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you had completely fucked it up.

the original plan had been to ignore the rumors and let people get bored on their own. fans had been going insane over the possibility of you and woojin, finding “proof” in absolutely everything and turning every interaction into a conspiracy theory. it was entertaining at first, mostly because it was nice getting shipped with someone who wasn’t one of your members for once, but you definitely weren’t planning on adding fuel to the fire. eventually everyone would move on and find something else to obsess over.

unfortunately, that plan lasted right up until you accidentally logged into the wrong account.

you had been laying on your bed scrolling through your phone when longshots uploaded a new post. without really thinking about it, you left a quick comment underneath.

it wasn’t until after you hit send that your stomach dropped.

slowly, your eyes moved to the username.

cortis.

not your private account.

the official cortis account.

for a moment you just stared at the screen, hoping that maybe you were hallucinating. unfortunately, reality had other plans. before you could even process what you’d done, another notification appeared.

woojin had replied.

you immediately sat upright. “oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

the reply had only been up for seconds and somehow people were already finding it. likes were piling up. reposts were piling up. the quote tweets were multiplying at a horrifying speed. you didn’t even want to look at them because you already knew exactly what they were saying.

you dropped your phone onto the bed and buried your face in your hands. “i’m finished.”

less than two minutes later, your bedroom door flew open so hard that it slammed against the wall.

for about three seconds, keonho and seonghyeon stared at you.

then keonho launched himself across the room.

you barely had time to react before he grabbed your pillow and started repeatedly smacking you with it. every hit was accompanied by a new complaint about your complete lack of survival instincts and media training while you curled up on the bed laughing so hard that your stomach hurt.

“okay, wait, stop hitting me so i can explain.” you managed to get out between laughs.

surprisingly, that worked.

keonho lowered the pillow and both he and seonghyeon stared at you expectantly. the room went quiet as they waited for your explanation. you looked at keonho, then at seonghyeon, then back at keonho.

for a second it genuinely looked like you were about to say something. instead, you shoved both of them as hard as you could.

neither of them had been expecting it. the two immediately fell off the bed and crashed onto the floor with matching yelps while you practically threw yourself off the mattress and sprinted toward the door.

“hey!”

you were already gone.

laughter echoed through the dorm as you ran down the hallway at full speed. behind you, you could hear the sounds of two idiots scrambling back to their feet while loudly demanding that you get back there immediately.

“absolutely not!” you shouted over your shoulder, nearly slipping while turning the corner.

the chase continued through the apartment. you dodged around furniture, nearly crashed into a wall, and somehow made it all the way to the front door before either of them managed to catch you. the second you reached it, you threw it open and bolted outside.

unfortunately, keonho and seonghyeon followed.

the three of you tore down the street like complete lunatics, laughing the entire time. somewhere along the way, all common sense disappeared. nobody stopped to think about the fact that you were idols. nobody thought about cameras. nobody thought about fans.

the only thing on your mind was getting away.

you glanced behind you and immediately regretted it because keonho was somehow gaining on you. “why are you so fast?” you yelled.

“because i wanna kill you right now!”

seonghyeon, meanwhile, was laughing so hard that he could barely keep up with either of you. every few seconds he doubled over trying to catch his breath before forcing himself to keep running.

people were definitely staring now.

a few pedestrians had already pulled out their phones. one person actually pointed at the three of you before excitedly showing their friend. if any of you had been paying attention, you probably would’ve stopped immediately.

instead, you just kept running. your lungs were starting to burn by now, but there was no way you were letting either of them catch you after starting this. besides, the second you slowed down, keonho was absolutely going to continue his lecture about social media responsibility.

TAGLIST : CLOSED @fimmisstuff @konolien @jiyeons-closet @seonghyeonskibidi @ri-eveowe @ocyeanicc @cherid0ll @tetsur0-1 @claireo-o @peetabreaaad @stxrripure @lunaryoongie @stargirlxe @aespaqq @seovk1 @hrrystylesss12345 @paydadakoksevmiyorum @rie-diculous @boochisuri @isackiscunty @h0neylemon @stxr-lilac @vzergg @6rei-ji @cupidvx @vavavy @hans-sweetie @faeriwonz @fromsaltandsea @sunkissezd @beljakovina @aphantassia @hyeoncake @ningninjas @sidluvskeonho @lucy1568 @lalipop143 @sourcandyfish @tinkerbellsgf @saaaaasie07 @skyeincc @amethyystlvr @hyuneskkami @cosmicwintr @sonyui @lynvriee @hheerrmmiitt @ilovemamamuti @thisismepls @anglheartz 50/50

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

“Tah’ asking ‘bout the wrong things, how ‘bout a how are you, Saturo?” He eyes him before flipping through pages of registries. Majority of the heifers and cows on board come from a few different countries due to the urgency of having to fix his current problem, his bull.

“Not a bad mix, I suppose’ah... C’mon, let’s get them unloaded.” He folds the packet in half and stuffs it in his back pocket, a hand dips between the open space and grabs hold of Suguru’s belt and drags him to the back of the trailer. With no complaint, Suguru unlocks the latch, and the wide door opens, a set of complaints instantly set in as the girls get up from their seats and off the ramp.

Saturo purses his lips to whistle and Yuuji comes running, his tail wagging idly behind him. “Stay close.”

“Yeah, ‘kay!” He chirped and the sheepdog excitedly greeted the new herd.

While the three organize everyone, you finally get off the bus-like trailer with the rest of the herd. Your ears sway and your head swivels around getting a good look of the area. It was a fancy facility in the middle of the country and there were a few diverse kinds of hybrids on the ranch. The heat was immediate, and you were not dressed for this type of weather.

“God. Is it always so hot here?” You sigh, your lips pursing together and your hand shielding you from the blinding light of the sun as the other tugged the cardigan off your shoulders. You were not used to hot climates; your last ranch was set in a cooler climate and now you regret signing up as a volunteer. A huge white boarding house was a few steps away from where the trailer was parked. Bushes lined up the perimeter with pretty roses and a mixture of wildflowers framing the garden beds. A few hybrids lounged out on the porch, flurries of laughter and conversation filtering through the air. The house itself had a wraparound porch and large windows on all four floors with brown brick exterior. A few more other houses like this one could be seen in the distance.

“You‘er right in the middle of the hot season.” Satoru turned to glance at you; you are taken aback at how his blue eyes seem to glow even when it was this bright out. “Ya’ must be one of the show girls sent our way, hmn? Never had a Jersey, you‘er awful pretty. You can call me, Saturo, the other one is, Suguru.” He pointed a long finger over to the tall figure with long black hair.

“Mm... yeah, I am and thank you.” You smile, though the awkwardness lingered in your words. Saturo just tipped his hat, flashed a coy smile, and joined Suguru who was lingering in front of the group. A sharp whistleee rings out and everyone turns their head to face the couple.

“Alright everyone, listen up. You call me Satoru, and this is Suguru. We’er the main cowboys on this ranch. We’er gonna do a quick tour of the ranch and then a general rundown on why’er here, and the goal during you’er stay.” Saturo boasted over just loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Hold onto any questions y’ah may have ‘til the tour is over.” Suguru’s voice drawls out, a lighter accent than Saturo’s. Both waved everyone to follow as they began to walk through the property. Leaving the main entrance of the ranch, the cowboys spoke over the different sections of the fields and what they were used for.

On the left, the fields were used for recreational purposes. White metal fences ran along the perimeter with bushes of ferns, shrubs, and flowers here and there with a small facility connecting all of them in the middle. Most of the hybrids on the ranch use them for running, training, basic exercise, or showing purposes. Some bulls out in those fields began to call out which tempted a gigglegigglegiggle from part of the herd. The sheepdog ran up to them and barked a few times, and an audible sighhh left the bulls as they went back to their leisurely activities. On the right, a major building sat on the entrance connecting to one of the bigger, most popular fields on the ranch, white fences framed the perimeter as well. This side of the fields were used for ‘grazing’ or in other words, relaxing activities such as walking, running, hangouts, or whatever else the residents decided. In the middle of those fields, hot springs and a few lakes seeped into creeks for any kind of water activities which were popular with the hot season coming down like hell.

Further down the trail, fields of crops flourished the northwest side of the ranch. Satoru explains that they do not primarily focus on crops, and they serve as another experience for the residents on the ranch and cut down on food costs. The crunchescrunchcrunch of gravel continued down the trail as the herd was shown the training facility specific to horse hybrids and a mini hybrid clinic, which served as a mini hospital or any lab needs. The trail looped back around to the front of the ranch, and they followed the couple into a barn.

“Everyone takeuh’ seat! Southside of the ranch are residential housin’ for ranch staff and hybrids. Y’all will be stayin’ in the main farmhouse since many ain’t gonna make the cut and that leads us to why many of y’ah volunteered or whatnot or our breedin’ program. I have a fine rodeo bull in need of a partner or whatever the hell he needs fixin’ with… along with some others. Y’all’s goal is to get them back in rodeo shape, specifically my top bull.” Satoru’s voice echoed in the empty barn.

“Each one of y’ah will be with him or aidin’ with his performance for the upcomin’ rodeos we got. Its’a important for y’ah to know that this is goal number one! This’a will have multiple sessions to see if y’ah are compatible with him, if y’ah not— do not worry, we have others. If y’ah do not connect at all, then its back home with no hard feelins’!” He paces in a circle; his chin wedged between his thumb and fore finger in thought. His white leather boots kicking up dust as he draggeddd his heels against paved dirt.

“My top bull has not been with anyone and has only done the artificial insemination process in our program; I recommend not rushin’. The other bulls have had some experience and some already have calves, overall, I need genuine relationships or connections to make this’sta work. Majority of y’all are top of y’ah groups and I trust to see progress!” He huffed, his eyes taking in the details of everyone up in the stands.

“Don’t’cha forget to have fun here!” A pair of hands fall flat against Satoru’s shoulders and give him a reassuring squeeze. “While we need new champion lines, we ain’t want anyone forcin’ themselves to be here’uh.” Suguru chimed in, a soft smile framing his face. “This is Yuuji, he is our sheep dog here’uh on the ranch. If we’er never ‘round, he can answer any questions.” Suguru waves a delicate hand over and the hybrid joins him quickly, waving both pairs of hands at the herd and his tail wagging furiously with excitement behind him.

“Yeah, yeah…” Satoru’s head lolls back, stretching the expanse of muscles of his neck. “Tonight, we’ll let y’all rest. Tomorrow we will have one on one meetings with the bulls… Any questions?”

A holstein beside you raises her hand. “Can we uh… have any details on this ‘top’ bull of yours?” A light, shy statement.

Satoru’s lips quipped up and pursed for a moment, a long hum leaving his throat as he debated. “Ermmm… He is uh… A little stand offish, serious. He’s a blond if that matters. Doesn’t know how to relax or have funnn… He’s great, y’ah ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout! Super hard worker, I’ll give y’ah that.” He merely answers the question as he should’ve.

“His name is Nanami Kento, he is’a our top bull here and has won us multiple shows, rodeos, and championships. His temperament is’a great, though he rarely shows interest in others… keeps to himself and is strict ‘bout his use of time.” Suguru adds quickly, slightly annoyed at Satoru’s lack of response. “He’s a great bull, he ain’t mean. He’s a… just in need of some guidance.”

‘That name…’ You thought to yourself, it sounded familiar, yet you can’t recall from where you could’ve heard it from. You don’t dawn on it for long.

Another raises.

“Are there any guidelines to follow?”

“Hm, No. You have all the freedom y’ah want, just act civil and like y’ah got some sense.”

A few more hands raised and a series of questions and responses, mostly all about the bulls on the farm and some about the lifestyle on the ranch. By the time the rundown was over, the sun was setting on the horizon, and the herd was let out from the barn to the main farmhouse. Crickets chirped and fireflies filled the shadows of the tree lines and the foliage nearby, giving the ranch a nostalgic feel. Small talk within the herd filled the empty spaces, making the place livelier for the meantime. The string lights flickered on as dark was slowly descending, and they framed each corner of the farmhouse to the poles etched along the trail to the other facilities and houses on ground.

A trailer pulled up, the carrier itself rattlingrattle as it came to a stop next to the trailer they came in earlier. From the caboose, an unknown man came out and unlatched the door. Everyone was dead set on who the passengers were.

“Seem they came early from the rodeo…” Satoru mumbled, a hand palming his face. “Suguru, get ‘em going so we can get ‘em settled in, will y’ah?” He walked off leaving Suguru to get everyone inside.

Suguru opened the door to the farmhouse and slowly guided everyone in, the herds still on the trailer but slowly forgotten as they were ushered away from the courtyard. You were towards the back of the group, too entertained with the surroundings and pretty views of what the ranch had to offer since back home nothing looked like this.

The trailer creaked as some bulls unloaded, catching the attention of those close enough to see. From it, a large, beefy hybrid makes his way, clearly trying to get away from Satoru as he tried to make some type of small talk and god, he was huge. Your eyes measured him from head to toe as you could from the distance, curiosity riddled in your head. He was blonde and fairly built, not too much or too little, just the right amount of everything. Both him and Satoru walked out of view up the trail towards the other farmhouses by the time you make it inside the farmhouse, inside was a large living area, kitchenette, and dining room. It was large enough for everyone to have a decent room and living space. Suguru explains its open and available whenever and not to be shy to use it, he then hands everyone a number attached to a key.

There’s a lot of shifting and moving around of luggage and other belongings between everyone and it takes a while before you’re settled in your room. Third floor and one of the last rooms down the hall, the key wrestles in the knob and door swings open, inside a full bed was placed in the middle with long, flowing canopy curtains with two large windows on either side. Shades of browns and creams filled the room and allowed for personal touches. Two nightstands were pressed closed on both sides of the bed and adorned with gold lamps with beautiful bell lampshade of white, which gave the room a warm and cozy feel. A dresser was perched on the wall against the door with a TV and a vanity on the left. The room also had a personal bathroom with a white minimalistic look.

You inhale deeply and a sigh merely escapes, the long day finally seemed to be catching up to you, and you quickly get to unpacking and putting away things before getting ready for bed. You place your nightgown on the bed as you went off to shower, the knob squeaking as the shower head dripped and slowly poured water. Your shower is warm and soothing, and it isn’t long before you’re done and ready. The night gown slipped over your head, and you plop down onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft and fluffy material. “What. A. Day.” You huff out, your chest sinking with an audible sigh as you shifted upright, allowing yourself to crawl under the sheets.

You grabbed the notebook you placed on the nightstand earlier and ruffled through some pages until you found a blank one, the end of the pen nestled between your lips as you were deep in thought. You jotted some things down, mostly a rundown of how today went, and a short chapter of journaling. You were excited, you always loved a challenge, but also the unfamiliar environment gave you a new purpose to potentially start anew. Back on your ranch at home, life was boring and you had a lot of issues with your past agent, too many bookings and incorrect schedules had you working too much than you could handle. There weren’t many bulls either, you’ve only been with a few. Your mind trails back to the bull earlier, the way he carried himself and how he came off had peaked your interest.

You only sneered. As if even on your knees, you were above him. With your technique latched away and your strength a drop in the ocean that was his might.

"The Strongest parades around with you."

It didn't escape you how Sukuna's brow twitched. Not that you cared. If his talons tore through your throat or ripped out your heart, he'd frankly be doing you a favour.

"Where is he?"

You didn't care about that either, you affirmed to yourself. But the catacomb in your heart strummed a different tune. A cacophony of concern. Was Satoru's manic smile on the battlefield only for show? In the confines of this malevolent shrine, was he in fact a prisoner?

"So you really did have a surprise for me."

Seemed not.

The voice calling behind you sounded more like a curse than even a smidge of familiar. It chilled the air and frosted your heart. Haunting, and frustratingly hearty.

You told yourself not to look. You did. But you still caught the flutter of white in your peripheral and your gaze followed with irritable curiosity.

A pale haori hung around from his shoulders. Audacity pressed into every creaseless sway. Hands tucked into the long sleeves as his arms folded. His blindfold nowhere to be seen. He'd traded black and blues for whites and— were those red studs on his ears?

Gojo Satoru. The Honoured One. The Strongest—

Traitor.

Stood at the foot of the hall with his head held high in all his malicious charm and cruel confidence. And the worst thing about it all?

He never looked more at peace.

Your jaw ticked and your gaze fell to the ground with your drooping head. He didn't deserve your stare, even if it was a daggered glare. You'd only be reminded of how he twisted one into your back.

His footsteps synced with your pounding heart. His scent wrapped around you. It was still the same— but now mixed with his. Your eye twitched.

"Sweet girl, you're as beautiful as the day I left you."

And twitched again.

Beautiful wasn't how you'd describe yourself on the day that the sky went red. You were broken. He stomped your fragments under his boot and cared not for how he shattered you into the ground. Soul and heart alike.

You swallowed venom and forced your stare to the floor. He didn't deserve that either. Nor your hate. He deserved nothing from you.

But for some twisted reason, he thought otherwise. Satoru bent over and crooked his head towards you. An almost mocking attempt to look at your face.

You denied him. Snapping your head away to focus on the far end of this cursed hall. To the shoji that taunted you. To the throne that tortured you.

Anywhere but him.

He clicked his tongue and stood straight again. Good. Maybe your silence was all the blade you needed when your hands were bound. Let your stubbornness make him bleed the same way your heart did.

Your lungs blazed.

The chains clanked and your spine curved. The air knocked from your chest which burned with your eyes as a weight clamped tight around your throat.

You were hurled back into that sickening white. A bicep viced around your throat as your head bumped into a strong shoulder. Your gasps surged with curses as you instinctively jerked and squirmed.

"You—!"

Satoru only chuckled. A husked sound in your ear roaring with blood.

"Oh come on baby."

His drawl made you sick.

"Didn't you miss me?"

Amidst the storm of your rage, you caught wind of Sukuna's displeased stare. As if his glare itself could tear into your chest and dice up your heart. A twisted satisfaction coiled in your gut.

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care. Despite fury festering in your mind and your soul screaming to wretch your hands from the chains and dig your thumbs into Satoru's eyes— you knew.

Knew deep down in that same, soft strum of your heart, that you'd always have a place in his. Even when he acted like this.

Your teeth tore into his arm and you stiffened at the fact that you could. So you were right. He didn't have infinity on.

Did he ever have it on anymore? You wondered.

He didn't yelp. Didn't jerk away. Even as you dug marks into his flesh. You half-expected the bastard to moan, but to your surprise, he frowned. Deeply.

Snagging his arm back, Satoru observed the pink crescents you left behind before he took a step back and dropped you. He circled around you and beelined for Sukuna.

"This isn't the welcome I was expecting, y'know." Was that disappointment?

Your jaw clenched. He had the audacity to pout? As if he had any right to your sentiment?

But it was when he stood at Sukuna's side and a hulking arm reflexively wrapped around him that your teeth ground and wished they had his blood under them.

Hate? You hated many things. Hated the sickening sweetness of the mochi he used to shove into your mouth. Hated that stupid grin of his whenever he'd ask you to show-off a new dress he got you. Hated how his touch still haunted you in the dead of night when you'd awake in your empty bed clinging to the pillow that used to be his.

Now, with a new arm around him. With his head on another shoulder. With his comfort in another's damned, blood-sullen hands. . .

You don't think you've ever hated something more.

No, loathed.

A laugh crept up your throat. Sharp and splintering your tongue that dripped with venom, eager to stain these floors darker. "What? Were you expecting me to welcome you with open arms after you betrayed me?"

He didn't flinch at your spat, but Sukuna narrowed his brows.

"I didn't betray you." Satoru said. Too easily for your poor heart.

"I betrayed the world that hurt us."

"But it was still our world."

Your words cut with finality and bled with anguish. A shrilled whisper in the thickness of miasma.

He faltered. A crease in his brows and a sag in his shoulders. His glare reignited him.

"And it didn't appreciate me."

Fire surged up your spine in blisters and burst into your head. Your fingers twitched and palms cramped under the chains. Venom didn't just drip from your tongue— it whipped.

"So what?"

The chains wretched as your knees lurched up with your body. Weighed, but light against your heavy heart and effort to keep it from shattering all over again. Pupils shrunk. Lips curled. Your voice tore in a ragged scoff.

"You just decided to turn your back on it and frolic along to this bastard!?" Your head lurched to Sukuna. To the damned man who took it all away from you.

"You don't get the easy way out just because the world broke you. Or did you forget our promise?"

His eyes told you that they'd forgotten how they drowned in tears. How his hands clung around your shoulders. The first time that the sky went red— no, voided black. That fateful day that you were both left in the dust.

That day his hands held yours. The day his lips sealed the vow.

We'll never forget each other, won't we? We won't abandon one another.

Not like him.

"Or do you just wanna hurt someone the same way Suguru hurt you?"

Lightning struck.

Down your arm. Torn through your veins. The blood roaring in your ears spilled from a gash sliced down your flesh.

You clambered to hold the wound as your knees struck the ground. A voice shook the shrine and stung your new wound.

"You will not speak to him like that. Do you understand me?"

The ground trembled as Sukuna marched forward. Eyes gaped and pupils thin as a snarl ripped from the depths of his throat. Only then did you realise that it was his technique that was responsible for your injury.

"Sukuna— don't."

And just like that. The storm stilled.

A second patter came, quicker, calmer. You looked up through blurry vision just in time to see Satoru's hand brace on Sukuna's shoulder. The monster quelled. Your heart roared.

You couldn't manage to rip away from him as he crouched in front of you. His cold hand pressed to your wound and you hissed a curse. Hoping it could stab him with even a fraction of the intensity of which you shattered.

He applied pressure to the wound and braced you onto his body. Despite yourself, you dared to look up. Into those deep blues that were once yours.

