”
Megumi? Your eyes darted to the child, who grumbled inaudibly. He knew the child? And Megumi was a… he?
Satoru extended an arm towards you. “So, what do you say, princess? It will be safer with the both of us. Who knows what manner of creature might be lurking in the bushes.” His teeth flashed in the most wicked way. “Creatures like you, for example.”
A heaviness seeped into your muscles, calcifying your bones. You couldn’t feel your legs. Neither could you tear your eyes away from his penetrating blue gaze.
“You know…” your voice was barely audible. If there was ever a good time for your body to move, it was now. But you were trapped. Paralysed. “You’ve known the whole time.”
“I can never understand why you vampires like to think I’m an idiot. Of course I know.” He lifted a finger. “One, my eyes can see through anything. Excellent perception, remember? And no human alive can be as beauti—“ He stopped, as if he’d almost given something away. “Forget number two. You get my point.”
“If you’re going to explain your whole plan, then hurry up,” said Megumi. “I want to go back to sleep.”
Plan? They had a plan?
“You’re ruining the suspense, darling Megumi. I was going to let her—it—ponder for awhile longer before telling her—it—that we’ve been tracking its movements for quite some time now. Weeks, actually. That everything was fabricated and we used you as bait, and it was no coincidence that you were almost eaten by her former lover, which, of course, I’d never let happen to you, my darling Megumi.”
Megumi scoffed. “Not like she’s going to stay to hear the whole story.” He pointed at you. “See, she’s so bored she’s already leaving.”
You didn’t bother answering and threw open the double doors. There was no besting the Six Eyes in a fight, so the only other option was to run. You had to shift into your wings and get as high up as possible before he could catch you. If there was one thing you were sure of, it was that he couldn’t fly.
Dark open skies stretched above you, and without hesitation, you called forth your wings.
Nothing happened.
You were still in human form.
A lazy tapping of boots followed behind you.
“Ah… right.” Satoru shrugged, too casually. “I forgot to mention that we might have put something in your stew. A spell, to be exact. Well, Megumi did—not me. But I told him to. Did I mention he’s a witch? So I wouldn’t bother with trying to flap those wings.”
Your lungs hollowed out, and for the first time, you understood what fear truly meant, and it was consuming.
But you were your father’s daughter. The Crown Princess of the Night. If this was to be your end, you would face it with dignity. You refused to die a grovelling fool.
“Fine. You win,” you spat at him, but stood your ground, holding your head high. “If you’re going to kill me, then just do it.”
Satoru raised a brow. “What? Oh no, no, no. You’ve mistaken me. You’re my esteemed guest. I’m not going to kill you… yet. That would certainly do me no favours with your father. And I do so want to meet him again.”
It dawned on you then—the plan he orchestrated, your capture—the real target had never been you.
The Six Eyes was after the King of Vampires.
Your voice turned venomous. There was no point in hiding your true nature. Not anymore. “You really are a fool if you believe my father will be so easily defeated.”
Satoru answered with his own grin. “Oh, I don’t believe. I know. Because I now have, in my possession, the only thing Sukuna treasures most in his entire undead existence. And I have no doubt he’ll want it back… most desperately.” He gave you a mocking bow. “A warm welcome, Your Most Immortal Highness. You’re stuck here with us whether you like it or not, so I urge you to make yourself at home.”
You were hungry.
There was nothing but rodents. Small mice squeaking in the dim corners of the halls, and big, fat rats scurrying about in the barren larder, picking on scraps of rotten vegetables.
But you would not stoop so low… not until you had to. Three nights had passed since your last feed, and you knew that the Six Eyes knew vampires could technically survive without blood, though they’d be immensely weakened, reduced to a husk—a withered shell of themselves, like a dried prune. But they wouldn’t die. Not truly.
He was starving you on purpose. The bastard. And perhaps it was even more wicked that he gave you free reign to wander about the manor estate as you pleased, yet denied you of the very sustenance you craved.
And worst of all? The most delicious blood you’d ever smelled was flowing in the veins of the very man who held you hostage. It seemed you were not only a captive, but captivated with the thought of biting him.
Your skin was starting to itch. The first sign of withdrawal. You’d never experienced it before—being a princess and all that—but it seemed like you were experiencing a lot of firsts as of late. None of them particularly enjoyable.
You stomped through the garden, as if the snow you crushed underneath your slippers were to be blamed for your current predicament. Dirt clung to the hem of your dress, torn fabric hanging off and exposing your shoulder to the chilly, midnight air. But you’d rather your own clothes than the unsightly peasant’s sack one of them—the Six Eyes or the child—had left outside your bedroom door for you to change into.
Not wanting to sequester yourself in the manor and breathe the same air as Satoru Gojo—and his maddening scent—you’d come out to the gardens the moment the sun disappeared, only returning to lock yourself in your room again right before dawn. At first, you’d wondered why you weren’t followed. Surely they’d anticipate you would risk the spikes and try to climb over the fence. Your suspicions were soon confirmed when you realised that the fences surrounding the estate had simply… vanished.
And in replacement was an infinite sea of snow, stretching on and on and around the perimeter of the estate. White and never-ending. That little witch boy must have put some kind of enchantment on this place. Whenever you tried to cross what you remembered was the threshold between the property and the outside world, it was like walking in loops, because you’d just pop back out a few steps behind.
You wandered through the statue garden, where a collection of stern, moss-covered figures stared down at you, as if they were passing judgement on you for disobeying your father, and now you were paying the price for that stupidity.
“Searching for stray cats to feed on, princess?”
Satoru Gojo stepped out from behind a faceless statue, as if he’d materialised out of thin air.
You scowled at him. “What do you want?”
He chuckled. “Not so decorous anymore, are you, princess? I was just dropping by to check on how my lovely guest is faring—“
“I’ll fare better when you let me leave this forsaken place.”
“Come now, it’s not that bad. Haven’t I provided you with every comfort? You have a nice room, you can go about the estate as you please, do whatever you wish. Why, I don’t think I’ve treated any vampire this graciously before—well, not that it ever gets to that point since they would already be dead. Like that lover of yours.”
“Stop calling him that. He’s not my lover,” you snapped. “And if you’re here to merely goad me on, then do kindly fuck off. I don’t wish to spend the rest of my walk listening to your inane drivelling.”
“Still pissy, I see, which means you’re doing more than fine.” He shrugged. “Shame. I was going to offer you some blood, but since you’re so energised, I guess you won’t be needing it.”
“If you’re slicing up rats to offer to me, then you can go feed it up your—“
“Rats? Who said anything about rats? You think I don’t know creatures like you are only sustained with one type of blood?”
“You think I’d believe you would draw blood from a human to feed me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t need to draw blood from anyone. I’d just let you take a bite.”
You couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “And who is this person? A condemned prisoner you bought off the gallows? I don’t drink tainted blood.”
“Heavens, no. I would never be so crude, princess. Not even when I slay you…eventually.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Then what kind of human is it?”
“Only the best kind.” His grin widened. “Me, of course.”
Your throat bobbed, and worse, he noticed. He propped himself against the edge of the statue’s pedestal, and tilted his head aside.
“This is what you’ve been staring at, am I right?” He traced a finger down the side of his neck, taunting. Unravelling the firm grip you had on your self control from the inside out in a matter of seconds.
You dug your toes into the sharp points of your slippers, refusing to lose any more composure. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Why would I? There’s no reason to. I need you looking alive and well for when your father comes to collect you. That is, after he agrees to my demands, which will take some time. It seems being alive for centuries can turn one dreadfully stubborn. Though, I do have something I’d like you to do for me first…”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid.
“It’s the same stuff we put into your stew,” he said, holding up the vial for you to better see. “The previous spell should be wearing off, and we can’t have you suddenly sprouting wings. I’m going to need you to drink it before you drink me. ”
A bargain. You should have known his offer came with conditions. And could it even be called manipulation if he wasn’t trying to hide it?
Whether you accepted or not, the outcome would be the same. You’d remain stuck here. It was either starve and turn into a prune, or take the potion and feed on him. Whichever you chose, you still wouldn’t have your wings.
Why make it harder, was what you convinced yourself as you trudged over and snatched the vial, uncorked it, and poured it down your throat, all the while glaring at him.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He said, catching the empty vial you flung back at him, tossing it aside. He patted his lap. “Come here, princess. Time for your reward.”
The annoying tug in your chest piqued again, progressing to a thunderous pounding as you approached, and lowered yourself onto him.
This close—touching—the heady scent of him engulfed you. Irresistible. Intoxicating.
But you weren’t about to let him reduce you to a mewling buffoon. He’d had the upper hand for long enough. You were born an apex predator. You held the uncontested throne at the peak of the foodchain.
And you would show him exactly how you treated your prey.
You smiled, and placed your hands on him, sliding them down the solid plain of his chest. Your voice lowered to a soft melody. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about, and I think you can help me out with it, Satoru…”
You sensed his pulse quicken, but those blue eyes remained fixed on you in calm amusement. “Oh? Now I’m curious. As I’ve said before, all you have to do is ask. Though it doesn’t mean you’ll get the answer you’re hoping for.”
Your hand moved up to his undeniably stunning face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I couldn’t help but notice that you find me beautiful. Is it true? Do I appeal to you?”
A corner of his lips curved upwards. “Are you trying to compel me, princess? If so, you need not bother. I’ll simply tell you that while I may find you very, very attractive, I will never forget what you are. What you and your kind do to humans. What your true nature is—” the glimmer in his eyes darkened. “Cold. Heartless. A stain on this world. A creature that should be sent back to the deepest pits of the underworld.”
You felt something sharp dig into the side of your waist, and looked down.
Silver glinted back at you, pale moonlight reflecting off the polished blade.
“A knife?” You laughed. “Are you flirting with me? How romantic.”
He wound an arm around you, locking you in place against the blade’s tip.
“Thrilling, no?” He smirked. “Wouldn’t want you sucking me dry the first time when we have so many more nights to spend like this.”
Oh, he was good. Too good. You’d never met a human who resisted your compulsion this effectively, and at the same time, compelled you right back.
But two could play his game.
Your hand trailed to the back of his neck, fingers weaving into his soft, snowy hair. “Clearly, Satoru, you have never been bitten before. Because you wouldn’t be saying that to me if you had. Because instead, you’d be begging me to drain you to a corpse.”
You fisted his hair, and yanked his head aside. Your lips grazed up the length of his delectable neck.
“Are you ready, Six Eyes?” you whispered. “If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that this will be your awakening, and your biggest regret.”
That delicious pulse of his raced under his skin. But he merely scoffed, “Do your best, princess.”
You parted your lips, and what was previously blunt canine teeth started to elongate, sharpening into two pin-prick points.
And finally, your fangs sunk into his flesh.
The taste of him—it decimated the world around you. There was no before. There was no after. Only the overwhelming high that floated inside and through you. An inexplicable, devastating pleasure that gushed down your throat and drummed through every fibre of your being.
If such a thing as heaven existed, then it was him.
A soft groan. His grip on your waist tightened. “This is—fuck….”
You gulped down more of him, helpless to the ultimate bliss that consumed you. The better he felt, the more you wanted. More than this. More than blood. You wanted everything.
All of him.
Still gripping his hair, you slid your free hand back down his chest, and then further down, and down some more, until you felt him—the thick, straining length of him, hard against your palm.
Another groan escaped him, louder this time, as you rubbed him through the fabric of his breeches. And the sound he made…it unravelled you, just as much as you knew you were unravelling him. You wanted to hear him again. You could hear him forever.
“Don’t...” His voice had deepened to a slow lull as you increased both the pressure of your hand and your mouth on his neck. “Oh god—yes…”
A muffled crunch. Something heavy had fallen on the snow, and you knew it was his knife. Then his hands were on you, ripping your dress in half down the neckline.
Icy winds kissed your cold skin, and then his hand was on your breast, the other underneath your skirt, dragging up and up and dipping between the apex of your thighs.
You moaned, a stream of blood leaking down the side of your mouth, as his warm fingers met what you couldn’t hide, sliding up the centre of your slick folds.
Never—never before had anyone made you lose yourself like this. Not Naoya. Not all your past suitors. And for a human to—how was he even moving? He was supposed to be pliant. Limp. A puddle of mush under your thrall.
Instead, your moans grew louder as his fingers worked you in broad strokes. Your feeding grew careless, more blood spilling out and smearing around your mouth.
You would eat him alive. You would—
You released the fastening on his breeches, tugging the strings loose.
His breath hitched. “What are you—“
You unlatched, your fangs receding back into teeth as you found his gaze. And in his eyes, you saw a war. A collision of heaven and hell. Temptation and sin. The unmistakable glaze of lust, and perhaps, something more.
“Hush, Satoru,” you said, placing a finger on his lips. Licking his blood off your own. “I’m not done yet.”
You pulled away, and bent on your knees before him. You yanked his breeches down further, freeing his cock—thick and flushed and hard enough to ache. It was a beast.
And damn propriety, you needed all of it. Now.
You pressed your lips to his tip, and licked him. Licked at the beads of moisture seeping out his slit, and then took him in your mouth, and sucked.
“God, I—you’re… fuck it.” He let out a low, guttural groan. His fingers dived into your hair. He seemed to have collected enough of himself, because his voice steadied. “You want me this bad, princess? You can have me.”
You felt the rough tug of his fists in your hair, gripping you so tight your couldn’t move on your own accord. Then he was shoving the full length of him down your throat.
You gagged, constricting around his thickness that filled you entirely. Your hands clutched onto his hips for purchase, eyes shuttering as he manoeuvred your head to pump you full of him, right up to the hilt.
“I will vanquish you,” he said. “One day. This, I swear. But today, I will do it with my cock.”
In one swift motion, he pulled out. The next thing you knew, you were bent facing the statue, hands on the cracked pedestal as he lifted your skirt, and plunged two fingers into you.
It was—your mind blanked.
You cried out as he drove into you, so deep, so unforgiving, his fingers curling just right, as if he knew the exact way to break you apart.
“So wet, princess,” he murmured, breath ghosting your ear. “And all I did was bleed for you.”
You didn’t get the chance to retort. His fingers thrust again, harder, obscene sounds spilling from the tight clutch of your body. Every pump made your knees buckle, every curl of his knuckles tore another strangled moan from your throat.
His other hand slid up your spine, fingers trailing your exposed skin until they closed around the back of your neck, making you arch for him like you existed for nothing else.
He pressed his lips to the shell of your ear.
“You’re going to come on my fingers,” he said, voice quiet as the knife he hadn’t bothered retrieving. “And then I’m going to fuck you. Right here. In front of all my stone-faced ancestors. Let them watch your fall from grace.”
You should snarl. You should spit in his face.
Instead, you rocked back on his fingers like a starving creature chasing a high.
Because that was what he was—your undoing. The deadly storm you couldn’t help but be drawn into.
“Look at you,” he whispered, and there was a softness in his tone that didn’t match with the words he spoke. “Princess of the Night, losing herself on a human’s hand. If there’s ever a sight I shall remember, it is this…”
He shoved his fingers deeper. You gasped as he curved inside you, so perfectly, dragging a sound from your throat you didn’t recognise, and you shattered, a brutal climax consuming you so fully you couldn’t think past the blinding stars in your vision.
He withdrew his fingers, making you shudder at the sudden emptiness—only for him to grab your hips, drag you back against him, and grind the hard length of his cock between your thighs, sliding along your soaked heat.
You nearly collapsed.
“Say it,” he murmured, lips dragging down your throat from behind. “Say you want me inside you.”
You heard it clearer this time. He might not be fully compelled but the aphrodisiac from your bite was still flowing inside him. But beneath the manic frenzy, hidden behind the veil of his rough words and rough hands, you didn’t miss it… his desire. His desperation. For you.
So you spoke what he couldn’t bring himself to say, your voice spilling into the night like a confession.
Not a plea. A recognition.
“I want you, Satoru… I can’t help it.”
A hitch in his breath. A tremor in his grip. A ripple of unseen power, stirring like a beast awakened.
“You—” his voice frayed. “You’re—fuck.”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence as he twisted you around to lift you up, legs straddling him, and backed you up against the statue, pinning you tight against unyielding stone.
Yours mouths crashed together, a clash of tongue and teeth, the leash barely restraining the both of you snapping at last. Your hands were on him. His hands were on you. A melding of fire and ice, consuming one another with no end.
And with his tongue filling your mouth, he dropped you down on his cock.
You moaned into him, feeling him go deeper, and deeper still. Until you felt him everywhere. In your bones, in your breath. In the frantic, traitorous flutter you barely recognised as a pulse.
You shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t feel at all. Not for a human. Not for a slayer. Not for him. What you thought was hunger for his blood was—
He thrusted into you again, and you lost your train of thought. All that you were narrowed on the way his cock was stretching you out, so exquisitely, that you could only clench harder around him. As though your body had decided on its own that he belonged there.
“Why do you—” Satoru bit out, only to choke on a groan as your body clamped around him again like a vice. “Why the hell does this—why must you feel so fucking good—”
Eyes heavy-lidded, you peered up to find his gaze fixed on you. An incandescent blue that overwhelmed you, his pupil blown wide, hair tousled from your grip, dark red smears painted all over his neck.
And you realised what he already had. That he was ruined for you just as much as you were for him.
“You shouldn’t fit me like this.” His lips brushed against yours, so tender it jarred you. “You shouldn’t fit like you were made for me…”
A crackle in the air. A surge of—something bigger… ancient. Something inevitable—coiling between and around your bodies. Humming under your skin. Vibrating through your blood. Like a thread pulled taut. A door the both of you hadn’t meant to open.
Something binding.
Something was wrong.
Your kind didn’t pull. Your kind didn’t bind. Your kind didn’t—
Then Satoru was laughing. An incredulous, bitter laugh. “Oh, this is cruel... fate just loves to fuck with me.”
Before you could form a reply, he was fucking into you again. Harder this time. Relentless. A man possessed. Your fingers dug into his back, clawing against his tunic.
“S-Satoru—ahn!” You cried out his name. Over and over again as he impaled you, each deep, savage thrust obliterating your mind to dust. Ripping your soul from your body.
Release barrelled through you as he pushed you over the edge. A bottomless freefall that wiped your mind clean of anything save the explosive rush encompassing you in its totality. Then you felt him, warm and spilling into you with a final thrust.
But you didn’t let go. Neither did he. Your mouths found each other again, moving in a rhythm of pure instinct, long and slow, deep and searching for the very thing you could not yet name.
If you could, you would stay like this forever, with him buried inside you and the heat of his caresses against your tongue. Wrapped in his arms until your bodies became one.
