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the purring stopped abruptly. a low, guttural rumble started deep in his chest, a sound so different it made you freeze. you looked up. his head was lifted, his neck stretched taut. his nostrils flared wide, pulling in the air around you with sharp, audible sniffs. the warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a sharp, possessive intensity.

"you smell different," he growled. the sound was not friendly. it was the grating of stone, a warning. "the forest air on you is tainted. you smell of smoke. of crowded streets. of… another human. a man."

you slowly put your watering can down, the wooden handle suddenly feeling unsteady in your grip, but not afraid.

sylus, for as long as you've known of his presence around, has never harmed you. there was no reason for you to be afraid

"sylus, it's nothing. i had to go to the town market today. you know i go sometimes. the streets were just very crowded, that's all."

"who." the word was not a question. it was a command, and the ground beneath your feet seemed to tremble in response. a wisp of dark smoke, smelling of ozone and heated rock, curled from one of his nostrils.

your mind raced, trying to place the source of his agitation. "it was no one important! just… the baker's son, i think. his name is leo. i was turning a corner and he was carrying a big sack of flour. we just bumped into each other, that's all. it was an accident. he was kind about it and helped me steady myself."

the moment the name—leo—left your lips, sylus went completely rigid.

the low rumble in his chest erupted into a full, snarling growl that echoed through the clearing, sending birds scattering from the trees. "leo," he repeated, the name a foul, venomous thing on his tongue. smoke now poured freely from his nostrils, clouding the air between you with the scent of his agitation. "a… baker." he said the word with utter contempt, as if describing something weak and worthless. his eyes burned with a fire you had never seen directed at you before. it was jealousy, raw and primal.

before you could say another word to soothe him, he moved. with a powerful surge of coiled muscle, he launched himself into the sky. the beat of his vast, leathery wings was a thunderclap that whipped your hair and clothes violently. you stood there, stunned, watching his dark form disappear above the dense green canopy.

he was back within minutes, a terrifyingly swift hunter.

with a heavy thud that shook the cottage, he landed in the clearing. clutched in his formidable claws was the carcass of a massive, silver-furred stag. it was a magnificent beast, one that would have taken a party of the kingdom's best hunters days to track and great courage to bring down. he dropped it at your feet with a definitive, heavy thump, his chest puffed out, his obsidian scales gleaming with pride.

"see?" he declared, his voice a deep, proud rumble. he nudged the massive kill towards you with his snout, his eyes fixed on yours. "the finest meat in the forest. fresh. strong. full of life. i caught it for you. does your… baker… bring you such sustenance? can he provide the heart of the wild for you? can his soft, flour-dusted hands hunt and provide? or does he only offer you… weak grains and baked air?"

you stared at the stag, then back at his fiercely proud and deeply worried face.

a slow, aching understanding dawned.

this wasn't just about a strange scent. this was about territory. about possession. in his draconic mind, he saw a rival, a challenger for your attention, and he was trying to prove his superiority in the only way he knew how.

"sylus," you began, your voice gentle but firm. you crossed your arms over your chest. "that is a very impressive catch. and it is sweet of you to think of me. but i cannot eat an entire stag by myself. and i cannot make a new dress from rabbit fur or stag hide."

he blinked his large, intelligent eyes, the fire in them dimming to a confused smolder.

"i have to go to town sometimes," you continued, stepping a little closer, though the heat from his agitated body was intense. "it is not a choice. i need to buy cloth and needles and thread. i need soap and salt and things you cannot easily find in the forest. i am a human, and i live in a human world part of the time. when i am there, i might bump into people. it does not mean anything. leo is just a man who sells bread. that is all he is. i think that was the first time ive ever seen him"

he was quiet for a long moment, processing your words. the proud, rigid set of his shoulders slumped slightly.

the aggressive puff of his chest deflated. he looked from your face to the massive stag, then back to you, and let out a low, chuffing sound. he nudged the stag again, almost petulantly.

"but… my meat is better," he mumbled, his deep voice now a soft, rumbling plea. "it is stronger. better for you."

so clearly... he was still having lingering jealousy coursing through his veins.

later, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, you were admiring the soft, ethereal glow of the moon-petal flowers.

sylus watched you for a long time, his massive head tilted. then, he turned and, with astonishing delicacy, used the very tip of his wing to sweep a pile of his treasure towards you.

it was not just gold and gems, though there were glittering coins and deep green emeralds. there were rare, beautiful objects he had clearly collected over centuries: a perfectly preserved fossil of a prehistoric fern, a geode split open to reveal a stunning galaxy of violet amethyst crystals, a necklace woven from what looked like strands of starlight and one of his own, smaller, discarded scales.

all items that a jewel collector or archaeologist would faint at the sight of

he nudged the geode towards you with his nose. "this one," he rumbled, his voice low and intent. "it holds the memory of the earth's first breath. it is ancient and powerful."

his gaze was unwavering, filled with a desperate earnestness. "these are not just things. they are pieces of my hoard. my… heart. can your baker offer you the secrets of the world? can he give you a piece of his soul? can he show you the history locked in stone?"

ah... still having a one-sided beef with the baker.

he lowered his great head until his warm, scaled forehead was gently pressing against your chest. the growl was gone, replaced by a deep, thrumming vibration that felt like a plea resonating deep within your own bones. the scent of smoke was gone, replaced by the clean, sharp scent of the forest at night.

"stay here, little one," he whispered, the sound so quiet it was almost carried away by the breeze. "with me. my forest is your forest. my treasure is your treasure. my protection is yours. i can keep you safe. i can give you wonders. choose my fire. please. do not… do not seek warmth from his feeble, mortal hearth."

and in that moment, you saw it all. the jealousy, the grand displays of hunting and wealth, the desperate hints. it wasn't the aggression of a monster.

it was the fear of a lonely, ancient creature who had finally found something precious, something he considered his, and was terrified to the core of losing it to another. he was trying to prove he was the better provider, the better protector, in the only language a dragon knew.

you reached up and wrapped your arms as far as you could around the thick base of his neck, burying your face in the warm, smooth scales. "silly dragon," you murmured, your voice muffled against him. "your meat is the best. your treasures are the most beautiful. and your fire is the warmest thing i have ever known. i come back to you, don't i? i always come back."

he let out a long, shuddering sigh, a hot breath that stirred your hair. he leaned into your touch, his massive body relaxing, the tension finally bleeding away. he might not fully understand your human world, but he understood your touch, your scent, and your promise to return.

"...i am also certain i am capable of creating better creations than that measly mortal human baker."

"have you ever even tried making bread, oh-mighty-dragon?"

"... no but if it shall make you happy, i shall learn. nothing a human can do i cannot."

He’d started to feel noticeably warm to the touch, which was strange for a reptile. The first time you noticed it was when he brushed past you, and you flinched, startled by the heat radiating off his skin. Since then, it had only intensified. Whenever he hugged you, lingered too close, or let his fingers graze your arm, you felt it—his body running hot, almost feverish. It was unnerving. And his touches had changed too. They weren’t violent, but they carried a kind of hunger, an urgency that hadn’t been there before. He gripped a little tighter, held on a little longer. Like proximity alone wasn’t enough to settle whatever storm was brewing inside him.

It worried you terribly. Was he getting sick? Could dragons even get sick? The question gnawed at your thoughts, carving out little pits of anxiety in your chest no matter how often you tried to push it away. The heat that seemed to bleed from his skin, the sharp glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, the unpredictable mood swings and restlessness...it all felt off. Like something inside him had shifted, and you didn’t know if it was something natural or something dangerous. You'd never seen him like this. He wasn’t just irritable, he was volatile. Every movement held tension, like he was wound too tightly and one wrong word might snap him in two.

You knew better than to voice your concerns aloud. Suggesting he try any kind of human treatment would go over about as well as trying to leash a wildfire. He’d scoff, roll his eyes, and brush you off with a dismissive sigh. Sylus was proud, fiercely so. Stubborn as a stone wall, and not exactly someone who tolerated being fussed over. An illness? He'd laugh at the implication.

Still, you couldn’t just sit back and watch him burn from the inside out.

So the next time he finally dozed off—after hours of pacing, mumbling under his breath, and tossing scraps into the fire like they’d wronged him personally—you waited until his breathing evened out and his face slackened. He lay sprawled out on the nest of furs you’d both piled near the hearth, the orange firelight casting shadows across his angular features. One arm was thrown loosely over his chest, the other curled slightly beside him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that looked almost peaceful. Almost.

You moved with painstaking care, the cool, damp cloth in your hand trembling slightly from how tightly you gripped it. Your feet barely made a sound against the stone floor as you approached, every step deliberate. When you reached his side, you crouched slowly, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it might wake him before you even got the chance to touch him. You leaned in, gently pressing the rag to his brow, hoping the cold would cut through the heat pouring off of him like he was lit from within.