Conflict swam within them.

You hated him.

Silence weighed heavier than miasma in the air. Your body shook against his, and he held you. Just like he always did.

You hated him.

"You don't have to forgive her," he spoke slowly, curling his head to glance over his shoulder at Sukuna.

You fucking. Hated him.

"But I won't let you hurt her."

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ

The burn in your arm subsided, but not in your soul.

Relief washed over your flesh that slowly mended itself as an azure glow circled it. A pale hand hovered, while another cradled your elbow. The thumb on your joint stroking idly did little to to ease your nerves, as you're sure he intended.

Reverse cursed energy. You remembered how Shoko went on about its flow while Suguru and Satoru scratched their heads. Your heart smiled at the thought— you missed her. Missed Suguru.

Satoru. . .

Seems he understood it now. Specifically how to distribute it to others. A difficult feat that very few could muster, even with his title as the 'The Strongest' slapped behind his name.

Now? He healed you with ease. Not a pinch in his brows nor strain in his fingers. Like some twisted enlightenment.

You lowered your gaze back to the deep maroon sheets. Your stomach twisted. Was everything in this damned compound some fucking shade of red? Its tyrant really wanted to make sure everything from the flooring, to the sheets to even his lover's lobes were marked, huh?

Whatever. Infuriatingly soft silk sheets were better than an icy dungeon floor. Even if the frost crept up your neck instead— Satoru's constant glances weren't subtle. Though you're not sure if he was even trying to make them so.

You refused to meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at those blues that ached something deep within you. Consequently, that meant that every inch of the large, warm chamber mocked you. No matter where you fixated.

The bed was huge. Probably for two. Considering neither Sukuna nor Satoru were necessarily small. The bed itself was tucked in the corner of the room with a circular opening. It rested on a teak platform and extended into an overhang. Something grand that you'd expect from ancient wedding night— which only left you more bitter.

There was a small table with a teapot and a plate of mochi. Five to be exact, with one half-eaten. Probably courtesy of Satoru. Their sweetness stained your tongue sour.

The closet in the corner was left open. Rows of neat robes and the finest of fabrics peeked out. Fit for a King. And his beloved consort.

Royalty. Satoru was treated like royalty. And this damned room was a testament to their. . . no. You still hadn't gotten over that four letter word. Let alone accepted the fact that he said it to someone else.

To a curse, no less.

"This isn't how I wanted our reunion to be."

At last he piped up. How you wished he didn't.

You looked up and saw that his eyes remained focused on your arm. Was there enough strength in it yet to smack him yet? You wondered.

You'd settle for your sharp tongue. "Again, what did you expect? A hug? A kiss? Forgive me for being pissed over how much happier you look here."

Those beautiful blues finally meet you from beneath white lashes. An ache rooted in your chest. When last had he looked at you like that? You hated him for depriving you of it. Hated yourself for missing it.

"I am happier here."

But hated him even more for that.

"I'm treated better. I can finally live."

His touch swept away from your skin, and like a drunken sailor chasing the roaring waves, you almost reach out for him. Almost.

You chose to drown.

In him. In the memories of him. In that sacred time when he was yours. With that big, stupid grin and eager fingers pushing sweet treats to your lips.

All you tasted now was the deep, bitter reality that those memories were just that— memories. Moments lost in time. With one frozen within them and the other far moved on.

You withdrew your arm and observed your bruised wrists as you shifted your legs over the bed's edge. The chains were no more, but you still felt a weight. On your hands that could do nothing, in your stomach that twisted nausea, and in your heart that still beat for him.

You could use your technique and get the hell out of here. With his infinity off? You could probably get pretty far if you made a break for the window.

But this room and its evidence would always hold your mind captive in the sick fact that it was theirs.

"Your infinity isn't on."

"I don't need it anymore."

"I could hurt you, right now."

Your hand flexed and you fixed your gaze on the floor. To the details in the hardwood. Anything but at that piercing stare through your temples. Never a threat, but always a promise. Even a broken one.

The bed sunk beside you as Satoru repositioned himself. His presence crept ice up your spine and warmed your chest all the same.

You hated it. You loved it.

"But you won't." He said.

You scoffed, but smiled. Rolling your shoulders back to stare at the mochi across the room hatefully. Did he remember how he always nagged you to make those? Or did their sweetness bring a new name to his mind?

"Yeah. Because unfortunately, I still love you."

You swore your hearts froze together with your words, then synced with a languished beat.

"So yeah." Your smile wasn't bitter, nor sour. It ached. With the phantom of his sweet kiss. "It fucking hurts that you don't feel the same anymore."

The bed creaked as Satoru's spine shot straight. You caught the gape of his eyes and his fingers curling on his knees.

"Of course I still love you."

"You're a liar."

You wished it would soothe the wounds. His balmed words only stung.

Chills pressed into your chin as his fingers grasped. He tilted your head to him. Not allowing your gaze to run from him any longer. He dragged you closer until his scent wrapped around you. Comforted you. Reminded you.

His eyes begged you. The whisper on his tongue pleaded.

"I do."

It was instinctual to stare at his lips when he was this close. For but a fleeting, yearning moment.

You locked stares again. Yours begged back.

"Prove it."

He did. Softly, tenderly, a secret of his lips on yours. Stars burst in that delicate way that they always did when his mouth found yours. When the kiss that felt so unfamiliar, still carried the taste of the past and all its honey.

You wished to simmer in the moment. To unravel into his gentleness that you craved since the first and last day he left bruises on you. That fateful day. When the sky went red.

But that red ran hot. Sizzled into a sharp scarlet searing through your veins. So when you kissed him back— it's not soft, or tender, and it sure as hell isn't gentle.

Furious, frustrated and fervent. You soured the honey into poison and tore your fingers through his white hair. Yanking him in, reminding him— declaring. That he was still yours.

He moaned at the fruition.

Oh, you'd give him enlightenment.

It was tongue and teeth and a treacherous mix of thorns as you pushed forward. He caught your hips. He always did. Pulled you into his lap like old times and matched your roughness.

Until your lips bruised. Until his were bitten. At last he parted in threads of hot saliva, snapping like your sanity. His eyes were hazed as they awed up at you.

"I missed you." He rasped.

"I don't believe you." You ragged.

But still, your trembling hands brushed his hair back and cupped his face. Your thumbs re-familiarised his cheekbones.

His chest stuttered. You're sure his heart did too. He trailed his eyes over you, then stared up through his lashes with a whisper so forbidden. So yours.

"Then let my tongue prove it."

And then his lips were on you again. Your neck. Mouthed down to your shoulder, over your shirt. You swore that you felt them twitch as they brushed the fabric. Littered over your breasts with an incoherent murmur.

But if you remembered Satoru well enough— he was probably complaining. Cursing out the offensive material.

His nails were far more eager. Nipping on your shirt's hem and peeling it back over your breasts. He groaned at your bra choice. Maybe it really was fate that brought you here. Why else would you be in his old favourite?

Cold lips worshipped atop your breasts, sending sparks down your spine as he pulled one of your tits out and flicked his tongue on your pert nipple.

You shuddered. Grappling for some kind of shame or reason to not fuck your ex on his new lover's bed— while said ex had toppled over the jujutsu world and was now the force of evil you swore against.

Evil or not, damn, you missed that filthy tongue.

Hands shot to his shoulders. A protest crept up your throat as you looked down at his fluttering lashes and smooching lips. "Toru—"

The bed bounced and you yelped as your back hit it fully. He tipped you over and dragged your legs out with large hands locked on your hips. Good luck getting him to stop now. His tongue already drooled with greed as it swiped down your tummy.

Kisses felt like a dance of fire and ice. Embedded into your skin and pulling memories into moans as his blunt nails dragged on your pants and exposed your centre. You're not sure if you're more embarrassed that you didn't stop him— or that you already formed a damp spot.

Habitually, he pressed a kiss to your panties. The only shame you mustered was how naturally you twitched for him.

All ifs, and buts melted into a pool of heat as he drew your panties down next and groaned so deep that it rumbled your core.

"Fuck, hey there sweetheart." He drawled with eyes fixed onto your pussy. His thumb stroked over your folds to punctuate his greeting. Your face flushed as he smooched your clit in a wet, missed me?

His lips trailed down your slit. Dragging your bubbling wetness and pouring moans from your trembled lips. Your spine lifted. Memories be damned. Who needed them when he was back where he belonged? Between your legs.

"Missed you sooo much baby," he rumbled into your slit with pinched brows as he mouthed all hot and bothered along it. You always were his favourite sweet treat.

But oh, he couldn't leave any part of you lonely for long. Not again. His thumb swiped up and rubbed on your clit, prompting a trickles out of your throbbing cunt. You sucked a shaky breath.

He parted to watch the leak, pupils blown wide as he slowed his stroke. "Yeah I know, I know." He cooed, still talking to your cunt.

Shivers rushed up your spine as his tongue flushed to the bottom of your slit and pressed flat as he dragged it up. Slow, and greedy and oh so filthy. You finally whined for him and buried your fingers into his hair.

"Satoru. . . hngh."

His name tasted good on your lips. It's where it belonged. Always.

The sentiment seemed to spur him on as his palms splayed over your thighs to spread you out and snatch you deeper. Shoved into his heated kisses, dirty sucks and lewd licks. He groaned and spat. He always was a messy eater. Always too distracted by your pussy to remember his decency as he feasted on you as if he'd been starving these last two years.

You want to look down. To see him devouring your pussy— but his tongue cut you off. Plunged into your gummy walls as his face flushed forward. His nose nudged your clit and stars burst before your eyes.

"Mhhm— fuck toru. Jus' like that— ah." Your fingers curled on his scalp and leveraged his head so that you could grind your hips into his face. Slopping him up and drawing out his moans as he clung onto your thighs like they were his last shred of sanity.

His tongue pistoned. Stained in your taste and rapidly fucking into you as his lewd, wet noises vibrated through you. Stroking on the heat in your tummy and coiling the knot tighter.

You arched. Whined. "Ohgod— mngh, gonna cum."

How you missed saying that. Missed the sparks dancing over your spine and coursing through your pussy. Missed his glutinous tongue.

"Gonna cum, toru, pleasepleaseplease."

He withdrew and replaced his tongue with his fingers quicker than you could complain. They slipped in with a tempered squelch and curled into that spot he still remembered. Massaging and fucking and tenderising as his lips locked around your clit.

"Yeah baby. Tha's it. C'mon. Show me how much y'missed toru's tongue." He slurred, suckling on the throbbing nub as he plunged his fingers hastily.

His glossy eyes fluttered up to yours. All drunk and hazed. Pleading. How could you ever deny him?

Your muscles locked up. Voice singing a name you swore off years ago. Fingers holding his hair for dear life as you humped into his face with stuttered whines. He took you higher— and higher— and. . .

It snapped into nothingness.

Both of your whines mixed. Loud and pitched as a clawed hand yanked Satoru back by the hair. Snatching him from your grasp once again with webs of saliva and slick strung to your cunt.

You registered the demon that took him from you in the first place and in the haze of your need, you whimpered. As if for some bizarre reason, you could appease him.

"Oh shut up." Sukuna snarled and muffled it into Satoru's lips, who whined and pressed back instinctively.

You blinked back blurs to behold their tongues tangling. Your gut twisted at how eagerly Satoru limped into him, like some lovesick fucking doll.

A frown fixed to your lips as your elbows dug into the bed to push you up. At last they parted. Finally. Those few seconds permanently scarred your soul.

But it blistered into that same, fiery burst as Sukuna cut his glare over. Your eyes sharpened to clash. He sneered.

"What? You think you deserve this?"

"You sound jealous."

"Don't forget that's my bed you're slobbering all over."

Instinctively, your legs jerked together and you straightened your spine like a cobra ready to spit venom in his eyes. He looked all the more willing to gulp it down and claw it around your throat instead.

Satoru interrupted the thundering clouds with a lightning swat! onto Sukuna's chest, who turned to meet his frown.

No words exchanged, but their stares locked. Not a blink. Not a bat. Green nestled in your gut. Were they communicating with their eyes alone?

A loud sigh sagged from Sukuna together with his shoulders. He blinked first and looked away. Triumph shone from Satoru's stupid grin.

Only to shout a complaint as a clawed hand yanked him to the edge of the bed, shoving his pants down in the process, while another nabbed your hair and jerked you to the floor so you joined the protests.

Smack! Your knees clambered as you were positioned between Satoru's.

"You deserve to be worshipped. Not the other way around."

Sukuna leered, not even looking in your direction. As if taking his eyes off of his lover for one second would melt him— or maybe sparing you a glance would turn him to stone.

He steered your head to Satoru's dick, who tensed and waved his hand frantically. "Hey hey hey that's not nece— mn."

Of course your lips naturally wrapped around his pretty tip. Why wouldn't they? It was reflex. Even with the bastard locking you in place.

Your eyes fluttered up to Satoru. Memorising his twitching brows and quivered lips as you languidly sucked down. He rarely let you do this back then. You often had to fight him just to get a lick.

Your reminiscing morphed into splutters as your head was suddenly shoved. Inches plunged into your throat and Satoru strangled with you.

"What're you waiting for?" Sukuna glowered. "I said worship him."

Your throat constricted as you choked around his twitching dick. A thick vein throbbed heavily on the back of your tongue. You vibrated it with whimpers as you tried to catch your breath through your nostrils.

Satoru on the other hand, looked as if he couldn't even breathe. His face burning and hands scrambling as he shot out to grip Sukuna's wrist. His fingers trembled with his voice.

"Go— mn, easy on her."

"She can take it. Or has she only ever taken pleasure from you?"

Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

He strutted into Satoru's life and twisted his morals two years ago— two years. Two. You'd familiarised Satoru's body with your hands long before Sukuna was even reincarnated. Yet somehow he thought he owned every right to it?

Spite sizzled in your gut. It mixed with the jealousy to concoct a flaring urge to prove yourself. To Sukuna?

No, to hell with him.

To Satoru. To remind him why you were his first.

Nimble fingers curled around his base. You thumb spontaneously stroking on a vein while you hollowed your cheeks. Sucking down at the pressure you knew damn well sent his eyes rolling. His stuttered hip bucks were your reward.

"Damn— baby."

Sukuna's hand spurred with competition. Dragging and shoving your head so you maintained a mouthful of cock. Not that you needed it. Despite the weight you bobbed in haste, impatient to take him down your throat and make him lose his mind. For you.

Spit splattered and his precum smeared your tongue. Fuck. You missed the taste. Missed every hefty throb and the way his tip twitched as it glided on the roof of your mouth.

But what you missed the most? The sight of him. His noises. How his head fell back to expose his stuttering throat. How his brows creased at centre and his lips parted to the ceiling. How pretty and pathetic his deep voice pitching sounded as he helplessly humped.

"Fuck baby, yeah, just like that."

He was beautiful.

"See? That's how you pleasure him."

And he was a bitch.

Your glossy eyes swept a glare to Sukuna, who retorted with a fierce tug of your hair. Shoving you deeper. Deeper. Until Satoru's hot tip smooched the back of your throat and you spluttered drool.

A second of reprieve. Your spite rekindled. Constricting your throat, you squeezed on his balls and forced your head to move more ferociously that Sukuna's hand. Utterly crumbling Satoru who clambered for your shoulder and threw his spine in an arch.

"Shit, f-fuck, ohgod— oh fuck, baby, baby please, please please hngh." His slurring babbles struck pride in your core. You rewarded him with vibrating hums.

But of course, the King of Curses— or rather, King of Covet— had to splinter your confidence.

"Did you ever get him like this? Ever made him feel this good?" He bent over to loom in your ear.

You glared. Gurgled. But your gut twisted.

No. You didn't.

Satoru never concerned you with his pleasure.

"When he cums in your mouth," you could hear the bastard's sharp grin, "Know that he's cumming for me."

Your eyes gaped. That fucker—

Unfortunately, you had no more time for spite. Spurts surged the back of your throat while Sukuna shoved you down. So that your nose brushed Satoru's pelvis and his dick spasmed in your throat. Rope after rope of hot cum streamed into your chokes and struggled gulps.

He came with a cry. A pitiful whine that blended Sukuna's name and yours— but all you heard was the former's. God, how you wished your stare really could turn him to stone.

"Swallow everything."

You hated him.

"Don't waste a drop of my lover's cum."

You hated him.

Drool mixed with thick, hot cum as you gulped down whatever you possibly could. Eyes rolled back and lips strained as you committed your mind to imagining just the two of you. No curses. no kings.

Just you and him. Just you finally making him feel good.

Burning lungs washed with relief, but the same couldn't be said for your throbbing heart, as you're jerked away from his sopping dick. Still hard and twitching. You fight a smile— yeah, that's your Satoru.

Instead, a frown tugged with a calloused thumb swiping over your lip. Sukuna's stare smouldered with audacity as he dragged his tongue over your leftovers. "Sweet as ever, my love."

Your jaw ticked. Despite its ache you're already charging several insults— but you only managed a yelp as Satoru's large hands stole your hips and toppled you over shaky thighs. Kisses smoked out your fire as they smothered all over your face.

"Mm, my baby, my sweet girl. Always doing so good."

Satoru's praises were a balm your heart. You fluttered and limped into his touch. His arms secured on you. A cold, comforting palm flat on your spine. His chin crooked on your shoulder to stare back at Sukuna.

"C'mon, let's show her what she's missin' out on." You heard his pout and bit on your smile. "I want my two favourite people to get along."

You crooked your head and observed their eye fucking— ahem, contact, again. You were really beginning to add onto that list of things you hate. Number one? Whatever secret language in the form of stares they had going on.

Sukuna huffed and the bed creaked beneath his weight. You're sure he tried to appear regal but he practically flopped into the sheets and jostled with his robes' belt. Pulling it back to reveal the wide maw on his abdomen that mimicked his frown.

You almost laughed. Almost. It caught as Satoru hoisted you closer to the other. Now there were three frowns.

"What're you doing?"

"Come onnnn, I want you two to bond."

You rolled your eyes as his pouting lips mouthed on your neck. Yes, your blood still ran green and spite continued its fester in your gut but perhaps. . . You could do it for him.

Deep down, some innate, irritating smidge within you still wanted to please him.

"Fine." You huffed and bit your inner cheek as Sukuna locked stares. "Let's see what you see in him so bad."

Satoru's grin sliced through the tension in the air. Who could ever say no to that? With excitement warming his hands, he steered you into a straddle over Sukun's stomach. Massaging your thighs with assuring thumbs.

"Well," he crooned on your ear and laved it with a kiss. "He's reaalll good with his mouth."

Your eyes began to roll.

Just because the fucker had multiple mouths doesn't mean—

Then, they rolled back.

Hot, wet, the massive tongue dragged a sopping lick over your spasming cunt. Filthy and thick. You swallowed a whine, but not your shudder.

You ignored Sukuna's smug smirk and clawed your hands to Satoru's wrists as his hands guided your hips into a sensual roll. Synching you with that swirling tongue already feasting below. You pulsed into its heat and squirmed as pleasure sparked your spine.

"Mngh, oh."

"Theeree we go. Feels good, doesn't it sweet girl?"

Satoru's drawl dripped into your ear like the saliva oozing on your slit. You chewed your lip and shot Sukuna a side eye, who had reverted back to a blank stare. As if pleasuring you was a fucking chore.

Still, for some frustrating reason, your pussy pulsed.

You mustered a huff and humped your hips. Dragging on his mouth fully as if trying to suffocate him. It backfired, of course. You were left twitching and whining— but still mustered a glare.

A pitiful, trembling one. But a glare no less.

"I'll never enjoy a curse."

A pause.

Then a keen.

The mouth started ferally sucking down on your cunt. Creating a suction on both your slit and clit that sent your eyes back.

Simultaneously, Satoru's hands guided you into a faster grind. Smearing your wetness all over Sukuna's tanned skin and spilling you desperate whimpers.

"Yeah, but you're about to cum for one, aren't you?"

Sukuna gruffed. A low grunt that rumbled into your heat-surging core. You stammered in your bucks as two massive, hot hands clawed up and cupped your breasts. Squeezing their jiggles until you flicked your head back from the dual stimulation.

"Y-You— shut u— ah!"

His tongue cut your complaints short again. This time shoved into your slit and wriggling until he found exactly which darling, devastating spot to curl into. Prodding and licking and grinning into it as you spasmed with a sob.

Helpless. You were helpless. White clouding your vision. Sweat prickling your forehead. You squirmed and ground down into his merciless maw as it made of show of messing up your poor pussy.

Seemed Satoru wanted in on the fun. He mouthed on your shoulder and slithered a hand between your wobbling thighs. Stroking your throbbing clit until it shot spasms through through clenching body.

"F-Fuck, fuck I ca— I can't," you croaked.

"Course you can. Cum for a curse." Sukuna crooned.

And fuck. Suddenly you hated yourself more than both of them combined. Your squelching walls clenched on the relentless, thrusting tongue and your head tossed back. Your orgasm rearing into an intense wave of ruin and ragged bliss as you finally— finally came.

Splattering all over a tongue at last. Perhaps not Satoru's— but you didn't care. Not as your vision blurred and you pitifully rocked into the pleasure bursts.

Tears trickled down your face as cum leaked from your throbbing, gooey centre. Your sniffled sob smothered into kisses as you were drawn back into those cold, comforting arms.

"Sssh. Did so good. You did so so good baby." Satoru cooed, hands laving affection all over your heated skin.

He held you as he always did. How your heart yearned for him to all of those lonely nights. Your mind wrecked with heat fractured into reality of how much you missed him.