And for the first time, you were not cold.
Then Satoru was pulling away.
Gently, he set you back down, and picked up his coat you just now noticed was lying in the snow. He threw it around your shoulders and pulled it closed, the heavy fabric settling over your bare chest where your dress hung in tatters.
He stepped back, and released a heavy breath.
“Go home, princess,” he said.
You didn’t think you heard him right. “You’re—you’re letting me leave?”
“There’s a vial in your right pocket.” He gestured at his coat around you. “It cancels out any spell’s effects. I was going to use it if you had succeeded in compelling me, but I guess you’ll need those wings if you want to make it back before sunrise. Megumi’s barrier enchantment answers to my will, so you should be able to cross the threshold now. Besides, I’d advice against walking—I dug up a lot of pits around the area.”
You stared at him.
He was serious. The look on his face confirmed it, for it was a look you could only recognise as utter defeat. After everything—your capture, his plan to lure your father, his repeated threats to kill you—he would just…send you off?
“Why?” you asked.
But Satoru was already retreating. He laughed, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “Now there’s a question that won’t do you any good if I answer.”
You watched him head back in the direction of his miserable, decaying manor.
Your feet moved before you could think.
“Wait—“ you called out. Saw him hesitate. “What if—what if I stayed?”
His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn around. His reply came too quick. To easily. “My, my, and here I am thinking you’re smarter than this.” He waved his hand, flippantly. “Game’s over, princess. Happy flapping.”
This was it. This was your cue to leave. But instead, you were moving faster, as if there was an invisible string tied around the both of you, connecting you together, and it was pulling you towards him.
You grabbed his arm, stopping him mid-stride. Satoru’s gaze darted to you, as if he hadn’t meant to but couldn’t help it.
You reached for his face, your palm resting softly against his cheek.
“If you’re going to lie, Satoru,” you said. “At least look at me while you do it.”
A flicker in his infinite blue eyes, and for once he looked… lost. Like he’d stopped fighting. Not surrender, but acceptance. Like he’d uncovered a terrible truth—a force he knew he could not win.
It was snowing. White flakes drifted down from the sky like a shower of feathers, as quiet as Satoru’s voice.
“Princess...” he said. “I—you’re my—“
The sky boomed.
Not thunder.
A voice.
A deafening roar that rattled the stars and shook the lands. The furious roar of a great beast smiting his ire down from the heavens.
A roar you could not mistake for any other.
“Satoru Gojo!” Sukuna’s menacing bellow echoed with the wind, and the night seemed to grow darker. “You thought I wouldn’t find you first?”
Your head snapped up to the sky, at what you could not see outside Megumi’s enchanted barrier.
You should be relieved. Your father had come to rescue you. He would kill the evil slayer and take you back to safety.
You held Satoru tighter.
Satoru spared one more second—just one—his eyes completely fixed on you, and in that glance, you saw his whole world. Everything he would not show you.
Then his mask slipped back on.
“Huh, daddy’s early,” Satoru said. “Doesn’t sound too happy, either.”
The sky wavered, like the billowing of an iridescent sheet, and began melting as the enchantment over the manor estate broke down bit by bit, the endless snowy plains beyond the threshold dissolving away. You saw the the iron gates, the spiked fences, the forest—
And descending from the sky—a great winged shadow that blotted out the night itself.
The ground trembled as Sukuna, all eight arms and four eyes, landed a few paces from you and Satoru. You also saw the shift in his expression. The cold, immortal fury morphing into a viciousness you had never seen in him before, as he beheld the sight of you and Satoru, bodies pressed up against each other, your hands still on his face.
But your father did not shout or snarl. He spoke, quiet as looming death, and it was worse.
“You took my daughter. You used her to threaten me. And now you dare defile her?” Both pairs of Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed on Satoru. “Have you been so desperate for my attention all these years that you would resort to such unscrupulous tricks?”
Satoru scoffed, and pulled away from you, striding forward. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? So I’d say it worked out fine. I should actually applaud you for finding me this quickly, and for breaking through my barrier. Now if you have no more use for Megumi, do inform your big, fat blood-sucking bird flying above my property to return my witch to me.”
You father’s mouth sliced upwards. “I see your perception has not dulled with age, Six Eyes. Though it will make no difference after I’m done with you.”
Another figure swooped down from the sky, pale and slender, dropping next to Sukuna.
“My king.” Uraume bowed, and then did the same to you. “Princess. I apologise for the wait.”
But you weren’t focused on any part of Uraume other than what they were holding. Bound with ropes, a gag in his mouth, was Megumi, dangling off the ground as Uraume held him up like hunted game.
“Has the Six Eyes agreed to the terms yet?” Uraume asked, flatly.
“I doubt he has a choice, unless he doesn’t mind me gutting his little witch and feeding its intestines to my hellhounds.”
“Father—“ you started, but cut yourself short before you said something damning. It was bad enough that you were wearing Satoru’s coat, and your father was a man who never missed a thing…and it’s implications. “I—he didn’t hurt me.”
All four of Sukuna’s eyes slid towards you, narrowing slightly, as if he saw right through your words. “We shall talk, daughter. But later. I have a bargain I wish to strike with the Six Eyes.”
Satoru’s laugh was humourless. “Bargain? I don’t recall inviting you over for tea and cakes. I called you here to kill you, King of the Night. To fight. One on one. Slayer and blood-sucker.”
Sukuna smirked. “But the battle has already begun, slayer. And you have already lost. Why do you think my daughter hasn’t tried to run to my side? Are you so obsessed with killing me that your Six Eyes can see nothing else?”
Satoru fists clenched. “You killed Suguru.”
“He burnt my wife on a pyre.”
You froze.
Your father had never spoken about your mother before. All this time, he’d led you to believe you were the product of an affair with a low-born vampire. That he’d abandoned her but took you in and raised you as his heir. You didn’t even know her name, if she was even alive and wandering about New Transylvania while you were growing up in a castle with an army of servants at your beck and call. That she’d died.
“You’ve been a thorn in my side, and menace to my kind for long enough, Six Eyes. It’s time to end this,” Sukuna said, the tips of his claws growing longer and longer to sharpened points. “Listen well, Satoru Gojo, because I will not be so generous if I have to repeat myself again. You will surrender yourself. Willingly. In exchange, I will not kill your little witch. You will be coming with me to my castle, where you will await your execution in front of all my subjects. Uraume will stay here until I have sent word. You will be dead by then, but the boy will be freed.”
What? Your body went rigid. No…
Megumi bit out a muffled protest and shook his head violently.
Your legs moved towards your father. Past Satoru, who didn’t stop you.
“There’s no need for this,” you said. “He was going to let me go when you arrived. Leave him here. We’ll go back home. He won’t come after us, I promise.”
Sukuna glanced down at you, his gaze softening momentarily. But he said, “I do not wish to perpetuate this blood feud any longer, and the only way this ends is with his death. You should have a clean slate when you ascend the throne.”
“I don’t want you to kill him—“
“Not here, daughter. Not now.”
“But I—he and I… I think he’s—“
“Fine,” you heard Satoru say behind you. He sighed. “Have it your way. But if I see Megumi in hell, I will personally come back as a very annoying ghost and haunt you for eternity, which is a long time for someone like you.”
You spun, a horrible pit forming in your stomach. “Don’t,” you said. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t—I can’t let you—“
But Satoru wouldn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he turned to Megumi, still gagged and bound, and said, “Remember to spell the roses. Don’t let them die.” Then he yawned, and stretched his arms over his head. “Alright, shall we get moving before I fall asleep? It’s been a long night.”
The entire castle was convinced you had gone mad.
The princess… reading? Surely you were not the same vampire they knew. The only times you’d ever stepped foot in the library was during lessons. Even then, you’d always convinced your tutors to conduct them in the gazebo, or while you strolled around your gardens, half listening to whatever they were droning on about. You had not seen a point in suffocating yourself among stale air and dusty tomes when you could be outside with the moon and stars.
That dastardly Six Eyes must have switched you with someone else, everyone thought. Their Crown Princess was gifted in many things—lounging, frolicking, taking long milk baths and ordering the servants around—but academics was not one of them.
So it was no wonder you had everyone perplexed, and frankly, immensely concerned, when you arrived back at the castle and proceeded to lock yourself up in the library every single night without fail. It had reached a point where you’d ordered for all of your meals to be taken there, and for a cot to be set up so you wouldn’t have to make the long trip back to your quarters when your eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.
Because, for once in your immortal existence, you had work to do. That, and you had to preoccupy yourself with something, anything, to keep you from agonising over the fact that Satoru was rotting away in the dungeons below.
Your father had given explicit orders that no one was to visit the Six Eyes until the Red Feast, which was to be the night of his execution. Not even to sneer or spit in his face. And no matter what you said, or how you said it, he wouldn’t change his mind.
But tonight would be different. You’d done your research. You’d combed through every text on humans, on slayers, on the history of vampires, from ancient scripts to tomes heavier than a tombstone to the most obscure spell books, until finally finding a thread to follow.
Slowly, laboriously, you put the pieces together. Slowly, you’d understood.
And now you would confirm it.
When you entered your father’s chambers, you saw that the thick drapes were pulled open. He was by the window, back towards you, already dressed in ceremonial attire. The pale crimson glow of the blood moon, hanging low in the sky outside, glinted off the rubies embedded into the crown he wore.
“We should have that talk,” you said, without greeting. He would have already guessed why you were here.
“It will have to wait.” He didn’t turn around. “The feast has begun. We have guests to entertain. You are to announce your chosen suitor tonight. The Zenin boy is dead, so I don’t expect it will be him. But it still doesn’t relieve you of the duty you must fulfil.”
“You are executing my bonded mate tonight, father. I think I deserve answers before you slice him in half.”
Sukuna stiffened slightly. “Are you certain you want to toss that term around so carelessly? Is this why you’ve taken a recent interest in books? I’d advice you not to trust everything you read.”
“Careless I may have been, but it is the truth. I cannot deny it. The same as I cannot deny an impending avalanche. He is my mate. You know this as well as I. Perhaps better.”
“And what makes you think I know anything about it?”
“Well, you should since you had one before. You had my mother. She was your mate, wasn’t she? Before you lost her. She may still be. I imagine a force this strong would be able to persist beyond death. It would explain why you’re always so sullen.”
“If you are hoping I will be persuaded into rescinding the execution, then I will have to disappoint you.”
“I am not hoping for anything. I swear to you I will do my duty and pick a suitor tonight. But first, I want answers.”
For a long while, Sukuna didn’t speak. Then he faced you, and nodded once. Barely. “Ask your questions,” he said. “And I will answer what befits answering.”
“Mother was human.”
“That is not a question.”
“And so am I. Not fully, but enough to… feel.”
“Still not a question.”
You approached him, peering up at his towering figure. “Those are facts, father. What I want to know is why—why would you deny me what completes my soul when you know what it’s like to have lost yours?”
You might have imagined it, but you thought you saw his expression soften. There and gone in less than a blink.
“Because it is not what we are designed for,” he said. “You are a vampire, daughter. You have been raised as one, and will continue to be one for eons. Until the world had crumbled to ashes and dust, and still you will prevail. Humans are fleeting. They only serve us one purpose. You’d do well to understand this.”
“But Satoru is not fully human too, is he?”
The corners of Sukuna’s eyes tightened. “I do not know what he is—perhaps a sorcerer, but those have been extinct a long, long time ago. What I know is that he is mortal enough. His life is finite. To be rid of him now is a mercy, before the attachment grows. In this, you should trust me.”
“It is already irrefutable, father.” You took one of his hands in yours. The one he always favoured using to stroke your hair when you were little. “Was my mother burnt for being attached to you? Because the humans—this Suguru—found out she was involved not only with a vampire, but with their king?”
You felt his hand tense. Then his fingers wrapped around yours, gently.
“Listen well, daughter, because I’m only going to say this once—“ Sukuna sighed, and it was the loosening of a breath you suspected he’d held in for a lifetime. “The last time I saw your mother was also the last time she saw you. We’d agreed that we would keep you away from anything to do with humans other than feeding on them. To have a relationship with your prey will only complicate things for you. But your mother could never stay away for long, so every few months, I’d visit her, and take her here. She would disguise herself as a servant and watch you from afar for a few hours. Then I would bring her back to the village before dawn. But on the last night—before she was condemned to die—a slayer saw her. Saw me with her. I wanted to go after the slayer, but she assured me nothing would come of it. She believed no harm would befall her because she was human. I shouldn’t have listened. That is the story. Satisfied?”
He let go of your hand and began striding out the room. “Come. We want to be fashionably late, but not rudely so.”
You followed after him. “So I’m not wrong. You can feel, too.”
A quiet scoff.
“Stare at something too long, daughter, and you will find it stares back.”
Satoru was brought out in chains.
You hadn’t spoken to anyone since gracing the court with your presence, and had remained brooding in the throne beside your father’s on the elevated dias. Besides the occasional nod, all you did was stare at the roses in the garden—the customary location for the Red Feast—and the moon crowning the night sky, painted the same shade as the flowers you adored.
Your mercurial demeanour did not go unnoticed, though no one dared comment on it. Especially in front of Sukuna, lest they wanted to end up staked in front of the castle gates. They must have assumed you were not too thrilled about having to pick another suitor since Naoya was no more. It was no secret that he’d been the closest candidate to becoming the prince consort.
But the moment the music stopped, you sat up straighter.
Two guards appeared, dragging Satoru through the hush of the parting crowd towards the dias. Heavy manacles bound his wrists and ankles. He was still in the same clothes from that night, now soiled and marred with dungeon filth, his snowy hair limp and matted against his head.
It seemed your father had succeeded in making the infamous Six Eyes look as pathetic as possible on his last night alive, at least in appearance. But where he’d lost was in Satoru’s expression, for there was nothing pathetic about the resolve in his blue eyes.
Eyes that immediately, implicitly, found yours as he was made to kneel at the foot of the dias.
A corner of his lips curved upwards.
“Good evening,” he said, gaze fixed entirely on you. “Nice place you’ve got here—beautiful.”
It took everything in you not to shoot up from your seat and run to him. You were clutching the armrests of the throne so hard that the wood started cracking.
And the court must have seen it, because they took your reaction as their cue to hiss and jeer.
“He is distressing the princess!” someone shouted.
“Scum!”
“Rot in hell!”
“Kill him!”
“Enough,” Sukuna said.
The silence that followed was instantaneous.
Sukuna stood, and approached the edge of the dias in a single stride to peer down at Satoru. Your father had never been one to drag a moment with long speeches, preferring to cut straight to the crux of the matter. In this, he was no different.
“I won’t ask if you have any last words, because they are not important,” he said, cold and imperious. “What matters is that with your death, we shall finally have some semblance of peace.”
Sukuna held out his hand. Another guard appeared, hurrying up the dias with a large case, and from it, your father pulled out a simple longsword.
A sword with a blade of silver.
Gasps escaped the gathered court, more than a few retreating back a few steps.
Sukuna ignored them, and continued. “You will die tonight, Six Eyes, by the very weapon slayers like you use to kill our kind.” He stepped down the dias. “Guards, prepare him.”
You watched as Satoru was forced to bend over on his knees. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear anything past the roaring storm in your head, the pounding in your chest. You tore your gaze from Satoru to the blade your father was raising high in the air, positioned for a clean cut.
“Let’s get it over with,” Sukuna said.
He brought the blade down.
“Wait!”
The blade halted, inches from Satoru’s neck.
You were standing.
Your father was looking at you, and so was every member of the court.
Satoru was looking at you.
You willed your voice to steady, and spoke. “I have decided on who is to be my betrothed, father. I wish to announce it.”
Sukuna frowned. “It can wait until after the execution.”
“No. It cannot.”
Your body was moving down the dias, then in front of the silver sword and your father.
“It cannot wait,” you said, “because I choose to be betrothed to Satoru Gojo.”
The escalation happened gradually. For awhile, the only sound was the wind as confusion washed through the entire court. They weren’t sure if they heard you right, only for realisation to hit like a hailstorm when you bent down and took Satoru’s face in your hands.
Ever so gently, you stroked his cheek.
“You’re right,” you whispered. “You and me—we were planned all along.”
Satoru stared at you, and in his eyes, you saw his ruination.
His lips parted. “Princess, I—“
“Traitor!”
Someone had stepped out of the crowd. Naobito Zenin. Head of the Zenin clan of vampires, and Naoyo’s father.
“The princess is a traitor,” he seethed, jabbing a finger at you. “Now it makes sense. You think I’d accept that my son, a Zenin, would be killed so easily? She must have conspired with the Six Eyes to murder him. How else can a slayer known to be so incompetent kill so many of us? The princess was never captured. She was helping him. This whole time, she was fraternising with the enemy!”
His accusation seemed to embolden the crowd. Cries of protests resounded through the garden, and now that head of the second most powerful vampire family had denounced you in front of the king, the others were suddenly much braver.
“Is this how you raised your daughter, King of the Night?” Naobito growled. “To turn against her own kind? To betray us for becoming a slayer’s whor—”
But Sukuna’s own growl shook the very cliff holding his castle.
“You dare slander my daughter, Zenin?” Your father was no longer calm. “Open that despicable mouth of yours again and I will fill your throat with silver.”
Naobito dared laugh. “You will do nothing of the sort. She may be your daughter, but she’s just signed her own existence to dust. Or is our king not familiar with the law he created himself? Vampires are forbidden from fornicating with humans, on pain of death. She may be a princess, but she is not exempted from it.”
“He is my mate,” you hissed.
That shut Naobito up. But for only a second. Then his face morphed into something hideous. “You are smarter than I took you for—using our most sacred law to hide behind. There hasn’t been a bond amongst our kind in centuries, and even if it is true, merely declaring it will not save you and your human.”
“That is not what I’m declaring, you swine piss. You forget I also named him my betrothed.”
“Irrelevant. Our law forbids a human to sit on the throne—“
“God,” Satoru’s voice cut him short. “You vampires bicker more than my dead grandmother.” He was still on the ground, the manacles around his ankles keeping him from standing, but he straighten up as much as he could. “Look, there’s a simple way to solve this. Just do what you were going to do before and kill me. There, settled. Now you can all stop fighting over me. I will die, and the princess can go back to being a princess. Happy?”
“No.” You knew what he was trying to do, and you wouldn’t let him. You faced your father. “I do not expect you to break your own laws for me, father. So I will adhere to them,” you said. “Line six hundred sixty three to six hundred sixty six, passage thirty three, volume six of the First Scripture—if a bond is in doubt, then the bonded has the right to prove it by invoking the Sun Trial, after which the claimed bond cannot be refuted should they succeed.”