For a brief moment, you felt relief. He didn’t stir. Maybe, just maybe, he would sleep through this.

But then something shifted.

Without warning, a firm pressure clamped around your wrist. You gasped, flinching, and the rag slipped from your fingers. Your gaze dropped, heart stalling in your chest, as you realized his tail had slithered around your arm in one smooth, silent motion. Like it had a mind of its own.

His eyes snapped open a second later, glowing faintly in the dim light, red pupils slitted and sharp. He looked at you without blinking, like he’d known what you were sneaking up on him the entire time.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" he murmured, voice husky with sleep and something else—something darker. There was a flicker of amusement there, curling at the corners of his lips, but beneath it was something far more intense. Possessive. Primal. Like he wasn’t just waking up, but awakening to something deeper.

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Your heart thundered against your ribs like it wanted to escape.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words caught in your throat, stuck somewhere between nervousness, concern and something you couldn’t name.

"I'm helping you, silly. You're sick," you mumble, voice soft but threaded with a note of stubborn concern. Your lips purse, irritation flickering across your features as you glance down at the thick coil of his tail still looped possessively around your wrist. "Now let go of me," you add, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in your voice.

To your surprise, he does. The tension releases almost instantly, the pressure around your wrist vanishing as his tail retreats. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, rubbing at your skin where the warmth lingered.

"I am not unwell," he says after a pause, voice rich and steady, threaded with an unmistakable certainty. "Only mortals burn with fever."

You frown, eyebrows drawing together in quiet frustration. "Yeah, but... you've been acting really strange lately," you reply, your voice lowering, touched now with genuine worry. "You’re restless, snappy, and you never eat this much. I just...I want to make sure you’re okay. That you’re not hurting."

The confession slips out before you can think better of it. You stare at him for a moment longer, searching his unreadable expression for some crack, some tell that might confirm or deny what your instincts have been screaming.

And then you move, slow and tentative, inching closer to him as if drawn by an invisible force. When you rest your head lightly against his chest, you feel the heat radiating off him in waves, hotter now than it had been earlier. His body is solid beneath you, unmoving, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. The sound of his heartbeat thuds against your ear, rapid and deep, like a distant drum.

You think, for a moment, that he might relax.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his entire frame stiffens. There’s a flash of tension through his shoulders, and then his tail moves again—but not with the idle instinct of before. It wraps around your waist in a slow, deliberate spiral, the grip firm but not cruel. He lifts you effortlessly, his strength startling in its subtlety, and then plants you down several feet away from him.

You blink, stunned, arms still half outstretched in the air where you had been.

The new distance between you is not just physical. It feels like a chasm, sudden and inexplicable, heavy with all the things he won’t say. You sit in silence for a heartbeat too long, the echo of his rejection ringing in your chest like a hollow bell.

He avoids your gaze, eyes cast to the fire, jaw clenched tightly.

"Hey! You can't ju—" you begin, voice raised in disbelief, frustration bubbling over—but the look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks. It's not angry or loud, but it carries a quiet authority that slices through the air like a blade. His eyes flash with a warning, cold and unreadable.

"Silence, love. Sleep on the other side of the cave tonight," he says, each word deliberate, clipped. There is no room for negotiation in his tone. It’s final. Commanding. His eyes close again, as if your protest doesn’t deserve his attention. Like the matter is already settled in his mind.

The dismissal stings more than you expect.

It hits like a slap, raw and disorienting. You reel back a step, mouth parting slightly as you try to process the flood of emotion that crashes down on you all at once. Hurt. Confusion. Anger. They churn in your chest, thick and suffocating. What the hell? All you had done was try to help. You had stayed up, watched over him, worried yourself sick, and this was how he repaid you? By pushing you away like a child being told to go to their room?

Ugh. Stubborn. Always so impossibly, frustratingly stubborn.

Your jaw tightens as the ache behind your eyes starts to burn. He didn’t get to do this. Not after everything. If he thought you were just going to walk away, tuck yourself into the far corner of the cave like a scolded pet and let him suffer in silence, he clearly didn’t know you as well as he should.

Because humans don’t give up on the ones they love.

"Sylus!" you bark, louder this time, anger sharpening your voice. You stomp across the stone floor toward him, every step punctuated by the slap of your feet and the pounding of your heart. "You know I’m not doing that! I’m not going to just curl up in the corner like you didn’t just say that to me!"

He says nothing, but you can see his jaw twitch. That slow, deliberate breath leaves his nostrils again—heavy, controlled. Tired. Still, he doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t look at you. It’s like he's deliberately trying to sever whatever invisible thread connects the two of you.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, fighting the overwhelming desire to scream. "What is wrong with you? Just talk to me! Look at me! Say anything!"

But all you receive is silence. Stubborn, infuriating silence.

Your fists tighten at your sides. The cold cavern air suddenly feels stifling.

Fine. You could be stubborn too.

Without thinking, you finish crossing the cave, heart pounding loud enough to drown out your better judgment. Every step echoes with stubborn purpose as you close the gap he created between you. You don't hesitate. You don’t ask. You simply act—climbing over him, swinging a leg across his large body, and settling yourself squarely atop his waist. The furs beneath you shift and rustle, but he doesn’t stop you. His brow furrows slightly, the only sign he even notices, but otherwise, he remains infuriatingly still.

Still silent. Still distant.

You lean down slowly, hands braced on either side of his torso, and fix your gaze on his face, searching for some flicker of emotion—anything to tell you he’s still there beneath the silence. The heat rolling off of him is overwhelming up close, like standing too near a smoldering hearth. It curls around you, prickling your skin, quickening your breath. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken things.

"Sylus..." you murmur, your voice low, raw with feeling.

No response.

"Sylus! I know you can hear me!" you bark, sharper now, frustration rising with each second he continues to ignore you. Your heart twists painfully.

Still nothing.

You sigh, the sound long and defeated, your chest aching with the weight of his silence. Carefully, gently, you lower your forehead to his, hoping maybe the closeness will shake something loose. His skin burns beneath yours, unnaturally warm.

"I just want to know what’s wrong with you," you whisper, voice so quiet it nearly disappears in the cavern's stillness. "Guess your species are terrible communicators."

Still, he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t open his eyes. But you feel it—something in him coiling tight, like a rope being pulled taut. He may be still, but he’s not unaffected. Something inside him is shifting, stirred by your proximity, your touch.

Acting on instinct and desperation, you close the small distance between your mouths and press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be fleeting, a soft reassurance. But it lingers. Longer than it should. Your lips stay, pressed gently to his, drawn in by the heat, the subtle shape of his mouth, the restraint that pulses beneath his immobility. Your eyes slip closed as your hands move—one cupping the side of his jaw, the other resting on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart.

Then you feel it. A breath. Deeper. Shakier. His chest rises and falls faster.

And in a blink, the world flips.

One moment you’re above him, tethered by warmth and hope—the next, you’re on your back, the furs catching your fall as a gasp escapes you. "Ah!" The air leaves your lungs in a rush. Your eyes fly open to find him hovering above you, strong arms braced on either side of your head. His large body cages yours in completely, heat surrounding you like a second skin.

His eyes are open now. And they are glowing.

There is something feral in his expression—not cruel, but ancient and wild and hungry. His gaze drags across your face with a depth that makes your breath hitch. Every inch of him is tense, restrained, as if holding back something that wants very badly to be unleashed.

He still hasn’t spoken.

But he is no longer ignoring you.

"You're making it very difficult to control myself, love," he growls, his voice like gravel softened by heat, thick with restraint and something darker coiled beneath it. The words roll over your skin just moments before his lips do. His breath fans against your neck—a warning, a promise—before he dips his head, and you feel the sharp, precise puncture of his teeth sinking into your skin.

This isn’t a playful nip. This isn’t a teasing show of dominance. His bite breaks the surface, deliberate and deep. You feel the sharp pain bloom instantly, a white-hot flash that steals the breath from your lungs. A gasp escapes you—startled, raw—and your hands fly up to clutch at his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him as your back arches against the sensation. Warm blood trickles down your shoulder, and your skin tingles where it flows.

You weren’t unfamiliar with Sylus's biting. He'd always had a possessive streak that came through when things turned intimate or emotional. But this—this felt different. It felt desperate. Like he was trying to root himself in you. Like something inside him was slipping, and you were the only thing keeping him from losing his grip.

His mouth lingers at your neck, his lips now parted just slightly. You feel the tremor in his breath before his tongue slips out and glides across the bite. Slow. Deliberate. He licks away the blood he’d drawn, and the pain dulls under the hot, wet press of his mouth. In its place comes a deep, spiraling heat that blooms low in your belly, tightening your grip on him.

"S-Sylus..." you breathe, barely able to form the words. Your voice trembles. "If you were just...er, in need—you know I would've helped you ages ago."

Still, he doesn’t answer.