Your body melted into his. Muscles finally easing into the assurance and promise of his hold. Once broken or not. His hands smoothed over your thighs, squeezed on your waist and cupped your breasts in a tender massage.

Your eyes fluttered. Heart slowed.

"Isn't she sweet?"

Satoru murmured, probably to the huffing Sukuna. You didn't need to see his eye roll to feel it,

"Guess so."

"Mhhm?"

Or Satoru's grin in the air.

You refocused purely to see the look on Sukuna's face. But to your surprise no deadpan awaited. Only a deep, dark desire brooding in his maroon stare.

"Wanna see how she could ever satisfy you."

He drawled. His mockery tethered something else at the end. Could that be mildness? You'd only ever considered him malicious, but his dilated pupils showed otherwise. You followed his trailing gaze down your curves to Satoru's worshipping hands.

And somehow? His stare mimicked those hands.

Satoru paused on your shoulder. Then nodded, his white strands tickling your jaw as he encased you within his caressing chills. Engulfed in his larger body.

Kisses curved up your neck, carrying whispering praises that soaked into your veins and ran your blood hot. Hot like a familiar prodding slotted between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. His thinned.

"Remember this, sweetheart?"

He chuckled when your hips rolled into his dick, like it was their god-given purpose. Your body always danced to his rhythm. Even when he'd long soured the melody.

His tip circled your drooling slit, dragging your slick all over. And for a moment, a devastating moment— you almost stopped him. Almost chickened out and went back to biting his hand.

But then your body caved.

Muscles eased, cunt clenching, crying, as he easily pressed in. Kissing your gummy walls in an overdue welcome home and pushing into you inch by agonising inch.

Your bodies synched a shudder. Satoru's head limped into your shoulder blades, fervently whispering your name like it would save him from your squeezing, suffocatingly sweet pussy.

"Fuck," he clung to your waist. "So she did miss me."

You fluttered around his base. Messing up his balls and clenching around his cervix-kissing tip as he stretched you open. Memories in every vein pulse and inch throb. Reminding. Reclaiming.

He faltered with his breath. Dug his teeth on your shoulder. Stabilised. Then finally mustered a filthy grind deep within your warmth. Sending you scrambling.

"Toru— ah." A hand fell to his wrist while the other shot into his hair. He mewled and forced himself to focus on his languid pumps as he searched for a rhythm.

"God," you heaved. "It's soo— so. . ."

"So what? So big? Awww, you can take it can't you?"

He crooned, a sharp grin smooching your ear while a large, guiding hand dropped to yours. Soon you were palming over the swollen bulge he left at the base of your tummy. Fingers locked with yours as he applied a sickeningly pleasurable pressure that spun your head with heat.

Your already slutty moan surged into a pitched whine as his pumps sped into timed thrusts. Once. Twice. Thrice. Grind— repeat.

Stars burst in your vision. Head tipping back. You missed Sukuna's awed expression. Escaped the rustle of robes. The wet, tempered slaps and sloshes served as the perfect distraction.

Despite your limp form, your hips still tried. Pitifully, struggling, but an attempt nevertheless. They humped back into Satoru's thrusts. Whose grin turned evil as he snatched your waist and shmacked! up into your cervix. Bucking, grinding into the tight ring of muscle until it spasmed with your sobbing cunt.

"Yeah that's it baby. That's it. Fuck me back." He grunted through his shallow rocks.

Well on his course of cruelty and feral care, a hand slithered down. His thumb slotted between your folds and fondled your clit into a twitching mess. Spurring on your need so that you mindlessly rocked into him. Creaking the bed in your search for more. In your surge of greed.

Your cunt squeezed with your throat.

His other hand shot up. Clamped on your neck and choking out the prettiest of noises. Both from your mouth and squelching pussy as his hips rushed ruthlessly. Fucking up in a blur of ragged roughness that threw your spine into an arch and spluttered your drool.

"Hngh! Fuck toru— toru there, right there."

"Thought I forgot how you liked it, pretty?" He laughed on your lobe. Grunted and twisted you to face him. "How you like getting fucked hard? Getting your pretty pussy roughed-up?"

Knuckles trapped your clit and pinched. You keened. Losing all muscle movement and limping into your old position as his pretty little doll. Stretched out and spilling all over his cock that rammed persistently. Like he could fuck out every ounce of grief and loathing thought from your pretty little head.

He sure as hell might've. In your glazed eyes and messy mind there was only one thing— him. Him. Pounding into you again and again and ringing the repeat through your blistering mind— Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru.

"Gonna— S'toru— 'm gonna cum! Fuck, fuck 'm gonna cum." You sobbed.

"For me?"

"For you baby, always for you."

He joined your whines. Face falling into your shoulder as you tugged on his hair and held onto his hand for dear life. Completely losing yourselves to the reality that you were being watched by Sukuna's reverent stare. Utterly missing the way he stroked his bulge and shuddered with every mixture of moans.

Satoru slurred and you swore tears dripped onto your shoulder.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

"I love you."

You smushed your sob into his mouth as you jerked him in by the hair. Lips slamming, hands clambering as his thrusts turned sloppy, feral, and your body melted into putty.

The spasms came hot. Terrible and tender. Cum splashing your thighs while his thick seed frothed you full. Shattering you both into a puddle of wanton splutters and reckless abandon.

Your mouths twisted into a mess of tongue and teeth. A wrest of hate and love. Old and rekindled. Your quiet cries induced his tears. Satoru clambered onto you. As if letting go for even a second would be a greater sin than the first time.

When he finally parted, the saliva strung. Tears merged and your lips quivered. But he brushed them away— whispering a gentle apology you're not even sure voiced.

Your heart ached. Healed. And he cradled you close. So devastatingly close until you simmered into the fragile reality that you were finally, finally in one another's arms again.

The dust settled when Satoru pressed a kiss to your temple, tracing it down and chuckling into your cheek. Only then did you remember you had an audience.

Four beady eyes and— were you seeing wrong or were those two bulges?

"Enjoyed the show?" Satoru mused. Sukuna huffed again. You wondered if that's the only way he knew how to communicate. He looked away as Satoru slowly slipped out.

His hands cupped your hips and massaged on your aches, then guided you over before you could blink. "You know. . . she could be good for you too."

"Satoru—"

"Toru—"

Words die on your tongues. Sukuna and you merged in a moan. His deeper, yours pitched, as Satoru dragged your soaking cunt over the— yes, two bulges.

A new set of hands joined your thighs. Dwarfing Satoru's as they squeezed on your plush and firmed you down. To your surprise, you squirmed. Not away, but onto him. Another shared moan.

Murky maroons locked with yours. All spite and jealousy between the both of you faded into a thick, sultry heat. For a moment you blinked, hesitated, until he broke stare and looked back to Satoru.

"Only if I can have you too."

"Ooo, greedy."

Satoru snickered but crawled closer. All you remembered was the contrast of their touch. Icy fire and hot frost seeping into your spasming nerves. Blurs of stripped robes and stinging stretches.

One moment you were staring down Sukuna's double dicks and thinking poor Satoru— the next, you were stuffed full of one of them. With 'poor Satoru' squirming behind you and whining with you as he struggled around the second dick.

How the hell does he take this thing?

You're huffing. Gasping. Your cunt could barely handle Satoru— and if he was big? Sukuna was fucking monstrous. Snug in every nook and cranny, pressed into every nerve and thrumming so many veins into your gummy wetness that you felt like you'd lost your damn mind.

Forget poor Satoru. Poor you and your pussy that clenched for dear life as you gulped down air like you were searching for a miracle.

"Fuck, relax, fucking strangling me." Sukuna hissed.

You whined, then whimpered. Satoru's hands slipped around you with the aim to ease. Rubbing circles on your clit and squeezing your tit.

"Ssshh baby," as if he was doing any better. "It's okay. 's okay. Know he's so. . . fuckin' big," he croaked and limped his head onto your back. You both crumbled as Sukuna rolled his hips in a hefty grind.

You felt him so deep in cunt, in your stomach, everywhere.

Hot hands replaced the cold palm on your breast. Sukuna's upper arms reached to cup your tits and squeezed them into his finger gaps while the lower set circled Satoru's hips. Guiding you both into his slow, sinister rhythm.

You caught his grin and hated how your tummy fluttered at it. "Does she even know how to ride?" He taunted, eyeing your struggling pussy that spluttered and soaked his thighs.

Fucker. Just when you're getting used to him.

With a scoff and surged spite, your hands shot to his wrists and dug your nails into his markings. He grunted. Grinned wider. As you glared and leveraged your hips into a bounce. Clumsy one second, then cruel the next.

"This— hah— good 'nough for you?" It was your turn to grin as he groaned.

His hips bucked up hard. Frantically chasing your confidence with curses and moans spilling from his damned lips. Consequently, this meant Satoru was hurled into the rhythm too. Yelps and whines shattered through him as he clambered on your waist and collapsed onto your back.

His hips meshed into your ass as he desperately attempted to grind down and steady himself. "Wait, wait waaitt— 'm still getting used to it, fuck!"

Your eyes glinted with Sukuna's at the splutters. Your gazes met amidst the heated pleasure and wet shmacks! of skin.

"Pathetic, isn't he?" Sukuna crooned.

You crumbled, but cooed. "But so pretty."

Fingers delved back into Satoru's hair and tugged him in. His chin knocked onto your shoulder and whines spilled as his nails dug.

"When I— hah— said I wanted you to get along I didn't mean bully me."

His retribution came in a clit pinch. You jerked and spluttered with him as the last threads of Sukuna's patience tore. Hips smacking up wildly so that he fucked you both onto pulsing, messy cocks. Eager to send your eyes rolling back as he spurred from the suffocating tightness.

A cacophony of moans, whines and cries brimmed the chamber. A slutty staccato as you both crumbled into the streams of blazing bliss. Collapsed into one another and clinging. Satoru squeezed your waist. You clung to his hair. Pulling him into drooling kisses as your minds puddled into the mess soaking Sukuna through.

"Fuck," Satoru rasped, his cock humping on your ass as a result of the relentless slams. "Gonna— cum, 'm gonna cum again. Please."

"Already? Slut."

Sukuna's sneer paired with his hand dropping from Satoru's hip to his pulsing dick. Smacking it onto your jiggling ass before pumping it into a twitching, spasming mess.

Poor Satoru. He gasped for dear life. Hands shaking on your thighs as he returned the favour to you. Dropping to your clit and rubbing in-time with Sukuna's jerking palm.

Your keens merged in a pathetic plea.

"Torruuu, not— n-not fair, I can't." Your croaks matched your stuttered bounces. Slick and drool webbing all over. Mixing with sweat and smearing over your skins. The relentless hump on your cervix sent your teary eyes rolling back— and you're certain Satoru's mimicking. If those slutty, sloppy moans were anything to go off of.

Still, he managed to laugh in your ear. Breathless. Delirious. "No way in. . . fuck. Hell am I cummin' before you."

Oh you tried to hold on. Tried to cling to whatever bits of your sanity remained. But your vision had went white. Your tummy twisted and your mind reeled as pleasure battered through your squeezing pussy. Sick, sweet, saving pleasure that spilled your spit and sticky cum.

Your orgasm tore through you in a squelching squirt. A muck of brokenly bucking hips and croaking cries. Dizzy. You were dizzy. Hazed, hot and heavy-limbed as the soaking slaps reached a piercing ring through the room. Followed by Sukuna's haughty laughter.

"Yeah, slut up my cock. Said you wouldn't enjoy a curse huh? Now you're cumming on his cock."

"Sh-Shuutt uppp."

You sobbed. And in a last effort of pride collapsed into the King of Curses. Consuming him for a change. With your mouths clashing, teeth clattering and tongues clambering. You swore that he rumbled a moan into your wet lips.

A pitched whine ripped through the air.

Seemed that's all Satoru needed to burst all over your ass. Torrid and trembling as he bucked a few more times for pathetic measure— before he too collapsed.

You whimpers vibrated into each other. Synching and sobbing as Sukuna's dicks abruptly rammed up. Once. Twice. Then twitched and spilled into you both with frothing, bubbling cum. Fuck. It burned so beautifully.

Pants heaved through the air thick with sweat and sex. The musk of cum and mixing perfumes wrapped around the three of you like a blanket. Sukuna's four sets split between the two of you. The first pair hooked on your shoulders while the second cradled Satoru.

The heat faded into a tender, trembled whisper. A stained memory in the confines of this room. Slicked into the bed and smeared into your hearts.

Silence.

"I want a kiss tooo. . . "

Smiles.

Satoru's complaints pressed kisses into your shoulders. Only then did you realise how your lips hadn't quite left Sukuna's lips. You parted. Shared his blinks. Then turned to smooch the pouting Satoru.

He hummed his happiness. Parting only to get Sukuna in on the action as they shared a kiss over your shoulder.

For the first time this entire accursed night, you didn't see green.

Satoru returned to snuggling on your shoulder blades and released a heavy sigh. His weight melted into your back. Another beat of silence.

"Does this mean you'll stay forever?"

His voice was impossibly small. Frighteningly soft. Strumming an aching chord in your soul that whispered, pleaded with you to be selfish. To be happy.

Just this once.

You shifted your stare and noticed Sukuna's looking up at you. No glares nor scowls. But and uncharacteristic patience and— terrifying gentleness. In that devastating moment it clicked for you.

You and Sukuna weren't so different after all.

All you wanted was the best for Satoru.

In the ease of silence, you contemplated. Then chose. Softening a smile as your head rested on a warm shoulder. Those arms and hands that knew only bloodshed held you both in a beautiful surrender. Squeezing.

You whispered.

"I'll think about it."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons. art cred: @/sakimichanmale (twt)

Not like that was relevant, anyway. Because, although he was four years your junior, he still managed to cause twice as much trouble compared to the average toddler. He was a jester, sure, but he was more than just mockery and tomfoolery. He played pranks even during the most serious occasions, and teased the ladies of the royal court endlessly.

Crude, deviant jokes.

Twisted mind games.

Insults vile enough to bring tears down the victim’s eyes.

He did it all, with little to no remorse. Actually, scratch that, no remorse—none, at all.

Gojo Satoru was a mischievous kid, probably the most mischievous jester of the kingdom. He joked around and teased just about everyone, but he directed most of his obscenities towards you. All six years he had been at the castle, the castle where you resided at as a lady, he was nothing but a menace to you. A bully, if you could even say that.

He pulled your hair, laughed in your face at your evident frustration, occasionally stepped on the trains of your dresses, stole food from your plates, and often dared to interrupt your conversations with other ladies you had befriended at the castle. You did not like Gojo, not one bit.

The only time you had ever felt an emotion lacking loathing towards the now twenty-year-old was when you became acquainted at his first appearance in the royal court. When he was brought in before the king, who sat solemnly on his throne, Gojo did not want to live. His parents had been murdered, house had been ransacked, and old life destroyed. You could not blame him. But the king offered him a new life, a life as a jester.

Gojo was fourteen years old; he was alone, cold, hungry, and he decided to start anew.

Perhaps the reason Gojo was so skilled at being an entertainer was because the only way the boy had ever learned how to cope with his misfortunes was with humor. He masked his sorrows every day he sang and danced and joked with the royal court, and maybe—maybe the reason why he poked fun at you the most often was . . . because you were the only one who noticed.

He was a talented man, but his talents were directed towards rather foolish acts. He wrote and played ballads dedicated to poking and making fun of you. He plucked his instruments as annoyingly and horridly as humanly possible just to rile you up and see you either storm out the room in rage or struggle to hold yourself back from slapping his smug smile right off his impossibly handsome face. Besides music, he also wrote poems: poems full of love and poems full of hate (more often than not, pointed to you).

There was not a word in the language you spoke that could describe how much you loathed hearing Gojo’s irritatingly smooth voice or the sound of his lute.²

² An instrument.

You were practically seething right now, as you were sharing gossip with the other ladies over your usage of embroidery as a pastime, because the only gossip you could hear was the horrible plucking of strings in the other room. It seemed you were the only one bothered by the noise. Damned was that silver-haired oaf, you silently cursed to yourself, fingers twitching whilst you interlaced your thread.

“Agnes, dear, you know, I hear there shall be a festival during the spring times,” began a red-haired woman, otherwise known as Bridgette. She was a built woman, and was taller than most of your fellow ladies. She married, became widowed, and was now alone, though she was still jolly. You wondered if your future would be the same. “In the villages, of course.”

“Oh?” Agnes asked, coughing. “Do tell.”

The eldest woman of the room, Bridgette, began relaying all the information she possessed from overhearing maidservants in their respective corridors to Lady Agnes, a raven-haired, arguably sickly thin woman. Agnes was perhaps one of your closest friends at the castle, and you had known of her since the two of you were but adolescents. She liked spring festivals, because the smell of florals always brought the color back to her pale, sunken face.

“It will be a delight, I’m sure. After all, all festivals are delights. Say, Eleanor,” added Bridgette, as she turned her rosy-cheeked face to the blonde woman sitting just beside you, “have you heard any more about the ball from any of the chevaliers³?”

³ Knights.

“Oh, I—yes . . . I remember, the ball, the one next week?” asked Eleanor. She was a meek, lithe woman; wife to a knight. A quiet, stuttering creature she was, but, nevertheless, you admired her for her humorously contradicting elegance and modesty.

“The day after the morrow,” you said, clarifying, having decided to distract yourself from the awful playing of the lute next door by conversing amongst the rest of the ladies.

“The day after the morrow . . .” Eleanor repeated, before her face lit up. “Oh! yes, I see. The ball after the morrow . . . Oh, well, in that case—Bridgette, I do have some news.”

The ladies seated around the wooden table instantly leaned more into the conversation, their embroidery and weaving having come to either a stop or a slow in order to focus on the words which would leave Lady Eleanor’s lips. Even Agnes, the least social of the ladies, seemed intrigued by the highly anticipated ball which would surely bring a variety of guests flocking from each kingdom.

“Well, bless me!” exclaimed Bridgette, her hand on her bosom. “Color me intrigued.”

Eleanor cleared her throat. “Plenty of the knights and calvary will be there, as they always are. I hear some merchants are also attending, in pursuit of business and the sellings of oh-so splendid dresses. Sires, lords, nobles, sirs. There will be many royals, I’m sure, but—”

“Princes?” interrupted Bridgette. “What about princes?”

Eleanor blushed, embarrassed from being cut off. “A-plenty,” was what she ultimately replied with.

“Oh! my word. There will be just so many princes to dance with! Think of the conversations one could have with a foreigner. Think of how different their customs are. How attractive they could be compared to the hounds that, here, we call men.” 

Lady Bridgette went on and on with her exclamations, her excitement showing itself as her face continued to redden impossibly with each sentence she spoke.

Even someone as unsociable as Agnes blushed a bit, and you, too, also seemed to grin a little at the idea of men, other than Gojo, pestering you for change. But, speaking of the man, at the bringing of attention towards the amount of single men that would be attending the ball, the playing and strumming of the lute had come to an abrupt stop. 

There were no more incorrect notes, no more out-of-tune strings, and no more laughter echoing throughout the halls. Perhaps the jester had finally decided to leave you alone.

Perhaps.

“Perhaps” was the key-word here, because, at the moment you even suggested such a ridiculous idea, of course, the playing had to resume. The lute was picked up, and, once more, Gojo continued his horrible music, but, this time, much more quicker-paced and, as if to add some flair, in a staccato fashion.

It would be useless to say you were not left alone for the rest of the evening, because it came with no surprise. None, at all.

***

The day of the ball arrived much earlier than you felt it, but that was no coincidence, for, with the seemingly increased amounts of times Gojo bothered you throughout the waiting time, you were just about ready for, quite literally, anything else.

The hall was filled with bustling crowds of men and women. Candelabras were lit, servants walked with trays of assorted treats, guests lined the walls, and princes and nobles rushed in through the gates and doors like a great wave. The king had ordered for such a grand ball in celebration of his recent victories on the battlefield, and there was no denying the grandeur of the spectacle.

Ladies dressed in their best attires, men buttoned their coats to the top, and knights slung ribbons and swords at their waists.

You weren’t always one for affairs that served their purpose as opportunities to meddle, (such as balls), but you couldn’t resist the event of seeing so many new faces, especially since you were approaching the time to be wed. Well, it didn’t matter, really; in the instance that you failed to find a beau, the king would surely bring in a favor for you, whether you wished for it yourself, or not.

On the other hand, it seemed princes weren’t the only men attending the ball, which, in this case, was as unfortunate as fortunes could get. Because, lo and behold, Gojo, clad in a purple motley,⁴ was present at the hall where the ball was to take place.

⁴ Costume of a jester.

How foolish you were to think that, for once in your life, you could be free of the moronic man-child. But, of course! you could never. You two resided in the same royal court, after all; it could only be expected that the notorious jester would be in attendance alongside more agreeable guests.

The silver-haired man took full strides until he was just one pace away from you, leaning down into a deep bow as he kissed the back of your palm, his eyes staring up at you all the while, almost hypnotic, they seemed.

You did not smile, opting for scoffing instead, though you did not immediately pull your hand away from his. “Go bother someone else, Gojo.”

“Feisty, I like it.”

“This is not a joking matter, I mean it. I’m here to have fun, as are other people. Which, speaking of, I’m sure there are plenty of women who would be more than willing to throw themselves into your arms as we speak.”

Gojo did not respond for a moment, but you did not take it as an opportunity to exit the scene. Perhaps you should have, when he said, with an unfamiliar tone, “And you?”

“. . .Pardon?”

“Are you a woman who’s willing to throw herself into my arms?”

“I am a woman who is busy, Gojo. Enjoy the ball.” 

Your words were spoken like a parent tired of scolding a child an indefinite number of times, but Gojo did not let them cut deep into his heart, and before you could pick up the train of your gown and walk away, he took your hand once more, stopping you.