Sukuna said nothing while he studied you, mouth drawn in a tight line. But you’d caught it—the slight twitch at the corners, something almost akin to approval. He exhaled, quietly, then glanced at the guards.
“Release the human.”
Naobito’s fangs flashed. “This is treachery. I will not stand for this—“
“It is in our laws,” Sukuna interrupted. “Laws that you’ve been proclaiming to know better than me. Are you going to dismiss them now, Zenin?”
“The slayer is still human, and the princess has still committed treason. If you are too weak to strike your own daughter down, then I will do it for you.”
Sukuna’s eyes darkened, but he did not stoop to Naobito’s taunt. “By all means, kill her if you want,” he said. “But you will have to hunt her down first, in accordance with the Sun Trial. As for the human—“
The manacles around Satoru’s wrists had barely touched the ground when Sukuna stepped forward and, in one swift motion, pierced the silver blade through his stomach.
Satoru’s eyes widened as he stared down at the blade pulling out of him. Stared at the dark gush of blood, pooling. Dripping onto the snow-covered ground before his own body fell, collapsing.
“No…” Everything in you shattered. “No, no, no…”
You dropped down next to Satoru. You were calling his name. Using your hands to staunch the blood, but it was futile.
“The Six Eyes has received his punishment,” Sukuna declared. “The Sun Trial is now commenced. The Crown Princess and her mate will have to survive until the next nightfall, after which their bond will be recognised, and their union protected by our most sacred law. In the meantime, all vampires, from any status, will have free reign to hunt them down until dawn breaks.” He tossed the blade aside. “On your feet, daughter.”
You were shaking. You glared up at your father. “I will never forgive you for this.”
But Sukuna only peered down, cold and imperious.
“You do not need to,” he said. “Now run.”
At his words, you moved on instinct.
You shifted. Your wings unfurled.
Then you were hauling Satoru up into the sky.
You were going to die.
“There,” you said, dragging Satoru behind a dense copse of trees. “We can’t stay long. You’re going to bleed out if we don’t get you to the village soon.”
“I’m… fine…”
“You’re dying, Satoru.”
“Dying… not dead…”
Gently, you leaned him against a tree trunk, and crouched down next to him. You tore more fabric off your skirt and added to the blood-soaked wrappings around Satoru’s stomach.
Satoru winced as you knotted it tightly over his wound. His lips were pale, his breaths shallow and struggling.
“You should go,” he said, finally stringing his sentences better now that he was resting.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“We won’t reach the village… you know this.”
You did, but you wouldn’t accept it. You pressed your hands against his stomach, applying more pressure. “We’ll find a way,” you said.
Flying was out of the question. The sky was infested with vampires. The entire court was out hunting for you, and if you so much as flapped your wings, they would surround you and that would be it.
The only option was by foot. To dart between the cover of the forest, but darting implied you could move quickly, which wasn’t the case given Satoru’s worsening condition.
His eyes were falling shut.
You slapped his face.
“Don’t you dare close them,” you warned him, panicking. “Not now that I’ve carried your sorry ass halfway through this fucking forest.”
A weak chuckle. “A kiss would’ve been better.”
“I’ll kiss you after we’re done with this blasted trial. That way you’ll have something to look forward to.”
“What if… I say please?”
You hesitated, the thing in your chest you now recognised as your heart, twisting.
You leaned in, and brushed your lips against his.
Satoru caught your mouth, deepening the kiss, and you couldn’t help but part for him. For his tongue to sweep in and claim you, long and slow, tender and painfully desperate.
“Like heaven…” he breathed.
You stroked his cheek. “We should get going.”
“I think... I’ll stay here.”
“I told you I’m not—”
“Listen…”
“No. I’m helping you up. We’re going to keep moving—”
“I said listen…” He tilted his head up, and you realised then what he meant.
Because you heard it, too.
The lack of sound. No more flapping wings. No more screeching.
The sky was silent.
Which only meant one thing.
Satoru’s gaze met yours again. “You have to go…”
But you’d known this would happen. Your plan hadn’t been to reach the village, but to get him as close as possible before sunrise. You’d perish, but at least there was a higher chance another human would pass through and find him.
You steeled yourself, and took his arm. “Come on.”
“Princess—“
“Stop being so stubborn. How many times do I have to repeat that I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“I’m not… the stubborn one here…”
“Move, Satoru.”
But he refused, slumping his weight down further against the tree trunk.
“I said move!”
“You move…”
“You stupid, stupid fool!” You wanted to slap him again, but then you thought he might just keel over and die just to prove a point. You dropped back down on the ground. “Fine. Stay if you want. So will I.”
He choked out a laugh. “Am I…so irresistible?”
“You are annoying, that’s what.”
“Come here…”
You let him wrap you in his arms, careful to lean against him where you were sure he wouldn’t hurt. Snow was falling, the shadows of the forest shrinking as you sat with Satoru in silence. You sensed the uneven beat of his pulse slowing.
“What is it like?” you asked. “The sun?”
“Nothing… compared to you.”
“You have to say that. We are bonded.”
“We don’t have to be… for me to think you’re… beautiful…”
You brushed away the hair on his face, and your fingers continued tracing down his jaw, over his lips, as if memorising very line and curve of the man you were supposed to kill. The human who was supposed to be your prey. The slayer you were supposed to despise. The mortal you were never supposed to give up eternity for.
“Well, Satoru Gojo,” you whispered. “You’ve done it. You’ve vanquished me.”
His breaths were slow, the lids of his eyes heavy. But he smiled. “How cruel of me.”
A pale, golden glow broke through the trees. You stared at it, entranced, watching the snow covering the forest floor shimmer. Watched the skeletal branches of the barren trees lighten, the texture on the barks growing defined.
You watched the sunlight, and it was everything you’d imagined it to be.
You skin started to prickle.
Then it was searing.
You crumpled inwards. Your whimpers turned into cries into screams. It was like being tossed into a flaming hearth. Like having the constant lick of fire against your skin, eating you to the bone.
The pain… it was excruciating.
You didn’t notice Satoru shifting until he was on top of you. Until the burning ebbed slightly and you found his body curled over your own. In that moment, you realised why he hadn’t wanted to move. With his own broad frame, and the shadows casted by the closely packed trees, he’d created a shield for you.
But light was ever fluid, and it leaked into the crevices of your shelter. Biting. Gnawing. Like the scraping of a candle flame against the bare spots of your skin.
“Be still,” Satoru breathed. “Or it will… be worse.”
“It hurts…”
“You’ll be alright… you have… me…” He pulled you in tighter underneath him. “Talk to me… tell me something…”
He was trying to distract you, but you couldn’t think past the burning.
“I’ll go first,” he said. “The night we met… I think I was already in love with you, but I… I couldn’t admit it… After Suguru’s death, I went mad… Megumi… he warned me against it, but I… wouldn’t listen… I sneaked into Sukuna’s castle… and saw you…”
It was too painful to speak, so you just whimpered.
Satoru continued, “You were in the garden… in a red dress surrounded by red roses… and I think… I made up that plan partly to… give myself an excuse to see you again… to keep coming back…”
He told you about the first time he saw you fly. That he’d almost ran out of his hiding place when he saw you throw yourself out a window, and then almost given himself away a second time when he heard you laughing as you swooped up into the sky. So beautiful. So free.
He also told you about the first time he saw you feed, and how he realised he could never have you. That he had planted roses in his own garden to remind himself you had thorns. That you were his enemy. That he tried to hate you, everyday, but always ended up failing spectacularly.
The sunlight was blinding now, seeping through your lids and frying your eyeballs. Your muscles were screaming, your bones were melting, your body a shaking ball of flame beneath him.
Every time you thought this was it, Satoru would tell you to hold on. Every time you were about to give in and start flailing, Satoru would tell you it was almost over. Just a little while more, he’d say. The sun was coming down, he’d promised.
Somewhere in between, the agony and the solid weight of his body had melded together, and you could no longer tell one from the other. Time was an unending void, and the lure of death was tasting much, much sweeter.
But then the light began to wane. The scorching brightness behind your eyes dimmed. The flames scorching you alive eased to sweltering to prickling to a cool, winter’s breeze that had you doubting if you were still of this world.
Your eyes squinted open, and the dark veil of night greeted you once again.
“S-Satoru?” you croaked out.
He didn’t answer. You didn’t remember when he’d stopped speaking, and you were suddenly conscious of his full weight pressing down on you.
Struggling, you slowly lifted him off you. His body fell limp on the snow, and your hands were on him.
“Satoru,” you shook him. “Satoru, wake up. It’s night.”
Silence.
“Wake up.”
You shook him harder.
“Wake up!”
Nothing.
You stared at him, and there would never be anything more profound than that of your heart shattering.
“I thought you were beautiful, too,” you whispered, stroking his face. Skin was peeling off your hands like scrolls of burnt parchment, brittle and grey, but you were numb to everything but him.
You leaned down, and spoke against his still lips.
“Whatever I have been searching for in the skies, I now know it is you.” You kissed him. “Please, come back to me.”
You felt it then. The whisper of a pulse. Barely there. A thread away from snapping.
He was still alive.
You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers morphed into claws, tearing into your skin.
Red, dark and fresh, streamed down your palm. You held up his head, parted his lips, and let your blood flow into his mouth, down his throat.
And you waited. For his pulse to stop and the thread of his mortal life to snap, and when it did, the change was immediate.
His fair skin, once the dull, matted tint of a human’s, took on the pale, ethereal sheen of moonlight. His stark white hair was glossier, thicker, the lines of his handsome face sharpening to an incredible definition, and there behind his parting lips—thin and pointed and drenched with your blood—were the beginnings of fangs.
A cough. A splutter.
Blue eyes fluttered awake, peering up at you. And they were now a blue so impossible, it drowned you.
“So it is done.”
The voice who spoke did not belong to Satoru, but to the immortal who had appeared, as silent as death itself.
The night seemed to bend around your father as he stepped towards you.
“The Sun Trial had ended, and so has this ridiculous feud,” Sukuna said, crimson eyes settling on you and Satoru. “You have made your choice, daughter. And now, he will make his.”
Satoru sat up, still dazed. He stared at you, then at Sukuna, then at himself—at the subtle glow of his skin, the new movement his hands made as he turned them in front of his face, at the wound on his stomach, no longer bleeding. His gaze found yours again.
“You—you turned me into—“
“She did you a favour, slayer,” Sukuna said. “You would have died either way—I made sure of it. And you are not a vampire yet until you have fed.”
“I did not ask for this.”
“Then go ahead and die for all I care. Do you really think it is so simple to become one of us? If it was the case, there would be many more of us and less of you.”
Sukuna tossed a vial of red liquid onto the snow.
“A vampire can only turn a human once in their entire existence, and my daughter has, for better or worse, chosen you. I cannot fathom why—she’s always had bad taste in men—but in doing so, you now have a luxury even kings cannot claim.” He gestured at the vial. “So choose. Do your treasure your mortality so much you would die for it, or do you treasure my daughter more than life?”
But your father’s words swam in your head.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you said, fixing him with a look that dared him to deny it. “You waited to execute Satoru so I would find a way to save him. You rearranged the books in the library knowing I would come across the Sun Trial and invoke it. You stabbed him with that sword knowing I would choose to turn him.”
Sukuna merely regarded you, calmly, and said, “If you believe I would go to such lengths for you, my daughter, then I will take it as a compliment.” But you saw the tell-tale sign in his jaw. The feather of a twitch.
There was no point in wringing it out of your father, so instead, you took Satoru’s hands in yours.
“Despise me if you must,” you said. “Whatever you choose, I will accept it—I will accept it if you take the blood and leave me. I will accept it if you don’t and leave me. But what I cannot accept is not telling you that I love you. I will never stop. You are the shape of my soul, until I am beyond dust. Until time unending.”
Snow fell in the space between you and him. Satoru looked at you, quietly. Completely. For a long while, he didn’t speak.
Then he sighed. “Megumi’s going to throw a fit.”
Satoru pulled you against him, and like the force that drew you hopelessly together, your mouths found one another, and it was a kiss to end all that was before, and all that would come after. There was only him and you, and two halves of a desperate wish finally becoming whole.
“My princess,” he murmured against your lips. “You are the cruelest of them all—making me love you for eternity.”
“Do you not want to?”
“I cannot help it.”
You smiled, and kissed him again.
Sukuna cleared his throat. “If you are done slobbering all over my daughter, slayer, then get it over with. I have other pressing matters than standing here and regretting I didn’t separate your head from your body.”
Satoru simply stuck out his hand.
“Then toss the vial over here, old man. As you can see, the princess is clearly incapable of letting me go just yet.”
It was a time of peace, at least for the humans. The legend of the supposedly incompetent yet deadly Six Eyes had become exactly that—a legend.
New Transylvania had a vampire prince. A prince who only drank donated blood, and only from his jewel-encrusted goblet. A prince who carried a silver sword around, impaling any immortal who dared step foot across the village borders. A prince whom the vampire king received complaints about to no end. A prince who, everyone and the king himself knew, they would be stuck with for the rest of time, because their beloved (unless one wanted to be staked) princess loved him with all her heart.
And it was glaringly obvious the prince loved her in return, because he made sure to remind everyone of it—the court, the servants, the guards, and any unlucky creature who had the misfortune of hearing them. Every. Single. Night.
“That’s it, princess. God, you’re so fucking tight I’m going crazy,” he groaned as he pounded you against the library stacks. “Go on, let them know who your perfect pussy belongs to.”
“Ahn! Yes! Satoru—fuck—fuck me harder!”
“Who’s cock do you love? Say it.”
“I love Satoru Gojo’s cock!”
It would continue like this for hours, sometimes until dawn, rendering whatever room or hallway the both of you were fucking in completely inaccessible. And if it was out in the gardens, then the castle occupants had the option to stay indoors, or stay outside and have Sukuna pluck out their eyes later.
Eventually, when even the king’s own ears were staring to bleed, he was forced to hold an intervention with you and Satoru, to establish certain boundaries. Those boundaries being sending the both of you away to torture Megumi instead at Satoru’s estate every fortnight.
“After you, my love.” Satoru was grinning as he held out a hand.
You took it, and let him help you up the tower’s ledge. Felt his arms winding around your waist, pressing your back against him.
His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Shall I catch you?”
“You’re not fast enough.”
“Really? Then I suppose you’ve conveniently forgotten about all the other times I was.”
“Not tonight.” You smiled as you pushed him away, and leapt off the ledge.
You heard his laughter follow behind.
Wings spread, you soared up high, and chanced a look back.
Only to find him swerving around and in front of you with swift, leathery wings. But unlike your own—the colour of smoke and shadows—his were silvery white, pale as the moon that watched him pull you against him in the air.
He kissed you, deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Like the infinite times he did before and the infinite times he would after.
“It’s not so bad,” he whispered.
“What is?”
A million stars gleamed in his impossible blue eyes. Satoru smiled.
“Forever.”
thank you for reading to the end ilyyy! i originally intended for this fic to be short, but then i caught worldbuilding disease and now it's a whole soulmate arc >.< what do you think? i'd love to know your thoughts ♡
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You were friends with him from birth - the boy across the street, Satoru Gojo. However, you lose touch in college, but finally you're going to the same school! You have a love letter written, but you find Satoru - the football captain - is dating the top cheerleader. And she hates you. You're the girl who doesn't really get noticed, the girl in the bleachers playing the clarinet, watching Satoru score a touchdown and kiss his girlfriend. It hurts, but you try to stay uninvolved, but you're watching the boy you knew hurt. Can the two of you have a friendship anymore, and does he feel the same way as you?
pairings - football star! gojo x band geek! reader
warnings - light angst, college au, mutual pining, lost friendship, friends to lovers, Satoru's dating a bitch named Sarah, she gaslights our pookie </3 mentions of manipulation, popularity issues, reader is a lil band geek (I gave her glasses sry if that's not immersive but some of us are blind lmao) eventual smut, sexual tension.
This is absolutely based on the T Swift song <3 Part of @indiewritesxoxo series event! there will likely be four parts of this ;)
art by @/Jan on X!
part one
You've been in love with your neighbor Satoru Gojo for as long as you can remember.
You've also been his best friend even longer - there are photos of Gojo kissing your cheek at three years old in an album your mom has somewhere. You both practically grew up together, and shared everything - whether it was his most precious Digimon cards, or the cutest Pokemon figures you could find.
Endless movies on the weekends, mall trips in high school, hitting the comic cons as you grew on to college, and that's when you both really drifted apart a bit.
College.
Satoru went to the dorms at a University where you stayed home with your family doing community, but every holiday he would come back, and the two of you caught up on old times.
Now you finally got into the same university, so you were excited to spend more time with your best friend.
Yes, you love him, and no doesn’t know. His friendship was just too important to you, the one that survived every breakup he had, and the one you had too, every tragedy and loss, he was there.
Yet it all changed, when you realized Satoru Gojo wasn't really the sweet nerdy boy you grew up with, no he was a football captain, and he happened to be dating the head of the cheerleading team. Your first meeting with her was... interesting to say the least.
"Hey sweet- I mean hey," Gojo corrected himself, earning a glare from the pretty brunette on his arm, smiling abashedly at you now. "This is my best friend since like birth."
"Oh, I've heard about you," she said, holding a hand out with a nasty little sneer. "I see you’re in marching band, so cute, you and your little flute, hmm?"
You blink a bit, almost stepping back like you were smacked, standing in the field surrounded by everyone practicing for the game tonight. You look at Satoru who is frowning just a bit, the light hitting his pretty blue eyes and reflecting, you get lost in them for a moment, before taking her hand.
“It’s a clarinet.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she's snickering.
Her nails are elegantly done, yours are fucked up and chewed from nerves. She has pretty rings on all her fingers, really all of her is gorgeous, including her form in the little cheer outfit that showcases it all. It's no wonder he'd find her beautiful, she is.
Yet something about her...
"Aren't you going to say hi back?" She snaps, you blink a bit, and Satoru clears his throat.
"She's shy," he says, smiling affectionately at you and patting your head, like you're a little puppy. "How have you been? I miss you."
"I miss you too, um..." you hold your clarinet with both hands, nervously pressing on the little silver buttons. "I'm sorry, my head is in outer space. It's lovely to meet you too."
She smiles, this cold one that doesn't quite meet her eyes, before clinging to Satoru tightly, kissing his cheek, he wraps an arm around her, and the sight of his big hand on her waist almost makes you sick. Why?