You feel the way his body stiffens slightly against you. His hand slides up along your side, slow and controlled, as though he’s still deciding what to do with the storm inside him. Then, he leans in again and presses his lips gently to your neck, just beside the wound. This time, the touch is less claiming and more conflicted—like he's trying to soothe something in himself rather than stake another claim.

He stays there for a long moment, breathing in the scent of your skin, your blood, your closeness. You feel the tremble in his chest where it presses against yours, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch as though resisting the urge to hold you tighter. The cavern feels impossibly still around you, as if the very walls are holding their breath.

At last, he lifts his head. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, he looks completely unguarded. They glow faintly, with a trace of something wild, but it’s the emotion in them that catches your breath—raw, aching, afraid.

"It's more than that," he says, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. Not defensive. Not ashamed. Just...honest. Like every word costs him more than he knows how to show.

You stare at him, heart hammering, throat tightening.

Oh no. It's bad news, isn't it?

The thought slams into you with the force of a crashing wave, stealing the air from your lungs. You blink rapidly, trying to keep your vision clear, but the sting in your eyes wins. Tears begin to well, hot and fast, blurring the edges of your world as your chest tightens with dread. Something in his voice, in the way he looked at you—it had to mean something terrible. Something irreversible.

"What is it? Please tell me you're okay!" you blurt out, your voice cracking and shaking as panic rises up your throat. Your hands cling tighter to him, desperate and trembling, fingers curling into the fabric of whatever covers his back. As if somehow, your grip could keep him from slipping away. As if love alone could hold back whatever awful truth he was about to reveal.

Sylus blinks, visibly startled by your sudden burst of emotion. The intensity in your voice clearly catches him off guard. His eyes, once glowing with wild tension, soften slightly. His expression shifts—no longer hard and guarded, but touched with a flicker of something else. Something gentler.

Wordlessly, he draws you closer. His arms wrap around you more securely, with purpose now. Not to restrain, but to reassure. His hands press to your back, his warmth enveloping you like a cocoon. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low and deliberate. A slow drag of velvet.

"No need to fret," he murmurs. "All is well."

You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide, your breath caught halfway in your lungs. Your heart pounds in your ears. There’s a moment of suspended silence where you brace yourself for the real answer.

"It's just mating season."

You freeze. Your body goes still, and your mind... blanks.

Of all the explanations you had been preparing for—a curse, an ancient affliction, some kind of irreversible breakdown of his control—that had not even crossed your mind.

Mating season?

You blink once. Twice. And then the realization crashes over you, dragging with it a rush of relief and a sudden, absurd clarity. The heat, the irritability, the pacing, the biting, the overwhelming hunger—both physical and something deeper. It all made sense now. It fit together like puzzle pieces you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You let out a breathless huff, lips parting as the tension begins to unravel inside you.

And then you laugh.

A full, startled, ridiculous laugh bubbles up from your chest and bursts free before you can stop it. It catches you completely off guard, but you can’t hold it in. The absurdity of it all—the sheer contrast between what you imagined and what it actually was—breaks something loose in you.

You double over slightly, pressing your forehead into his collarbone as your shoulders shake with the sound. It’s laughter born of relief, disbelief, and the strange, heady rush of realizing everything isn’t falling apart.

Sylus stares down at you in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly. Clearly, he doesn’t find your reaction particularly amusing. If anything, his expression deepens into a look of resigned irritation, as if this wasn’t quite the response he expected.

But still, he doesn’t pull away. His arms stay around you, anchoring you to him, the heat of his body steady and real. His tail curls lightly around your leg, a quiet, instinctive motion. Protective. Possessive.

And despite the glare he levels at the top of your head, there’s no real venom behind it. He lets you laugh, lets you melt the fear from your chest with every shaky breath, until your voice begins to soften again.

Eventually, you lift your head, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

"Is something humorous?" he asks, his voice low, edged with a faint note of offense, though there is no true malice behind it. His eyes narrow slightly as they study your face, as though trying to decipher the cause of your sudden laughter. But even in his quiet suspicion, his arms never loosen their hold around you. If anything, he draws you closer.

You shake your head quickly, the laughter dying in your throat as a rush of guilt creeps in. "Honestly, you had me scared" you say, your voice softening, breaking slightly at the end. "I really thought you were going to die on me."

That doesn't seem to ease him. He exhales through his nose in a deep, low grunt—not dismissive, but something closer to acknowledgment. The sound vibrates against your body, a warm, strange comfort. Then, with a fluid, instinctive movement, he adjusts your positions. His strength is effortless as he shifts, guiding you until you're lying beside him on the furs, your body drawn into his larger frame like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

His arm curls around your waist, securing you against his chest. It isn’t just for comfort—there is something possessive in the gesture, protective, as if he’s anchoring you there by will alone. The heat of him envelops you entirely, bleeding into your limbs until the cold stone floor feels like a distant memory.

"Does this mean..." you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. But the thought drifts before it finishes, scattered like leaves on the wind. You have so many questions tumbling through your mind: What does this mean for him? For you? Is this temporary? Instinct? A sign of something deeper? But they all blur at the edges, softening under the pull of exhaustion.

Your body is finally registering the toll of the night. You had stayed up far too late, keeping vigil while Sylus paced, brooded, fought himself in silence. You hadn't let yourself rest until he did. Now, the weight of sleeplessness pulls at your limbs like gravity, and your eyelids feel impossibly heavy.

Outside, the first blush of morning glows gently. Sunlight begins to pour through the narrow cracks in the rock that serves as the cave’s natural door. The pale beams stretch across the stone floor like golden fingers, warming the air with soft radiance. The quiet sounds of the wilderness beyond stir faintly, muted by distance—birds beginning their morning calls, wind rustling through high branches.

Sylus doesn’t answer your unfinished thought. He merely presses closer, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. His breath fans across your skin in slow, even waves, and the low, rhythmic sound that rumbles from his chest is unmistakable. A purr. Deep and velvety. Content.

The sound settles into your bones, a vibration that eases the tightness from your shoulders and lulls the last frayed edges of fear from your heart. There is something incredibly grounding about it—like being cradled by the earth itself. One of his hands rests on your waist, fingers spread, as if silently promising that you are safe, that he will not let go.

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and warmth and him. Despite the adrenaline, despite the questions that remain unanswered, your body begins to let go. Your thoughts drift. His purring fills the quiet like a lullaby spun from heat and breath and unspoken devotion.

Sleep takes you gently.

And you surrender to it, wrapped in Sylus’s arms, as the light of a new day filters through stone and silence alike.

As the days passed, you began to notice other, more subtle changes in Sylus's behavior—the kind of shifts that spoke not just of mood, but of instinct, of ritual. Of purpose.

It started gradually. At first, it was the gifts. Sylus had always brought you little trinkets here and there—a gleaming stone from a riverbed, a silver ring once forgotten in the ruins of some fallen estate, or a flower pressed flat and preserved between scraps of parchment. But now? Now he returned from his ventures with arms full of treasure.

You began to receive things that looked as though they had been pulled from the vaults of kings. Gemstones the size of your knuckles. Necklaces heavy with gold and set with fire-bright opals. Crowns, actual crowns, one with a missing jewel that he promised to "replace shortly." Delicate filigree bracelets and earrings of such craftsmanship that you wondered if they had come from the hands of mortals at all.

You accepted them, of course. How could you not? They dazzled the eye and stirred something deep within your chest—awe, gratitude, wonder. And then there was the way Sylus looked at you when you accepted each piece. The way he watched your reactions with quiet intensity, hunger and satisfaction warring in his gaze as your fingers traced the contours of every offered treasure.

"Is this suitable to your liking, beloved?" he would ask, voice a rich hum in your ear. There was always a thread of tension in his tone, a need that ran deeper than pride.

You’d smile and nod, sometimes laughing softly at the extravagance, sometimes whispering thanks as you leaned into his warmth. That always seemed to satisfy him. His shoulders would relax, his tail would curl in closer around you, and a low purr would rumble from deep in his chest.

And the gifts didn’t stop with jewels and gold.

His hunting habits changed too. Where once he had returned with modest catches—a brace of rabbits, a string of fish, the occasional deer—now he came back with trophies that left you reeling. Massive elk, towering wild boars with tusks the length of your forearm. Game that would feed you both for weeks. And then, one evening, he returned dragging behind him the largest bear you had ever seen.

Its massive body sprawled across the cave entrance like something out of legend. Thick fur matted with snow and blood, claws that could gouge stone. You stood frozen in the firelight, staring at it, unsure whether to marvel or panic.

Sylus merely stood beside it, chin slightly raised, one clawed hand resting on its flank like a proud hunter presenting a trophy.

"For you," he said simply, as if it were nothing.

You had blinked at him, stunned. "Sylus, I...I don’t even know how to cook that."

He grinned, utterly unbothered. "Then I will learn."

The gifts. The feasts. The constant nearness. The careful watching of your every reaction. You had thought it was simply Sylus being more open, more affectionate in the wake of your recent closeness.