“A dance,” he implored, looking into your eyes. “One dance with my fair lady.”

You almost laughed at the poor attempt for a joke, your lips curving upwards into a smile. “My hand has already been promised to another man.”

“Promised . . . for a dance,” he repeated, as if reassuring himself of something. “—Correct? Nothing more?”

You let your fingers gradually slip from Gojo’s grasps. “You really are a silly man, aren’t you? Oh, well, I guess it cannot be helped.” You grinned, laughing to yourself at the strange exchange that had just taken place, before walking elsewhere.

It was true. Your hand was promised to another. Another man. A prince. He had asked for a dance with you as soon as his eyes met yours just moments before, and, who were you to decline him? After all, there was no one else you could’ve imagined as a more agreeable partner, for the first round, at least.

He was of a foreign land to the North, was what you learned during conversation you held during your waltz together. Of the name Rilian Atkinson, the prince was a tanned, lean man. With brown hair that sat under his gleaming coronet,⁵ there was no mistaking of his patronymic name and title.

⁵ A simple version of a crown, worn due to its lesser weight.

He spoke nothing short of how royalty would, and you found your cheeks warming numerous times whenever he made a joke you could not understand, seeing as a lady such as you was not at-level with someone so high in rank and respect. You could only feign soft laughter and forced smiles. But, luckily, when it came to keeping up a reputation, you were not particularly bad at playing the part of a respectable lady of court, and you were almost certain you had Prince Rilian fooled by a false image.

Now, don’t start getting the wrong ideas. 

You were fond of the man, you learned—during waltzing with him, and his hands were softer than most, so you held no hostility. His manners were inarguably adept; he was proper, acted with more respect than anything else, and was, perhaps, the only man in a while that had you wanting to excuse yourself, taking consecutive trips to the nearest mirrors in order to fix your jewelry or touch up your hair.

It was almost embarrassing, come to think of it. The way he managed to make you laugh despite your not understanding any of his jokes, because, funny enough, his mannerisms and tone were enough to make you want to praise him for his complex, sophisticated humor, and, above all, you felt ashamed of yourself had you done otherwise.

He twirled you, he turned you, he dipped you; all with such ease and skill—he was the most enjoyable dance partner you had ever had.

Despite your pleasures during the first round of the waltz, there were others who were . . . not so fortunate. 

Gojo, for instance, had been leaning against a pillar in the corner, a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest throughout his sulking and seething. Maybe he was upset because you declined him, maybe he disliked the way you looked over his offer so casually, but, in any way, he refused to dance with any other women, and ignored the ladies that approached him whilst the troubadours⁶ performed.

⁶ Poet-musicians.

He often scoffed to himself, complaining about how he could write much better love songs than the hired entertainers, which was a silly thought, because the only reason he was free to dance instead of play music, was because he opted out of entertaining at this specific ball in hopes of being able to dance with a certain . . . someone.

Gojo was not woeful for long, though—albeit it felt that way to him—because, by the time he felt he had harnessed the wrath of a thousand suns, it was then time to change partners.

You were en route to chat up some ladies about your dance with a prince, when, quite out of the blue, the silver-haired jester had stepped in your way, interrupting your train of thought and forcing your steps to come to a halt as he stood before you, eyes gleaming and smile plastered.

He did not need to say another word more before your expression moved into a bothered one, contrasting the moony eyes you had been wearing prior to his approach. 

“Are you going to attempt and ask me to dance a second time?”

“Are you going to say ‘No’ a second time?” he bit back.

Yes, you would have declined him again, but God’s graces were not on your side at the moment, for you felt like a punished sinner when the king, too, had begun to approach you and Gojo with a drunk look on his old, worn face.

Your lips were open to offer rejection towards the jester, but the king was much swifter in his speaking. “Jester. Lady.” He nodded, acknowledging you both in greeting with the cocking of his head. “It seems a rare pair has made its way onto the ballroom floor,” he laughed, a harmonious sound.

Your cheeks grew warm at his assumption. His Majesty was certainly getting the wrong idea at the sight of his most youthful lady, and his most mischievous jester, gathered together during a rather conspicuous setting. Oh, God, upon your word! this wasn’t what it looked like. The opposite, really.

“Well, most certainly, Your Majesty,” replied Gojo, playing along. He shot a grin your way, obviously aware of your distress, but paid no further mind. “You wouldn’t believe the lengths I had to go to in order to get a lady as beautiful as her—” (He gestured to you) “—to dance with a lowly jester such as I.”

The king laughed. “Many love poems were written, I assume?” he joked.

“Your Majesty is as insightful as always.”

The furrow of your brows grew deeper and deeper, the crease in your forehead making its public debut. Could Gojo get any more dishonest? you scoffed, but couldn’t find it in yourself to deny his claims. After all, the king had been rooting for the two of you since Gojo became a young man, and you couldn’t, just, defy His Majesty, per se . . .

“Ha! I’m glad to hear it, Satoru. Much charm you have, to aim for a lady.” The king patted the jester on the back.

“I’ve only learned from the best,” said Gojo, which earned another hearty laugh from the older man, attracting the eyes of the many guests around you three.

They talked like father-and-son. In a way, you thought it to be almost wholesome.

“Well, young lovebirds, since it seems you two are just about ready to dance, I’ll be on my way,” began the king, looking between you and the taller man in purple. “Don’t let Gojo cause any trouble, yeah?” His Majesty added, joking, as he turned to face you before making his exit, walking towards his wife and other company of the like.

You stood silent, stunned at the exchange. You had not uttered a single syllable throughout that, and you could not fathom the fact that Gojo had just manipulated his way into gaining your hand for a round of dancing. Surely, he was only here to ruin your evening. That was the only purpose he served.

“You heard the man,” said Gojo, as he turned to you with an expression lacking empathy. “Shall we?”

You gave Gojo your hand, begrudgingly—or, was it that he took your hand? you did not know. 

“Shall we?” you repeated, shivering at the cold of Gojo’s palm. “If it was in my favor, we shan’t. But, alas, it is not. And I have no choice but to dance with an oaf such as you.”

Gojo led you to the center of the room, where there was more open space, and began a slow pace for a waltz as he stepped and stepped to the side.

There was practically smoke coming out from your ears as Gojo twirled you, and you could barely pay attention to where you were moving your feet from how agitating the sound of Gojo’s voice was to your ears. Your eyes met the ground and stayed there; you could not face the jester without wanting to rip his head off his neck (err, well, you wanted to do that, anyway).

“An oaf such as I?” he repeated, feigning offense. “My lady, you are as cruel as they come—pretending to hate me and all. I’ll give you a little advice, it’s a lot more fun pretending to love me.” He grinned, adding a small, “Pretend or not,” under his breath.

“You think I’m pretending to hate you? Oh, please. Were you dropped on the head as a baby?” You finally relented to meet Gojo’s eyes, as you laughed tauntingly in his face.

“Perhaps. But, dropped on the head or not, it wouldn’t change the fact I have never danced with a lady more beautiful than—” 

You did not let him continue, and stared at him humorously. “Now, you’re just fooling around.”

He leaned down to meet your level, sea-blue eyes staring back at you with intent as he spoke—his voice loose and sultry. It made your head spin.

“Is that what you wish for, my lady?”

***

You had been sitting at a desk, alone, for only five minutes—five minutes—before the silver-haired jester, as mischievous as always, strolled into the room, seemingly having predicted your whereabouts (or, maybe, he had memorized the variety of locations you visited on a weekly basis).

The ball where you two danced together had occurred, by now, a week ago, and it rarely entered your train of thought; but, still, it sent shivers up your spine every time you thought about it. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that that ball wouldn’t be the last dance you shared with the man—he was vermin enough normally, but at a public space such as a ball? where anyone could spot you two? Even death would be more pleasant for you.

“I always thought these things were ridiculous,” began Gojo, childishly, as he walked over to where you sat just to poke and jab at your hennin.⁷ He stood behind you, his lean, tall figure casting a shadow over the book you had been reading just moments before his presence found itself interrupting.

⁷ A headdress worn by women of nobility—best known for its cone shape.

You rolled your eyes, a scowl on your powdered face, but you did not stop the man’s curious, pestering hands. “It’s not like your cap and bells⁸ are any better.”

⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.

“Pfft, now that is where you are wrong, my dearest lady—they are way better.”

You sighed, eyes casting downwards as you crossed your arms over your gown’s bodice, leaning against the back of your chair. “Gojo, what are you doing here?”

“Hanging out. With my friend.”

“Even you know better than I do that we are far from friends.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be that way, my lady. Sure, we’re friends,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Pals, even! am I right, or am I right.” He laughed, the sound of it bouncing around the walls of the study. “Who am I kidding—We’re best buds!”

His voice sounded insane, but his merry words were even more deranged. You wondered if, by any chance, “Has the jester found himself drunk this evening?”

“Drunk?” he repeated, entering your line of view. He approached the desk from opposite to where you sat, his face leaning down to peer into your eyes as his palms pressed against the dark wood of the table, as if he were interrogating you. “Me? Me, drunk?”

The blue of his eyes was so bright at this moment that it would’ve blinded you, had it not entirely creeped you out, instead.

“That’s what I said, yes.” While you may have found it difficult not to waver beneath his intense stare, you did not find it impossible . . . Okay, maybe just a little bit.

“You think I am . . . drunk?”

You blinked, nearly breaking under Gojo’s deep gaze. It seemed his eyes would never leave yours. “You are acting strange. Why would I not?”

Gojo pulled back, and a sigh of relief left your lips at his backing away after being mere centimeters from your face. 

“I don’t understand women,” he began, voice smooth and clear as he spoke. A deck of cards had appeared in his hands, seemingly out of thin air, and he shuffled them, performing arm-spreads and cardistry with no difficulty, at all.

“I really don’t. I don’t understand why, every time I speak to you, you pull away, and act like I’m crazy, or joking, or . . . or drunk!” He raised his hands up in exasperation—the cards discarded, fluttering and falling to the ground in heaps, as if feathers.

“You’re a jester, aren’t you? I have no reason to take your words as you mean them. Why, you’re a boy, Gojo. Hardly a man, if I ever knew one.”

The jester raised a brow at the sound of your voice, before snapping his fingers. Another deck of cards suddenly appeared between his digits, identical to the fallen ones. Now, any ordinary civilian would’ve called it magic, but you knew how good Gojo was with his hands and card tricks and such, and thought almost nothing of it. 

“You wouldn’t think that if you saw me without my motley.⁴”

⁴ Costume of a jester.

The jester spoke so seriously, as if he were mad at you, but you only found humor in his argument.

“Without your motley . . . ?” you repeated, unable to decide whether he was referencing the act of undressing, or the act of being in normal (non-jester) apparel.

“My lady, I am a man. Twenty years of age, I dare say. Beneath my cap and bells, behind my poems and songs, I am not a child. You cannot tell when you look at my face?”

You smiled, setting down your literature. “You are quite defensive of your manhood, I see.”

“Would my lady rather I display it?”

“Your lady would rather her jester sit down and deal in cards already, instead of standing there like a fool.”

If Gojo had come in the study to interrupt your reading and disturb your evening, the least he could do was keep you entertained. And, besides, seeing him perform all his flashy card tricks reminded you of the last time you played, which was far behind in the past.

“Like a fool?” Gojo laughed, seating himself in a chair across from you, before resting his feet on the table and crossing his legs—one over the other. You frowned at his lack of propriety. “It is what I do best.”

“And what you do worst is keep me waiting!” you whisper-shouted, leaning your upper-half over the desk. “Shall I wait for you to shuffle, or are you incapable of that, as well?”

“My lady is so impatient today,” Gojo teased, feigning a yawn as he interlaced his fingers behind his head, leaning backwards. “But, if you want to shuffle . . .” he continued, a strange glint in his eyes, “come and get it.”

The cards were between his index- and middle-finger; he wiggled them, before your eyes but behind his head, in an almost derogatory manner, as if daring you to seize the cards. And dared you did.

Huffing, you sat up from your chair, the legs scraping the floor as you went, before marching over to where Gojo sat, his demeanor composed and cool as he awaited the gracing of your presence. There was a strangeness in the air about him as he finally let his legs drop from the desk, but you ignored the conscience gnawing at you.

Gojo wore a lopsided grin on his face, eyes shining wildly, and you swore, if he wasn’t so highly regarded by the king, you would’ve slapped him right then and there, but, either way, you probably wouldn’t have, because you had other priorities, like retrieving the deck of piquet⁹ the jester was currently holding for ransom.

⁹ A two-player card game.

Standing just centimeters before him, the gown of your dress brushing up against his legs, you tried and tried to reach upwards and grab the cards from Gojo’s hand, but he kept dodging you, either switching the hand with which he held the deck, or moving the cards further behind him.

You did not meet his eyes, for you know they would be full of mockery, but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, nonetheless. From embarrassment and frustration, or from being so close to the jester, you did not know.

“Gojo! Ugh, you . . . Give me that!”

You made one last, final attempt. 

Stretching your arm out as far as you could, you reached over for the deck, again, and, to your surprise, and to all your efforts, you got it! But you also fell over, because your other hand was not holding onto anything until it was too late, and you landed in Gojo’s lap. And, while you were now holding onto something, it probably wasn’t your best move.

You were now sitting on Gojo’s lap, cards in one hand, Gojo’s collar in the other. Huh.

“I—”

You couldn’t think of what to say. And, apparently, neither could Gojo. While your eyes stayed upon the starched fabric being clenched between your fingers, Gojo’s eyes met the side of your face, the side you were not concealing by sitting at a slight angle.

“So desperate to get up close and personal, aren’t you?” He spoke up first, the hand that caught you coming up to rest on the small of your back.

“I fell. I simply fell. It was nothing short of an accident—you must be mistaken to think otherwise.”

“My lady, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m sure the king will understand your attraction to an oaf such as I.”

You scoffed at his allusions, releasing his collar (something you should have done much, much earlier), before turning away from Gojo’s watchful gaze, a huff slipping past your lips.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The position which the two of you held was scandalous, if anything. Your legs were beside Gojo’s, straddling him as the lengths of your dress fanned out beneath you, covering his lower half with ease. It was a scene straight from a sonnet¹⁰, except he was not your knight in shining armor, for he was your fool, instead.

¹⁰ A fourteen-line poem.

“Stupid?” he repeated. “That’s an interesting way to describe a man enamored.”

“What—?”

He cut you off. “I mean, you could’ve at least called me ‘besotted.’”

It did not take much strength for Gojo to turn you back around, his arms maneuvering you, seating you on his lap at an angle so that you could not avoid his eyes ever again. Your front was pressed right up against his chest, cards long forgotten about and hands perched upon his shoulders.

“. . .” You could not form a sentence as long as you held eye contact with the jester beneath you. You couldn’t even remember what occured for the two of you to end up in such a predicament.

Your cheeks flamed, and your blinks came in either pairs or trios.

“Do you want to kiss me?” began Gojo, abruptly, his tone casual (almost humorous), crystal-blue eyes boring into yours. “Or should I just go for it?”

You blinked, having not yet registered his words, but it didn’t matter—his question, your answer (or lack of); neither of those mattered, because he kissed you, anyways. Or was it you who first leaned in? All the same, either way.

Cool, ice-cold lips met yours in a chaste kiss, and you slowly snaked your arms around Gojo’s neck as you kissed back, shyly, almost hesitantly. You had never kissed anyone before. Hell, sitting in a man’s lap was frightening enough, but kissing? You prayed for God’s forgiveness seemingly simultaneously.

You didn’t expect Gojo’s lips to taste so . . . sweet, like a pastry. Err, well, it wasn’t like you ever imagined what they would taste like, ahem . . .

But it was like—like you were suddenly possessed by an entity. Before either of you knew it, simple short, innocent kisses turned heated, zealous, as if there were something more.

It was raw, it was full of feeling, and it was from the heart. Perhaps all the tension and frustration in the air had turned you both into insatiable animals, too far gone for mere kisses to soothe your aches and desires.

“Nngh . . .”

“Hahh—”

“Fuck. Pardon me, my lady, for I am no better than a man.” Gojo’s words acted as a warning, one you did not take.

You sighed into his kisses, eyes closed and squeezed tight. “Are you apologizing?”

“Do you . . . mmm . . . want me to?”

You whimpered as Gojo sucked on your bottom lip, hands running down your back, playing with the ribbons of your dress. “I think—I think you know what I want.”

“What a smart girl.”

More kisses, more kisses, more kisses. Your lips were swollen and bitten and nipped from his assaults, but it felt so . . . good, you had never known a similar feeling.

“Gojo—”

“Mm, don’t call me that,” he spoke, in a shamelessly sensual tone. He sounded so pathetic, like he was begging, albeit he knew full well you would listen to whatever he asked any other way. “No more. God, no more.”

His words slipped out between every kiss you two shared. It was sloppy, and clumsy; to say it made you feel warm inside was an understatement.

You pushed at his chest, repeatedly, whilst the two of you claimed each other’s lips, but he only let you go so you could catch your breath. He was going to get his fill in the end, anyway.

Gojo looked down at you from where you sat on his lap, hair a mess and dress disheveled. You had never looked so beautiful in his eyes, and he was sure to let you know that when he peppered kisses on every inch of skin left revealed by the neckline of your gown.

His lips trailed upwards towards your clavicle, tickling your skin as he went, and you slapped a hand over your mouth at the sounds that his kisses alone managed to pull out of you. It was embarrassing.

“Don’t call me by that name.” Kiss. “I implore you, my lady.” Kiss. “It’s—” Kiss. “—degrading.” Kiss.

“Your name? it’s, nnghh, degrading?”

His arms tightened around your waist, but he did not stop his kisses. You were like a dove trapped in a cage, bound within Gojo’s grasps. “That you would call me by my surname—is degrading.”

“I, ahhnn . . . don’t understand.”

Gojo looked up at you, before rising to his full height, loosening his grip on your middle, and, as he did so, putting a temporary pause on his making of love-bites upon your skin.

“Call me a fool, my lady—all you want, and I won’t protest. But call me Satoru. Your Satoru. Your Gojo, your jester, your oaf, your Satoru, and yours alone.”

You would’ve swooned from his declarations right then and there, had it not been for his tone of voice, which contradicted the sweetness of his words to a high degree.

Anyway, it wasn’t like Gojo was expecting you to fall so soon after deliberately going to great lengths to argue, ignore, and hate him all these past years. But, that was okay! All’s well that ends well. Or, at least, until Gojo decided to lift you up by the waist, standing up from his seat and setting you on the surface of the table which you occupied before he entered the room.

You shuddered from the amount of control he had over you, cowering before him. Even so, his laugh was a melodious ballad; too bad it wasn’t any less cruel-sounding.

“Don’t tell me my dear lady is shy,” he purred, lips against your ear as he spoke, before tilting your chin upwards to meet his eyes.

“I—You . . . Just when did you give yourself away before marriage?”

“Ehh, can’t remember. Let’s just say,” began Gojo, in a languid tone, “the maidservants here have really taught me a thing or two. And I’m not talking about playing cards.” He wiggled a singular card between his fingers, dauntingly, in front of your eyes, before bringing it closer to your lips.

You wondered whether he would make you bite down on it, because you suspected a moron like him would do such, but just a millimeter before it made contact with your swollen lips, Gojo let the piquet⁹ card slip from his grasps and fall to the floor. Instead of the card, it was Gojo’s index- and middle-finger that ended up between your teeth.

⁹ A two-player card game.

Gojo had this look on his face as he stared down at you; it was ravenous, almost, and your cheeks warmed as you looked up at him from beneath your lashes—eyes doe and wide.

“Come on, pretty,” he cooed. “Don’t make me wait. I know what you’re thinking.”

You swallowed, hard, before taking his fingers between your lips, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on the digits. You couldn’t fathom the ache that it brought to your core when you heard the squelching of saliva and spit, the paint of your lips smudging all over as Gojo’s fingers reached deep within your mouth.

A breathy moan slipped past your kiss-bitten lips, and you failed to suppress the dazed, far-gone expression on your face as your eyes crossed, rolling into the back of your head. Oh, God, this was terrible, terrible! you thought, though you did nothing to prevent it.

“You can try and pretend you hate me all you want, but your body knows better, doesn’t it?”

“Mnngh . . .”

Gojo laughed. “Your body knows better? Ha! who am I kidding—I know better.”

You sucked continuously on Gojo’s fingers, their length long enough to make you gag as they hit the back of your throat, knocking out all the wind in you. There were tears pricking at your eyes, and you struggled to whimper out a coherent response.

“Awwh, I almost feel bad.” Gojo leaned down to meet your level. “Mouth too full to call me a mere boy now, is it? Gonna take back what you said, pretty girl? or should I have you choke some more?”

“Nnghh . . . Hahh.”

Your nails clawed at the wood beneath you, white knuckles clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Goodness, you had never hated jesters so much.

Perhaps Gojo was also a mind reader, as well, because not even a second after you finished that thought, he gave the roof of your mouth a small tap, and gestured for you to release his fingers. Which was what you did.

A string of saliva connected the tips of his fingers to your lips, parted ever so slightly, when he removed his digits from your mouth. You couldn’t look anywhere but his fingers; they seemed to draw you in, even as Gojo ended the trail of saliva in one short movement, before bringing his hand down your bodice, fingertips brushing against the fabric of your dress.

You shivered, even as your body warmed.

Watch, watch, watch. You could do nothing but watch Gojo. You did not know what he was going to do, you did not know what you were going to do, you just knew you wanted whatever it was Gojo was planning. Fuck, maybe the jester wasn’t the only one besotted.

“You’re awfully silent about this, my lady.”