You've seen Gojo with several girls over the years, he was very popular once he got to about junior year of high school, but you stayed very much the 'nerd' friend. That was okay though, with Gojo you just could be her, you could be the girl playing clarinet versions of pokemon songs as he played his guitar terribly, until you both made such a ruckus your parents yelled at you all.
He was just a little different with her, you see his tense smile as she trails her hand up his jersey right in front of you, showcasing a hint of sculpted abdominals that makes your heart race. You avert your eyes, but Gojo grips her wrist, pausing her touches quickly.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly in her ear. “Not here.”
“Why?” She giggles, usually Gojo enjoys her touches of course, but it’s just rude to do it especially in front of a friend he hasn’t gotten to hardly see in months.
God you look cute too, in this little blue band uniform and an insanely tall black hat that clips around your chin. You have a new pair of glasses he notices, you’re about as blind as he is, though Gojo wears contacts due to the football playing, he still has his own glasses at night. They’re a cute blue, bringing out all the shades in your eyes.
Your cast down eyes, currently. He suddenly feels a longing to know how you’ve been, he’s been shit at keeping up with you back home. Studies, football, friends and endless frat events, it all has been too much, sometimes he barely gets time to do the little things you and him used to do, to enjoy his time.
Her touch hits again, so he firmly removes her hand, kissing it and smiling. She was clingy as fuck lately, but if he didn’t give her attention she just tended to be so spiteful and mean, he tried to keep up with it.
“You’re so cute,” she giggles now to him. “You all knew each other for years?”
“Mhm,” you say softly, eyeing their hands now, averting your gaze again. “Since we were in pull ups.”
“You remember that picture where you’re wearing pull ups on your head?”
“Hah, that was you!”
“Nope,” Gojo is grinning and so are you, his girlfriend tugs away, glaring right in your direction, making you freeze up.
“You two are awfully close,” she says now, scoffing as she studies you up and down. “What could you have in common?”
“Um…” You aren’t used to this, someone scrutinizing you – you are socially awkward at times, but your friend group is diverse. “We have a lot in common.”
“In what world?”
“Sarah,” Gojo says softly. “You’re not being very friendly.”
“Well you don’t need to hang out with girls at all,” Gojo blinks a bit, white brows drawing in confusion. “I’m sorry, but you don’t.”
“You have plenty of male friends.”
“Not ones who eye fuck me.”
You gasp, blinking back tears and stepping back then. “Seriously!?”
“Well she is,” you feel tears slip down your cheeks now, and she laughs just a bit. “Aw, are you crying?”
“You’re just very rude,” you manage to say then, sniffling a bit. “I don’t even know what ‘eye fuck’ means, but I wouldn’t disrespect a relationship. I need to finish practicing, good to see you Gojo.”
You run off and Sarah is all over him again, arms wrapped on his neck – what was once attractive feels suffocating, he glares down at her. “The fuck is that, aren’t you miss popularity? I’ve never seen you be mean to a girl.”
“She clearly has it bad for you, and I don’t like competition,” she says with a shrug, but then pouts. “Are you mad at me, Satoru?”
“I’m irritated,” her eyes fill with tears then. “You should just trust me.”
“I do! I don’t trust her, she just looks at you like… like she’s in love,” he sighs, shaking his head. “She does.”
“She’s important to me, I want you to get along with her, okay?”
Sarah glares a bit then, trailing her fingers down Satoru’s chest. “Oh? I should get along with her?”
“It means a lot, she’s very close to me,” he eyes you then and wants to disentangle himself, to hug you. It’s been months and he was so excited for you to join his school, only for your first impression to be terrible.
But Sarah is his girlfriend and it’s been a year together. He usually thought she hung the fucking stars in the sky, he’s never seen a side of her like this.
“I can’t help but be jealous, baby,” she says, lips against his ear. “How can I not be, when I have the hottest guy in school?”
“Uh huh,” her teeth nip his ear as you catch his gaze, eyes unreadable, quickly focusing on setting up your music book and stand. It topples over and crashes, a couple people help you, but Sarah laughs.
“She’s a clumsy thing, huh?”
You are, but it’s cute. The amount of times he’d cleaned up your cuts and helped your bruises was hard to count, but you just were that way – uncoordinated, where Satoru was the picture of coordination. It always balanced itself out, he’d catch you before you’d just careen over something, and you were a little better at school, you’d always helped him study.
A big reason he got university was his family of course, but also the grades you helped him get. You not being able to go immediately had hurt him, he can’t think of all the nights he missed you – he’d spend time away from the frat parties just to text you in his room, smiling.
If Gojo admits it to himself, he used to have a terrible crush on you, so bad in fact it was hard to even date other girls, without comparing it to his best friend. But he never wanted to ruin what both of you had, so he never acted on it. He still can feel it, the way his heart raced when he saw you again, how happy he fucking was, but that made him feel terrible.
He was dating Sarah after all.
A fact he was happy about until she was not nice to you.
“I didn’t tell you, I started taking the pill,” Satoru blushes at her bold comment in the middle of a fucking full field.
“Okay… um…”
“We could not use protection tonight, there’s an after party,” she giggles again, and he pulls back. “You’re blushing!”
“You’re talking about that right here? We can talk about that later, okay?” He tilts her chin up now. “After party, huh? You really wanna go, I was hoping to catch that movie before it’s over.”
“The Digimon movie? Gojo, you can’t be serious.”
You overhear a bit of their conversation as you’re cleaning your instrument, preparing the reed, your friend Shoko is setting up her sax, smiling at you. “Baby, you good?”
“I think so,” you murmur, looking back where Gojo is. “Do you know his girlfriend well?”
“She’s a bitch,” Utahime snorts in laughter right next to her. “She is!”
“You’re savage,” Utahime says, prepping her instrument as Nanami looks at them with a raised brow. “Do you like Sarah, Nanami?”
“No, but bitch is rather… crude,” he mumbles, smiling at you then. “How have you been? We missed you.”
“I’m doing really good, I’m so excited to be back with you guys,” he ruffles your hair like Gojo did, it’s how they treat you, like the cute little best friend. “Nanami, you're playing drums now?”
“Mhm, I still play the sax a bit though.”
“He taught me a lot,” Shoko blows into it a bit, and you swoon.
“Oh that’s sexy!”
They all laugh a bit, and Gojo hears it, looking longingly at his group of friends that everyone considers ‘band geeks’ and of course Shoko and Hime are very ‘theater kid’ as well. Gojo at times doesn’t feel like he fits into the ‘jock/frat’ thing aside from his friend Geto on the team with him. He loves sports but of course his parents really were the reason he got into it.
They’re at every game, so excited, he can’t break their hearts and not do it, plus Gojo really does enjoy football, and the thrill of being the best at it.
Yet part of him wishes he was over there at that moment.
“Please come to the party? We’ll even invite your little friend!” Gojo frowns a bit at that. “I’ll apologize, okay?”
“Please,” she kisses his lips, pressing her breasts against his chest. “Mmm… I like that perfume.”
“I bought it for you,” she giggles and then bounces off. “Let me make it right!”
Geto comes up to Gojo then, tossing him a foot ball, Gojo catches it with one hand, letting it fly back – the bright lights kick on as the dusk sets, tonight is the big game and they’re all trying to get a little practice in. “You see she’s here, right?”
“She is,” Gojo smiles. “I missed her.”
“Me too,” Geto tosses it back in the air with a whirl, Gojo catches it despite looking at you again. “So… I think I might ask her out.”
“Huh!?” Gojo misses the next catch, landing right in his face. “Shit!”
“That was an easy toss, you good?” Suguru runs over, Gojo winces and touches his nose. “Distracted much?”
“I guess,” his heart hammers in his chest, at the thought of anyone really with you but especially his other best friend. “What do you mean, ask her out?”
“I have always liked her,” Geto admits, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling at you, earning a cute wave of your fingers and a smile. “I never asked her back in the day because I was so convinced you were in love with her.”
“I… huh!? You… I…” Satoru can’t say a word then, just focusing on you, trying to hear what Sarah is saying.
“So I’m sorry I came off so rude, I just love Satoru so much,” she says, you look down. “I didn’t realize you’re just his friend. Like a sister to him and all!”
Kill me now.
It’s all you can think as she talks, and your friends around you tense. “It’s so obvious now he doesn’t like you that way, I was just being silly.”
“Uh huh,” you bite down on your lower lip, looking back at the pretty girl who’s bent down, hands on her thighs, eyeing Nanami.
“Hey there Ken.”
“It’s not Ken,” he mumbles, she just giggles, flirtatious as fuck, surprising you considering she has fucking Gojo.
“Why’d you quit football, hmm?”
“Interfered with my studies more than band,” he ignores her now, you can’t help but smile as she glares at him. “Don’t you have cheer to do?”
“Well I am the captain, so I decide when we do anything,” she giggles again. “Two captains together, isn’t it romantic?”
“Like a shitty 2000’s romcom,” Shoko chimes in, Sarah glares, but Shoko just smiles at her. “What are you doing over at the ‘band geeks’ as you call us?”
“You’re nasty as always,” she crosses her arms, stepping too close to you as you sit on the bleachers. “Anyway, I want you to come to the party tonight, as a show of my amazing good will and all.”
Everyone snorts in laughter.
“Um, nothing to apologize for,” you say softly, eyeing Gojo, who has his gaze affixed on you both. Surely he’s just looking at Sarah, and you’re being foolish. You have to get along with her, if she’s important to Gojo, you can’t let dumb feelings make you act up. “I’ll be glad to go tonight.”
“Yay!” She claps her hands, grinning all pretty. “Oh I’m so excited to get to know you, girl to girl. You can spill details about young Satoru hehe.”
You smile, attempting to be friendly, but something about her gives you a terrible feeling. You hope it’s not just your jealousy. “I’ll see you there, then.”
“Perfect, bye losers, by Ken.”
“Not fucking Ken,” he glares as she blows him a kiss, running off, Shoko rolls her eyes.
“That’s Satoru’s girlfriend, huh?” You ask softly, they all sigh and nod. “It just seems nothing like him?”
“He’s changed,” Shoko says. “Not inside – he’s still a nerdy little shit, but outwardly he’s… just different.”
“I see,” you murmur, watching as he talks with Geto, but Sarah throws herself into his arms, legs literally wrapping his hips. He almost stumbles back, catching her with his long fingers pressing into toned thighs. “They’re very um…”
“Gross?”
“Affectionate,” Nanami snorts a bit. “They seem cute together.”
“Uh huh.” Clearly, Sarah is not popular with them, but you see Geto run up then, looking handsome in his uniform, you stand and he hugs you tightly.
“Suguru!”
“It’s been forever,” his amethyst eyes light up a bit as he smiles at you. “How have you been? You look great.”
“Oh! You’re so sweet,” you flush, wondering how Gojo thought you did look, he didn’t say of course. But with a girl like Sarah all over him, you’re sure he doesn’t see you as anything but a ‘sister. It stung, but she was right. “You look great too. I can’t believe you and Satoru are football stars.”
“He’s definitely more the star, but I can’t wait to see you perform.”
“Aww!” You grin all pretty at him now, pushing up your glasses a bit. “I am excited to see you both play.”
“Are you going to the party?”
“I am, I’ve never even been to one so I’m nervous. Will you be there?”
“Mhm,” he kisses your cheek, it warms underneath his lips, making your tummy fill with butterflies for a moment. “All right, see you there then.”
It’s quiet, but Shoko is smoking a ciggy, ignoring the band directors scowl at her. “He likes you.”
“Me!? No way…” Geto waves as if on cue, Gojo is trying to disentangle Sarah off of him. “He’s single?”
“He is,” Utahime chimes in. “And he does totally like you. Honestly, I thought Gojo did forever.”
“No, we’re just friends…” You feel it then, blue eyes taking you in from across the field, you tremble a bit when your eyes lock, and he gives you a small smile.
Just friends, that’s all you two were.
It was a dumb thought that you’d magically come see him and you’d both fall for each other, as if he’d see that you were the girl for him, the one who has always been there. Yet now you see he’s moved on so much, you’re not sure how you and Gojo can even be friends like you were ever again, let alone the entire love confession you’ve written fifteen different times that’s sitting in your bag.
Of course he has a life, you didn’t even know about his girlfriend probably because you don’t do social media, considering you catch her taking a selfie with him and throwing the peace sign while she kisses his cheek. A little spark of envy hits, but you shove it down.
You have to be happy for him.
****
The game went amazing, of course Gojo got the last minute touchdown and everyone is cheering his name when he steps into the frat party, they’re all chugging beers and jumping up and down, dancing in a sea of bodies underneath flashing lights. At first this sort of thing overwhelmed Satoru but he eventually got used to it, though there were moments he’d just dip out and seek quiet.
Sarah is every bit the life of the party, everyone – aside from his friends – loves her, she lights up the room when she spins in, cheering for Gojo. “Look at my man, of course he won!”
“Gojo, Gojo, Gojo!”
He smiles but a bit of the attention gets to him, he can’t help but search for you in the crowd, curious if you came, his heart hammering when he sees you alone by the kitchen, sipping on a drink. You’re just wearing a little shirt and jeans but you’re so fucking cute, just the way the jeans hug your body makes him realize you’ve really changed since you were younger.
He shouldn’t be just staring at you, he looks up and smiles, waving then, earning your little wave back, and Sarah’s scowl.
“Satoru baby,” she leans up and kisses him, earning the oohs and ahhs of the entire party. “Don’t make me jealous.”
“I was saying hi,” she pouts now. “I thought you were gonna try to get to know her?”
“Well of course I am, she’s so… quaint.” She snickers and so do her little group of friends. “Isn’t she cute wearing… are those sneakers? Aww!”
“She’s precious,” her friend agrees. “We should all say hi.”
“Yeah no, she’s too shy to talk to that many people,” he says, earning a look from his girlfriend again. “Seriously, be nice to her.”
“You’re very protective, it’s all cute – like a big brother.” Sarah kisses his cheek, her hand slipping under his shirt, touching his back. “You’re gonna be the cutest dad, aren’t you?”
“Dad?” Her friends giggle more.
“She’s gonna make you a daddy.”
“Don’t call him that, bitch,” she shoves one of her friends as Satoru just frowns, eyeing you again, wanting to talk to you so badly. “Come on, let’s take shots!”
“I’ll be a minute,” he murmurs. “You all go ahead.”
Sarah and them run off, and he finally makes his way over to you, standing over in a corner nervously looking around, but your face lights up so pretty when you see him, so pretty his heart stops for a moment. Were you always this gorgeous, this effortlessly pretty?
Of course you were, but maybe he didn’t always notice.
“Satoru!” You hug him then pause. “Shit sorry…”
“No, please it’s okay,” he hugs you back against him, but you feel eyes all over you, especially his girlfriend and her group, even though the hug is friendly you feel too much pressed against him. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” you murmur, pulling back and looking at him. “She’ll get mad.”
“That’s what I always called you,” he sighs then, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry I’ve lost touch, I meant so many times to call you.”
“You’re just really busy, it’s okay,” you realize how close you are, you can inhale that familiar scent of him, the cologne filling your senses. It felt too good, that brief moment in his arms. “You’re so good at football, it was insane to see. I’m so proud of you.”
He pauses.
Fuck that feels good.
People expect him to be good at everything, but here you are, little tendrils falling out of your pony tail that he aches to curl around his fingers, your eyes lighting up behind those lenses. You always were proud of him though, whether it was him getting an A or him horribly playing guitar.
Perhaps you were his original cheerleader.
“I bet you killed the clarinet too,” he says, smiling down at you. “I know you always did so well in high school.”
“Thanks, I um… I missed you…” You trail off, sipping the rest of your drink, wincing a bit.
“Strong huh? Want anymore?”
“Yes please,” he takes your cup and you follow him over, the music blaring and pulsing through your body, a little lightheaded from the alcohol. “Anything yummier?”
“I’ll make you something sweet,” he smiles, inclining his head for you to follow him, he leans down and snatches up bottles then. “I remember you like cherry.”
“I do! Do I get a special drink?” He winks, far too charming then, mixing you up something in your red solo cup, slipping into the fridge to grab some cherries.
“I hate that jungle juice shit as much as anyone, I never drink it,” his fingers brush yours when he hands you the cup, making you both pause for a moment. He clears his throat then, rubbing the back of his neck. “Try it.”
“Okay,” you let the sweetness hit your tongue, just a hint of warmth from the alcohol he’d put in. “Oh, it’s yummy!”
You pull back and have a little drop of cherry red on your lips, he swipes it off with his thumb before thinking, making sure it doesn’t stain that white tee shirt. But the moment he does, you both falter, the soft touch of calloused fingers on soft skin – you step a little closer, and so does he, like something magnetic drawing you both.
“It was gonna spill,” he murmurs softly, your nipples press up underneath your shirt, he struggles not to notice, not to slip his finger into your mouth and watch you suck it. “You still wear the same gloss.”
“Y-yeah,” he swipes your lips with his thumb, making your heart pound in your chest, warmth spreading all over, before someone stumbles in, and he quickly drops it, gulping his drink down.
What the fuck was that feeling?
You’d hugged Gojo a million times, and of course as you got older you felt those butterflies, you felt this longing when he kissed your cheek for more, yet nothing compared to that moment in the kitchen. Like all that noise faded, and it was just you and Satoru.
Versions of you that existed long ago.
“I am sorry she was rude,” he says softly, you shake your head. “She was, and I won’t have anyone being rude to you, even my own girlfriend. Okay?”
“It’s not your fault,” you look down at the liquid in your cup, avoiding those pretty baby blues, lest you get lost in them. “She’s beautiful.”
So are you.
He almost says it, but hates himself for the thought, feeling horribly unloyal, he didn’t realize the moment he laid eyes on you again it would all come flooding back. But even worse than before.
“Yeah,” he doesn’t know what to say then, awkwardly standing next to the girl he’d shared his life with. “You look… you’re… um you…”
“I… what?”
“You’re very… since you…” What the fuck is wrong, why can’t he just say that you look good? It wouldn’t even be wrong to say, it’d be too little really, you’re always so fucking pretty since he could remember. Your pretty smile and your little head tilt, but now with you biting on that lip?
He shouldn’t say it then because it’s not good enough.
He can’t think all this shit, no wonder Sarah is mad. Maybe she knows just looking at him the feelings he had.
“You’re very… I…” He can’t say shit then, stuttering when he sees Sarah dancing, and giggling around with one of the men on the team. He pauses then, frowning.