You were trying not to overthink it. Truly, you were. Every part of you wanted to believe that all the changes were just instinct, affection taken to a slightly obsessive level. You’d chalked up the treasure hoarding, the feasts, the increased proximity, the way he hovered just a little too closely sometimes—all of it to simple fondness. Maybe even a primal form of love. But nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you after returning from a brisk walk one particularly chilly afternoon.

The moment you stepped through the threshold of the cave, you froze in place, heart lurching with confusion.

Sylus had completely transformed everything.

Gone were the scattered, mismatched piles of pelts, the half-organized piles of gold, the signs of his usual indifference to comfort or aesthetic. In their place was something deliberate. Thoughtful. Nest-like. The entire back of the cave had been cleared and restructured, centered around an enormous bed of furs that had been meticulously arranged. It looked almost ceremonial in its care.

The old sleeping area had been expanded, padded with thick layers of fur and hide—including the bear pelt from the beast he had dragged home days ago. It now lined the center of the nest, skinned, cleaned and softened into a thick, luxurious base. Softer animal hides had been layered on top, and the perimeter was reinforced with woven branches, dried moss, and feathers, creating a barrier of warmth and comfort.

It wasn’t just for practicality. It was beautiful.

There were little details everywhere. Smooth stones from your favorite riverbank placed in a pattern near the fire pit. Bits of dried herbs—the ones you loved for tea or the scent they gave when burned—tucked into the seams of the bedding. A string of beads you thought you’d lost was now nestled between two thick furs, as if it had been intentionally displayed.

You stood there for several seconds, mouth slightly open, completely unprepared.

"Sylus..." you breathed, your voice caught somewhere between awe and bewilderment. "What’s the meaning of all this?"

He looked up at you from where he knelt, smoothing out the bear fur with surprising tenderness. His expression was completely unreadable. Calm. Focused. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. "You were shivering at night," he said simply. "This will keep you warmer."

That might have been enough for anyone else. Practical. Logical. An easy excuse.

But his eyes told a different story.

He watched you too closely. Not just to gauge your reaction—but to savor it. There was something ancient and yearning behind the glow in his eyes, something that vibrated in the silence between his words. He was waiting. Not for your thanks, but for your approval.

Noticing your lack of response, Sylus's expression begins to shift. The warmth in his eyes dims, replaced by something sterner, more guarded. His tail flicks once behind him—a sharp, agitated motion that echoes his growing unease. He straightens his spine, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, his voice quieter now but unmistakably tense. There’s something beneath his words that makes your chest tighten—disappointment, certainly. But also something rawer. Doubt. Hurt. The faint tremor of vulnerability from someone unaccustomed to feeling exposed.

Your eyes widen, and guilt rises quickly in your throat. You hadn't meant to be silent for so long. You were simply overwhelmed—by the effort, by the meaning behind it all. But now, seeing the shift in his posture, the way his eyes avoid yours, you realize how that silence must have come off.

You quickly close the space between you, reaching out instinctively. Your hands lift to cradle his face, palms warm against his heated skin. You guide his gaze back to you, gently but insistently, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching your face as though still bracing for rejection.

"No," you say softly, firmly, your voice thick with emotion. "I love it. I really do. It's beautiful. I just...I don’t understand why. You don’t have to do all this. The gifts, the meat, the rearranging—I was already happy. I was perfectly content with how things were before."

Sylus doesn’t recoil. Instead, he leans into your touch just slightly, as though the reassurance eases something deep in his chest. The tightness in his shoulders begins to uncoil, and the tension etched into his brow softens. A quiet exhale escapes him, almost inaudible.

"You laughed," he murmurs after a moment, his voice roughened by something too ancient to be called simple sorrow. "When I spoke of mating season. I assumed then that you deemed me unworthy as a mate—ill-fitted to claim or keep one such as you."

You blink, taken aback. The memory of that moment resurfaces—your burst of laughter, the disbelief, the release of tension you hadn’t realized he was carrying so heavily. It hadn’t been mockery. But now, you see how it must have been received by someone like Sylus—a creature whose understanding of humor, especially human levity in the face of instinct, is limited by centuries of solemn tradition and a worldview where gestures hold more meaning than words. 

"So...the jewels? The meat?" you ask gently, your voice cracking slightly as realization begins to sink in.

He lets out a low, almost frustrated huff, glancing to the side. His tail curls around one of your ankles without thought, anchoring you to him in a quiet, possessive motion. "To prove I can provide for you," he says simply. "And for our offspring that I hoped you'd bear."

The words hit you like a wave, your breath catching in your throat. Your heart swells and shatters at once, a knot forming deep in your chest. He really wanted a baby with you? To form new life? With you??

Because that was it, wasn’t it? This powerful, ancient creature—so feared, so composed, so unreadable to others—was doing everything in his power to show you his worth. Not by demanding your affection or asserting his claim, but by showing you how he could build a life around you. Make a place for you. Prepare for a future, one you hadn’t even considered yet.

He had rearranged his entire world to make space for you in it. Courted you to prove himself just as many of his species had done with their mates.

You looked at him now with new eyes, your throat tightening as you caressed the edge of his jaw.

"Sylus...you don’t have to prove anything to me. I never doubted your strength. I never doubted you for a single second. Sometimes humans laugh when we feel relieved. That's all."

You notice that he seemed to perk up ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. His posture straightened by a fraction, the glow in his eyes shifting with something new—not quite relief, but intrigue. A subtle ripple of tension unwound in his shoulders, though he tried to mask it.

"Mortals laugh when they feel better?" he asked, voice low and gravelly, as if the question itself was unfamiliar. There was a curious tilt to his head, the tone almost scholarly—as if he were cataloging your species' behaviors like one would study a rare flame.

You nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "Yes. Laughter is...a release. I wasn’t mocking you, Sylus. I was relieved. It meant you weren’t dying. And...I think you would make a wonderful mate. And father. To our baby."

His grip on you suddenly shifted, tightening with sudden purpose. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that grounded you firmly against him—possessive, almost reverent. His pupils expanded rapidly, red irises eclipsed by black. A primal heat surged behind his gaze, burning steady and intent. You felt the growl in his chest before it even reached his lips, a low, rumbling vibration that poured through your body like a tremor.

"Then...you accept?" he asked slowly, the words thick with restrained emotion. "You will take my seed into you? You would bear my offspring?"

Your heart skipped a beat—no, several. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. He said it with such conviction, with none of the coy hesitations or evasive phrasing you were used to. Just truth. Raw and full of meaning. The ancient kind of promise that didn’t ask, but waited.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. "I mean...I do have my doubts," you admitted, fingers curling against his chest. Your fingers graze the edge of his scales. Your voice trembled slightly under the weight of his gaze. "I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry children of yours. Dragons are...different. Your children, they’d be massive, wouldn’t they?"

You tried to laugh. It came out tight, nervous. A shaky sound that barely carried.

But Sylus didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. Instead, something deeper flickered behind his eyes—a hunger, yes, but also certainty. Purpose. Legacy.

A low, pleased growl rolled from the depths of his chest, his breath warm against your skin. You gasped as you felt his tail move, the strong, silken muscle winding slowly up your leg. It caressed your skin with practiced control, the movement deliberate. Purposeful. The hem of your dress lifted inch by inch under the teasing weight of his tail.

"Nonsense," he growled, and this time his voice was like smoke and stone. "You are more than capable. I would never choose a mate who was not capable of the task. Your body, your spirit, your frame—they are all sufficient. More than sufficient."

His claws ghosted over your hips, drawing you in closer, like a hunter gathering something sacred. You felt the heat of him, not just his body but his intent, his longing, the centuries of instinct that pulsed just beneath his skin.

"I'm not even sure if it will work..." you murmur, your voice laced with uncertainty. "Humans only ovulate for a short time. If that window's already passed—"

Sylus moves before you can finish. His body leans into yours with quiet purpose, and in an instant, the air shifts between you. His breath ghosts over your neck, warm and steady, and you shiver as his nose traces the delicate line of your throat. The movement is slow, deliberate—not just intimate, but instinctual. He inhales deeply, the sound low and resonant like something ancient stirring in his chest. The rumble that follows isn’t quite a growl, but it thrums through you like thunder beneath the earth.

"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "You’re fertile. I can smell it on you."

You freeze.

His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different now—sweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do."

His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desire—it is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didn’t even know it had made.

"You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.

Your breath catches, your face flushing as your heart pounds against your ribs. You can feel the heat rising in you, pooling low, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

You search his face for doubt, but find none. Only certainty.

So, you were ovulating, and he could smell it—and worse, he wasn’t just aroused by it; he was called by it.