“Whatever can I say?”

Gojo laughed, lifting the bottom edges of your dress to your knees, revealing bare skin to cool air. “I was expecting you to stop me.”

You met Gojo’s eyes when he looked down at you. “Nothing I say could stop you.”

“Because I know you don’t want me to stop.”

The jester leaned down to meet your eye-level as he spoke, before closing the distance between you two just as he had done earlier, lips meeting yours in a fervent, heated kiss, whilst his dominant hand, his right one, toyed with the lace of your dress teasingly, before trailing up your thigh. His hand was cool to the touch, leaving goosebumps rising on your skin and the hair on your neck standing up.

Thinking back, you had always imagined him to be the warm-blooded type, but no, Gojo was as cold as the snow which rivaled the silver of his hair. Which was strange, considering how warm he made you feel from the taste of his lips and the touches of his hands.

His mouth was on yours, one hand gripping the flesh of your hip and the other trailing up between your legs, right where you felt the most warmth.

“Do you . . . mmph . . . ever wonder where I get all my ideas for my poems and ballads?” he questioned, between kisses.

“Never.”

“Funny.”

You sighed into the kiss, succumbing to Gojo’s caresses and the ticklish sensations you felt from his fingertips brushing against your undergarments.

“I don’t see you laughing,” you quipped, holding the sides of Gojo’s face between your hands as you pulled away from the kiss, staring at him earnestly.

“You don’t see a lot of things.”

And then his lips were back on yours.

But that wasn’t what took your breath away. Well, it was part of it. Only part of it.

While the silver jester had been occupying your mouth with his own, his hand had been trailing up your thighs, thumbing your clit through the thin, lame excuse of panties you had on, all the while. He had been applying pressure to, and toying with the puffy lips of your aching cunt, which dripped and soaked profusely through the material of your undergarment. To say it was crude was an understatement.

You only noticed his advances on your lower half when Gojo pinched your clit, eliciting a loud, scandalous cry to be ripped out from between your kiss-bitten lips.

It was rough, and harsh, but still, nonetheless, gave you more pleasure than it did pain.

“Nngh, ahh . . . !”

You may have mewled then, but you writhed and whimpered even more when he finally pushed your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your cunt with ease, seeing as your slick was useful enough as a lubricant. You never forgot the sound it made, the squelching of your wetness, Gojo’s fingers reaching past your rings of resistance and curling deep within your cunt.

It was so strange.

Gojo kissed you even harder now that he had two fingers deep inside your pussy, shushing your cries and moans as you squirmed around, uncomfortable.

His index- and middle-finger, the two digits that had previously been in your mouth, the ones you had been sucking on, were now moving inside your cunt, curling and scissoring your insides like nothing you had ever felt before.

When the jester finally pulled his mouth off of yours, he let you rest your head on his shoulder, whispering into your ear with that unmistakably smooth voice of his as you mewled and moaned, never being set free from his fingers, still buried deep inside your cunt.

“This . . . is called fingering. You like it, don’t you, my lady? God, if only you could feel how tight your little walls are.” He talked you through his movements and assaults on your poor, little pussy. It was invigorating as much as it was aggravating. “Fuck, ‘m never letting you go after this.”

You choked on your sobs, clawing at Gojo’s back. “S-Satoru . . . I—nngh!”

“Where’s all that attitude you had earlier, pretty girl? Not so frustrated now that you have two fingers up your cute pussy, huh?”

You could only let out a moan in response.

There was a coil building up in your stomach; you felt warm all over and your eyes squeezed shut as Gojo’s fingers curled with expertise, his pace quickening with each second that passed. They were long, and large, could barely fit a third in your cunt even if he tried—courtesy of the size difference between you two.

He was knuckles deep inside of you; each time you looked down to meet where he entered and exited repeatedly through your pussy had you squeezing your thighs together, forcing (unbeknownst to you) his fingers to reach even greater depths within you.

“Hahh, ‘Toru—! . . . It feels . . .”

You whined like a puppy. It was degrading how submissive he had made you within the course of twenty minutes or so.

“D’you want to cum? Is that it? Wanna cum on your jester’s fingers, sweet girl?” he cooed, mockingly.

Crying out, nodding profusely, you wrapped your arms around Gojo’s neck, pressing the two of you impossibly closer as your sobs turned to hiccups and the coil in your lower belly tightened unbearably.

Perhaps it was the additional friction from your hardened nipples pressing against Gojo’s chest that brought you over the edge as you came with a final cry and your juices released onto Gojo’s hands, his fingers dripping with your cum as he kept his fingers inside of you even after you came, continuing to curl and scissor without remorse.

“A-ahh . . . nngh . . .”

Your first orgasm hit you like a chaise and four. His name left your lips like a prayer, eyes rolling into the back of your head, thighs shaking.

“I really hope you don’t think we’re done here, my lady,” said Gojo, hot breath fanning against your ear.

“Satoru . . . What—What do you mean?”

“My lady, what I mean is I’m going to fuck you now.”

Those words were what made you open your eyes, looking up at the jester. “You’re going to, what?”

Gojo leaned down to meet your level, your faces too close to differentiate where your breath ended and where his started. “I’m going to show you just how mistaken you were to call me a mere boy.”

And that he did.

The silver-haired jester had you on your back within seconds, the cold wooden surface of the desk sending shivers down your spine as Gojo took his sweet, sweet time spreading your legs before him, as if preparing a feast.

You never imagined yourself losing your virginity so early on, and you were almost certain all your ancestors would be looking down at you for not waiting till marriage, but would it really count if it was only casual?

“I’m surprised we’ve gotten this far,” Gojo said, letting out a breathy laugh as he looked down at you. Hair splayed all over the desk in disarray, gown disheveled, ribbons undone, your cunt dripping with ache and want. It sent blood rushing down to his dick.

“Why are you surprised, jester?”

He wore a lopsided grin on his face, looking all smug and satisfied with himself. “Thought you hated me a little more to refuse my cock, is all.”

“Who says I still don’t hate you?”

“Her.”

And then that motherfucker spat on your cunt.

When Gojo decided he would be able to fit at least the tip of his cock in you, he hoisted your legs up, slipping them over his shoulders and pushing his cock into your cunt in one short thrust, (though it didn’t feel very short) . . .

He was both long and thick, girthy, with veins that twitched and sent bolts of pleasure shooting through you.

The head of his cock was big, and thick, sure, but the rest of it was even bigger. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you tried (and failed) to suppress the pornographic noises that left your lips left and right.

“Ahh, ‘Toru! Not so . . . Not so rough, nngh . . .” You whined, throwing your head back against the table beneath you, though you weren’t complaining.

“Well, would you look at that,” began the jester, as he slowed his thrusts down to look at where your pussy swallowed his cock to the base, thumb moving down to spread your puffy lips even further apart. “Biiiig stretch.”

Your gummy walls clenched down on his cock, and you clawed at the desk, nails leaving permanent marks upon the wood.

“Nngh, a-ahh! Gojo, you’re—!”

You saw stars when the head of Gojo’s cock kissed your cervix, reaching even deeper within you than his fingers had.

The silver-haired jester leaned down, his body overshadowing yours as he held both of your hands down beside each side of your head, interlacing your fingers together as he moved to whisper in your ear. “I thought I told you not to call me that. Does my lady not know how to listen?”

“No, S-Satoru, nngh! I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to—! Ahh . . . !”

You weren’t the only whose body had an evident reaction when Gojo began his thrusts with a rougher, more ruthless pace. Even the jester was one to groan in your ear, laying all of his weight on top of you as he forced your body to fold in half, thighs and legs infinitely spread out as your slippers, true to their name, began to slip off your feet with the way your body shook and writhed and jerked with every thrust, hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

Back arching, tits pressing up against Gojo’s chest, your throat soon grew dry and parched as you continued to moan like some lousy prostitute.

“This is . . . hahh, called a mating press,” said Gojo, as his hips pistoned against the flesh of your ass, cock bottoming out just to re-enter with a table-rocking thrust. “God. Dirty, little cunt’s fucking swallowing my cock alive, huh. Must really enjoy it from this position, my lady.”

“S-Satoru! ‘tis so d-deep . . . I—I can’t, nngh.”

You wondered whether you would need to visit an apothecary from the way Gojo was just relentlessly battering and rearranging your insides. Upon your word, you could feel him in your guts.

Gojo grunted and groaned in your ear, cock continuing to slam into your poor pussy with abandon. It seemed he couldn’t keep his composure, either, despite seeming so put together. Perhaps he had been waiting too long for this moment.

Opening your eyes and tilting your head downwards ever so slightly, you could see the way his cock was almost twice the size of your entrance, yet all the wetness and slick that had gathered there earlier was enough to enable Gojo to thrust in and out of you with ease.

Everything about the man was just so . . . big. He was tall, lean, and his cock was no different. Despite his fingers having loosened you, it was still a miracle he managed to make it fit—the size of his cock was almost monstrous, and was, indubitably, able to be considered as a weapon, if anything.

The stretch was delicious, but burned like hell.

Pounding into you, rutting against your used cunt, Gojo held himself above you as he, himself, whimpered as if he were the one taking a cock two times too big. No, make that three.

“Hahh . . . Cunt’s squeezing me like a damn vice,” he groaned. “God, still so fuckin’ tight.”

“Mmph, n-nghh, ahh—!”

“Never letting you hide this pussy from me ever again. Fuck, I . . . Hahh, gonna make you take it at least twice a day, now.”

You mewled and whined, tits bouncing and spilling from the top of your dress, courtesy of the combined erraticness and harshness of his thrusts.

“Gotta—nngh, make you used to this cock . . . Fuck—!”

You came hard when Gojo’s cock kissed your cervix for the umpteenth time, the coil in your lower belly unraveling as your cunt weeped white tears, dripping down your thighs as Gojo’s release followed suit only moments later. His cock pumped you full of warm, white seed, filling your womb excessively as the rest gushed out from between your puffy, swollen lips, sliding down the curve of your ass before staining the fabric of your gown.

Stuffed to the hilt, filled to the brim.

“O-ohh . . . Hahh, nngh—!”

“Is this enough for displaying my manhood?” asked Gojo, quoting you, a sly smile on his face as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

God, you hated him.

For interrupting your evening, for ruining your dress, and for only giving you seconds to collect your breath before his cock was, once again, hard as a rock and thrusting into you from a different angle. 

It was as if his first orgasm was completely non-existent; I mean, you could barely speak from how dry your throat was, (never mind moan), and this man was already up and running, fucking his excess cum back into you?

Preposterous.

***

You and Gojo had been having . . . an affair, for a while, now.

Had it been three weeks, or three months, or, even, three years, you did not know. Neither of you knew.

Gojo had ruined you ever since that night in the study. Your innocent dynamic consisting of mere banter and bullying had developed into a relationship of endless hostility, so much so, that after an unbearable amount of tension ensuing, it evolved into a sort of . . . acquaintance. Okay, that wasn’t the right word for it, but it sounds better compared to “affair,” right?

In essence, the both of you had grown closer. Well, that was inevitable. Because the jester now knew what you looked like under your gowns, and you knew whether the carpets matched the drapes or not, but, all the same.

Gojo was like a deviant; he was insatiable.

You two had begun to sneak around together. Sex was daily, once or twice a day, but you two also—what did Gojo call it?—hung out. Sort of. But it was still mainly sex.

Most often, it was due to tensions bursting during nasty arguments, which would end up with both of you locking yourselves in a common room, making inappropriate usage of the couches and lounge. Gojo would bend you over an armrest, or sit you on his lap, bouncing you on his cock as he used the skirt of your dress to conceal where your bodies became one.

Then, came the gardens. 

You sometimes gave excuses to your fellow ladies in order to take a breather, using taking a walk through the gardens as a way to meet up with Gojo during the day. If anyone spotted the two of you together outside, it would only look as if you were chatting or linking arms. But then, whenever you two found an open opportunity, you would seize it and embrace, making out under the glaring sun and the shade of oak trees, hidden away from any lurking eyes.

It was kind of odd, to be honest, but you had found, after Gojo took your innocence, that you were addicted to whatever feeling he gave you. Whether it be lust, or want, or desire—they’re all different, believe me. You wanted, Gojo gave; Gojo wanted, you gave. It was how the two of you worked. But it was always casual, never serious.

Just like when the two of you fooled around under tables during supper, giving each other soft touches and pinches and rubs, completely unbeknownst to anyone else sitting around you two, (albeit you couldn’t say the rush of exhibitionism didn’t send a shock to your core). It was always for fun. Always for fun.

Likewise, your newly found “enemies-turned-friends with benefits” dynamic never prevented Gojo from being the devil he was. In fact, it made him worse.

That son of a bitch just loved to make completely unrefined, vulgar jokes. In front of others, he made sexual innuendos, hinting to one of the ladies of the royal court possibly entertaining secret relationships with an unknown other. Though he was careful to never let any further clarifications slip, he always brought up the topic at least once every public gathering, which usually led to surrounding nobles beginning to even question the idea, which was ridiculous in itself.

Even behind closed doors, the silver-haired jester was still the same. But, you couldn’t decide whether that was for the worst or not . . . Every time you thought you were finally able to strike up a civil, appropriate conversation with the man, Gojo always ruined it by twisting your words and making highly crass allusions, which was, perhaps, what you disliked the most (mainly because you always understood his references, which, more often than not, brought heat to your cheeks).

And, from the way everything was beginning to unravel, it seemed today would be no different.

You had been sitting at a desk (a different desk, not the one you lost your virginity on); you were writing—a letter to your cousin, and Gojo had been silently sitting across from you, like an obedient child.

The jester was sat with his elbows on the table, hands interlaced as he rested his face in the middle of where his fingers connected. He was “admiring” you, as he had said earlier, and promised, because you made him promise, to not disrupt your writing like he had all those previous occurrences whenever the two of you spent quiet time, like this, together.

Gojo was silent, but not silent for long, and you sighed when you caught sight of a grin forming on his lips.

“However long do you plan on writing to your . . . who was it, again? cousin.”

“I believe that is of no importance to you, jester,” you replied. “I didn’t invite you to watch me write, after all.”

Gojo’s eyes watched your every move, from the way you held your quill, to the way you paused whenever you were stuck on what word to use (in those cases, he would give you suggestions), and even to the way you looped your Y’s and G’s and J’s. He prided himself on, supposedly, knowing you so well. And, if you weren’t so used to his strange, almost childish behavior, you would’ve deemed him frightening.

“When was it a crime to accompany a maiden?” he laughed, wiggling his brows, tone humorous. “Eh, doesn’t matter. It’s not like I came here to watch you write, anyway—I’m only here to watch you.”

“. . .Satoru, don’t be creepy.”

You chastised him like an adult would a child; those were the moments that reminded you of the comparison between your ages. But it also reminded you of how much closer the two of you had gotten; you could speak to each other so freely now.

“Scolding me, . . . huh. You gonna start taking the reins, too, now, my lady? If it’s in the bedroom, I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea.” You couldn’t count the amount of times Gojo had laughed this afternoon. “God, I’m getting excited just thinking about it.”

You spoke without taking your eyes off your letter. “You’re so crude sometimes.”

“You like me this way.”

Dipping your quill into its inkwell,¹¹ you looked up, just to see blue eyes boring into yours. You did not respond.

¹¹ A small jar containing ink.

“Not even denying it anymore, my lady?” he pressed.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I tried.”

“Because I know you would be lying,” he said, in a sing-song tone as he leaned in, face only inches away from yours. “Isn’t that right?”

“No,” you began, putting away your quill and rolling up your parchment; “in fact, you’ve never been more incorrect in your life.” You sat up as you spoke, and moved to leave the room, never meeting Gojo’s eyes, albeit you knew they trailed after your figure.

“Yeah?”

He sat up immediately after you, the sound of his steps following yours as you made your exit, out into the hallway in search of a carrier pigeon.¹² Gojo made notice to avoid stepping on your gown, whistling as he walked behind you, like a dog following its owner.

¹² A breed of pigeon domesticated for delivering messages over long distances.

“That is what I said. Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” you continued, turning around for a brief moment to address Gojo, “I’ll be on my way.”

The jester did not let you go far before he caught up; now, you two were walking side-by-side. Gojo was a fast walker, which came naturally due to his tall stature, but it was evident he forced himself to slow his pace down in order to match yours.

“My lady is so rude,” he teased. “Leaving me behind, all by my lonesome?”

“. . .”

“Am I worth so little to you? Who do you think I am?”

You stopped, turning to face Gojo. “Who?” you repeated. “Do you mean, do? Because I don’t—I don’t think of you, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on. I know my lady’s thought of me at least once.” He grinned. “I mean, look at this face.” (He jabbed a thumb at himself) “How can you see this, and not stay up late at night, thinking about it.”

You gave him a side-glance. “You’re so pompous, ‘Toru.”

He grinned at hearing you use his first name, never mind his nickname, in such an open hallway, which highly increased the risk of anyone overhearing your usage of familiarities. 

Leaning down to whisper in your ear as you two began to walk again, he said, in that smooth voice of his, “Am I wrong, though? I’m sure you would be lying if you told me you didn’t think about me during your most private, intimate moments. You probably sit on your bed, nightgown all bunched up at your waist, with your fingers buried in your tight, little cunt as you try to recreate what only I can give you; but it’s never as good as the real deal. I’m right, aren’t I?”

You froze, face burning as your hands balled into fists at your side, and Gojo snickered. He always had a knack for riling you up.

“Upon my word, you—you bastard! What is . . . Ugh, what, in heaven’s name, is your problem!”

You shoved at Gojo’s chest, weakly, before storming off, down the hallway, a crease on your forehead.

You really, really couldn’t understand why Gojo was like this. Why he just loved to tease you all the time, why he liked to belittle you, call you names. Although it upset you, this was only a minor argument in comparison to your many feuds. He was as bad as the rest of them.

The sound of your footsteps reverberated throughout the servants’ corridor (which you and Gojo frequented in efforts to conceal your meetings), and you could tell the jester was right at your feet when you decided to whirl around, the skirt of your gown flowing as you turned to face Gojo.

“Don’t, Gojo. Don’t follow me.” You looked up at him with intent; you did not yield when a light flickered in his eyes, as he stared back down at you.

“C’mon, pretty girl, it was just a joke . . . or an assumption,” he muttered that last part, beneath his breath; and you rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on the letter in your left hand. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

“Yes, I am mad! Why can’t you see that your words affect people?”

You took a step backwards, clutching your pearls (A/N: lmfao), but Gojo took two forwards.

Raising his arms up in surrender, Gojo continued to take a step or two every time you moved, matching you. 

“Don’t be that way, my lady. You know I’m only ever kidding.” His smile was hypnotic, voice spellbinding, and you nearly broke.

But the moment you knew you were fucked was when you felt your back hit the wall behind you, and Gojo seemed to know, too, because he laughed in your face.

“Nowhere else to run, my lady?”

You two stood only centimeters apart, the tip of Gojo’s nose nearly touching yours as he leaned down to your level, eyes staring you down.

You shuddered, feeling hot breath fan against your skin. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You thought he was going to kiss you—you two were really close, after all—but, he didn’t. Gojo reached behind you, hand turning the doorknob of a pantry (one you had not even noticed during your little dispute), before pushing the both of you in, making sure to avoid any lurking eyes. You squirmed and pushed back, but Gojo was stronger. He locked the door of the pantry within record timing, before turning to face you.

You were stumbling over yourself when Gojo first pushed you in, but you were now backed up against one of the four walls of the pantry, finding purchase with your palms on the wall behind you, chest heaving as you gave the jester a grave look.

“Gojo, I’m going to give you ten seconds to get me out of here before I kill your court-fool ass.”

The jester walked forward, closing the distance between you two. Tilting your chin upward with his index-finger, he met your glare with calm sea-blue eyes as he asked, all cool and composed, “You’ve been such a brat today—what’s got your panties in such a twist?”

There was a hint of a laugh in his tone, and you snapped, “Gojo!” — just about having had it with the man.

“Me? Hm, well, I can’t say I don’t plan on it.”

You couldn’t remember when you had dropped your letter, but it certainly still wasn’t in your hands by the time Gojo had kissed you. Rough, raw; Gojo had you backed up against the wall as he ran his hands down the bodice of your gown, his mouth on yours, breaths turning ragged.

You weren’t going to let Gojo get away with anything, but it wasn’t like kissing him was a crime, per se. You were just . . . relieving your temper, for a bit.

“Does this—mmrph—mean I’m off the hook now, my lady?” he murmured, against your lips.

“. . .Not even close.”

“This attitude of yours is seriously getting to be a problem,” said Gojo, between each kiss he gave you. “Oughta loosen up a bit before that scowl turns permanent, darling.”

You kissed him with teeth, your hands giving a purposeful tug to his silver hair after yanking off his cap and bells,⁸ which fell to the cobblestone floor of the pantry with a resounding thud.

⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.

“I’d advise you to stop speaking, jester,” you chided, pulling away for a moment’s breath or two. Gojo rested his forehead on yours, looking down at you as you spoke. “—Before you lose your head.”

Gojo scoffed, humoring you. “You love my face too much for that.”

“I love your silence just as much.”

“I would say the same to you, but . . .” Gojo’s voice trailed off as one of his hands wandered down your arm, removing your glove with ease as you shuddered beneath him. “I like hearing your pretty cries, too.”

There was a split-second from between your insults and jabs at the man, to the transition of said-man parting your lips with little to no care, shoving a glove into your mouth as a makeshift gag.

You whimpered and cursed, thrashing around as Gojo held your arms pinned to the wall by your elbows, keeping them lowered; but all your protests came out muffled, and the jester could only laugh at your disposition.