“I’m what?” Your words aren’t heard then, Gojo excuses himself, leaving you to turn and look curiously.
“The fuck are you dancing with him for?”
“Well you seemed occupied,” she says, smiling all mean. “I figured I’d have some fun too.”
“I was talking.”
“You were staring, not paying attention to me,” he scoffs and walks off then, making her run after him. “Satoru!”
“She’s a bitch,” you hear Suguru’s voice then, you turn and laugh a bit. “Sorry, that's a derogatory term. She’s an evil bitch.”
“Much better I guess,” you giggle, and Suguru holds out his hand then.
“Wanna dance?”
“Satoru, come back!” Sarah’s chasing Satoru out front, she always plays this sort of game with him, upsetting him by flirting, and then making it up. “Seriously, I was just upset, okay?”
“You always do this shit,” she turns him and tugs him down for a kiss, but he pauses, pulling back. “Seriously, it’s fucked. I was catching up with a friend of twenty years and you’re grinding on someone?”
“I just got so jealous! You look at her like… you don’t look at me that way!” He scoffs, shaking his head, making her yank him down again. “Satoru, can you blame me? I love you so much, I just get so angry when you ignore me. And then it makes me act that way.”
“You’re blaming me?”
“No, I just want you to understand,” she slips her hands up his chest, tears filling her eyes. “I love you so much, and I want you to love me the same.”
“I do love you, but you hurt me like this all the time? The fuck, it needs to stop okay?”
“It will, I promise,” she blinks back tears, making him feel terrible then. “You just make me act so crazy, that’s all. I can’t help it!”
He sighs, she’s kissing him, over and over.
“Please forgive me baby, I’ll make it up to you.”
“Right,” he usually falls at this point – it’s a cycle. Sarah does something fucked up, makes him feel responsible, then bad, then he’s trying to make her feel better. Although Suguru has tried to warn him, it still has its effect. “Sarah don’t cry, I was just upset, yeah?”
“Oh thank goodness,” she’s smiling now, all brightly like she’s happy as fuck again. “Let’s dance together, okay! Just us.”
“I…”
She’s dragging him in, but he comes to see you in Suguru’s arms, awkwardly attempting a dance, you’re fucking adorable as you try. Suguru’s guiding you a bit, his hand on your waist, but you hopelessly have no rhythm. He’s not sure what it is, but the sight of his friend’s hand on you, and the way you smile at him? Something bites him about that.
But it can’t.
Sarah’s all over him, making a spectacle as she does, and you just give him a sad little smile across the smoky, crowded room, one he returns, before she can catch him and lose her shit again.
“She seems mean to him,” you say to Suguru softly, blushing a bit when your ass brushes against his thighs, and he wraps an arm around your waist.
“Yeah, she’s fucking horrible,” he murmurs, arm wrapping you tighter. “It’s not just you she’s mean to. But especially him.”
“So why does he stay with her? When she acts like that?” Suguru sighs, you turn a bit in his arms, facing him now.
“I don’t know, he could have whoever he wants,” he frowns and shakes his head a bit. “He’s changed a lot this year being with her, it’s like he doesn’t smile the same way anymore. It’s fucked up, but what can you do, telling him to leave her just makes him more defensive.”
“I see,” you turn your gaze off Gojo now. “He does seem different. Is he still… is he still our Gojo?”
“He is, somewhere in there,” he muses softly, dipping you and making you giggle. “Look, you do have some rhythm.”
“Barely any!”
You have fun that night in Suguru’s arms, laughing and losing yourself, trying to ignore how badly you wish you could hug Satoru, seeing him so miserable with her.
But it wasn’t your place.
“Oh my god, good night girl!” Sarah waves as you and Suguru head out the door, coming to you and kissing your cheek.
“Oh, good night Sarah.”
“Stay the fuck away from him,” she whispers so quietly, you still, frowning as she pulls back with a grin. “Gojo loved seeing you!”
“Uh huh,” Satoru walks up and hugs you then, tugging you a little close, his entire demeanor just down, it breaks your heart. “Toru…”
He almost breaks down in that moment, just burying his face in your neck, inhaling that scent so soft and sweet, memories flooding his mind, a thousand things blurring at once. He hugs you a little too long, like you’re the only comfort there is, before pulling back, looking at Suguru who has his hand on the small of your back.
Why does he hate that so much?
Why wouldn’t he want his two best friends to get together? Not like there was anyone good enough for you other than Suguru really.
“Let’s all like do a double date,” Sarah chimes in, you tense, Satoru sees it clear as day. “It could let you two catch up! I mean you’re almost siblings, right?”
You look down, Sarah’s clinging to Gojo again.
“I’m down for a date,” Suguru says, you smile thankfully at him. “Are you?”
“Yeah, that may be fun,” what a lie. Sarah is fucking terrible and seeing your best friend Satoru like this hurts. But you do want to be near him. “Let’s plan something.”
When Suguru takes you home, you can’t help but enjoy the warmth of his hand on your thigh, and the sweet kiss he plants on your cheek. You also can’t help but think of that look on Satoru’s face when Sarah danced with someone like that, and the expression when he came back in.
You look at the love note you wrote him, tears falling and blurring the ink.
Toru,
I’ve waited my whole life to tell you three simple words, ones that just never came out right, and now I worry it’s too late. We’ve drifted apart so much, but I want you to know that I…
I love you.
Those are the words, the brutal ones stuck in my heart, the ones I’ve said as a friend so many times, we both said it, right? ‘I love you’ before we went to bed, staring at each other through our windows and laughing. Little kisses and hugs good night after studying together, hugging you tightly during a scary movie.
None of those felt like ‘friendship’ to me, and I wonder if you feel the same, or if I’m fucking it all up. I don’t know if I’m making any sense, because when it comes to my feelings for you, it’s like it all gets thrown out of the window. Words don’t form correctly, not when I can’t stop rambling about the million things that make you so special.
It’s everything about you.
I miss you, I miss us, and I love you. I love all of you, Satoru Gojo, and if this ruins it all I’m sorry, but I can’t go another day without you knowing.
You fold it back up, tossing it on the desk of your dorm, the brand new one you’re not used to, you miss home, you miss Gojo, you miss everything how it was.
You miss dreaming that there was a world he could be yours.
Satoru that night keeps thinking of calling you, texting you, apologizing for barely spending time the first time he sees you in months, but he doesn’t get much time. Sarah is all over him in every sense of the word, from sucking his cock like she has no gag reflex, to riding him, to whispering all sorts of things in his ear.
Something doesn’t feel exciting about it tonight, and he descends further into a guilt that he’s not even really present during sex. She seems to still enjoy it, Satoru’s not going to have her not get off, it’s not who he is, but his mind is all over. When she’s laid in his bed curled up, sweat slicked on her skin, all he can think of his you – the girl with her clarinet smiling shyly.
His best friend.
part two soon!! - sry if your name is Sarah omg lol <3 and YAY for having eyesight almost back!!
summary — when the world's most brilliant researcher dies in a freak accident, you refuse to accept it as the end. using the resurrection technology you developed together, you set out to finish his life's work, and accomplish the impossible: bringing Gojo Satoru back from the dead. but love and science make dangerous companions, and some boundaries exist for a reason.
word count — 9.9k
content warning + tags — MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem reader, modern sci-fi au, heavy angst, plot with smut, obsession, death, grief, resurrection, pseudo science, some crazy technology, satoru being innapropriate at the worst times
a/n — for @sweethearticism's brutal bakery event ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
halloween's over, and as always, my tardy ass is late to the party TᴗT but here it is, my version of frankenjo that wouldn't leave me alone. this is a modern interpretation and very loosely inspired by the actual frankenstein. i hope you enjoy it ♡ 〢 art: @ _3aem (x), divider: @ saradika-graphics
A storm engulfed the world outside, but inside the research centre, the silence was louder. As loud as the stillness of Satoru’s body, cold and stiff, lying on a metal slab.
You’d lost count of the hours, the days, the weeks. All you knew was that when the alarm rang, you had to return him to the cryochamber, because keeping him out for too long would trigger the decomposition.
But today—today you were going to change that.
Today, he would no longer be dead.
Even now, your life still revolved around him. You would have it no other way. Even now, when he had no air in his lungs, no rise and fall of the once warm chest you used to lay your head on every night, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat as you listened to his voice prattle on and on about his latest discoveries like a bedtime story… you still heard him in your head.
“Can you imagine it, baby? The shock of the entire medical industry—no, life itself—when we finally crack the code?” You’d hear his excitement in the darkness of your bedroom. His endless blue eyes steeped with unquenchable passion. “Those narrow-minded dimwits on the board might call us crazy now, but we’ll show them, won’t we? Soon, they’ll be singing a different tune.”
“We?”
“Of course, baby.” The glow of the bedside lamp would catch in his eyes. A glint that never failed to mesmerise you. “We. Us. Me and you. It won’t feel as good sticking it to them without you by my side.”
“But this is your life’s work, Toru. I’m just your assistant. I can’t possibly take the same amount of credit.”
“It’s ours,” he’d said firmly, kissing your head as if he was sealing his words in stone. “Everything of mine is yours, if not officially now, then it will be soon. Why do you think I’m marrying you?”
“Because you always forget to eat unless I remind you.”
“That’s because I can’t live without you. I thought we’d established that fact.”
You’d smiled and snuggled into him. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good,” he’d said, wrapping you closer in his arms, his scent. “Because neither am I.”
But he did. He’d gone and died.
And now you would fix him.
This was not ‘The End’.
Gently, you smoothed back the wisps of snowy white hair from his face. Your fingers traced his brows, his temple, along his jaw, brushing the pale, grey lips that used to press against yours not so long ago. Your gaze moved first before your hand, to the fine stitches down his chest, circling his right arm, raised slightly against the skin across the width of his stomach—a perfect split, and a reminder of the state he’d been in before you’d patched him up—
In pieces.
You smacked the image away. There was nothing left in you to hurl out, but you refused to remember him that way. Your Satoru was too brilliant, too full of light, too alive. He was too beautiful to be fleeting. Too precious to be taken away so brutally.
And he was yours. He still was.
You heard the staccato beep of an access card tapping in, the door sliding swiftly open. A pair of shoes clacked against the tiles. You didn’t turn around.
“It’s time, doc.” The voice belonged to Shoko, your former colleague before you inherited the research centre Satoru left you in his will. “They’re waiting for you to do the final checks.”
You nodded once, your gaze still fixed on Satoru. You should be excited. This was it. You were going to revive him. You should move. Get him to the Infinity Chamber immediately.
But your feet stayed rooted to the floor.
You felt Shoko come up beside you. The room was soundless for a few seconds.
“He looks good, doc. Your suturing is impeccable. It’s lucky his brain wasn’t damaged and all the injuries are neck-down. Cell and nerve therapy was a bitch, but I don’t think we’ll stand a chance if we have to replace brain matter.”
“It has to be his brain,” you said. “He wouldn’t be him if it wasn’t. And I would’ve found a way.”
“Mmm,” was all Shoko replied. You knew what she was thinking. You knew what they all thought but didn’t have the heart to say aloud in front of you.
That you were delusional. That despite shutting down every research arm except those that benefited your cause, despite stripping the centre down of non-essential staff and resources, and pouring the entire budget into speed funding Satoru’s wildly controversial Theory of Resurrection—his life’s work—the chances of success was next to none.
And if it didn’t work, then that was it. You would have destroyed the Gojo family’s legacy. The board would kick you out and sell the centre. It was a miracle they had agreed to this in the first place. You supposed you had Sukuna to thank for that extra vote, though the man was a cunning bastard, so you were sure his motives were not completely altruistic.
You’d calculated the odds. There was a six percent chance this would work. Only six. All for today. All for him.
Eh, better than five, Satoru’s voice spoke in your head. You clutched onto the sound, but it was like chasing a ghost. A blink, and it was gone.
A water bottle appeared in your vision.
“Drink,” said Shoko.
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are. You’re also living in hell, and I guarantee you won’t find him there.” She pressed the bottle into your hands. “So you’re going to drink this, and you’re going to wheel him out of this room. You’re going to put him into that chamber, and you’re going to face the fact that it might not work. But I’ll tell you something—staring at his corpse for five more minutes isn’t going to bring him back.”
Your lips pressed into a tight line. “How many?”
“All of them,” confirmed Shoko. “Every board member, not just Sukuna. Arrived some time ago. And ah… Fushiguro Megumi is here too.”
Fuck.
“I see,” you said, keeping your tone steady. “I—give me a moment. I won’t be long.”
A beat, and then Shoko was retreating. You waited for the sliding doors to seal shut before reaching into the pocket of your lab coat. Your gaze hadn’t wavered from Satoru this whole time, and it still didn’t as you let the water bottle fall on the floor with a loud thud.
“Hey baby,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. Like reflex, you waited for his fingers to curl around yours. For his thumb to brush lightly along your knuckles. And when nothing happened, you stroked his instead. “So, here we are. You could’ve made it easier if you’d sorted out all your files like I told you to. And didn’t I say making my birthday your password was too obvious? Anyone would’ve guessed that and you know it.”
A distant chuckle echoed somewhere in your head.
“I wish you could see it,” you continued. Paused. “I mean, you will. When you wake up, you’ll see I did everything according to your specifications. No deviations. No variables. It’s all your design, down to the last decimal. It’s all you, Toru. It will be all of you… you’ll be you again.”
You lifted his hand, your other holding the ring you’d been carrying around in your coat pocket for what felt like an eternity, and slipped it onto his fourth finger. A simple platinum band, matching with the one you wore. You’d picked it out together during an extended lunch break a month before the wedding.
You squeezed his hand, and bent down to press your lips against his.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Thirty three weeks ago…
“Death is a process, not a moment. But you already know that.”
You groaned. “Satoru, it’s two in the morning. The wedding is in fifteen hours. We should get some sleep before checking into the hotel.”
“Just humour me for a bit, baby. I think I’m onto something.” Satoru was already hopping out of bed. He flicked on the lights without warning, temporarily blinding you, and was rolling the whiteboard to the foot of the bed by the time your vision recovered.
You stared at him, shirtless and in a pair of checkered pyjama pants, as he uncapped the marker pen, his blue eyes wide awake and bright with that unrivalled ambition you envied and loved.
You sighed and shifted to sit up against the pillows. “Alright, make it quick. I don’t want to walk down the aisle with bags under my eyes.”
“I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”
You couldn’t help the skipped beat in your chest, or the smile that appeared on your lips. “You want to keep the compliments coming, or tell me your theory?”
“Baby, you underestimate me. I can do both at the same time, and then some more.” Satoru winked, and began sketching.
You watched as Satoru filled the whiteboard with diagrams, his hand moving like an artist with a brush. Sometimes, you swore you saw equations flying out his head, faster than the average human could comprehend. His mind was a marvel, his face was a dream. He was your dream.
The dream you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your days with.
"The key isn't preventing death,” Satoru was saying. “It's reversing it. Death is a cascade—cellular processes shutting down in sequence. If we can interrupt that cascade, reset the cells' programmed death response, we can bring them back online."
“Yes, it’s the basis of your entire research,” you said. “Interrupt cell degradation. Reverse. Reconstruct. Rehabilitate. Regenerate. The Four R’s, as you like to remind everyone. It’s why we’re building that machine in the first place—“
“Chamber, darling. Not machine. Sounds better.”
“But why are you repeating this?”
“Because, my gorgeous soon-to-be wife, I just realised we’re missing an important ingredient.” Satoru proceeded to draw a big question mark and circled it. “We can revive a body, but what of the soul?”
You lifted a brow. Since when was he suddenly concerned with the spiritual side of things? “You’re going to have to elaborate, Toru.”
“Think about it, baby. Why am I so madly in love with you?” Satoru grinned. “Why do I look at you now and think I want nothing better than to take your clothes off? Why do I want to fuck no one else but you?”
Heat prickled up your neck. But you said, “It’s the logic your brain comprehends, as unromantic as it sounds.”
“Exactly. It’s brain chemistry.” Satoru flung the marker pen aside and in the next moment, he was climbing on the bed, and on top of you. “The soul is tied to the brain.”
His head lowered, lips brushing against yours.
“Feel that?” he murmured. “Do you like that?”
You melted under his gaze.
“Yes,” you breathed.
Then he was ripping the blanket away. His hands slid underneath the oversized shirt you wore, up and up and peeling it off you, leaving you in nothing but your panties.
“What about this?” His fingers dragged up the middle of your torso, tracing the underside of your breasts. He began drawing slow circles around your nipple.
You arched into his touch. “Yes…”
His mouth caught a nipple, and he began sucking. Flicking. His tongue and teeth playing with you until little moans escaped you. “And what about now, baby?”
“Ngh—get to your point…”
A chuckle. “Consciousness,” Satoru said, as his hand travelled down your stomach, down between your thighs, and with two fingers, began stroking you over your already soaked panties. “Our brains are what shapes our souls. What allows us memory and complex emotions. We can revive a body, but without a soul, without consciousness, the body would be human in appearance but not in essence.”
Your moans grew louder when his fingers slipped underneath your panties, sliding right up the middle of all your aching wetness. Your legs parted wide to give him more access.
“Pleasure…” Satoru murmured, his mouth and tongue working up the curve of your neck as his fingers caught your clit, and pinched it.
“Ahn! Toru—take it off…”
His tongue had reached its way along the shell of your ear, but his fingers remained, holding your clit hostage.
“Patience, baby. I’m not yet done with my demonstration,” he teased, then did the most wicked thing, and began rolling your tight little nub between his fingers. Slowly. So, so slowly.
“Oh my…” Your head tipped back against the pillows. You tried to grab hold of Satoru, but he only pinned down your wrists above your head with his free hand.
“God,” he finished what you couldn’t, “why do I always go crazy for you like this? Why are you enjoying what I’m doing as much as you do now? Tell me, baby.”
“Because—nghh! Because it’s you… because I only want you, Toru…”
“And I, you, my love,” he said against your lips, in a tone so tender and reassuring there was no room for doubt, before finally plunging two fingers inside you, pumping deep. “Which brings me back to my point. You love it when I fuck you like this because it’s me. Because of all the memories you have of me. Because of what you feel for me. This is what your brain has decided, and because the brain is connected to the soul, one cannot be brought back without the other.”
Somewhere in between, he’d added another finger, making it nearly impossible for you to concentrate on what he was saying. In this moment, with him rocking inside you, hitting you over and over again in that terribly sensitive spot, driving you insane, Satoru could’ve been reciting the ABCs and you still wouldn’t have understood much.