You feel your nerves ease, if only a little. Sylus was dependable—fierce, steady, and impossibly sure in the way only something ancient could be. For all his intensity, he had never once let harm come to you, had never faltered in his protection. And now, with the weight of everything shifting between you, that truth brought the smallest measure of calm. If he said he would keep you safe, you believed him. If he said he would protect the life growing between you, you knew it to be a vow etched in something deeper than words.

The idea of having a baby had once seemed distant, more fantasy than reality. Something soft and quiet that belonged to another version of your life, another world entirely. But now? Now it felt inevitable. Natural. Fated. Like every step had led to this moment, and all that was left was to lean into it.

He wanted this with you. You could see it in everything he did: the nesting, the offerings, the way he curled around you at night like a guardian warding off the dark. His every action had been leading here, even if you hadn’t recognized it at the time. And though nerves still fluttered in your chest like a thousand wings, the deeper truth remained. You wanted it too. You weren’t entirely prepared, not yet, but you were ready to say yes.

You looked into his eyes, your heart thundering, and gave a small but certain nod. "Okay. I accept."

Those three words changed everything.

It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him, something primal and powerful released from its cage. You barely had time to react before he swept you off the ground with effortless strength. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he cradled you against his chest, his expression focused, almost reverent. In mere seconds, he had crossed the room and laid you gently down on the massive bed of furs he had so meticulously prepared—his gift to you, his offering.

The nest was impossibly warm, soft and inviting, wrapping around your back and shoulders like it had been waiting for this moment. You could feel the heat of his body above you, the power in his frame held taut just beneath the surface. He hovered for a breath, eyes raking over you, and then his tail moved—snaking up one leg, coiling slowly with deliberate grace.

The fabric of your dress tightened as his tail looped beneath it, and you barely had time to gasp before you heard the slow, purposeful sound of it tearing. With practiced precision, his tail shredded the fabric, beginning to peel it away from your body with a hunger that had been restrained for too long. Each thread undone was like a silent declaration: mine, mine, mine.

You felt a rush of cool air against your skin, and your breasts were exposed to his gaze. You could sense his eyes on you, drinking in the sight of your bare skin and hardened nipples, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Your breasts bounced slightly as you shifted, and you could feel his gaze following the movement, his eyes hungrily taking in every detail.

You instinctively tried to shield yourself, your arms moving to cross your chest, but he was quicker. His tail wrapped around your wrists with gentle but unyielding strength, keeping you exposed beneath him. Vulnerable. Claimed.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin, and you felt it hitch as he studied you like something sacred. There was a deep rumble in his chest, not quite a growl but something more ancient—a sound of possession and awe.

"This will not be gentle," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by fire. "But do not fret. I will take care not to hurt you, beloved."

His words settled over you like a brand, searing into your skin. There was something sacred in them, a promise forged not in softness, but in strength—and devotion.

And the way he said it, with such conviction and tempered need, made your breath stutter and your fear crumble, replaced with something far more powerful:

Desire. Acceptance. Surrender.

His voice was a low rumble, "I want to see you. All of you." His eyes met yours, seeking consent, respectful despite the fierce hunger within. You nodded, your heart still pounding, but the fear was gone, replaced by a strong lust you didn't know you had.

He reached for the remnants of your dress, his touch gentle yet firm as he pushed the rest of the fabric off you. It slipped down your body, leaving you bare except for your undergarments. His breath hitched, his gaze roaming over you, worshipful and hungry.

"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Like a dream I never dared to have." He leaned down, his lips met yours, a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of his gaze. It was a question, a request for permission to explore further. You responded, your body melting into his, your lips parting to deepen the kiss. He tasted of smoke and spice, a heady combination that made your head spin. His claws, those large, warm claws, traced the curve of your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasped, breaking the kiss, your body arching into his touch. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to hear you," he whispered, his breath hot on your ear. "I want to hear every sound you make, every gasp, every moan." He captured your mouth again, his tongue delving in, exploring, tasting. His hands continued their journey, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, the soft flesh of your thighs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your undergarments, pulling back to look at you.

He slid the underwear down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a shiver of anticipation and vulnerability, but the heat in his gaze, the raw desire, kept you from feeling exposed again. He stood up, his tail unwrapping from your waist, and you missed the contact instantly. But he was back in a moment, his hands on your knees, gently pushing them apart.

He knelt down, his gaze still locked with yours, and you felt a jolt of surprise and excitement. His rough claws traced up your inner thighs, his touch feather-light, sending shivers through you. You could feel the heat of his breath on you, and you squirmed, your body aching with anticipation. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and leaned in.

His long tongue found your aching bud, hot and wet, and you gasped, your body arching off the pile of furs. He made a sound, a low growl of pleasure, and the vibration sent waves of sensation through you. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he explored you, his tongue and lips driving you to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, your body coiling tight, and you grasped the furs beneath you, your knuckles turning paler.

"Thank you for agreeing to give me the gift of new life" His gaze held you captive, even as his tongue continued its torturous, delightful dance. You felt a flush spread across your body, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

But you didn't look away. You held his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body writhing with each flick of his tongue. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the pleasure building, coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. "Sylus," you gasped, his name a plea on your lips.

He growled in response, his fingers digging into your thighs as he redoubled his efforts. The room spun, the golden light blurring around you. Your body tensed, every muscle coiled tight, and then, with a cry, you shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. You felt Sylus's claws on you, steadying you, his tail wrapping around you, holding you close as you rode out the storm. When the world came back into focus, you found yourself cradled in Sylus arms, your body still trembling with aftershocks. He was looking down at you, his eyes soft with concern and something else...a deep, profound satisfaction.

As you finally noticed the absence of his usual belt, your eyes widened in shock. There, at you waist, were not one, but two substantially sized cocks, side by side, both throbbing with desire. You could've sworn he only had one before?? A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you felt a surge of panic. You tried to wriggle free, to create some distance, but Sylus's grip only tightened. He growled, a low, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, as you managed to shift into a crawling position. But your brief moment of triumph was short-lived.

With a swift move, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back towards him. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he forced you face down onto the soft furs, his body pressing heavily against yours. "You cannot run from this," he rasped, his voice thick with lust and determination. "Be still." The fear that had been lurking within you surged back, filling every fiber of your being. You knew, with a certainty that was both terrifying and exhilarating, that there would be no escape. Not this time. Not until he had marked you, claimed you, bred you. His need was too great, his desire to leave his seed within you too strong to change your mind now.

As Sylus began to push his first cock into you, you felt a searing pain and a sense of being stretched to the limit. You realized, with a jolt of fear, that he hadn't been lying when he said this wouldn't be gentle. His cock was like a battering ram, forcing its way into your tight pussy with a ferocity that left you breathless. He let out a fierce growl of pleasure, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go inside your walls.

He pumped feverishly, his hips moving with the strength and power of a beast. You groaned, your voice hoarse and barely audible, as your pussy was forced to take the pounding he was giving you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for air and gripping the fur beneath you.

His cock was huge, and it felt like it was tearing you apart, stretching your walls to the limit. You felt like you were being ripped in two, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

You were at his mercy, unable to escape the torrent of sensations that he was unleashing on your body. Your mind was a jumble of pain and pleasure, your body torn between the pain of his thrusts and the thrill of being taken by a creature so powerful and dominant. You felt his second cock rubbing itself between the rounds of your ass.

As Sylus continued to pump into you, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.

"You'll never want for anything, beloved," he growled, voice low and reverent, thick with the weight of promise. It wasn’t just a statement. It was a vow. An oath carved from the bones of instinct, older than memory and heavier than gold. His breath was hot against your neck, his words brushing over your skin like fire.

"Not once," he continued, a possessive rumble threading through each syllable, "not once you're full with my children."

There was no shame in his tone, no hesitation. Just certainty. Purpose. He spoke like a dragon made flesh, a creature built for legacy, for claiming, for protecting what was his with unrelenting devotion. His hand traced your side as he spoke, the motion slow and reverent, as if feeling the space where new life would soon grow.

"Yes...yes give me as many children as you want Sylus, I want them all..." you begged, feeling yourself beginning to drool into the furs.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to have a profound effect on Sylus. His eyes flashed with a fierce light, and his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure.

Without warning, he pulled his cock out of you, the sudden withdrawal leaving you feeling empty and uneasy. But before you could even catch your breath, he flipped you around, his hands grasping your hips and pulling you back onto his cock. You felt him shove his cock balls deep inside you once again, the sudden invasion making you gasp with shock and pleasure.

You were stretched to the limit, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a mask of pleasure and desire. He pumped into you with a fierce intensity, his hips moving with a rapid, pounding rhythm that left you breathless and gasping. You felt his second cock sliding in harmonious rhythm across your stomach as he continued to pump the other inside you.

Sylus's movements grow frantic, each thrust more desperate than the last. The heat builds between you, an unstoppable force that drives you both to the edge. His breath hitches, and you can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, ready to snap.