“Mmm, mm—mmph!”

“It won’t be as bad if you stop fighting it, my lady. Have faith in your jester, won’t you?” Gojo looked like a saint as he spoke, but even God knew he was closer to the Devil, himself, than anything.

Using your gown’s girdle belt as bondage for your wrists, Gojo soon had you completely at his mercy.

“Mmph . . . Mmm, mm, mmph—!”

He didn’t listen, didn’t even try to.

Then, the jester did something he had never done before, ever—he knelt down in front of you. On his knees, he looked as handsome as ever, but, you knew, his almost princely smile was only for show.

You squirmed and wriggled around in your restraints and gag, but none of that stopped Gojo from lifting up your gown, throwing a leg of yours over his shoulder as he licked a stripe up your inner thigh. His tongue was warm, wet, and you shivered.

Looking up at your figure from where he knelt, eyes meeting yours from beneath white lashes, Gojo asked, with that unforgettable voice of his, “Scared?”

The front of your gown was totally out of place, lifted and bunched up at your waist, nearly enveloping Gojo as he kissed the skin revealed to him. The jester, ever the playful one, hooked a thumb around the waistband of your panties, before tugging them downwards, cold air hitting the wetness of your core almost immediately.

You blinked. Once, twice, thrice.

“What a pretty sight, huh. Shame I’m the only one who gets to enjoy it.”

Gojo laid a kiss on your clit; you shuddered, twitching, and then he slipped his tongue between your folds, tasting the growing sweetness of your cunt with every second that passed.

If your wrists weren’t restrained behind your back, you would’ve slapped a hand over your mouth, but the glove was working just fine muffling the lewdness of your sounds—thank God, the jester had finally used his intellect for something.

Tongue probing deeper and deeper, lips attached to your clit, sucking, there wasn’t a spot Gojo left unattended to. But, upon your word, since when was his tongue this long!

The whole of it was sensational. You were shaking within twenty seconds of his mouth’s assault, and if you weren’t so out-of-tune from his tongue licking stripes up your cunt, plunging and pumping deep inside of you, sucking on your pussy as your slick dripped and dripped down his chin, perhaps you would have noticed the sharpness of his teeth that just so happened to graze, ever so slightly, at your puffy, swollen lips.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, mouth full of pussy. “Where’d all that attitude go, Miss Untouchable.”

That bastard, you cursed, sliding down the wall as you kicked and cried out, thighs clenching around Gojo’s face as he continued to eat you out with not a care of the world.

You couldn’t count the amount of times you had thrown your head back against the cobblestone wall, muffled mewls and moans leaving your lips from behind the glove shoved in your mouth. Why on earth did this feel so good? you wondered, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“A-Ahh . . . Mm, nngh!”

Your hips bucked forwards, forcing the tip of Gojo’s nose to end up further buried between your folds. You nearly screamed from how cold his skin was; the contrast between it and his tongue was almost unbelievable.

Never had you ever wanted to pull on the jester’s hair more than you did now.

But you couldn’t.

Your lower stomach grew hotter and hotter, and tears pricked at your eyes whilst Gojo’s tongue only dove deeper and deeper. There was a knot forming in your belly, and you squirmed endlessly, spit and saliva and drool soaking the glove stuffed in your mouth without a second thought.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Gojo’s sea-blue eyes flitted upwards from where he kneeled between your legs, his voice as sensual as ever.

You nodded profusely, eyes blinking back tears as you tugged at your restraints.

Gojo licked a stripe up your clit, laying a kiss at the end of it, and you almost came right then and there, the feel of his tongue simply too much for you to handle any longer, but Gojo’s grip on your thighs tightened, forbidding your release, and you whimpered.

“Only good girls get to cum on my tongue. Have you been a good girl?” he cooed, mockingly. “Nah.”

Your orgasm was so close, yet so far. You pressed your thighs together, seeking any friction to bring you past your high, but Gojo’s hand kept your legs spread, cunt dripping with ache and want.

“Mmmph! Hahh, n-nngh—ahh . . .”

Gojo wasn’t lapping at your cunt anymore. He had completely put his mouth on halt, and was instead using his thumb to apply small amounts of pressure to your clit. Emphasis on “small.” Your lips were puffy and swollen—Gojo could tell it physically hurt you to have your orgasm denied, but he only laughed.

His thumb gave you small slips of bliss, but they were never enough to fully bring you over the edge. It was frustrating enough to be tied up, but to be forbade from cumming? You needed a break.

Your legs were shaking so much you could have been mistaken for an innocent fawn. Gojo continued to thumb at your clit without an ounce of mercy; it drove you insane. And, by insane, I mean, “digging-your-nails-into-your-skin,” insane.

The last straw was when Gojo reached up to remove the glove from your mouth, throwing it onto the floor with a plop! sound. You were so distracted you didn’t even realize you could then speak, but when you did, you didn’t hold back.

“Satoru, I swear, to all things heavenly, I will kill you once I’m out of here.” Your chest heaved as you took in breaths of air, thighs still quivering. “You’ve been nothing but the biggest jerk I have ever fancied.”

“Dunno. Have I? Or, are you just mad I’m finally doing something about your little . . . attitude.”

Slick dripped from Gojo’s chin as he spoke, looking up at you, and you almost forgot why you were mad in the first place.

“Don’t be coy, I know you’re—o-oh! Nngh, mm . . .”

You went cross-eyed when Gojo finally attached his lips to your clit again, sucking at your sweet spots with a newly-founded intent.

Gojo’s tongue plunged into depths deep within your cunt once again, curling and curling, and you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten, ever the more closer to an orgasm. Then, there came the squelching of your cunt, the lewd sounds escaping your lips following suit, and your wetness coating Gojo’s face with a glossy, sheen layer.

You only realized how good of an idea the use of a glove as a makeshift gag was when you finally came on the silver-haired jester’s tongue with a loud cry, back sliding down the cobblestone wall.

“A-Ahh . . . Hahh, ‘Toru—! Nnngh, mm, ahhn . . .”

Tongue lapping at the juices and hot liquid that your cunt weeped, Gojo didn’t let a single drop go to waste as he kept his mouth on your clit all the while. He was indulging all your sweetest, most sensitive spots even after you came—the stimulation soon becoming too much to handle as you grinded against Gojo’s face, riding out your high with heavy sighs and heavy breathing.

You were so sensitive you could’ve cried. Gojo flicked the puffiness of your lips with his tongue, and before you knew it, he was stealing yet another orgasm out of you, only a few minutes after the first one.

“I can’t help myself, beautiful,” he murmured, lips still attached to your clit. “Just tastes so good . . .”

More sucking, kissing, licking; Gojo absolutely ravaged you, as if he were eating a full-course meal after a month-long campaign¹³ with a cavalry—and then came your third orgasm, or, so you assumed; it was . . . different.

¹³ A military operation in the objective of a specific thing, or, in this case, a knights’ operation.

It wasn’t cum, no, it was something more clear, and sheen. The sensation was different, too—you could tell. It ripped obscene vulgarities from your throat. It was . . .

“Well, would you look at that?” Gojo laughed, leaning back to admire his handiwork. “Made my lady squirt. About time, actually. Was beginning to doubt myself for a moment there.”

“Nngh . . . ‘T-Toru—I . . . !”

You had been wriggling for a while, now, and only a few moments after you reached bliss, was when the girdle belt finally fell from your wrists, releasing you from your binds. The sound of it hitting the floor was deafening, and a light bulb finally switched on in your brain—you remembered. You remembered now, and because of that, you needed to leave.

Gojo let the skirt of your gown fall back down as he stood back up, making sure to tuck your dirtied panties into a back pocket of his as he rose to his full height.

“Gonna curse me out now, my lady? Take off my head?” he teased, offering a shit-eating grin.

You patted your gown, smoothing it down in efforts to alleviate your disheveled appearance as much as you could.

“Don’t act smart.”

“You don’t like smart men?”

Since when was his voice this tempting . . .

You avoided his eyes as you spoke, otherwise you would have broken. “I like . . . when you leave me alone.”

And then you hurried away. Out of the pantry, out of the servants’ corridor—you left with wobbly legs, but left, nonetheless. The jester was still standing at the doorway of the pantry when you turned around for a quick glance.

“My lady, you dropped your letter on the floor,” Gojo added, from behind you, calling your name. Damn, he was inviting even if he didn’t mean to be.

Gojo’s voice was loud, and could have, possibly, been heard throughout the servant corridors. But you did not turn back, didn’t even stop to consider the idea. It was nothing, you told yourself, you could just write another letter. Parchment was parchment, after all.

You had already lost a glove, a girdle belt, your panties, and your dignity. Paper? was nothing.

***

In all honesty, you didn’t want to put an end to the affair you and Gojo possessed; you just . . . you were getting married. You were betrothed to a man (a man whom you had never met), and your marriage had already been arranged by the king and his advisors. It would be nothing short of scandalous—not to mention, unchaste. You were committing adultery, after all. 

An affair was one thing, but infidelity?

You had some morals left, at least.

Now, refraining from extramarital activity was hard enough, but avoiding the jester? Nearly impossible.

You refused to look him in the eye after that incident, because of how awkward it was (but mainly because you knew you would fold). You, just, couldn’t bear the thought of some other feeling besides unvirtuous lust rising within yourself—normally, you would’ve labeled your relationship with Gojo as “just for fun,” but now that you were engaged to another man? (And not by choice, nonetheless.) It made you wonder whether you really did think of Gojo without sparks of animosity.

Admitting you . . . loved him? Admitting he paid you more attention than any other man? and, that, you enjoyed his attention? No. Impossible.

He was a jester, after all; he was supposed to give the ladies attention! Or, that’s what you told yourself whenever you began to suspect his love poems weren’t only for entertainment.

You were forced (rather, you forced yourself) to take different routes around the castle if it meant you could avoid Gojo. At supper, you waited for the jester to seat himself before you sat down at whatever chair was farthest from his (you made sure he was unable to kick your feet from beneath the table). And, at times where it seemed impossible to take different routes, you either shut yourself in your bedchambers, or took to reading in hidden nooks inside the library.

On an evening during your second week of your pseudo vow to celibacy, you were outside on your balcony, combing through your hair beneath the moonlight’s gaze.

It was dark out—most nobles had already gone to bed and knights were deployed into hallways to keep watch of the castle, but you enjoyed the quietness that tarried late in the evenings, and didn’t usually slip under the covers until the clocks had struck midnight.

Wind from the East whirled past your face, and, dressed in only a flimsy, light negligee, it was only natural that you shivered. Alongside the company of the moon and wind, there also came the noises of animals, scurrying around underneath the balcony, playing with their mates, snoring; the list went on and on.

All in all, you were never truly alone, even if you felt you were.

The wind howled once more, and you heard the crunching of leaves and another, more distinct, strange noise coming from down below. You didn’t like looking downwards—some could say you had a sort of fear of heights, especially with how high up your balcony was—but, the sounds of tonight seemed to be . . . louder than usual.

Overcome with curiosity, you peered over the balcony railing, with your hairbrush in-hand, to get a good look at what animals were still awake at this time.

You cooed when you saw a pair of rabbits play-fighting, their scuts¹⁴ wagging. “Awh!”

¹⁴ Tails belonging to rabbits.

“Cute, am I right?”

At the sound of someone else’s voice, especially when you should’ve been alone, you immediately dropped your hairbrush, a thud! playing out as the tool landed on the floor of your balcony.

You turned around instinctively, clutching your pearls at the sight of the jester standing only a few paces away, at the opposite end of the balcony. 

Before you put a pause to your little affair, Gojo only ever met you here, on the balcony, if it meant climbing up the vines on the brick walls of the castle, because it would mean hell if anyone caught sight of him slipping through the doors of your bedchambers; and, judging by his disheveled appearance, he had done just that.

“Expecting me, my lady?”

“Goodness! Gojo—Gojo, do you have any idea how late it is?” you exclaimed, a hand over your beating heart as you took several steps closer, standing on your tiptoes as you cradled Gojo’s face in your hands, examining the cuts and scars he had acquired from suffering through the pricking of thorns.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” he quipped, though his tone held no real malice—he looked down at you as you held his face, and appeared almost relieved at the physical contact after two agonizingly long weeks without it.

You looked up, peering into the blue of his eyes. “What . . . in heaven’s name, are you—?”

“Doing here?” He cut you off, finishing your sentence for you as he deadpanned. “I could ask you the same thing. Admit it, you’ve been avoiding me. The past weeks you’ve always been with either the ladies, burying yourself in mountains of books, or . . . or here!—locking yourself up in your bedchambers. I haven’t been able to speak a single word to you.”

“I . . .”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, in a matter-of-fact fashion. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“. . .”

You didn’t know what to do; the only thing you were certain of, was that you absolutely refused to answer him—at least, not yet. So, you did the one thing you were good at.

Throwing away your pride, (and since Gojo’s face was already in your hands), you stood up on your tiptoes once again and kissed him.

Kissed him like you meant it, like he meant it. Kissed him with however little spirit you had left in you, with however much emotion you held towards that man. You kissed him, earnestly, lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss that, obviously, turned heated only seconds later.

But, in full honesty, with this you finally realized how much you had really missed the jester—not just his kisses, the addictive, sweet taste of his lips, or the way his hands flew down to your hips within moments; but, you missed him. You missed Gojo: Gojo Satoru.

He filled plenty of aches you never knew you had, and, when he kissed you back without even a second’s hesitation, you almost wanted to kill yourself for how stupid you were to have had the audacity to actually deprive this man of the one good thing he loved during his entertaining of the royal court.

“Abstinence,” he asked, looking down at you once you pulled away, “really? That’s what you’re doing to punish me?”

“Gojo, I—Satoru, that’s . . . not what I’m doing. Please, believe me, I’m . . .” Stammering over your words, you blinked several times, refusing eye contact with the man.

Before your hands could drop from his face back down to your sides, Gojo caught your wrists just as they trailed down his chest, holding you closer to himself as he whispered in your ear, nipping playfully at your earlobe.

“You’re, what? Uninterested in jesters all of a sudden? Found a prince for yourself? Celibate, even?” He laughed, albeit the sound of it was nothing but dry. “Now’s a pretty bad time for that, wouldn’t you say so?”

Now was a bad time for that, you thought to yourself.

Biting your lip with your face turned to the side, you swallowed the lump in your throat, resting your palms on Gojo’s chest.

“Satoru, I’m . . . engaged, now. We can’t . . .” You struggled to even utter the syllables of the word ‘engaged.’ “We can’t continue seeing each other without it being wrong.”

Gojo didn’t even look surprised when you revealed your hand was promised to another man. I mean, with the quiet time he had had on his hands as of late, he probably went through a couple of possible explanations for your sudden vow of silence towards anything that had to do with him and himself.

“Will you look at me?” he sighed, tone lowered to a pathetic plea.

“That wouldn’t—wouldn’t change anything,” was what you answered with, turning your head to look up at Gojo’s eyes. It was funny; they seemed to shine less under the moonlight, considering one would ordinarily assume otherwise.

“You seem to not understand me, my lady.” Gojo picked up a lock of your hair, bringing it to his lips to kiss—his white lashes fluttering. “I don’t want you to stand here and tell me you won’t go along with the marriage. I want you to stand here and tell me you will go with marrying another.”

“W-What—?”

“But only whilst you look me in the eyes, my lady.” Gojo let your hair drop from his hand as he moved to hold your cheek, instead. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’ll marry him—he, who has won your heart.”

You looked away, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t, Satoru.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because, it would be a lie . . . It’s not he who has won my heart . . .”

“Then, who?”

You turned back, facing Gojo, but you did not answer his question. “Satoru, I’m—I’m afraid.”

“You’re afraid,” he repeated, as if telling you. “You’re afraid because our affair; you and me; us—it’s wrong. Simply wrong, you know that, and, yet, you don’t want it to end, do you?”

Gojo leaned down as he spoke, but when you tried pushing his face away, he barely budged.

“I’m a woman betrothed, Satoru. It’s immoral.”

“My lady, you’re not wrong. You are a woman betrothed, but I am a jester who has fallen for an engaged woman. Have you no pity for me?” The question seemed almost humorous, in a way, but you didn’t laugh.

You shook your head. “None.”

“What do you have for me, then?”

You sighed, giving in to your heart, and your eyes softened as you gazed upwards at the silver-haired jester.

“Must I say it?”

Gojo grinned, the mischief returning to his eyes. “You can show it,” he said.

And then you threw your arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him, until your mind went stupid, insane, absolutely dumb; because that was how it always was with kissing Gojo Satoru—he made you sick for love. He made you ache for it, for him, for anything, at all, that had to do with the certain six-foot-something fool of a man.

That was the night you confessed your requited love towards Gojo for the first time (even if it was nonverbal). That was the night your lover took you on the balcony for the first time—or, well, it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time you two were, actually, making love—spending a night together; together-together.

That night was a blur.

One moment you two were embracing, reveling in what the both of you had been missing out on for the past fortnight; the next, well, Gojo had you bent over the balcony railing; and, after that, you were being backed up against the doors of your bedroom which led out towards the balcony.

Clothes had already been shed en route—your lame excuse for a nightgown lay shredded on the balcony floor, alongside Gojo’s motley⁴ and his cap and bells,⁸ which were both in a similar, if not equal, state (hey, you could be impatient, too).

⁴ Costume of a jester.

⁸ A fool’s cap; the bells were intended for informing people of the jester’s entrance.

The night was long, but that didn’t mean you stopped before sunrise, no. You two went on even after the break of dawn, and, when you did (eventually) lay down to sleep and awake, you were with sore muscles and a different kind of ache between your legs. But your heart soared, and your head spun—all but for one jester.

You were afraid of love, and you were promised to another man. But Gojo, your Gojo, made it all better; and that was how the two of you came to be lovers.

***

The two of you had already been in a secret relationship together—hell, one could even argue it had never even stopped. But, it was different now that you knew your little affair had developed into something . . . more, per se. It was thrilling, knowing that, even with all the show you two had to put on in front of crowds: arguing, banter, cursing; your nights would all end the same, with Gojo sliding under your covers when it came time to sleep.

However, not everything had changed.

The both of you still rendezvoused in hidden corridors and servant hallways—plenty of times, even. Hiding under oak trees was also still a thing, given the amount of shade and quiet provided.

And, anywho, there were also new additions to the dynamic of your relationship with Gojo. Instances where you two were this close to getting caught in scandalous, compromising situations soon grew . . . quite frequent, really. Gojo liked to hide under the skirts of your gowns whenever someone entered the room you two occupied, and he found it even more fun when it meant he could keep you entertained down there while you spoke with your unwanted company up there.

If it wasn’t becoming apparent, Gojo couldn’t have cared less if someone was in the room—he would’ve kept toying with your clit or reaching knuckles-deep inside of your cunt, anyway.

He also didn’t care much about going out on a limb just for some . . . fun. The two of you played a variety of risky games together, games that could end up with the whole royal court finding out about your affair, but it was fun, nonetheless. Like, trying to find each other within crowds at masquerade balls, for example; it was an event which had all guests covering their faces, so approaching someone by mistake was quite a sight to see. The time of Carnival¹⁵ came with a lot of entertainments, but masks were definitely one of them.

¹⁵ A time of feasting and celebration before Lent.

However, aside from all your risqué escapades, you and Gojo also showed your intimacy in subtle ways. You had never noticed it prior, but even before your affair went into full-bloom, Gojo had made a habit of matching his everyday costumes to your everyday gowns. He matched the color of your fabrics, and, if possible, matched the patterns, too. He did this with every color—every color except for white, because you never wore white.

You had told him once, perhaps during one of those nights the two of you spent watching the stars, that you held a strange sort of detestation towards the color. You didn’t know why, truthfully, you just . . . you weren’t a fan of blank, empty canvases.

Gojo had no problem with that, really. It was much easier to pick colorful flowers than it was to find white ones. Oh, yeah, before I can forget, the jester had a particular pastime of picking you bouquets—only ever the most beautiful and fragrant flowers, of course. 

In his own words, “It would be a crime worthy of punishment to give my lady anything less than the best.” Yeah, he was a dork—a dork who played footsies with you during supper; but he was your dork, nonetheless.

Well, he was, up until the day your arranged marriage was supposed to take place.

Gojo didn’t like talking about it, and for the fortnight that had passed after you both confessed to each other, he had not brought up the subject of it once. Whenever you did, he began to talk of something else. Whenever someone was bringing it up during a public gathering, Gojo would drag you away from the crowd, off to another pantry or library.

It wasn’t Prince Rilian you were marrying: it was actually a lord; still, Gojo hated whichever man it was. 

He liked to say, joking (or not), “It’s a shame he couldn’t find his own woman. Had to arrange a marriage like a pussy. You wouldn’t marry someone like that, would you? A bitch-boy who had no game?” And then he would laugh. “Nah, you’re more into real men.”

You were. He was right. But, who were you, a lady and her lover, otherwise known as the jester of the royal court, to defy the king and his advisors? . . . No one. And that’s exactly why, on the day of your wedding, Gojo had climbed up your balcony just as he had done before, a countless number of times.

Gojo had heard you were taking a few minutes to yourself, alone, on your balcony, before the ceremony; and wasn’t even a second hesitant about trying, attempting, to persuade you into eloping. He was a jester: he was supposed to be irrational, but this was, perhance, his most unbelievable joke yet.

“Well, you’re dressed up today. What’s the occasion?”

Gojo was standing two paces behind from where you stood, hands perched on the balcony’s railing.

You didn’t turn around when you heard the sound of his footsteps approaching, but you were forced to, when he spun you around.

“Please, don’t joke about this,” you pleaded, eyes sorrowful as Gojo held you.