“T-toru…please—“
“Almost, baby. Did you forget about my cock?” His fingers ceased its sweet torture, slipping out. The sudden lack of him jarred you, but you could only whimper out a plea.
In one easy motion, Satoru flipped you around and was yanking off your panties. Warm, solid hands palmed your ass, lifted your hips high, exposing all the slick evidence dripping down your inner thighs.
Satoru swore under his breath. “Fuck, look at you. If this is the last thing I see before I die, then I’ll die happy.”
Your thoughts shattered as you felt the warm press of his tongue. Satoru licked you clean. Licked up all that wetness leaking down your thighs. Then he licked you there—a single stroke, deep and slow, up your melting core, before narrowing on your dangerously sensitive clit, flicking and sucking and making you lose your mind.
Satoru let you come like this first—on his tongue. With your face buried in the pillows and his buried in your pussy. Your legs were still trembling when you felt his impressive length, rock hard, rubbing against your folds, making you go wet all over again.
“Yes or no, baby?” he asked, though it was pointless. He already knew what your answer would be.
You mumbled something unintelligent, but wiggled your hips for emphasis. Then felt his tip nudge at your entrance.
“Which brings us back to the missing ingredient,” Satoru said, and a loud moan escaped you as he sheathed the full length of him inside you. He was so impossibly hard and thick, you were struggling to even clench around him. “We’ve only taken four R’s into consideration, when there’s actually a fifth… Resurrection.”
He pulled out, almost to the tip, and slammed back into you. Hard. Fast. Then he did it again, and again, and again. And each time he did it, you felt like you’d died and came back to life.
“Because a soul can’t be regenerated,” Satoru continued as his pace increased rapidly, ruining your mind and your insides at the same time. “So, in essence, our theory is not about reversing death. It’s about resurrecting the whole self. All the intangibles that make us—fuck, baby, you’re so tight. You’re choking my cock.”
“S-Satoru…”
“Mm?”
“More… Harder…”
“God, I can’t believe I get to have you like this forever.” Satoru did as you asked, fucking you until your cries drowned out the erratic thumping of the bedhead against the wall. Until you could no longer close your mouth. Until nothing existed save the feel of him pumping deep inside you…
The way he filled you so completely, so perfectly… it was everything.
He was everything.
Stars exploded in your vision. Your climax came in swift, escalating waves, overwhelming you.
You cried out his name, and it was only then that Satoru finally gave in, driving right over the edge along with you. You felt him—all of him—spilling into you. Heard his deep, unrestrained groan as he spent himself inside you before falling on the bed, half his body still draped on top of you.
Satoru’s mouth found yours, his tongue sweeping in and pampering you with gentle strokes while his fingers danced slow, playful circles down your spine. He grinned against your lips. “How was that, baby?”
You were still out of breath. “I think you know the answer.”
“But I want to hear you say it.”
You peered up at your fiancé. At the man who was to become your husband in less than a day. A part of you still couldn’t believe it—that someone as brilliant as him wanted you as much as you did him. That you, who had dedicated your life to science and medicine, to logic and reasoning, still couldn’t explain why you found yourself speechless whenever his gaze was fixed on you.
So you told him the truth. “You’re incredible, Satoru.”
The smile he gave you then… you could look at that smile a billion times and still melt from it. “I hope you mean both the sex and my theory.”
You sighed, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “Alright, five minutes. Then I’m really going to sleep, promise?”
He laughed and kissed your forehead. “As you wish, my love.”
“Well, for starters, you’re talking about preserving brain activity—core consciousness—after death, not only on a cellular level. That’s notoriously tricky. Impossible, some might say, but I know you hate that word—“
“Most things are not impossible, merely improbable.”
“But brain function is quickest to deteriorate, so you’ll have to find a way to—“
“We, darling,” Satoru corrected.
You couldn’t help your smile. “Right, so we will have to find a way to prevent core consciousness from ceasing to exist the moment the heart stops beating… save the soul, as you say, from extinction.” You tapped your chin, your mind whirring as his fingers continued their light tracing along the contours of your body. You didn’t doubt Satoru had already found the answer, but you loved him all the more for letting you figure it out on your own, even if he wasn’t letting you sleep. “The difficult part is the time constraint, unless we freeze the brain. We already have the cryogenic technology for that…”
“But?” Satoru looked at you with hopeful eyes.
“But the soul isn’t cellular. It’s immaterial.”
His answering grin told you that you were close.
“Even if we do bring back consciousness, we don’t want it to be a blank slate,” you continued. “We want it the way it was before death. We want to retain memory…” It hit you then. Your eyes widened at Satoru. “So we back it up. We copy neural activity in the brain before it dies and upload it back in later.”
Satoru leaned in, and pecked your lips as reward. “By the way, have I told you I’m crazy for you?”
You laughed. “Everyday. Don’t stop.”
“Oh, as if I will,” he said, pulling you in for yet another kiss. “You’re stuck with me for the indefinite future, baby. You’ll soon get sick of hearing it, but I’ll continue saying it anyway.”
You reached for his beautiful face.
“Never,” you said.
Satoru’s smile was tender. “I’ll hold you to that.” He kissed your palm, your lips again, and then he was pulling away to slip out of bed.
Your brows furrowed. “I thought you promised we were going to sleep?”
“Huh? I thought you were going to sleep.” He was already pulling open the dresser drawer. “I’m going to the lab. Don’t wait up for me, okay baby?”
“What? Are you serious?” You sat up straight now, back stiff. “Satoru, you have a wedding to attend. Our wedding. Can’t whatever it is you want to do wait for just one day?”
“I’ll meet you at the hotel. I need to make some new adjustments to the chamber. I’m thinking of calling it the Infinity Chamber. Has a nice, ring to it, no? Infinite life. Infinite time. Very mythical—”
“Satoru, don’t,” you warned. “Just forget about work for twenty four hours. That’s all I’m asking for. Please.”
“Baby, you know it’s not just work to me.”
“Then what am I? Just some girl you’re marrying?”
His hand paused midway to his backpack on the armchair. Satoru’s gaze found yours across the room.
“Is that what you think?” he said, his tone gentle but serious. “Because to me, you’re my equal. In every measure.”
“Satoru, don’t you dare walk out that door. I’ll kill you.”
“Baby, we both know you won’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Then I’ll win,” he said.
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Well, I am. I’ll win because you’ll let me. Because you love me.”
He winked, and blew you a final kiss.
And then he was gone.
Satoru never turned up at the hotel. You’d waited at the lobby for an hour, and when he hadn’t answered your call for the sixteenth time, you went to check in to the suite you thought you’d be stepping in together with him.
As the hours until the wedding drew closer and closer, you’d finally hit the last straw of your patience and sent Suguru to the research centre to drag Satoru over. It didn’t matter if you had to marry him in his lab coat. It was better than marrying his ghost.
The call came thirty minutes before it was time for you to walk down the aisle. The guests had arrived. White roses covered every surface of the ceremony hall. You were in your gown, veil draped over your head, chewing on your lip when Suguru’s name flashed on your phone.
You’d laughed first. You’d thought it was a joke. A bad one. Suguru had to repeat it three times before you were running to your car.
But still, you didn’t believe him. Not until you reached the lab. Not until you saw Satoru.
They’d categorised it as an accident. The security cameras confirmed Satoru had been alone. You’d seen the time stamp. It happened while you were sleeping. He’d forgotten to turn off the main power, and was ripping out some components from the cryochamber, presumably to move to his new Infinity Chamber, when the door malfunctioned, and sealed him inside.
Hours. Satoru had been stuck in there for hours. In a temperature of minus two hundred degrees celsius, slowly freezing. His blood solidifying…
And like brittle ice, he simply broke apart.
As with every task that involved touching Satoru, you were the one who performed it. The human mind was fallible, so it was natural for them to make mistakes, but you less than others. Satoru was unmatched, of course, but since he was out of commission for the time being, the next best person you trusted was yourself.
You were not unaware that Shoko and the team, as well as every board member, had their eyes on you the moment you wheeled Satoru into the Infinity Chamber—more a tall, circular room that resembled the inside of a silo, with large lamps fixed onto the generous, three-storey high ceiling, clinical light glaring down as rigid and impersonal as the spectators watching you from above, shielded behind a circumference of glass.
Well, you supposed ‘impersonal’ was being unkind to your team. Suguru was Satoru’s best friend, after all. Correction—he is. Perhaps unforgiving was a better word. They’d understood why you’d put all of their jobs and livelihoods on the line for this, but it didn’t mean they would forgive you for it.
And then there was the boy. Megumi. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back as you hooked up the last of the dozens of tubes connecting Satoru to the walls of the Infinity Chamber itself, because that was what this room was—one giant machine built to execute the last of Satoru’s ‘Five R’ Principle:
Resurrect.
You checked the tubes again, checked the wires, checked the position of the helmet fastened over Satoru’s head, then checked everything again before finally forcing yourself not to prolong this any further. You hated leaving Satoru alone, but you needed to be in the control room, and no one could be in the chamber while the procedure was taking place unless they enjoyed being electrocuted.
You went through a steel inforced door that took you up a set of winding stairs straight to the control room, where the chatter immediately died a quick death the moment you stepped in.
No doubt they had been discussing you. Not like you gave a shit. You were used to it by now—the whispers behind your back, the glances shot your way when they thought you weren’t looking. The furrowed brows and downturned lips, and perhaps worst of all, the knowledge that none of it was out of hate but pity.
“Doc,” Shoko nodded in greeting, the others mimicking her gesture, albeit in silence. “All screens are live. Perfusion system is loading, should be ready to go in three minutes.”
You turned to Suguru, who was positioned in front of a wide monitor, the screen filled with lines and lines of ever-shifting numbers. You asked him the same question you did everyday.
“How’s it reading?”
And Suguru answered you as how he always did. Calmly. A little bleak. “We’re still at a 0.0000033 percent loss. Nothing’s changed since the soul mapping. The system shows his neural patterns are still processing information at an unnaturally high efficiency. His consciousness is more than active, doc. It’s fully functioning, fully realised—it’s like Satoru can’t shut up in there. Typical of him, I guess.”
“We should have just made him a new body,” Nanami remarked from where he stood monitoring the blood tanks. “By my calculations, it would have lowered the risks by precisely sixteen more percent.”
“Yeah, but then we’re wasting the original body,” Haibara pointed out. “We can’t just throw him out—“
“We’re already copying his brain. I don’t see what’s the—“ Nanami cut himself off, glancing for half a second in your direction. He cleared his throat. “It’s done anyway. The best course now is to proceed as is.”
It’s all noise, baby. Block it out. Satoru spoke in your head. You have me.
Without thinking, you walked over to the wall of thick glass. Below, Satoru lay unmoving, in the exact same position as when you’d left him. You couldn’t explain it, but even now, a tiny, microscopic part of you still thought he might just wake up on his own. As if he’d merely decided to take a very, very long nap. It was ludicrous since you were the one who had put his body back together. But when it came to Satoru, your own brain tended to override most rhyme and reason.
“Everything’s good to go,” said Shoko, pulling you from your thoughts. “Want to do the honours, doc?”
Your gaze narrowed on the small green button raised against the main control panel. You approached it, reaching out a hand, fingers hovering.
You think I can’t do it, baby?
I think you can do anything, Toru.
Do you doubt me?
Never
“Never,” you whispered, and pushed the button.
It was as if the chamber itself had come to life. The great whir of a beastly machine waking up from an eternal slumber. Invisible currents coursed through the air inside the cylindrical shaft where Satoru lay alone, hooked up to the tubes that were now pumping synthetic blood into his body. You thought you saw him twitch. You blinked. It was just electricity. But then—
“Doc—“ It was Shoko, her tone uncharacteristically shaken. “Peripheral nerve activity detected. We're seeing reflex responses. His motor neurons are firing."
“Perfusion efficiency at ninety-two percent…ninety-three…ninety-eight...” Nanami added, similarly unable to hide his surprise. “Capillary beds are accepting the new blood flow. Oxygen saturation levels are rising steadily. No adverse reactions detected. This is… unprecedented.”
“Ah, guys…” Haibara announced. “The ECG just detected a heartbeat.”
Your breaths stilled.
“Fuck me.” Suguru jolted from his seat. “Doc, you should come see this—all of you should see this. The upload… it's working. His consciousness is downloading into the biological brain. Neural pattern fidelity is nearly perfect. I'm seeing unified brain activity. He's not just alive. He's conscious. He’s… he’s coming back—“
But while everyone rushed to Suguru’s monitor, your feet were moving in a different direction. In the next moment, you were flying back down the stairs and slamming through the door into the Infinity Chamber.
And just as your gaze snapped to his body on the metal slab—
At the same time, a voice came through the chamber’s speakers.
“Oh my fucking god, Satoru. Are you serious? Of all the times, now’s not it.”
“Suguru? That you? Tch—some friend you are.” Thirty three weeks of stillness, but now Satoru was tipping his head up at the control room. “If you’d just answered when I called you, then I wouldn’t have turned into a block of ice, would I? Because I would’ve forced you to come to the lab.”
“So you do remember dying?” It was Shoko this time.
“I remember freezing my ass off with no way out of that bloody cryochamber. Doesn’t take a genius to know what came next.”
“That’s a ninety nine percent memory retainment.” Shoko gave a low whistle. “Impressive work, doc. You did it.”
“Of course she did. She’s my—“ Satoru paused, his gaze finding yours again. “Fuuuuck… baby, I’m sorry. I missed the wedding, didn’t I?”
You didn’t answer him. It was as if your mind had glitched while trying to process if this was real, or if you were actually hallucinating. If somehow, somewhere in the process of trying to bring him back to life, you’d lost your mind and ended up in the loony bin, and that all of this was happening in your head.
“Baby, you’re shaking.” Satoru made to stand but was jerked back by the tubes connected to his body. “Ow, damn it—fuck.” He gripped a tube, about to yank it off, but then had the common sense to drop it when he saw blood still pumping into him. His arms reached out towards you. “Come here, baby. It’s me… I promise.”
But before your feet could decide to function, the door to the chamber opened. Two figures strode in. Both, you recognised. Both, you could do without seeing.
“Huh, so you’re actually alive.” Sukuna picked off some imaginary dust from his creaseless suit, his tone managing to sound both amused and scathing all at once. “I was expecting some sort of trickery. A hologram, maybe. At most, a robot. Who knows what they’ll come up with to prevent the board from selling this place off.”
Satoru snorted. “You’re lucky there were cameras, or I would’ve found a way to frame you for my murder. And a robot? How insulting. No one can be me but me.”
“Evidently. A robot would know when to stop talking.”
A step behind Sukuna, Fushiguro Megumi stood glaring. Not at Satoru, but at you.
He looked more dishevelled than last you’d seen him during the reading of Satoru’s will, in which a mini skirmish had broken out among Satoru’s relatives—who hadn’t bothered showing their faces until that day—when the Gojo family’s lawyer had announced that the entirety of Satoru’s assets were to be split equally between you and Megumi. An adopted son and a not-yet-wife.
And like you, Megumi hadn’t given a flying fuck about the inheritance. What he did care about was the one clause Satoru had somehow had the foresight to include in his will. That the decision on what to do with his body would be solely up to you. Satoru’s own messed up way of showing you he meant it when he’d once told you, “I belong to you.”
Megumi had wanted a funeral. You didn’t. Megumi had wanted to say his goodbyes. You didn’t. Megumi didn’t want Satoru to be tampered with, to be experimented with. You didn’t see it that way. And that was how your relationship with the boy had soured to this point.
“I hope you’re happy,” he said to you. He might as well have spat in your face.
Satoru must have sensed the tension, because he immediately dropped his verbal sparring with Sukuna. “Oh? What seems to be the problem, Megumi-chan? I thought you’d be glad to see me.”
But Megumi wouldn’t even look at him. His eyes stayed on you like daggers slicing into your skin. “The Gojo Satoru I know is dead. This…thing you created—with fake blood and a fake brain—“ he laughed, bitterly. “And now you’re pretending he’s real? What a load of bullshit.”
He didn’t wait for a reply and stormed out of the chamber.
“He’ll come around,” Satoru said, but still, he’d winced. “Alright, welcome party’s over, everyone. As nice as I am to look at, I don’t really want to sit here naked with my dick hanging out for much longer. So if all of you could kindly piss off, that would be amazing. I’d like a moment with my wife, please.”
Sukuna scoffed. “Well, if you’re in good condition to yap incessantly, then I expect you’ll be in good condition for a board meeting tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Don’t die and be late again.” And with that, he was out the door.
Shoko’s voice spoke through the speakers. “We’re going to stop the perfusion, Satoru. It should be safe to remove the tubes. But me and the team will need to stick around in case of anything… unforeseen. Just pretend we’re not here.”
The whirring of machines faded, steeping the chamber in a new silence. Once again, you were alone with Satoru. But this time, you’d finally accepted he was truly breathing.
“Baby? Talk to me.” Satoru flashed you a nervous smile. “You haven’t said a word.”
You moved.
And the moment you did, you couldn’t stop.
You reached for him. Your hands were on his face, moving down his neck, his chest. Over the very real beat of his heart. And when you felt his hand on yours, the pressure of his very real touch, your voice broke.
“I—we should try taking the tubes out.”
It was lame. You should have told him you missed him. You should have told him all the things you wanted to tell him in the months he lay lifeless while you pieced him back together. How you refused to let a single drop of tear roll down your cheek, because it would mean that you had something to cry about. How the entire research centre thought grief had turned you into some mad scientist who was obsessed with creating your very own Frankenstein, and that you almost believed them… almost.
But you didn’t tell him those things. Because those things no longer mattered.
Slowly, you removed the tubes from him one by one. Satoru just sat there, watching you work, his fingers playing with your hair, grazing down the back of your neck, applying gentle caresses here and there until the last of the tubes were gone.
“Try standing up,” you said, your voice too thick to hide the emotions threatening to burst out from within you. “I need to check your sense of balance.”
Satoru nodded and wasted no time hopping off the table onto his feet. He grinned, and did a little spin. Like he was modelling for you. “Nice stitching, baby. I think I prefer myself like this—adds a lot of character, you know?”
“I’ll get you some clothes.”
But he caught your wrist then, pulling you tight against him. His arms enveloped you, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze.
“I’ve missed you too,” he said, stroking your cheek.
The way he spoke, softly, his cadence perfect and familiar and exactly as you remembered—it really was him.
Your lips trembled, betraying you as you peered up at him.
“Never again, Satoru,” you said. “Okay?”
He leaned in. “I promise, baby.”