With a final, forceful thrust, he slams deep inside you, a low groan ripping from his chest as he cums. The heat floods into you, a searing wave of release that leaves you both gasping. As he rides out the last pulses of his climax, he leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The bite is sharp, claiming, sending a shock through your body that mingles with the aftershocks of his release.

You're both slicked in sweat, your chests rising and falling in a staggered rhythm as you cling to each other, trembling and utterly spent. The cave around you is dense with heat and the scent of exertion, the air thick enough to drink. Your skin is flushed, tingling, every nerve alight from the intensity of what has just passed between you. You feel the large amount of cum he shot inside you begin to spill out, making your thighs stick together. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins—his warmth wraps around you like a living cocoon, steady and ever-present.

Every breath you take is his, pulled in from the narrow space between your mouths, and every exhale becomes a shared offering. His body is heavy over yours, enveloping, protective. You’re still reeling, caught somewhere between bliss and disbelief, when Sylus leans down and claims your lips in a kiss—fierce, unrelenting, yet reverent. It isn’t rushed. It’s deep, meaningful, and possessive in a way that leaves your heart pounding anew.

"Can you help me up?" you whisper, voice trembling, your limbs aching with fatigue. You lift a shaky hand, fingers brushing the fresh mark on your shoulder. The skin there is tender and warm, a physical memory of him etched into your flesh.

Sylus pulls back just enough to look at you, a small smile touching his lips. There’s affection in his gaze, but it’s layered with something else—something feral, possessive, unwavering. You blink at him, puzzled by the look he gives you, your breath catching as your body anticipates an answer.

"We aren’t finished, beloved" he murmurs, his voice like a caress wrapped in iron. The timbre of it thrums through your bones. He motions to his other member, still throbbing with need on your stomach. "I still have seed stored. I told you this would not be brief. We won’t be done until I am certain—utterly certain—that my seed has taken root."

The words wash over you like a second wave of heat. You feel it building again—not fear, not even hesitation. Just the slow, inevitable rush of anticipation. Your breath shudders as he presses closer once more, and the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He is so sure. So devoted. So...inescapably yours.

This isn’t just instinct anymore. It isn’t mere biology. It’s a vow, an offering, a claiming that comes from something sacred and ancient within him.

And as his lips brush against your throat, his tail curling possessively around your thigh again, you know one thing for certain:

Sylus isn’t finished.

And this becomes abundantly clear as he pushes his second cock inside you.

The next two days blur together in a haze of heat and aching limbs. Sylus is relentless—a creature driven by instinct and obsession, bound not just by desire but by an instinctual need to claim and secure what he now considers his. The cavern is filled with the sounds of breathless gasps, low growls, and the slick sound of bodies tangled in devotion and purpose.

There is barely a moment to rest. He presses into you again and again, each time with a ferocity that leaves you trembling, breathless, dazed. He rarely lets you catch your breath before pulling you close once more, whispering possessive promises into your ear, vowing over and over that he will not stop until he knows that his seed has taken root.

Still, there are brief breaks. Moments when he leaves to hunt, returning with food to replenish your strength. He never brings back just a meal—he returns with offerings: rare fruit, tender meats, things he’s sure will sustain and strengthen you. His eyes scan you for any signs of weakness, worry carved into the lines of his face even through the veil of lust that constantly clouds him.

One such time, you had tried to redress yourself, more out of instinct than shame. But when he returned and found you clothed again, his eyes darkened, the low sound of displeasure vibrating in his chest. He had stalked over to you, roughly tearing the garments off of your body, scattering them on the stone floor in pieces.

"Sylu-"

"No," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "You are to remain bare for me. Ready. Always."

And with those words, he had taken you again roughly, until the floor was soaked in his cum, as if to remind you that your body was his haven now—a vessel for something sacred. And this continued hourly, even when you had just awoken from a nap. He simply would spread your legs and begin pumping himself inside you. You welcomed this of course, figuring he was just following what his instincts were telling him to do.

Eventually, his frenzy began to slow. The fire that had once consumed him now burned low and steady, replaced by a quieter, more reverent form of devotion. Weeks passed in a blur of rest, warmth, and gentle touches, and then came the shift—he began to note that you smelled different. His sharp senses detected it before you felt a thing. He would murmur it against your skin, nose pressed to your neck or your belly, voice thick with wonder.

"You carry new life," he’d whisper.

At first, you rolled your eyes and laughed it off, teasing him for being so certain. You didn't want to get your hopes up. But soon, you began to feel it too—a flutter, faint and flickering like butterfly wings deep within. The first time it happened, you froze, a hand going instinctively to your belly. Sylus noticed immediately, his head snapping up, eyes wide.

"Did you feel it?"

You nodded slowly, hand still pressed to the gentle curve of your stomach. He was elated. Absolutely overcome with joy. He knelt before you and kissed your belly with a soft, contented purr rumbling from deep in his chest, his tail wrapping protectively around your ankles.

True to his word, he kept his promise. You never wanted for anything. He hunted only the best for you, brought the juiciest fruit, the most nourishing roots. He prepared meals with painstaking care, even if he didn’t eat most of it himself. When your back ached or your feet swelled, he massaged you with surprising tenderness, his large hands easing every knot and tension from your tired limbs. At night, he curled around you like a shield, his wings a blanket of protection, whispering soft things in a language you didn’t always understand.

Eventually, your clothes grew too tight to wear. Your belly swelled gloriously with life, and you gave up trying to force yourself into fabric that no longer fit. You wandered the cave freely, naked and glowing, your hands always resting protectively on your rounded stomach. Sylus didn’t mind in the slightest. He thought you looked divine.

Even in the later stages of your pregnancy, when walking made you tired and your body ached from the weight of his child, he still looked at you with hunger in his eyes. He remained ever ready to take you, though now with more patience, more gentleness to not hurt you or the baby. His touches were slow, reverent, his need no less intense but guided now by something softer—an unshakable adoration.

To him, you were more than his mate.

You were the future of his lineage. A living miracle he worshiped with every breath.

He was awoken one morning by the soft, fragile sound of you whining beside him—a breathy, instinctive noise that sliced through the quiet like a blade, shattering the peace of dawn. Instantly, he was alert, his senses snapping into sharp focus. In one smooth, practiced motion, he propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over you, red eyes scanning your body with fierce, frantic protectiveness. His hands hovered inches from your skin, as though afraid to touch and yet desperate to find the source of your distress.

When he found no visible wounds, he moved lower, his tail curling around your leg and lifting it gently. What he saw next made him still completely—and then smile, slow and reverent. A sheen of clear fluid glistened at your thighs. His chest swelled with emotion, and a warm, knowing glow filled his gaze.

It was time.

His breath caught in his throat, and the world seemed to narrow around this one miraculous truth. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours, and gently shook you awake, voice husky with emotion. "Wake, beloved," he murmured. "The hour is upon us."

What followed was the longest, most grueling day and a half of your life. The cave became a sanctuary of primal sound and sacred pain—the sharp edge of your cries echoing off the stone walls, the slow, rhythmic cadence of your breathing, and Sylus’s steady, grounding presence through it all. The space that had once been a den of passion now transformed into a place of birth and bond, of new beginnings.

He had prepared for this, of course. He always did. A nest of soft animal pelts had been lovingly arranged just days prior, thick and warm and perfectly layered to support your aching, straining body. You lay upon them, your skin damp with sweat, hair plastered to your temples, your belly tightening again and again with each new contraction. The pain was searing, unforgiving, your body fighting for every inch of progress.

And Sylus never left your side. Not for a moment.

He positioned himself behind you, his body acting as both cradle and shield. His larger frame curved protectively around yours, arms curled reverently over your middle, claws softened and carefully restrained so they wouldn’t harm you. He rubbed slow, grounding circles into the swell of your belly, the weight of his presence a balm against the storm.

His lips brushed your shoulder often, murmuring affirmations and praise, voice a low, calming purr that vibrated through your bones. His tail coiled gently around your thigh, anchoring you when you trembled. Whenever you cried out or whimpered in agony, he was there—not panicked, not shaken, but steady. Fierce.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered again and again, the words threaded with admiration. "You’re strong. So strong. You were made for this."

There was never a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He watched you with awe, holding space for your pain and your power, never wavering. His devotion took on a quiet intensity, every touch purposeful, every breath synchronized with yours. When you broke down in tears, sobbing through another wave of pain, he kissed your temple, held your hand, and wrapped you tighter in his warmth.

He treated you like something sacred—not just the mother of his child, but the miracle who bore his legacy. There was reverence in the way he touched you, in how he shifted with you through every hour, how his purring grew louder as your contractions deepened. You were his whole world in those moments, and he made sure you felt it.

As the hours stretched into exhaustion and time lost all meaning, he remained your constant.

And when the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn echoed through the cave, Sylus felt the breath leave his lungs entirely. The sound struck him like thunder, powerful and sacred, and his eyes locked on the sight before him: you, cradling the small, wriggling form against your chest. You were slick with sweat, flushed from exertion, but your smile—soft, exhausted, and full of wonder for your new baby—was the most radiant thing he had ever seen.