“Oh, trust me. I do not find anything about this funny—especially not the part where you forgot to tell me you were getting married today.”

You turned away from Gojo’s eyes, your veil trailing far behind you. “I can assure you, . . . I didn’t know the date was already officially set until hours ago.” You wanted to whisper, I thought we had more time, but you didn’t.

Gojo stared at you like a child admiring the stars, lifting your veil to examine your painted face—it made him sad, the way he knew how much you hated the color white, and how empty it was, just like your eventual false vows to a man you barely knew. 

Blushing brides were supposed to be blushing, Gojo thought; not on the verge of tears.

“Will you think of me when you stand at that altar?” he began, a silence following before he continued. “Will you wish it were my name you were vowing your life to?”

“G-Gojo,” you stammered, “please—”

“So we’re back to a title basis? I’m just ‘Gojo’ to you, again?”

“I didn’t want this, I . . .”

“I wouldn’t be in the crowds, my lady, if you were wondering. You won’t see my face and you won’t hear my voice objecting.”

“But—”

“But you don’t want to get married,” said Gojo, cutting you off, “I know. So run away. Run away with me.”

“Satoru, I . . . It’s not as easy as you think it is.”

Gojo took your gloved hand in his, and kissed it. He kissed the left hand, on the ring finger. “I don’t think it’s easy. I just think it’s right. Don’t you agree? So, please, my lady, don’t make vows you do not mean.”

Sure, jesters could do many things. Jesters could be many things. But this one—this one just happened to be the love of your life.

You only sneered. As if even on your knees, you were above him. With your technique latched away and your strength a drop in the ocean that was his might.

"The Strongest parades around with you."

It didn't escape you how Sukuna's brow twitched. Not that you cared. If his talons tore through your throat or ripped out your heart, he'd frankly be doing you a favour.

"Where is he?"

You didn't care about that either, you affirmed to yourself. But the catacomb in your heart strummed a different tune. A cacophony of concern. Was Satoru's manic smile on the battlefield only for show? In the confines of this malevolent shrine, was he in fact a prisoner?

"So you really did have a surprise for me."

Seemed not.

The voice calling behind you sounded more like a curse than even a smidge of familiar. It chilled the air and frosted your heart. Haunting, and frustratingly hearty.

You told yourself not to look. You did. But you still caught the flutter of white in your peripheral and your gaze followed with irritable curiosity.

A pale haori hung around from his shoulders. Audacity pressed into every creaseless sway. Hands tucked into the long sleeves as his arms folded. His blindfold nowhere to be seen. He'd traded black and blues for whites and— were those red studs on his ears?

Gojo Satoru. The Honoured One. The Strongest—

Traitor.

Stood at the foot of the hall with his head held high in all his malicious charm and cruel confidence. And the worst thing about it all?

He never looked more at peace.

Your jaw ticked and your gaze fell to the ground with your drooping head. He didn't deserve your stare, even if it was a daggered glare. You'd only be reminded of how he twisted one into your back.

His footsteps synced with your pounding heart. His scent wrapped around you. It was still the same— but now mixed with his. Your eye twitched.

"Sweet girl, you're as beautiful as the day I left you."

And twitched again.

Beautiful wasn't how you'd describe yourself on the day that the sky went red. You were broken. He stomped your fragments under his boot and cared not for how he shattered you into the ground. Soul and heart alike.

You swallowed venom and forced your stare to the floor. He didn't deserve that either. Nor your hate. He deserved nothing from you.

But for some twisted reason, he thought otherwise. Satoru bent over and crooked his head towards you. An almost mocking attempt to look at your face.

You denied him. Snapping your head away to focus on the far end of this cursed hall. To the shoji that taunted you. To the throne that tortured you.

Anywhere but him.

He clicked his tongue and stood straight again. Good. Maybe your silence was all the blade you needed when your hands were bound. Let your stubbornness make him bleed the same way your heart did.

Your lungs blazed.

The chains clanked and your spine curved. The air knocked from your chest which burned with your eyes as a weight clamped tight around your throat.

You were hurled back into that sickening white. A bicep viced around your throat as your head bumped into a strong shoulder. Your gasps surged with curses as you instinctively jerked and squirmed.

"You—!"

Satoru only chuckled. A husked sound in your ear roaring with blood.

"Oh come on baby."

His drawl made you sick.

"Didn't you miss me?"

Amidst the storm of your rage, you caught wind of Sukuna's displeased stare. As if his glare itself could tear into your chest and dice up your heart. A twisted satisfaction coiled in your gut.

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care. Despite fury festering in your mind and your soul screaming to wretch your hands from the chains and dig your thumbs into Satoru's eyes— you knew.

Knew deep down in that same, soft strum of your heart, that you'd always have a place in his. Even when he acted like this.

Your teeth tore into his arm and you stiffened at the fact that you could. So you were right. He didn't have infinity on.

Did he ever have it on anymore? You wondered.

He didn't yelp. Didn't jerk away. Even as you dug marks into his flesh. You half-expected the bastard to moan, but to your surprise, he frowned. Deeply.

Snagging his arm back, Satoru observed the pink crescents you left behind before he took a step back and dropped you. He circled around you and beelined for Sukuna.

"This isn't the welcome I was expecting, y'know." Was that disappointment?

Your jaw clenched. He had the audacity to pout? As if he had any right to your sentiment?

But it was when he stood at Sukuna's side and a hulking arm reflexively wrapped around him that your teeth ground and wished they had his blood under them.

Hate? You hated many things. Hated the sickening sweetness of the mochi he used to shove into your mouth. Hated that stupid grin of his whenever he'd ask you to show-off a new dress he got you. Hated how his touch still haunted you in the dead of night when you'd awake in your empty bed clinging to the pillow that used to be his.

Now, with a new arm around him. With his head on another shoulder. With his comfort in another's damned, blood-sullen hands. . .

You don't think you've ever hated something more.

No, loathed.

A laugh crept up your throat. Sharp and splintering your tongue that dripped with venom, eager to stain these floors darker. "What? Were you expecting me to welcome you with open arms after you betrayed me?"

He didn't flinch at your spat, but Sukuna narrowed his brows.

"I didn't betray you." Satoru said. Too easily for your poor heart.

"I betrayed the world that hurt us."

"But it was still our world."

Your words cut with finality and bled with anguish. A shrilled whisper in the thickness of miasma.

He faltered. A crease in his brows and a sag in his shoulders. His glare reignited him.

"And it didn't appreciate me."

Fire surged up your spine in blisters and burst into your head. Your fingers twitched and palms cramped under the chains. Venom didn't just drip from your tongue— it whipped.

"So what?"

The chains wretched as your knees lurched up with your body. Weighed, but light against your heavy heart and effort to keep it from shattering all over again. Pupils shrunk. Lips curled. Your voice tore in a ragged scoff.

"You just decided to turn your back on it and frolic along to this bastard!?" Your head lurched to Sukuna. To the damned man who took it all away from you.

"You don't get the easy way out just because the world broke you. Or did you forget our promise?"

His eyes told you that they'd forgotten how they drowned in tears. How his hands clung around your shoulders. The first time that the sky went red— no, voided black. That fateful day that you were both left in the dust.

That day his hands held yours. The day his lips sealed the vow.

We'll never forget each other, won't we? We won't abandon one another.

Not like him.

"Or do you just wanna hurt someone the same way Suguru hurt you?"

Lightning struck.

Down your arm. Torn through your veins. The blood roaring in your ears spilled from a gash sliced down your flesh.

You clambered to hold the wound as your knees struck the ground. A voice shook the shrine and stung your new wound.

"You will not speak to him like that. Do you understand me?"

The ground trembled as Sukuna marched forward. Eyes gaped and pupils thin as a snarl ripped from the depths of his throat. Only then did you realise that it was his technique that was responsible for your injury.

"Sukuna— don't."

And just like that. The storm stilled.

A second patter came, quicker, calmer. You looked up through blurry vision just in time to see Satoru's hand brace on Sukuna's shoulder. The monster quelled. Your heart roared.

You couldn't manage to rip away from him as he crouched in front of you. His cold hand pressed to your wound and you hissed a curse. Hoping it could stab him with even a fraction of the intensity of which you shattered.

He applied pressure to the wound and braced you onto his body. Despite yourself, you dared to look up. Into those deep blues that were once yours.

Conflict swam within them.

You hated him.

Silence weighed heavier than miasma in the air. Your body shook against his, and he held you. Just like he always did.

You hated him.

"You don't have to forgive her," he spoke slowly, curling his head to glance over his shoulder at Sukuna.

You fucking. Hated him.

"But I won't let you hurt her."

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ

The burn in your arm subsided, but not in your soul.

Relief washed over your flesh that slowly mended itself as an azure glow circled it. A pale hand hovered, while another cradled your elbow. The thumb on your joint stroking idly did little to to ease your nerves, as you're sure he intended.

Reverse cursed energy. You remembered how Shoko went on about its flow while Suguru and Satoru scratched their heads. Your heart smiled at the thought— you missed her. Missed Suguru.

Satoru. . .

Seems he understood it now. Specifically how to distribute it to others. A difficult feat that very few could muster, even with his title as the 'The Strongest' slapped behind his name.

Now? He healed you with ease. Not a pinch in his brows nor strain in his fingers. Like some twisted enlightenment.

You lowered your gaze back to the deep maroon sheets. Your stomach twisted. Was everything in this damned compound some fucking shade of red? Its tyrant really wanted to make sure everything from the flooring, to the sheets to even his lover's lobes were marked, huh?

Whatever. Infuriatingly soft silk sheets were better than an icy dungeon floor. Even if the frost crept up your neck instead— Satoru's constant glances weren't subtle. Though you're not sure if he was even trying to make them so.

You refused to meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at those blues that ached something deep within you. Consequently, that meant that every inch of the large, warm chamber mocked you. No matter where you fixated.

The bed was huge. Probably for two. Considering neither Sukuna nor Satoru were necessarily small. The bed itself was tucked in the corner of the room with a circular opening. It rested on a teak platform and extended into an overhang. Something grand that you'd expect from ancient wedding night— which only left you more bitter.

There was a small table with a teapot and a plate of mochi. Five to be exact, with one half-eaten. Probably courtesy of Satoru. Their sweetness stained your tongue sour.

The closet in the corner was left open. Rows of neat robes and the finest of fabrics peeked out. Fit for a King. And his beloved consort.

Royalty. Satoru was treated like royalty. And this damned room was a testament to their. . . no. You still hadn't gotten over that four letter word. Let alone accepted the fact that he said it to someone else.

To a curse, no less.

"This isn't how I wanted our reunion to be."

At last he piped up. How you wished he didn't.

You looked up and saw that his eyes remained focused on your arm. Was there enough strength in it yet to smack him yet? You wondered.

You'd settle for your sharp tongue. "Again, what did you expect? A hug? A kiss? Forgive me for being pissed over how much happier you look here."

Those beautiful blues finally meet you from beneath white lashes. An ache rooted in your chest. When last had he looked at you like that? You hated him for depriving you of it. Hated yourself for missing it.

"I am happier here."

But hated him even more for that.

"I'm treated better. I can finally live."

His touch swept away from your skin, and like a drunken sailor chasing the roaring waves, you almost reach out for him. Almost.

You chose to drown.

In him. In the memories of him. In that sacred time when he was yours. With that big, stupid grin and eager fingers pushing sweet treats to your lips.

All you tasted now was the deep, bitter reality that those memories were just that— memories. Moments lost in time. With one frozen within them and the other far moved on.

You withdrew your arm and observed your bruised wrists as you shifted your legs over the bed's edge. The chains were no more, but you still felt a weight. On your hands that could do nothing, in your stomach that twisted nausea, and in your heart that still beat for him.

You could use your technique and get the hell out of here. With his infinity off? You could probably get pretty far if you made a break for the window.

But this room and its evidence would always hold your mind captive in the sick fact that it was theirs.

"Your infinity isn't on."

"I don't need it anymore."

"I could hurt you, right now."

Your hand flexed and you fixed your gaze on the floor. To the details in the hardwood. Anything but at that piercing stare through your temples. Never a threat, but always a promise. Even a broken one.

The bed sunk beside you as Satoru repositioned himself. His presence crept ice up your spine and warmed your chest all the same.

You hated it. You loved it.

"But you won't." He said.

You scoffed, but smiled. Rolling your shoulders back to stare at the mochi across the room hatefully. Did he remember how he always nagged you to make those? Or did their sweetness bring a new name to his mind?

"Yeah. Because unfortunately, I still love you."

You swore your hearts froze together with your words, then synced with a languished beat.

"So yeah." Your smile wasn't bitter, nor sour. It ached. With the phantom of his sweet kiss. "It fucking hurts that you don't feel the same anymore."

The bed creaked as Satoru's spine shot straight. You caught the gape of his eyes and his fingers curling on his knees.

"Of course I still love you."

"You're a liar."

You wished it would soothe the wounds. His balmed words only stung.

Chills pressed into your chin as his fingers grasped. He tilted your head to him. Not allowing your gaze to run from him any longer. He dragged you closer until his scent wrapped around you. Comforted you. Reminded you.

His eyes begged you. The whisper on his tongue pleaded.

"I do."

It was instinctual to stare at his lips when he was this close. For but a fleeting, yearning moment.

You locked stares again. Yours begged back.

"Prove it."

He did. Softly, tenderly, a secret of his lips on yours. Stars burst in that delicate way that they always did when his mouth found yours. When the kiss that felt so unfamiliar, still carried the taste of the past and all its honey.

You wished to simmer in the moment. To unravel into his gentleness that you craved since the first and last day he left bruises on you. That fateful day. When the sky went red.

But that red ran hot. Sizzled into a sharp scarlet searing through your veins. So when you kissed him back— it's not soft, or tender, and it sure as hell isn't gentle.

Furious, frustrated and fervent. You soured the honey into poison and tore your fingers through his white hair. Yanking him in, reminding him— declaring. That he was still yours.

He moaned at the fruition.

Oh, you'd give him enlightenment.

It was tongue and teeth and a treacherous mix of thorns as you pushed forward. He caught your hips. He always did. Pulled you into his lap like old times and matched your roughness.

Until your lips bruised. Until his were bitten. At last he parted in threads of hot saliva, snapping like your sanity. His eyes were hazed as they awed up at you.

"I missed you." He rasped.

"I don't believe you." You ragged.

But still, your trembling hands brushed his hair back and cupped his face. Your thumbs re-familiarised his cheekbones.

His chest stuttered. You're sure his heart did too. He trailed his eyes over you, then stared up through his lashes with a whisper so forbidden. So yours.

"Then let my tongue prove it."

And then his lips were on you again. Your neck. Mouthed down to your shoulder, over your shirt. You swore that you felt them twitch as they brushed the fabric. Littered over your breasts with an incoherent murmur.

But if you remembered Satoru well enough— he was probably complaining. Cursing out the offensive material.

His nails were far more eager. Nipping on your shirt's hem and peeling it back over your breasts. He groaned at your bra choice. Maybe it really was fate that brought you here. Why else would you be in his old favourite?

Cold lips worshipped atop your breasts, sending sparks down your spine as he pulled one of your tits out and flicked his tongue on your pert nipple.

You shuddered. Grappling for some kind of shame or reason to not fuck your ex on his new lover's bed— while said ex had toppled over the jujutsu world and was now the force of evil you swore against.

Evil or not, damn, you missed that filthy tongue.

Hands shot to his shoulders. A protest crept up your throat as you looked down at his fluttering lashes and smooching lips. "Toru—"

The bed bounced and you yelped as your back hit it fully. He tipped you over and dragged your legs out with large hands locked on your hips. Good luck getting him to stop now. His tongue already drooled with greed as it swiped down your tummy.

Kisses felt like a dance of fire and ice. Embedded into your skin and pulling memories into moans as his blunt nails dragged on your pants and exposed your centre. You're not sure if you're more embarrassed that you didn't stop him— or that you already formed a damp spot.

Habitually, he pressed a kiss to your panties. The only shame you mustered was how naturally you twitched for him.

All ifs, and buts melted into a pool of heat as he drew your panties down next and groaned so deep that it rumbled your core.

"Fuck, hey there sweetheart." He drawled with eyes fixed onto your pussy. His thumb stroked over your folds to punctuate his greeting. Your face flushed as he smooched your clit in a wet, missed me?

His lips trailed down your slit. Dragging your bubbling wetness and pouring moans from your trembled lips. Your spine lifted. Memories be damned. Who needed them when he was back where he belonged? Between your legs.

"Missed you sooo much baby," he rumbled into your slit with pinched brows as he mouthed all hot and bothered along it. You always were his favourite sweet treat.

But oh, he couldn't leave any part of you lonely for long. Not again. His thumb swiped up and rubbed on your clit, prompting a trickles out of your throbbing cunt. You sucked a shaky breath.

He parted to watch the leak, pupils blown wide as he slowed his stroke. "Yeah I know, I know." He cooed, still talking to your cunt.

Shivers rushed up your spine as his tongue flushed to the bottom of your slit and pressed flat as he dragged it up. Slow, and greedy and oh so filthy. You finally whined for him and buried your fingers into his hair.

"Satoru. . . hngh."

His name tasted good on your lips. It's where it belonged. Always.

The sentiment seemed to spur him on as his palms splayed over your thighs to spread you out and snatch you deeper. Shoved into his heated kisses, dirty sucks and lewd licks. He groaned and spat. He always was a messy eater. Always too distracted by your pussy to remember his decency as he feasted on you as if he'd been starving these last two years.

You want to look down. To see him devouring your pussy— but his tongue cut you off. Plunged into your gummy walls as his face flushed forward. His nose nudged your clit and stars burst before your eyes.

"Mhhm— fuck toru. Jus' like that— ah." Your fingers curled on his scalp and leveraged his head so that you could grind your hips into his face. Slopping him up and drawing out his moans as he clung onto your thighs like they were his last shred of sanity.

His tongue pistoned. Stained in your taste and rapidly fucking into you as his lewd, wet noises vibrated through you. Stroking on the heat in your tummy and coiling the knot tighter.

You arched. Whined. "Ohgod— mngh, gonna cum."

How you missed saying that. Missed the sparks dancing over your spine and coursing through your pussy. Missed his glutinous tongue.

"Gonna cum, toru, pleasepleaseplease."

He withdrew and replaced his tongue with his fingers quicker than you could complain. They slipped in with a tempered squelch and curled into that spot he still remembered. Massaging and fucking and tenderising as his lips locked around your clit.

"Yeah baby. Tha's it. C'mon. Show me how much y'missed toru's tongue." He slurred, suckling on the throbbing nub as he plunged his fingers hastily.

His glossy eyes fluttered up to yours. All drunk and hazed. Pleading. How could you ever deny him?

Your muscles locked up. Voice singing a name you swore off years ago. Fingers holding his hair for dear life as you humped into his face with stuttered whines. He took you higher— and higher— and. . .

It snapped into nothingness.

Both of your whines mixed. Loud and pitched as a clawed hand yanked Satoru back by the hair. Snatching him from your grasp once again with webs of saliva and slick strung to your cunt.

You registered the demon that took him from you in the first place and in the haze of your need, you whimpered. As if for some bizarre reason, you could appease him.

"Oh shut up." Sukuna snarled and muffled it into Satoru's lips, who whined and pressed back instinctively.

You blinked back blurs to behold their tongues tangling. Your gut twisted at how eagerly Satoru limped into him, like some lovesick fucking doll.

A frown fixed to your lips as your elbows dug into the bed to push you up. At last they parted. Finally. Those few seconds permanently scarred your soul.

But it blistered into that same, fiery burst as Sukuna cut his glare over. Your eyes sharpened to clash. He sneered.

"What? You think you deserve this?"

"You sound jealous."

"Don't forget that's my bed you're slobbering all over."

Instinctively, your legs jerked together and you straightened your spine like a cobra ready to spit venom in his eyes. He looked all the more willing to gulp it down and claw it around your throat instead.

Satoru interrupted the thundering clouds with a lightning swat! onto Sukuna's chest, who turned to meet his frown.

No words exchanged, but their stares locked. Not a blink. Not a bat. Green nestled in your gut. Were they communicating with their eyes alone?

A loud sigh sagged from Sukuna together with his shoulders. He blinked first and looked away. Triumph shone from Satoru's stupid grin.

Only to shout a complaint as a clawed hand yanked him to the edge of the bed, shoving his pants down in the process, while another nabbed your hair and jerked you to the floor so you joined the protests.

Smack! Your knees clambered as you were positioned between Satoru's.

"You deserve to be worshipped. Not the other way around."

Sukuna leered, not even looking in your direction. As if taking his eyes off of his lover for one second would melt him— or maybe sparing you a glance would turn him to stone.

He steered your head to Satoru's dick, who tensed and waved his hand frantically. "Hey hey hey that's not nece— mn."

Of course your lips naturally wrapped around his pretty tip. Why wouldn't they? It was reflex. Even with the bastard locking you in place.

Your eyes fluttered up to Satoru. Memorising his twitching brows and quivered lips as you languidly sucked down. He rarely let you do this back then. You often had to fight him just to get a lick.

Your reminiscing morphed into splutters as your head was suddenly shoved. Inches plunged into your throat and Satoru strangled with you.

"What're you waiting for?" Sukuna glowered. "I said worship him."

Your throat constricted as you choked around his twitching dick. A thick vein throbbed heavily on the back of your tongue. You vibrated it with whimpers as you tried to catch your breath through your nostrils.

Satoru on the other hand, looked as if he couldn't even breathe. His face burning and hands scrambling as he shot out to grip Sukuna's wrist. His fingers trembled with his voice.

"Go— mn, easy on her."