And when his mouth brushed against yours… when you parted your lips, feeling his tongue sweep inside you, meeting his every stroke and caress with your own… it was like everything that had been blocking up your insides for so long—the sand in your lungs, the pain in your chest, the hollow pit in your stomach—all of it became but a distant memory.
Your kisses grew hungry. You couldn’t stop touching him. You needed to bottle up all of his warmth and preserve every ounce of this moment because you couldn’t bear to lose another second with him.
“Hey,” Satoru murmured against your lips. “Easy, baby. I’m right here.”
A smile cracked through some forgotten place in you. “Well, deal with it. All my kisses have been one-sided for months.”
“I bet I still taste good dead.”
“That’s not funny, Satoru.”
He laughed. “We’ll see if it is sixty years from now.”
“Why sixty?”
He grinned, and then he was pulling you in for another kiss. “That’s what husbands and wives do, don’t they? Grow old together.”
Like wildfire, news of the scientist who died and came back to life spread across the globe, saturating every media outlet, baffling entire religions, upending the medical world and whatever long held beliefs they had been preaching on the subject of mortality.
The headlines were calling it a miracle. Churches called it blasphemy. The medical journals were split between praise and skepticism. The National Registration Department had never had to rescind a death certificate eight months after registering it. Gojo Satoru, billionaire scientist, child prodigy, TIME 100 most influential individual, the world’s sexiest man alive for six years running, and former corpse, had become a global sensation as the man who had defied death.
And you were right there in the spotlight alongside him. Satoru had made sure of it, insisting that your name was listed first in the accreditation for his now infamous Theory of Resurrection. Whenever he was asked, Satoru always drove in the fact that though he was the mastermind behind it, you were the one who saw it to the finish line.
“Execution is worth infinitely more than mere ideas,” he’d point out in all the interviews while refusing to let go of your hand.
Naturally, with any bizarre phenomenon came the conspiracies. There were those who accused Satoru of not being human, instead believing he was some kind of top secret, hi-tech artificial intelligence the government was testing out as a weapon for modern warfare. The ufologists’ deductions were much simpler—that extraterrestrial beings had abducted Satoru, conducted experiments, and placed him back on earth as one of them.
In answer to these wild accusations, Satoru had only one reply. “Whether I’m an alien or the Terminator, at least I’m a damn good looking one.”
Well, if there was a truth you could confirm, it was that he still fucked you like a feral beast.
After three weeks of monitoring at the research centre, Shoko and the team had determined Satoru’s condition as stable, and the board finally allowed him to return home with you. The moment the both of you stepped through the front door, it was like Satoru was a man on a mission.
“To make up for lost time,” he said as he tore off your clothes, and took you against the wall. “It’s lucky you didn’t have to sew my cock back on as well.”
“If you’d lost it, I wouldn’t have brought you back—ahn!”
He laughed as he thrusted deep into you, filling you up so completely, making you take in every inch of him until there was no doubt that he was here to stay. Inside you. With you. “And here I am thinking you fell for my incredible mind.”
“It’s—nghh—Toru, you’re…”
“What is it, baby?” Another thrust. Your moans filled the foyer. “Tell me, what am I?”
“Everything,” you breathed. “You’re everything, Satoru…”
His gaze softened, and when his lips found yours, his kiss was tender. Warm.
Alive.
You let him pick you up, clinging onto him as he carried you to the bedroom and gently laid you on the sheets. You didn’t let go. Not when he sheathed himself in you again. Not as his mouth claimed every part of you as if he never wanted to forget the very shape of you. Not while your bodies moved in sync together, while you cried out his name over and over again as he brought you to the edge, and went right over it together with you.
You still didn’t let go as your head rested in the crook of his arm, your palm on his chest, over his beating heart. Your fingers traced the thick gash spanning across his stomach. It was still too early to remove the stitches, but he was healing up nicely. You wanted to believe scars could be beautiful, too.
“You can close your eyes, baby. It’s alright.”
You peered up at Satoru, not understanding at first.
“You’re exhausted,” he said. “I bet you haven’t properly slept since—“
“Don’t, Toru. I’ve heard that word enough. I don’t need you saying it too.”
“Then what do you me want to call it?”
“You didn’t—you were just absent. That’s all.”
“Well, I’m here now.” Satoru trailed his fingers down the curve of your back. “And I’m going to marry you. We’ll have that wedding I stupidly ruined. We’ll take that trip to Paris and never see the sights, because I’ll be fucking you so well you won’t want to leave the hotel.”
A soft laugh escaped you. “What about all the improvements you want to make to the Infinity Chamber? It’s going to be a tight schedule. All the major hospitals have already placed their orders, and Sukuna wants to release the first commercial model by early next year—“
“Baby, if there’s one thing I learnt from dy—my absence, it’s my priorities. Work can wait. Never you. Never again.”
You hugged him tighter. “Is that a promise I’m hearing, Gojo Satoru?”
He beamed. “I don’t have to promise anything, baby. I’ll show you. Just sit back and see for yourself, I’ll—“
Satoru paused. His brows furrowed.
“Toru?” Your smile vanished as he suddenly jerked upright, and stumbled out of bed.
Satoru was coughing. The coughing turned into heaving. He was doubled over, clutching his stomach.
Red spilled out his mouth. Globs of it, fresh and dark, splattering across the white carpet.
Someone was screaming.
It was you.
Of all the fucking things that had to go wrong, why did it have to be his immune system?
Your jaw was tight as you read the report, your eyes burning holes into the file as if you could force the words to magically reshuffle and change the diagnosis.
But nothing changed. Satoru was dying. Again.
“We’ll rush a stem cell transplantation,” you said. “We’ll develop new immunosuppressants. We’ll—“
“Those treatments take time, doc,” replied Shoko. You hated the tone she was using. It was too gentle. Too final. The kind of tone doctors used when they were required to deliver bad news to patients. “If it were a normal autoimmune disease, we’d probably have a chance. But Satoru isn’t normal. At the rate his immune system is attacking… it’s like a war inside him. His body is shutting down too rapidly—“
“How long?” you asked, already knowing the answer. But your brain refused to accept it, instead seeking out someone, anyone, who might tell you otherwise.
The team fell silent.
“He won’t last the hour,” Suguru finally said. “I’m sorry, doc.”
You pitched the file across the Infinity Chamber. The papers came loose, flapping about midair before scattering soundlessly onto the floor. On the operating table where Satoru lay motionless, those blue eyes lost under closed lids. Unseeing.
He’d fallen into a coma before the ambulance arrived. Simply keeled over, face down in a pool of his own regurgitated blood. No hospital would be able to treat him, so you’d screamed at the paramedics to take him straight to the research centre. Everyone had seen his face on the news, and it didn’t take much convincing for them to oblige your demand.
His skin was greying again. The pink in his cheeks, his lips, had faded to an ashen pallor. His breaths were waning. Those fucking tubes were stuck in him once more.
“Brain activity is flatlining,” Nanami reported, his expression grave. He added, quietly, “You might want a moment alone with him, doc. He can’t respond, but he can still hear you.”
Your fists were balled, nails puncturing through the skin of your palms.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
This wasn’t happening. You weren’t going to let it happen.
You weren’t going to fucking say goodbye.
“Activate the resurrection procedure,” you said. “Now.”
Someone touched your shoulder. You flinched back.
Shoko’s hand retreated. “Doc,” she said, carefully. “We never calculated for a second time. It’s too much. The process will fry his organs. The synthetic blood might destroy his natural cells.”
You spared her a single glance. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
No one moved at first. Then, Haibara spoke.
“She wants to try, guys.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes as he said it. “We should let her try.”
A sigh. You didn’t know from who. You didn’t care.
“Everyone to the control room,” said Shoko. “Nanami, reduce perfusion speed by half. Suguru, watch the reading—the moment his consciousness hits zero, we’re uploading immediately. Haibara, see if you can block some of the electro current. Satoru’s still alive. We want to jolt his system, not subject him to an electric chair. Doc—“
“I’m staying in the chamber,” you said.
“It’s not safe—“
“It will be if you block a portion of the electro current, which you are. Either way, I’m not leaving him.”
“If we’re going to do this, we should get moving,” said Suguru. “We have less than an hour now, and I’ll have to recalibrate the neural mapping.”
There was nothing to recalibrate and you knew it. Shoko might not have given up on you, but Suguru had accepted the fact that convincing you to do anything else was a lost cause. You suspected he’d understood this a long time ago. He was the one who had found Satoru in the cryochamber, after all. The one who had to call you while you waited in your wedding dress.
But you didn’t need him to understand. You didn’t need a friend. You didn’t need compassion.
You needed Satoru back.
The team left you alone and hurried to the control room upstairs. You positioned yourself beside the operating table, and waited your second eternity. But you were used to waiting by now. You’d waited for him to offer you a spot on his research team, waited for him to notice you as more than an assistant, waited for him to ask you out for a quick lunch at that dingy sandwich joint staff liked to go to when they were sick of cafeteria food…
You waited for him to love you. So death could go fuck itself if it thought it could rip Satoru away from you after you’d spent all this time waiting.
You counted each shallow rise and fall of his chest. Saw the moment it stopped moving before the machines around you started buzzing. You stood, numb, as the chamber you’d finished building—not for humanity’s advancement but for one person—came alive around you in a flurry of mechanical droning.
All the while, you watched him. Until you chewed the inside of your cheeks raw and your vision blurred from refusing to blink. Until you spotted the twitch of his finger. A fluttering of long, white lashes.
Satoru groaned. His eyes flew open, then he was fumbling upright.
A small cry escaped you, and then you were holding him.
“It’s alright,” you said when he looked at you, dazed and confused. “You’re alright now.”
“I…” Satoru hesitated. “Where am I?”
“At the research centre. You had an accident, but everything’s okay now. You’re okay.”
“I see. I think I remember. Just… give me a moment. My head feels like someone cracked it open with a hammer.”
You helped him to unstrap the helmet, and draped your lab coat over him. Continued to hold him steady as he studied the tubes running out his body.
“So I died,” he said.
“For a short while, yes.”
“And you brought me back.”
“I always will, Satoru.”
Those blue eyes searched yours.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said. “But I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Satoru, I told you it’s not funny.”
He blinked. “Right, ah… so I do know you. I mean, it feels like I do. It feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”
You stared at him.
Satoru stared back. “Shit. I’ve said something wrong, haven’t I?”
The speaker crackled. A grim voice cut through the chamber.
“Doc. Satoru…” Suguru sounded too calm. “So this is what’s going to happen—I’m going to read you the diagnosis, and then me and the team… we’ll wait for your decision. But, doc, I think this time you should let Satoru decide.”
Suguru didn’t wait for an answer and continued. “You died twice, Satoru. We brought you back using your Theory of Resurrection. Do you remember your theory?”
For a long moment, Satoru didn’t speak. His eyes darted from you up to the control room above, and then around the chamber, assessing. Processing. As if a flurry of information was running through his head at lighting speed to reach a conclusion.
“I think I understand now,” he said, slowly. “And I can guess where this is going. Whoever you are, give it to me straight—and don’t bother explaining my theory. I know what I created.”
Silence.
“We couldn’t recover a portion of your memory, Satoru. Your body is rejecting the neural upload… among other things.”
“Please, I forgot some things. I’m not an idiot.” Satoru’s gaze settled back on you, on the matching rings on both your fourth fingers. He mustered a grin. “Well, at least I was lucky enough to find someone like you, even if I can’t remember how.”
You didn’t know when you’d started shaking.
Suguru spoke. “Satoru… your body is shutting down. The synthetic blood we’re pumping in is keeping you functioning for now, but the moment we shut off the tubes, you’ll—“
“I’ll die,” Satoru finished. “Took you long enough to say it. Kind of figured that out since I woke up feeling like shit.”
“Your consciousness is currently at thirty three percent retainment. We can try to bring you back again, but from the reading, retainment percentage will only go down. You’ll probably lose another fifteen percent if we go through with a third procedure.” Suguru’s voice hitched. “I—listen Satoru… even if we succeed, you won’t be yourself.”
“Again, Mr. Obvious, I’m not an idiot. And I can hear you sniffling, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Suguru. We’re friends.”
“Well, Suguru, if we’re really friends, then I think you know what to do.”
“No,” you whispered. Then louder. “No. That’s not what we’re doing. We’re not going to—“
“Hey, come here.” You froze as Satoru took your hands in his, gently pulling you closer. He shifted, wincing as he stood, and wrapped you in his arms.
The world slipped away from under your feet. There was only him. Soft, white hair falling over deep blue eyes. His pale, tired face, still perfect. The pressure of his hands around your waist, lifting to cup your cheek. The stroke of his fingers against your skin. The way he was looking at you, like he…
“I’m sorry, baby.” His lips were on yours as he spoke. “Do you hate me?”
At last, you broke. Your face crumpled. Your composure went. You stopped caring if he could feel your body shudder.
“Never,” you said.
“Do you love me?”
Your laugh was bitter. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that.”
You felt his fingers tighten a fraction around your waist. “Then, do you know that I love you?”
“I—“you could barely choke the word out. Because the truth of it was more than you could handle. It was easier to beg. So you did. “Please don’t leave me.”
Satoru’s smile was oddly relaxed. Almost relieved. As if he’d lost something important and had found it. “I’ll still be around, if you want me to. Right here,” he said, and gently tapped the side of your head. “As long as you live, so do I.”
“It’s not the same.” Your vision blurred. “It’s not—it’s not everything. It’s not you...”
“My love, you know as well as I do that I won’t be me even if I stay.” He kissed you. Kissed away the damp streaks flowing down your cheeks. Gently. Slowly.
“I’ll find a way,” you tried again. “There’s always a way. Nothing’s impossible, only improbable. That’s what you told me. There has to be another—“
“You’re right, there always is. Doesn’t mean you should go searching for it.”
“No. I refuse.” You were shaking your head violently. “Don’t do this to me. If you don’t want to try, I will. I’ll fix it. All you have to do is wait. I won’t stop—“
He hugged you tighter. You felt his lips on your hair.
“Look at me, baby.”
You screwed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see what was written so clearly on his face, then it wasn’t true.
“Please, baby,” Satoru said, lifting your chin. “I want to get a good look at what my soul cannot deny.”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to burn down this whole fucking place, with you and him in it, so you wouldn’t have to live through what was coming next. So you wouldn’t have to feel yourself tearing apart inside.
Not yet. It wasn’t enough. The time you were given with him was simply too short. It should be more. It should be sixty more years like he promised.
You weren’t ready to let him go.
But you knew you had to. Because it was what he wanted. Because he didn’t want you to lose him slowly. Because he was losing himself. Because he couldn’t be brilliant without his memory. Because he would no longer be Gojo Satoru, and he didn’t want you seeing it.
Because he loved you.
You looked into his eyes… the eyes you once thought you’d be looking at forever.
“There’s my girl.” Satoru’s smile destroyed you. “Better holes in my brain than yours, because I don’t want you forgetting I’m yours. In every lifetime. Can you do that? Can you remember that for me?“
It was the same before, and it was the same now. You would do anything for him. So you nodded, and told him what he wanted to hear. “You’re too much for me to forget so easily, Satoru.”
He laughed and kissed you again, long and slow, and for a moment, nothing existed but the warmth of him that filled you.
“Come here, baby,” he said. “Let me hold you.”
You let him pick you up and place you on the metal slab. You laid down with him, your head on his chest like how you always fell asleep, curled up against him. Your legs tangled with his, his arm under and around you. Your hand in his, where it belonged.
You couldn’t say how long you stayed like that. Talking. You told him about the day you met, how he’d asked you to marry him one random morning to make you feel better about the coffee machine breaking down. He laughed and told you that he must be quite a catch for you to say yes to such a lame proposal. Then he told you his vows—the vows for a wedding you would never have.
Somewhere in between, Satoru must have signalled for Suguru to stop the perfusion because the whirring in the chamber faded. You ignored the silence. There was only him. His voice. The press of his body against yours. His fingers wrapped in yours as you moved yourself up, placing your face so close to his that his features became indistinct, and you began to lose yourself in them.
You held him as he slipped away. As his chest slowed and his skin turned cold. You told him it was okay for him to close his eyes, and right before he did, you told him you loved him.
You held him long after his heart stopped beating. Long after the team had left and your muscles had gone stiff from lack of movement. Long after his soul had departed to a place you couldn’t reach. And when you finally let go of him, it was to pick up the metal helmet from the floor.
You placed it over your head, and sat back down beside him.
“System override,” you said, your voice calm. Flat. “Password: Replacement.”
Satoru was wrong. He’d theorised Five R’s, ending with resurrection. He never considered a sixth. But you did. You’d figured out the final ‘R’ to the equation.
A computerised voice droned through the speaker. “System override. Affirmative. Existing consciousness detected. Permission to erase for remapping.”
“Permission granted.”
“Affirmative. Accessing stored neural data for replacement. Confirm subject.”
“Gojo Satoru.”
“Affirmative. Neural data for subject, Gojo Satoru, confirmed for replacement with existing consciousness. Requesting password for final permission.”
Your gaze fell on Satoru. You took his hands in yours, and brought them to your lips.
❤︎⠀ 𝖙ags 𓈒⠀ ⠀꣹ ⠀ Tengen Uzui x F! Reader x Giyuu Tomioka, DUBCON, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, slight angst, porn with plot, degradation, mean tengen, mean giyuu, head ( m receiving ), slight hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics, p in v ( unprotected ), slight drachyphilia, afab reader, mentions of blood, infidelity ( on Tengen’s side ).
࣪ ⠀太⠀𝖘ummary⠀ 💬🌸⠀⠀ ׅ You've always tried to prove yourself worthy, desperate to be seen. But tonight, when two of the Hashiras that have been most cruel to you find you crying and exhausted, your tears don’t earn their sympathy. Yet, they want to see just how much you truly want to have their approval. Suddenly, being "good enough" is a game you're desperate to play, no matter the cost.
𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ノ ⬞ ׄ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ㅤ♰ this is my first time writing a darker fic of sorts so ummm i hope it is somewhat alright. this baby is only 2.6k words but i didn't want to go full out yet, considering i maaay or not may not participate in kinktober. please lmk if there are any missing tags i should add !! also not betad so expect some mistakes :p also also reqs are open !!
Everyone starts somewhere. No one is truly born great.
You had convinced yourself, foolishly so, that if you worked hard enough, smiled bright enough, bowed low enough the Hashira would see something in you worth polishing. A spark of greatness and a chance to help the ones who once helped you.