He moved toward you reverently, as if approaching something divine. But as he leaned in closer, a deep instinct stirred within him, passed down through countless generations. His tongue flicked out ever so slightly, and his body tensed with the urge to clean the newborn himself—the way his kind had always done.

You caught the motion and gave him a knowing look, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "No licking," you whispered with a tired laugh. "That’s not how we do it."

It took some convincing, his instincts hard to quiet, but he eventually yielded, watching with wide-eyed fascination as you showed him the human way. Warm cloths, gentle strokes, soft murmurs of comfort.

He knelt beside you, silent and attentive, absorbing every detail.

And though he did not get to perform the ritual of his bloodline, he found something just as profound in learning yours.

Together, you welcomed new life in a way that blended two worlds into one.

you blink. oh. not again.

reminded of the time this happened once before, you do not worry for being this way indefinitely. so, you decide in that breath to ride it out with a little bit more grace this time.

with a deep sigh, you make your way to lucian’s side and lick the tip of his nose.

you wish you could capture this somehow— the details of when they open their eyes to the sunlight in your feline vision. each lash so perfectly curated, each freckle in their irises wonderfully placed, the overjoyed expression that paints their features when a kitten wakes them.

“a cat!” lucian squeals, taking you with him again when he sits upright. you giggle in your mind, the purrs let them know you are.

you’ll commend them later with how gently they care for you.

kyros’s warm palm stays on your head, petting as he is talking to you about being part of the family. asking for permission to hug you which you respond to with slow blinks and head butts to his soft belly.

lucian excitedly crawls in circles around you, careful not to hit you, while yapping about how many tricks you’ll be able to do— with live demonstrations of said tricks. you so kindly demonstrate them back to him, and his face of triumph is one you've never seen before.

your heart warms, despite being in this predicament, not once have you yet worried about needing to turn back.

on this rare morning, when your little ones are fawning over you and showing you the fruits of your love for them, you take this curse as a blessing.

but that smell.

it’s not bad, just strong and warm and creeping. the smell of a living body— of milk, blueberries and a simmering smoke beneath. a strange variation of… sylus.

a scent too strong that you must wipe them clean of or else something else will smell them, then your little ones would be in grave danger. your pupils shrink to slits and your hackles rise at the thought. kyros murmurs a confused, "huh?"

hopping up on your hind legs makes him coo, but your singular purpose is to get to his cheeks. a few licks will balance them out, smooth it out and refine it— balance it with you, and make it smell like home.

"boys, have you seen your mother?"

you’re in the middle of licking lucian’s forehead when sylus walks into their bedroom. he stares at his children, hair mussed in different directions, and they stare right back at him.

"papa!" kyros smiles, scrambling off the sheets to crash into sylus's knees. he is caught just in time before any teeth are knocked out, and lifted into a sturdy embrace.

lucian tilts his head closer to you when you bap his forehead with your mitten. you start licking at another spot on his head. "papa, a cat came in."

"it looks like it." he chuckles, recognizing the dragon li that has begun scenting his children as none other than his wife. it's happened before, anyway, what he didn't expect is that it would happen again.

he reaches out to squeeze lucian's cheek good morning, but your paw swats his hand away.

the silence is heavy.

he scoffs at you, appalled. "are you keeping him from me?"

you hiss, ears flat back and petulant. the answer, horrifyingly, a yes.

you try to chirp at kyros, redirect him back to you because— ugh, he just undid all the work you did and now he smells even more like his father and even less like you. luckily, he is obedient and wriggles out of his papa's grasp at your command, much to sylus's displeasure.

"hey!" sylus harrumphs, watching as kyros sidles up next to you and lucian. his brood, now within your litter.

you hiss at him again.

"no," lucian chides, petting your ears down. "das papa. he's nice."

"papa no hurt you." kyros supplies helpfully. "he big, but he no hurt."

sylus softens at his children's words. to you, he says, "see, kitten? i'm harmless."

"her name miss waffle-cake, papa," whispers kyros, offended for you. you meow in protest at the dubbed name, knowing how sylus will use it against you later on, but kyros holds you close now and sniffs you. "she smell sweet!"

"oh?" sylus grins, sinister and mischievous. "may i?"

he's fast when he takes you from kyros. the height you travel up to is sickening with the speed, it makes you squirm and cry in protest. soon you're face-to-face with your husband, eyes gleaming, and smirk treacherous.

his nose is in your belly in an instant. it tickles. you do not know whether to scream or laugh.

your meows are incomprehensible, and your limbs flail about against your control. in your head, you are screaming for your life.

"stop!" is yelled from below you, your own kittens now pawing at sylus's legs in outrage. "stop, she don'ike it!"

sylus breathes a chuckle as he cradles you to his chest. your sheathed claws tap at his cheek in mock pride, saying, yes! listen to your sons!

"papa, be nice!" squeaks lucian, seeming most affected by your distressed sounds. "she little!"

"give me!" demands kyros, hands outstretched upwards. waiting for your return in his protection.

sylus laughs at your smug expression, surprised a cat can even have such a prominent one, and promptly hands you back to kyros.

"sorry." kyros kisses your forehead softly, and you melt in his embrace. "papa silly sometime."

lucian comes to scratch your chin and bump his forehead against yours. angrily muttering under his breath, "big lizard."

your purrs get louder as your laughter turns hysterical in your brain.

oh, your sweet boys.

"okay, i'm sorry." sylus sinks down to the floor to kneel on his legs and bows his head. "i got... excited."

lucian is the one who shifts his body to be the barrier between him and you. "papa... like cats?"

sylus chuckles at the accusation. "i love cats. especially waffle-cake." he nods towards you. despite yourself, you tilt your head shyly.

"miss waffle-cake." kyros sneers. he did come up with the name, after all.

sylus raises his palms regretfully. "miss waffle-cake."

oh he's loving this. you snuff a breath at him through your little pink nose.

sylus pleads with his family now, eyes big and unguarded. begging to be included in the fun. "i promise to be gentle."

the twins look to one another. it wasn't like their papa to lie to them. he messes with them, regularly, sure, but he isn't mean, they think. lucian is the first to nod, and so kyros announces the ruling that papa can now be part of the i-love-miss-waffle-cake-club.

grateful, he squeezes himself onto lucian's bed and takes all three of you in the crisscross of his legs. bending close to your snout for a little nuzzle as he whispers, "just say when."

knowing that the last time this happened, turning back involved lips and true love.

you rub your cheek against his chin in acknowledgement.

the morning is spent indulging your family on their simple joys.

you'd become one of the world's greatest marvels, existing being your greatest feat to your children.

your quick zoomies around the room are exhilarating, especially with two little boys trying to catch you.

you sniff them until their stomachs hurt from laughing.

you teach them to make biscuits on papa, starting your own little bakery on his bottom.

even your instinctive licking (because they're starting to smell like sylus again) is so inexplicably beautiful to them, they just sit there and let it happen.

and naturally, under the warmth of the morning light, once curious eyes waver behind heavy lids. your own yawn from your place on sylus's chest, underneath his shirt, seems to trigger everyone else's.

positions are established like nature, and soon you're squeezed up against two little ones who've decided they want to be kittens in papa's shirt too.

but before they drift away, kyros takes your paw in his hand and lucian kisses your head and murmurs. "wish mama was here."

melting your heart into oblivion.

"having fun?" sylus inquires once lucian has followed his brother into a dream later on. you've crawled out of his shirt and perched yourself on his shoulder, curling around your babies as best you can.

you chirp at him, yes. and slowly blink at your sons.

"ready?" he asks softly, but it sounds like another request entirely.

the slight pucker of his lips is cute, showing a little more than he let on— if you knew how to look for it. an expert in reading your husband, you read him clear as day: he misses you.

so you lean in, but instinct trumps logic and your paws press against his lips. "mrph!"

"what?" he wonders. you're getting up and climbing on his head now. he feels the sharpened bristles of your tongue move his unstyled hair in all directions, doing more harm than good if your intention was to groom him.

he lets you finish the job, just as obedient as his sons, until you give him the kiss he's been waiting for.

when your feline eyes turn from large and crystaline to the ones he fell in love with, he smiles. "kitten."

meanwhile, your hands slide up to the back of his head to tug him down. his hair—now perfectly balanced in scent thanks to you— is askew, but you make no effort in fixing anything else.

you take a whiff and sigh in relief. "much better."

"because... you're not a cat anymore?" sylus inquires. unaware of the still fading inner workings of a feline's mind.

"sure," you shrug, kissing his cheek. then you turn to your sleeping babies on his chest and soften. "but that was good too."

Summer 2003. 

It had been two years since your initial meeting in the surrounding forest of the Gojo estate. 

And in that time, the two of you had grown much closer, almost inseparable. So much so that he’d come and visit you at your family’s residence whenever he felt like it.