"She can take it. Or has she only ever taken pleasure from you?"

Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

He strutted into Satoru's life and twisted his morals two years ago— two years. Two. You'd familiarised Satoru's body with your hands long before Sukuna was even reincarnated. Yet somehow he thought he owned every right to it?

Spite sizzled in your gut. It mixed with the jealousy to concoct a flaring urge to prove yourself. To Sukuna?

No, to hell with him.

To Satoru. To remind him why you were his first.

Nimble fingers curled around his base. You thumb spontaneously stroking on a vein while you hollowed your cheeks. Sucking down at the pressure you knew damn well sent his eyes rolling. His stuttered hip bucks were your reward.

"Damn— baby."

Sukuna's hand spurred with competition. Dragging and shoving your head so you maintained a mouthful of cock. Not that you needed it. Despite the weight you bobbed in haste, impatient to take him down your throat and make him lose his mind. For you.

Spit splattered and his precum smeared your tongue. Fuck. You missed the taste. Missed every hefty throb and the way his tip twitched as it glided on the roof of your mouth.

But what you missed the most? The sight of him. His noises. How his head fell back to expose his stuttering throat. How his brows creased at centre and his lips parted to the ceiling. How pretty and pathetic his deep voice pitching sounded as he helplessly humped.

"Fuck baby, yeah, just like that."

He was beautiful.

"See? That's how you pleasure him."

And he was a bitch.

Your glossy eyes swept a glare to Sukuna, who retorted with a fierce tug of your hair. Shoving you deeper. Deeper. Until Satoru's hot tip smooched the back of your throat and you spluttered drool.

A second of reprieve. Your spite rekindled. Constricting your throat, you squeezed on his balls and forced your head to move more ferociously that Sukuna's hand. Utterly crumbling Satoru who clambered for your shoulder and threw his spine in an arch.

"Shit, f-fuck, ohgod— oh fuck, baby, baby please, please please hngh." His slurring babbles struck pride in your core. You rewarded him with vibrating hums.

But of course, the King of Curses— or rather, King of Covet— had to splinter your confidence.

"Did you ever get him like this? Ever made him feel this good?" He bent over to loom in your ear.

You glared. Gurgled. But your gut twisted.

No. You didn't.

Satoru never concerned you with his pleasure.

"When he cums in your mouth," you could hear the bastard's sharp grin, "Know that he's cumming for me."

Your eyes gaped. That fucker—

Unfortunately, you had no more time for spite. Spurts surged the back of your throat while Sukuna shoved you down. So that your nose brushed Satoru's pelvis and his dick spasmed in your throat. Rope after rope of hot cum streamed into your chokes and struggled gulps.

He came with a cry. A pitiful whine that blended Sukuna's name and yours— but all you heard was the former's. God, how you wished your stare really could turn him to stone.

"Swallow everything."

You hated him.

"Don't waste a drop of my lover's cum."

You hated him.

Drool mixed with thick, hot cum as you gulped down whatever you possibly could. Eyes rolled back and lips strained as you committed your mind to imagining just the two of you. No curses. no kings.

Just you and him. Just you finally making him feel good.

Burning lungs washed with relief, but the same couldn't be said for your throbbing heart, as you're jerked away from his sopping dick. Still hard and twitching. You fight a smile— yeah, that's your Satoru.

Instead, a frown tugged with a calloused thumb swiping over your lip. Sukuna's stare smouldered with audacity as he dragged his tongue over your leftovers. "Sweet as ever, my love."

Your jaw ticked. Despite its ache you're already charging several insults— but you only managed a yelp as Satoru's large hands stole your hips and toppled you over shaky thighs. Kisses smoked out your fire as they smothered all over your face.

"Mm, my baby, my sweet girl. Always doing so good."

Satoru's praises were a balm your heart. You fluttered and limped into his touch. His arms secured on you. A cold, comforting palm flat on your spine. His chin crooked on your shoulder to stare back at Sukuna.

"C'mon, let's show her what she's missin' out on." You heard his pout and bit on your smile. "I want my two favourite people to get along."

You crooked your head and observed their eye fucking— ahem, contact, again. You were really beginning to add onto that list of things you hate. Number one? Whatever secret language in the form of stares they had going on.

Sukuna huffed and the bed creaked beneath his weight. You're sure he tried to appear regal but he practically flopped into the sheets and jostled with his robes' belt. Pulling it back to reveal the wide maw on his abdomen that mimicked his frown.

You almost laughed. Almost. It caught as Satoru hoisted you closer to the other. Now there were three frowns.

"What're you doing?"

"Come onnnn, I want you two to bond."

You rolled your eyes as his pouting lips mouthed on your neck. Yes, your blood still ran green and spite continued its fester in your gut but perhaps. . . You could do it for him.

Deep down, some innate, irritating smidge within you still wanted to please him.

"Fine." You huffed and bit your inner cheek as Sukuna locked stares. "Let's see what you see in him so bad."

Satoru's grin sliced through the tension in the air. Who could ever say no to that? With excitement warming his hands, he steered you into a straddle over Sukun's stomach. Massaging your thighs with assuring thumbs.

"Well," he crooned on your ear and laved it with a kiss. "He's reaalll good with his mouth."

Your eyes began to roll.

Just because the fucker had multiple mouths doesn't mean—

Then, they rolled back.

Hot, wet, the massive tongue dragged a sopping lick over your spasming cunt. Filthy and thick. You swallowed a whine, but not your shudder.

You ignored Sukuna's smug smirk and clawed your hands to Satoru's wrists as his hands guided your hips into a sensual roll. Synching you with that swirling tongue already feasting below. You pulsed into its heat and squirmed as pleasure sparked your spine.

"Mngh, oh."

"Theeree we go. Feels good, doesn't it sweet girl?"

Satoru's drawl dripped into your ear like the saliva oozing on your slit. You chewed your lip and shot Sukuna a side eye, who had reverted back to a blank stare. As if pleasuring you was a fucking chore.

Still, for some frustrating reason, your pussy pulsed.

You mustered a huff and humped your hips. Dragging on his mouth fully as if trying to suffocate him. It backfired, of course. You were left twitching and whining— but still mustered a glare.

A pitiful, trembling one. But a glare no less.

"I'll never enjoy a curse."

A pause.

Then a keen.

The mouth started ferally sucking down on your cunt. Creating a suction on both your slit and clit that sent your eyes back.

Simultaneously, Satoru's hands guided you into a faster grind. Smearing your wetness all over Sukuna's tanned skin and spilling you desperate whimpers.

"Yeah, but you're about to cum for one, aren't you?"

Sukuna gruffed. A low grunt that rumbled into your heat-surging core. You stammered in your bucks as two massive, hot hands clawed up and cupped your breasts. Squeezing their jiggles until you flicked your head back from the dual stimulation.

"Y-You— shut u— ah!"

His tongue cut your complaints short again. This time shoved into your slit and wriggling until he found exactly which darling, devastating spot to curl into. Prodding and licking and grinning into it as you spasmed with a sob.

Helpless. You were helpless. White clouding your vision. Sweat prickling your forehead. You squirmed and ground down into his merciless maw as it made of show of messing up your poor pussy.

Seemed Satoru wanted in on the fun. He mouthed on your shoulder and slithered a hand between your wobbling thighs. Stroking your throbbing clit until it shot spasms through through clenching body.

"F-Fuck, fuck I ca— I can't," you croaked.

"Course you can. Cum for a curse." Sukuna crooned.

And fuck. Suddenly you hated yourself more than both of them combined. Your squelching walls clenched on the relentless, thrusting tongue and your head tossed back. Your orgasm rearing into an intense wave of ruin and ragged bliss as you finally— finally came.

Splattering all over a tongue at last. Perhaps not Satoru's— but you didn't care. Not as your vision blurred and you pitifully rocked into the pleasure bursts.

Tears trickled down your face as cum leaked from your throbbing, gooey centre. Your sniffled sob smothered into kisses as you were drawn back into those cold, comforting arms.

"Sssh. Did so good. You did so so good baby." Satoru cooed, hands laving affection all over your heated skin.

He held you as he always did. How your heart yearned for him to all of those lonely nights. Your mind wrecked with heat fractured into reality of how much you missed him.

Your body melted into his. Muscles finally easing into the assurance and promise of his hold. Once broken or not. His hands smoothed over your thighs, squeezed on your waist and cupped your breasts in a tender massage.

Your eyes fluttered. Heart slowed.

"Isn't she sweet?"

Satoru murmured, probably to the huffing Sukuna. You didn't need to see his eye roll to feel it,

"Guess so."

"Mhhm?"

Or Satoru's grin in the air.

You refocused purely to see the look on Sukuna's face. But to your surprise no deadpan awaited. Only a deep, dark desire brooding in his maroon stare.

"Wanna see how she could ever satisfy you."

He drawled. His mockery tethered something else at the end. Could that be mildness? You'd only ever considered him malicious, but his dilated pupils showed otherwise. You followed his trailing gaze down your curves to Satoru's worshipping hands.

And somehow? His stare mimicked those hands.

Satoru paused on your shoulder. Then nodded, his white strands tickling your jaw as he encased you within his caressing chills. Engulfed in his larger body.

Kisses curved up your neck, carrying whispering praises that soaked into your veins and ran your blood hot. Hot like a familiar prodding slotted between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. His thinned.

"Remember this, sweetheart?"

He chuckled when your hips rolled into his dick, like it was their god-given purpose. Your body always danced to his rhythm. Even when he'd long soured the melody.

His tip circled your drooling slit, dragging your slick all over. And for a moment, a devastating moment— you almost stopped him. Almost chickened out and went back to biting his hand.

But then your body caved.

Muscles eased, cunt clenching, crying, as he easily pressed in. Kissing your gummy walls in an overdue welcome home and pushing into you inch by agonising inch.

Your bodies synched a shudder. Satoru's head limped into your shoulder blades, fervently whispering your name like it would save him from your squeezing, suffocatingly sweet pussy.

"Fuck," he clung to your waist. "So she did miss me."

You fluttered around his base. Messing up his balls and clenching around his cervix-kissing tip as he stretched you open. Memories in every vein pulse and inch throb. Reminding. Reclaiming.

He faltered with his breath. Dug his teeth on your shoulder. Stabilised. Then finally mustered a filthy grind deep within your warmth. Sending you scrambling.

"Toru— ah." A hand fell to his wrist while the other shot into his hair. He mewled and forced himself to focus on his languid pumps as he searched for a rhythm.

"God," you heaved. "It's soo— so. . ."

"So what? So big? Awww, you can take it can't you?"

He crooned, a sharp grin smooching your ear while a large, guiding hand dropped to yours. Soon you were palming over the swollen bulge he left at the base of your tummy. Fingers locked with yours as he applied a sickeningly pleasurable pressure that spun your head with heat.

Your already slutty moan surged into a pitched whine as his pumps sped into timed thrusts. Once. Twice. Thrice. Grind— repeat.

Stars burst in your vision. Head tipping back. You missed Sukuna's awed expression. Escaped the rustle of robes. The wet, tempered slaps and sloshes served as the perfect distraction.

Despite your limp form, your hips still tried. Pitifully, struggling, but an attempt nevertheless. They humped back into Satoru's thrusts. Whose grin turned evil as he snatched your waist and shmacked! up into your cervix. Bucking, grinding into the tight ring of muscle until it spasmed with your sobbing cunt.

"Yeah that's it baby. That's it. Fuck me back." He grunted through his shallow rocks.

Well on his course of cruelty and feral care, a hand slithered down. His thumb slotted between your folds and fondled your clit into a twitching mess. Spurring on your need so that you mindlessly rocked into him. Creaking the bed in your search for more. In your surge of greed.

Your cunt squeezed with your throat.

His other hand shot up. Clamped on your neck and choking out the prettiest of noises. Both from your mouth and squelching pussy as his hips rushed ruthlessly. Fucking up in a blur of ragged roughness that threw your spine into an arch and spluttered your drool.

"Hngh! Fuck toru— toru there, right there."

"Thought I forgot how you liked it, pretty?" He laughed on your lobe. Grunted and twisted you to face him. "How you like getting fucked hard? Getting your pretty pussy roughed-up?"

Knuckles trapped your clit and pinched. You keened. Losing all muscle movement and limping into your old position as his pretty little doll. Stretched out and spilling all over his cock that rammed persistently. Like he could fuck out every ounce of grief and loathing thought from your pretty little head.

He sure as hell might've. In your glazed eyes and messy mind there was only one thing— him. Him. Pounding into you again and again and ringing the repeat through your blistering mind— Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru.

"Gonna— S'toru— 'm gonna cum! Fuck, fuck 'm gonna cum." You sobbed.

"For me?"

"For you baby, always for you."

He joined your whines. Face falling into your shoulder as you tugged on his hair and held onto his hand for dear life. Completely losing yourselves to the reality that you were being watched by Sukuna's reverent stare. Utterly missing the way he stroked his bulge and shuddered with every mixture of moans.

Satoru slurred and you swore tears dripped onto your shoulder.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

"I love you."

You smushed your sob into his mouth as you jerked him in by the hair. Lips slamming, hands clambering as his thrusts turned sloppy, feral, and your body melted into putty.

The spasms came hot. Terrible and tender. Cum splashing your thighs while his thick seed frothed you full. Shattering you both into a puddle of wanton splutters and reckless abandon.

Your mouths twisted into a mess of tongue and teeth. A wrest of hate and love. Old and rekindled. Your quiet cries induced his tears. Satoru clambered onto you. As if letting go for even a second would be a greater sin than the first time.

When he finally parted, the saliva strung. Tears merged and your lips quivered. But he brushed them away— whispering a gentle apology you're not even sure voiced.

Your heart ached. Healed. And he cradled you close. So devastatingly close until you simmered into the fragile reality that you were finally, finally in one another's arms again.

The dust settled when Satoru pressed a kiss to your temple, tracing it down and chuckling into your cheek. Only then did you remember you had an audience.

Four beady eyes and— were you seeing wrong or were those two bulges?

"Enjoyed the show?" Satoru mused. Sukuna huffed again. You wondered if that's the only way he knew how to communicate. He looked away as Satoru slowly slipped out.

His hands cupped your hips and massaged on your aches, then guided you over before you could blink. "You know. . . she could be good for you too."

"Satoru—"

"Toru—"

Words die on your tongues. Sukuna and you merged in a moan. His deeper, yours pitched, as Satoru dragged your soaking cunt over the— yes, two bulges.

A new set of hands joined your thighs. Dwarfing Satoru's as they squeezed on your plush and firmed you down. To your surprise, you squirmed. Not away, but onto him. Another shared moan.

Murky maroons locked with yours. All spite and jealousy between the both of you faded into a thick, sultry heat. For a moment you blinked, hesitated, until he broke stare and looked back to Satoru.

"Only if I can have you too."

"Ooo, greedy."

Satoru snickered but crawled closer. All you remembered was the contrast of their touch. Icy fire and hot frost seeping into your spasming nerves. Blurs of stripped robes and stinging stretches.

One moment you were staring down Sukuna's double dicks and thinking poor Satoru— the next, you were stuffed full of one of them. With 'poor Satoru' squirming behind you and whining with you as he struggled around the second dick.

How the hell does he take this thing?

You're huffing. Gasping. Your cunt could barely handle Satoru— and if he was big? Sukuna was fucking monstrous. Snug in every nook and cranny, pressed into every nerve and thrumming so many veins into your gummy wetness that you felt like you'd lost your damn mind.

Forget poor Satoru. Poor you and your pussy that clenched for dear life as you gulped down air like you were searching for a miracle.

"Fuck, relax, fucking strangling me." Sukuna hissed.

You whined, then whimpered. Satoru's hands slipped around you with the aim to ease. Rubbing circles on your clit and squeezing your tit.

"Ssshh baby," as if he was doing any better. "It's okay. 's okay. Know he's so. . . fuckin' big," he croaked and limped his head onto your back. You both crumbled as Sukuna rolled his hips in a hefty grind.

You felt him so deep in cunt, in your stomach, everywhere.

Hot hands replaced the cold palm on your breast. Sukuna's upper arms reached to cup your tits and squeezed them into his finger gaps while the lower set circled Satoru's hips. Guiding you both into his slow, sinister rhythm.

You caught his grin and hated how your tummy fluttered at it. "Does she even know how to ride?" He taunted, eyeing your struggling pussy that spluttered and soaked his thighs.

Fucker. Just when you're getting used to him.

With a scoff and surged spite, your hands shot to his wrists and dug your nails into his markings. He grunted. Grinned wider. As you glared and leveraged your hips into a bounce. Clumsy one second, then cruel the next.

"This— hah— good 'nough for you?" It was your turn to grin as he groaned.

His hips bucked up hard. Frantically chasing your confidence with curses and moans spilling from his damned lips. Consequently, this meant Satoru was hurled into the rhythm too. Yelps and whines shattered through him as he clambered on your waist and collapsed onto your back.

His hips meshed into your ass as he desperately attempted to grind down and steady himself. "Wait, wait waaitt— 'm still getting used to it, fuck!"

Your eyes glinted with Sukuna's at the splutters. Your gazes met amidst the heated pleasure and wet shmacks! of skin.

"Pathetic, isn't he?" Sukuna crooned.

You crumbled, but cooed. "But so pretty."

Fingers delved back into Satoru's hair and tugged him in. His chin knocked onto your shoulder and whines spilled as his nails dug.

"When I— hah— said I wanted you to get along I didn't mean bully me."

His retribution came in a clit pinch. You jerked and spluttered with him as the last threads of Sukuna's patience tore. Hips smacking up wildly so that he fucked you both onto pulsing, messy cocks. Eager to send your eyes rolling back as he spurred from the suffocating tightness.

A cacophony of moans, whines and cries brimmed the chamber. A slutty staccato as you both crumbled into the streams of blazing bliss. Collapsed into one another and clinging. Satoru squeezed your waist. You clung to his hair. Pulling him into drooling kisses as your minds puddled into the mess soaking Sukuna through.

"Fuck," Satoru rasped, his cock humping on your ass as a result of the relentless slams. "Gonna— cum, 'm gonna cum again. Please."

"Already? Slut."

Sukuna's sneer paired with his hand dropping from Satoru's hip to his pulsing dick. Smacking it onto your jiggling ass before pumping it into a twitching, spasming mess.

Poor Satoru. He gasped for dear life. Hands shaking on your thighs as he returned the favour to you. Dropping to your clit and rubbing in-time with Sukuna's jerking palm.

Your keens merged in a pathetic plea.

"Torruuu, not— n-not fair, I can't." Your croaks matched your stuttered bounces. Slick and drool webbing all over. Mixing with sweat and smearing over your skins. The relentless hump on your cervix sent your teary eyes rolling back— and you're certain Satoru's mimicking. If those slutty, sloppy moans were anything to go off of.

Still, he managed to laugh in your ear. Breathless. Delirious. "No way in. . . fuck. Hell am I cummin' before you."

Oh you tried to hold on. Tried to cling to whatever bits of your sanity remained. But your vision had went white. Your tummy twisted and your mind reeled as pleasure battered through your squeezing pussy. Sick, sweet, saving pleasure that spilled your spit and sticky cum.

Your orgasm tore through you in a squelching squirt. A muck of brokenly bucking hips and croaking cries. Dizzy. You were dizzy. Hazed, hot and heavy-limbed as the soaking slaps reached a piercing ring through the room. Followed by Sukuna's haughty laughter.

"Yeah, slut up my cock. Said you wouldn't enjoy a curse huh? Now you're cumming on his cock."

"Sh-Shuutt uppp."

You sobbed. And in a last effort of pride collapsed into the King of Curses. Consuming him for a change. With your mouths clashing, teeth clattering and tongues clambering. You swore that he rumbled a moan into your wet lips.

A pitched whine ripped through the air.

Seemed that's all Satoru needed to burst all over your ass. Torrid and trembling as he bucked a few more times for pathetic measure— before he too collapsed.

You whimpers vibrated into each other. Synching and sobbing as Sukuna's dicks abruptly rammed up. Once. Twice. Then twitched and spilled into you both with frothing, bubbling cum. Fuck. It burned so beautifully.

Pants heaved through the air thick with sweat and sex. The musk of cum and mixing perfumes wrapped around the three of you like a blanket. Sukuna's four sets split between the two of you. The first pair hooked on your shoulders while the second cradled Satoru.

The heat faded into a tender, trembled whisper. A stained memory in the confines of this room. Slicked into the bed and smeared into your hearts.

Silence.

"I want a kiss tooo. . . "

Smiles.

Satoru's complaints pressed kisses into your shoulders. Only then did you realise how your lips hadn't quite left Sukuna's lips. You parted. Shared his blinks. Then turned to smooch the pouting Satoru.

He hummed his happiness. Parting only to get Sukuna in on the action as they shared a kiss over your shoulder.

For the first time this entire accursed night, you didn't see green.

Satoru returned to snuggling on your shoulder blades and released a heavy sigh. His weight melted into your back. Another beat of silence.

"Does this mean you'll stay forever?"

His voice was impossibly small. Frighteningly soft. Strumming an aching chord in your soul that whispered, pleaded with you to be selfish. To be happy.

Just this once.

You shifted your stare and noticed Sukuna's looking up at you. No glares nor scowls. But and uncharacteristic patience and— terrifying gentleness. In that devastating moment it clicked for you.

You and Sukuna weren't so different after all.

All you wanted was the best for Satoru.

In the ease of silence, you contemplated. Then chose. Softening a smile as your head rested on a warm shoulder. Those arms and hands that knew only bloodshed held you both in a beautiful surrender. Squeezing.

You whispered.

"I'll think about it."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons. art cred: @/sakimichanmale (twt)