You felt it was your destiny to protect and destroy everything that puts innocent lives in danger. Even so, they had other plans for you.
This was the same old dream you dream. Every night, and everyday too.
You woke with the sun like always. The mansion was already filled with people doing their jobs. You weren’t anyone important here, not really. Just another pair of hands.
Still, you tried.
When Rengoku-Sama visited the mansion it was easiest. He smiled so brightly at the littlest of things.
One time you carried a tray full of rice bowls in piles of three down the hall without spilling a single one and he praised you like you had just saved the entire country. He's a kind soul. Or maybe he can just sense the desperation in you.
Shinobu-Sama is no less kind. She's more subtle granted, but when she smiles at you it makes you feel just a little less like nothing.
You can't even begin to express how thankful you are for Mitsuri-Sama, who in a way, shares your sentiment and has always helped you train in secret whenever she had the time.
But not everyone was so generous.
Tengen Uzui never lets you forget your place. Even after months and months of showing everyone you are capable, he finds the smallest things to pick upon.
Once, when you were sweeping his engawa, you tripped on the broom, but you recovered immediately, not falling to your knees. You thought that would show your fast reflexes. Funny. He couldn't have disagreed more.
"If she can't manage a broom, how will she manage a demon?" He didn't even look you in the eyes, said it as if you weren't even there.
What makes you even more mad is that he's so annoyingly handsome. How could a pretty human be so cruel?
And what you hate even more? The way heat gathers in your core anytime he utters a word to you. But maybe you'll get him back, eventually.
All though... Gyiuu Tomioka was worse, you thought. At least Tengen-Sama spoke to you, well, about you. Gyiuu only answered with silence, no matter what you did. Not even a glance or a nod, anything. You could have set yourself on fire in front of him and he would’ve only blinked.
You'd try to console yourself since he is a quiet person yet some other people training under him beg to differ.
"Well, truthfully, he doesn't talk a lot but he does mention when we make a mistake or things we can improve upon."
Things you can improve upon. There are many, aren't there?
Yet, with him it's the same story as with Tengen. Maybe you get so utterly helpless around them because of the way they make you feel.
Alas.
Every night you trained. Alone, but tried your best. You swung again and again, mimicking stances you’d glimpsed in passing, some that Mitsuri-Sama had tried to teach you. You slashed until your shoulders screamed and until your palms were raw.
Sweat rolled down your spine and your eyes stung, but you pushed harder. You darted forward, stumbled, caught yourself, did it all over again.
You kept swinging over and over until your arms felt like they didn’t belong to you anymore. The courtyard stones blurred beneath your feet as the moon dipped lower, and still you didn’t stop. Your body ached, yet the want in your heart was greater than any bodily pain.
The sword was heavy now. It slipped in your grip more than once, cutting through your palms. You hissed but kept going because to stop would be admitting you weren’t enough. And you couldn’t bear that. Real Demon Slayers kept going no matter the damage.
You stumbled again, knees hitting the ground hard. The blade clattered against the stones but this time you couldn’t pick it up. You hands were too bloody and too messed up.
Your throat burned, and before you could stop it an ugly sound broke out of you.
"I don't … I don't care if I never become a Hashira!" you choked voice cracking in half. Your hands trembled against the stone floor, clutching at nothing and leaving blood streaks on them.
"I don't need a title, I don't need to be praised— I j-just want to m-matter. I want to be able to save someone when it counts. To protect p-pople. That's all I want!"
Hot tears blurred your vision, spilling fast and ungraceful down your cheeks. You pressed the heel of your hand against your eyes but it didn’t stop anything.
"I’ve worked so hard..." you sobbed loud as the tears mixed with the blood of your hands.
"I’ve tried to do everything right, I’ve tried to be useful, to p-please all of you— but no one ever looks, no one ever sees me! Am I really that w-worthless?"
Your words cracked into silence, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing and the pitiful hiccups as you cried.
You lifted your head and through the blur of tears, you saw someone. It took some seconds for you finally realized who was standing in front of you.
Tengen Uzui and Gyiuu Tomioka.
You sat in silence for a bit, then Tengen’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk of his you despised with your whole being.
"You really think crying like that makes you useful?" His voice was sharp and cruel "Pathetic little maid, throwing yourself at the floor..after all of this do you really want us to look at you like you matter? Putting on a show worthy of a stage."
Tengen leans forward with his eyes fixed on you. "Look at you. So desperate to prove yourself. Always crawling, always begging to be noticed. Think anyone’s impressed by that?"
You swallow, cheeks burning. "IㅡI just want to.. show you. I’ll do anythingㅡ"
He snorts "Anything? You really think your groveling means anything to me? You’re just a lowly thing letting yourself be trampled while thinking its courage."
Giyuu shifts slightly "Earlier. You were...Good, steady. But not enough." His words land like stones, making your stomach clench. "You think this will save anyone?" He asks, looking at your bloodied palms and clothes.
You shake your head your knees weak. "Noㅡ I just, I want toㅡ"
Tenges eyes roll. "Make yourself worth something for once."
"If you cry like this, it makes you seem more pathetic." Gyiuu interferes.
You sob, but it only seems to fuel Tengen more. "That’s exactly it! You are pathetic, weak and desperate." He laughs. "But you like it, don’t you? Seems like it. You love being lowly."
You can't even bare to look up. Your eyes keep fix on their shoes. Giyuu steps closer.
"Undress." He finally speaks up again and your eyes widen, breath coming to a halt.
Tengen chokes out a loud laugh. "Damn." He scowls. "I only wanted her to suck my cock." He admits, reluctantly. "But I guess our dear Giyuu has other plans?"
"IㅡI" you stammer, and suddenly the heat coiling in your lower belly gets a little harder to ignore.
"Go on then. Strip."
You hesitate only a bit, cheeks burning hotter than ever. "Y-yes, Giyuu-Sama." you whisper, fumbling at the hem of your clothes, trembling not from cold, but from the way they were looking at you.
Giyuu steps slightly closer his eyes scanning your body. "Faster. Move properly. Don’t waste time with hesitation. You will obey, or this will be far less pleasant."
Your hands shake as you nod, and the tears still streaming down your face make no difference to them. You want to show them, show them everything. You’ll do everything, anything, whatever it takes to earn their notice, their approval, even if it means letting yourself be utterly exposed and belittled.
"Keep going. Show me. Maybe I’ll let you feel what it’s like to matter." Tengen steps closer.
Giyuu doesn’t say anything more, just watches you get undressed.
You inhale shakily, dropping on the floor the last piece of your clothing. You're still kneeling, only now you're looking up at them. And, hell, they hate to admit it but you look absolutely ravishing right now, all blushed and teary eyed, with your lips puffy, hands desperately trying to cover whatever they can.
Your hair is sticking damp to your face and the heaviness of their scrutiny pins you there in place.
"Hands where I can see them. Don’t even think of hiding yourself."
You obey immediately, spreading your shaking hands on the ground in front of you, feeling utterly exposed.
Tengen crouches slightly, so his face is level with yours. "Damn." He smiles all wolfish. "I must say.. You are a treat for the eyes."
Giyuu wastes no time. He quickly takes out his already hardened cock, stepping behind you. You have mere seconds to process or see anything before you feel two of his digits at your dripping entrance.
"I didn’t expect you to be so... aroused." He says before pushing the fingers in.
"I told you she enjoyed it." Tengen mocks. "She loves it when you get a tad cruel, isn't that so, little maid?"
You hated him. And you hated the way he made you feel, yet, you couldn’t deny any of it.
Tengen pulls out his hardened length, and your eyes go absolutely wide. You expected it, but not quite to this extent. He doesn’t let you think about it more though, because in no time hes already parted your lips and pushed the tip between them.
At the same time Giyuu finishes preparing you and aligns himself with your wet core. He slowly pushes in, one hand placed firmly on your ass to, shockingly, soothe you. The pain was unbearable for a bit, but the sting of it all soon fades into ecstasy as he slowly started to move. The streth was delicious.
Your pussy flutters around him as you try your best to widen your jaw enough so Tengen can push himself all in. They both moan, and after letting you adjust for a few seconds they go at it.
You knew Giyuu had some pent up anger in him, but it shocked you how relentless and mean he got in a matter of seconds, muttering, surprised himself of how good you felt around him.
Tengen grabs your head, that practically disappears, in both of his hands. He despised it felt so good, your mouth that is. And he despised how pretty you looked with your mouth full of his cock.
"Ohㅡ fuck! That's, wow." He swallows hard through whimpers as he quickens his pace. "Maybe I'll take you h-ome. Make you my pet. My wives have been asking for a puppy for some time now, hah!"
Giyuu digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips, leaving crescent moon shapes that you know will bruise by tomorrow.
"H-Haㅡ I have to admit, she does feel great."
Tengen throws him a look and smiles. "Oh, definitely. Pretty little throat so tight. Wonder how tight her cunt is." Gyuu swallows before slamming himself deeper.
"So tight."
You choke and cry around Tengen’s length, drool dripping down your chin and onto to stones below. Your teary eyes can barely stay open. One of his large palms cups your face as the other keeps your nose flush to his pelvis.
"Look so pretty like this. I quite enjoy seeing you so desperate." You moan, trying your best to breathe but your head is already fuzzy. Heat pools in your lower belly and you instinctively clench around Giyuu.
"Fuckㅡ" He lets out a strianed laugh, angling himself to hit up with each stroke. "Don't do that again unless you want me to fill your womb."
Your eyes roll back as more pathetic sounds leave your throat. You're hot and tingling all over, the pleasure almost unbearable.
"Oh?" Tengen raises one brow. "You enjoy this? You enjoy me talking to you like this while Giyuu fills you up?" He snorts. "Bet you'd enjoy it even more if you had the audience. You'll finally be seen. Well, you don't have to wait for long, the sun is almost up and so is everyone from the mansion." He finally starts fucking your throat slowly again, both hands now tangled in your hair.
"Do you want to switch?" Giyuu asks, as if its the most natural thing ever.
"What do you think?" Tengen tuts.
Finally you are able to breathe properly as Tengen pulls away. When Giyuu pulls out the sudden nothingness you feel makes you let out a shy whine. You'd never felt anything like this before, and you wanted more of it.
After the swith their places Tengen sighs, slamming himself all in at once while landing a harsh slap at the back of your thighs. "Greedy cunt." You're overtaken by bliss as he fills up your guts.
You moan loudly but it gets all muffled up when Giyuu slides his cock between your already swollen lips. You look up at him through tear stained lashes and he smiles down.
"You do look quite beautiful like this." He's reluctant with his words, but his eyes speak for themselves.
Tengen is relentless, and you can feel him deep in your bellyㅡ hell, in your soul. He grunts, calloused hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass. "I can barely move how much she's sucking me in. But you take it so wellㅡ"
That praise makes your heart flutter, and you smile around Giyuu, tongue lulling out.
"Gods, you're really wet." He huffs as the plap plap plap sound echoes through the empty courtyard of the mansion. The squelch of your pussy is quickly covered by the sound of your gagging as Giyuu roughens up his pace.
Maybe this isn't devotion. Maybe it won't get you anywhere. But you've never felt the way you feel right now, all fucked out and a mess. You could only fantasize about moments like this one. Deep down your entire being stings with the want for them to push you further, to break you just enough.
Your body burned with heat, their moans fueling whatever it is you're feeling right now. You push back into Tengens thrusts, grab Giyuu by the thighs, arch your back a little more. That'll show them determination, for sure.
"Oh, you're a whore." Tengen laughs fucking into you, his pace not faltering once, one of his arms snaking around your waist, thumb sliding through your puffy folds before finding your sensitive bud.
Suddenly, your whole body tenses up and they notice. The wave that was about to crash into you didn't even make it close to shore.
At the same time, both of them pull away, and all you can do is sit there, panting, drooling and whimpering over the sudden emptiness.
"WㅡWait, no-" You cry, trying your best to regain a little coherence. As you face both of them you see they're stroking themselves. You immediately understand.
Scooting closer, knees raw from the pavement, you present your mouth and keep it just like that, wide open and tongue out. Your trembling palms squeeze your breasts, keeping them squished together as you look up to them and, oh, if you weren't as beautiful as a painting right this moment.
In no time they both come ropes all over you, painting your face, hair, chest, some landing directly on your tongue.
After they both calm down, Tengen closes your mouth with two of his fingers, with the other hand tucking himself back in his pants. Giyuu does the same.
"You go clean up." Tengen begins, while looking at Giyuu. "I'm thinking same time next week?" And the other smiles.
Suddenly, training is the last thing on your mind.
It was odd seeing Toji so nervous, especially because he was a man who feared nothing at all. Yet for the past few hours, he was helplessly holding your hand as you screamed, rapidly bouncing his leg and running sweaty hands through his hair. He tried his best to comfort you, murmuring praises under his breath as nurses and doctors yelled orders around the room. His mind was absolutely racing and he felt like he couldn’t stand a second longer under these sterile lights.
Toji felt like he was on the verge of passing out. He glanced at you: face scrunched in pain, screaming, and holding his hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He cringed at it. He hated that he couldn’t help you, and that you were hurting in the first place.
Orders that were being shouted seemed to be getting more frantic, and suddenly, a loud piercing cry was heard throughout the room. Toji let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Congratulations, it’s a boy! Perfectly healthy with all ten fingers and toes.”
You slowly let go of Toji’s hand, relief flooding over your entire being. Hours of exhaustion faded away as you met your son for the first time.
The doctors and nurses cleaned him up and laid him on your chest. Your baby. You carried him for nine months and he was finally here. He was warm and absolutely real, and you couldn’t believe it. You stared at his tiny features: a perfect mix of you and Toji, and a physical representation of your love.
You glanced at Toji with a nervous smile, looking for reassurance and relatability. It was your first time as parents after all. But when you tried to meet his eyes, he was in a complete daze. His mouth slightly agape even when no words came out of it. His eyes filled with shock and absolute love as he took everything in.
He was thinking about how beautiful you looked, about how it was the most beautiful he’s ever seen you. The way you were glowing even with sweat dripping down your temples and hair sticking to your skin.
Even with how awkward you felt, it looked so incredibly natural to Toji. The way your son curled into you as he recognized your scent. The way he rooted when you brought him to nurse. The way he latched on comfortably even if you weren’t holding him quite right.
He then watched the baby. The baby boy. That was his son. His son.
A sense of protectiveness accompanying the overwhelming sense of love came over him and before he knew it, tears were spilling.
“Aw, Toji, don’t cry. Look, doesn’t he look just like you? Baby looks just like daddy, huh?”
Toji smiled. “Hopefully he doesn’t act like me.”
He reached out to touch his son. “Here, wanna hold him?” You offered instead, and Toji was taken aback. “Are you sure I can hold him? He’s so… tiny. What if I break him?”
You giggled. Music to his ears. “You won’t break him, Toji. Here, hold your hands like this… there you go.” You carefully placed the baby in his arms.
Rough and unsure hands shook as they came into contact with soft fabric holding the most fragile thing. He glanced down at the baby, so soft and delicate. His and yours. The most beautiful and precious thing he’s ever seen.
“Hey, kid. I’m your dad. And you’re…” He trailed off before looking at you awkwardly. The problem: you were both convinced you were having a girl, and it seems the name you were set on was more feminine.
You laughed awkwardly. “Should we still name him Megumi?”
Toji chuckled before looking down at the bundle in his arms. “Megumi,” he whispered, like he was testing it out. It was perfect. He met your eyes again before confidently stating, “Hell, we already picked the name, didn’t we?”
Megumi Fushiguro
--------------------------------
Hours later, you were getting your well deserved rest. The entire time, Toji stayed up holding and watching Megumi.
This was his family. You, his gorgeous wife, and Megumi, his sweet child.
He knew this would take a lot of work. It didn’t matter if he didn’t grow up in ideal circumstances. He wasn’t going to let that define the life or childhood he was responsible of now. All he knew was that he was going to protect and love this tiny life with all he had. Megumi was going to have everything and more, Toji decided.
Megumi slightly stirred, eyebrows furrowed as he searched for the warmth of another. Toji picked him up out of his little bassinet, rocking him gently. At least he was getting better at holding him.
Toji chuckled, “Barely a few hours and ya already got problems, huh? Well, that’s life, kid.”
Megumi immediately stopped fussing at the sound of his father’s voice, already recognizing it. He relaxed into Toji’s warm embrace.
Toji laid a soft kiss on the newborn’s forehead and whispered, “Don’t worry, little guy. Daddy’s right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
--------------------------------
hello im back i missed you + im totally convinced he would've been a great father
Everyone knew him for one thing.
Not charm.
Not friendliness.
Not good grades or a smile that could save a life.
He was known for the product.
Good shit. No cut corners. No fake weight.
Strict as hell. No deals, no repeats, no talk unless you had cash in hand. You didn’t flirt with him. You didn’t ask dumb questions. You bought, you left, you shut up.
That’s how it was.
Until you.
Now you’re straddling him in his dimly lit apartment, hips grinding slow against the bulge in his jeans, his hands on your waist like he owns you.
And maybe he does.
“You always show up like this?” he asks, voice low, teasing, eyes flicking down to the sliver of skin where your top rides up. “No bra, short skirt, batting your lashes... you tryin’ to make me weak?”
You smirk. “You gave me a discount last time.”
His grip tightens. “Did I? Must’ve been distracted. That pretty mouth does that to me.”
Your lips ghost along his jaw, breath hot. “Thought you didn’t do favors.”
“I don’t.” He leans in. “You’re not a favor. You’re the exception.”
His hand trails up your thigh, sliding under your skirt, fingers brushing against the heat between your legs. You’re already soaked.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Every time you come here, it’s like this? Dripping before I even touch you?”
You nod, breath shaky. “It’s your fault.”
“Damn right it is,” he murmurs, slipping two fingers past the lace of your underwear. “This pussy’s loyal. Always coming back to me.”
His lips are at your ear now, voice husky.
“You think I give out free shit to anyone else? Nah. They get taxed. They get weighed out to the gram. But you…”
He pushes in deep and you gasp.
“You get extra. Every time.”
You try to grind down but he holds you in place, watching your face twist in pleasure, proud of the way you fall apart on his fingers.
“Fuckin’ addict,” he whispers, half praise, half possession. “Hooked on more than just what’s in the bag, aren’t you?”
You don’t answer — can’t.
But your body does. Loud and clear.
And when you finally come undone, he’s already reaching for the next pre-rolled just for you, lips brushing your temple as he says:
“Next one’s free, baby. Long as you keep payin’ me like that.”