On a whim, he’d run off and find you wherever you were—be it at home, school, or other locations around Nara, your hometown. It wasn’t very far from his family’s manor in Kyoto if he took the train, which only made sneaking out more tempting. 

Despite the trouble caused by his frequent disappearances to see you, his progress in sorcery had not slowed. In fact, he had continued to gain power by the day. At only thirteen, he could already exorcise second-grade curses entirely on his own.      

His growing strength wasn’t the only thing that had changed about Satoru since that first meeting two years ago.

He was different now. Less serious and more fun to be around. At this point, you could even call him a bit of a rebellious punk, really. 

It was always a back-and-forth between the two of you, taunting each other playfully until a clear victor emerged in whatever you were discussing. 

And that was only part of the trouble you'd get into together. 

Other times you were running around Nara, sneaking into arcades during the school day, catching movies, and laughing about anything in between.   

Seeing these unsanctioned visits from Gojo as an opportunity, your parents allowed him to come and go as he pleased. Hell, they even took it a step further by only enforcing some rules of decorum when it involved the two of you. Hana, however, was the exception to this ridiculous, inappropriate approach.

She disliked how much leeway they gave him when it came to you, her youngest sister. Especially since his presence seemed to disrupt the order of your almost normal life, which was a facet of yours she secretly envied.  

Hana was no stranger to the harsh expectations placed upon you regarding a political marriage, as she herself faced something similar before her cursed technique fully manifested. 

You were unaware of that truth, and she had no plans of telling you—at least not anytime soon.

No, she still wanted you to look at her like you always had, with eyes full of admiration and trust. 

Plus, she figured you might be more inclined to listen and take her advice when she offered it if she kept things like this a secret.

It was one of the many ways she was trying to protect you quietly from the shadows, so as not to alert the Morisato clan elders of her interference. 

It worried her how set they had become on the matter of your future, already having a complete list of potential marital prospects.

And of course, at the very top of it was Satoru Gojo. 

They’d spoken of no one else ever since a friendship had bloomed between the two of you. 

But what if their ambitious plan for you didn’t work out? 

She feared they might become even more resentful towards you then. 

And in their dissatisfied disdain, she expected them to retaliate and force you to marry someone who wouldn’t value you. Or worse, someone violent—like one of those bastards from the Zen’in clan. 

She couldn't let that happen to you. 

No way. 

Over her dead body.

As things were, she already felt guilty for being unable to protect you from the family sooner. 

You were such a free spirit before all this had weighed you down. A different little girl altogether—one who hated dressing ‘fancy’ and loved exploring, learning, and running as fast as you could. 

In hindsight, the way you used to be made sense when she thought about the nature of your cursed technique. 

It centered around propulsion, surging your speedy feet forward in sudden bursts, like an engine catching fire. But no matter how hard you pushed yourself, your ability had always been restrained by the cursed energy you simply did not have enough of. 

Her poor sister.

She wished she could've done more to keep them from clipping your wings at such a young age.  

Though it pained her to think or say aloud, Gojo had brought back parts of you that she had already considered lost. 

And she couldn't deny how much happier you'd been since meeting the Gojo clan heir, despite all her fears and reservations.

You smiled more. Laughed much more easily, too. She was grateful to Gojo for that, but… she couldn't fool herself into thinking it was just another simple, innocent friendship. 

Not after she'd witnessed just how attentive he was with you—always paying for things, opening doors for you, or making sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk, like some old-fashioned gentleman. And she wasn’t the only one to notice, all your siblings had, too.  

Ugh. 

Unlike anyone else in the family, it annoyed and worried her to no end.

So she decided she’d play the strict older sister if she had to, keeping a close eye on the two of you whenever Gojo was involved—ready to step in the moment things seemed to get out of hand. 

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

You knew you should reprimand him for the disappearing acts he played on his teachers and clan, but they, in most circumstances, deserved it. 

You hated the way they viewed him, like a political puppet and strategic weapon to be used when they deemed it fit or necessary. 

Maybe that was why you made it a point to make sure he had fun whenever he came around, even if it was happening more and more often these days.

On one of those days when he showed up unannounced at your doorstep, you decided to drag him to the playground you’d loved as a kid.  

“We’re too old to be at a playground, y/n,” he'd whined. 

“What do you mean? We’re only thirteen! And you just said you never really got to visit any when you were younger.”

“So? It’s fine that I didn’t. Let’s just go do something else. Like a movie or-”

“I won’t change my mind, Satoru. We’re doing this. Besides, no one is here. Now quit acting like a baby and c’mon~” you grabbed at his hand and tugged him towards the empty playground.  

He huffed, but followed your lead, allowing himself to be pulled along by little you.

You first moved towards the swings, sitting yourself on one while pointing at the adjacent, open seat to your left, inviting him to join you. 

He listened to your quiet request and sat in the swing, looking over at you as you began to cheerfully push yourself back and forth.

Whoosh, clink, whine—the sounds of your movements and metal against metal filled the air as he admired the view of his precious friend for a moment. 

‘Beautiful,’ he thought to himself, envying how you found joy and happiness in the smallest of things like this. 

Your willingness to share all of it with him made him feel so grateful, so appreciative to have been born in the same century as you. 

Was that too extreme a sentiment to have already? Even if it was, that’s how he'd come to feel about you, his best friend. 

It's why he constantly wanted to be around you, someone who made the darkness of jujutsu society bearable.    

He smiled at your merriment before joining the fun, pushing himself back and forth, matching your speed and rhythm.

After a few minutes, the two of you slowed down, coming to a steady swing that better allowed for a conversation.

“They’ve been annoying me again with meetings that never go anywhere,” he complained, kicking at the dirt.

You listened to him.

“When are they going to realize there’s no changing my mind?”

“Do adults ever take our decisions seriously when it doesn’t follow their plan?” you countered.

“Pfft. You’ve got a point.” He leaned back on the swing, eyes drifting toward the sky before adding, “do you think it’s such a crazy idea?”

“No. It makes way more sense to me than you being stuck as the head of your family,” you said, swinging forward and back a bit higher.

“Right? I can’t picture myself being part of all that political crap!” he yelled, kicking harder to soar past you.

You laughed, calling after him. “I can’t either!”

Without really meaning to, the two of you turned the swingset into a bit of a contest, each of you pushing harder to outdo the other until the chains began to protest.

Eventually, you relented, slowing yourself down and letting your feet drag against the ground until you fell back into an easy rhythm. A moment after claiming victory, he followed suit. 

He shot you a sideways grin, unmistakably smug and proud. 

You rolled your eyes before continuing the conversation from earlier. 

“I don’t get why they’re so bothered by it anyway. I think it’s admirable that you want to be a sorcerer, Satoru.”

“With the way they’re acting, you’d think I’d told them I was running away from Japan or something,” he muttered, still half-smirking.

You both laughed, the sound resonating across the empty park.

“Well, it’s not final yet,” he said, catching his breath, “but I’ll keep pushing for it until they have to agree.”

“I wish you luck,” you teased, nudging the toe of your shoe into the dirt, “but something tells me you’ll get your way in the end.”

He stopped moving altogether and turned toward you then, acting more serious than before. “You should come with me.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. “What?”

He repeated himself, adding more details this time. “You should come with me to attend Jujutsu High in Tokyo.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “I don’t think there’s much point in me going to a school for sorcery. Y’know I’m not fit for that.”

“So?” He shrugged, eyes bright, hopeful. “It’d still get you away from your grandparents.”

“While I'd love that perk, it'd just end up being a wasted spot,” you murmured, shoulders drawing in as your swing slowed to a near stop.

“It wouldn’t be wasted,” he argued. “You can still do some jujutsu. And you’re from a legacy family too, so it makes sense—just like you said it did for me.”

“That's because you're talented and so strong already. I'm neither of those. And anyway, my family attended the Kyoto branch, so Tokyo doesn't make sense for me at all,” you pointed out. 

“Gee, way to poke holes in all of my points.”

“Sorry, it's just the truth.” You laughed softly, almost awkwardly given the tone of the conversation.

He went quiet for a moment, kicking at the ground beneath his swing before speaking again. 

“But what about me and you?”

The question really caught you off guard. You opened your mouth to say something in response, but he had already continued. 

“We won't get to see each other all the time like this,” he gestured at the playground, at the two of you on these creaky swings. 

“That's reason enough for you to come with me to Tokyo.”  

You smiled, glancing at him before staring off into the distance—toward the horizon. 

“Are you worried we wouldn’t be friends anymore if we couldn’t see each other so often? ’Cause that’s just not something I see happening.”

You took a slow breath in and out before carrying on.

“I promise we’ll still be close, even if we’re cities apart. You can always call me at home, you know my parents won't care if it's you.”

“No- I meant-” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I know we’ll always be close. I’d just miss seeing you, is all…” His voice grew quieter before braving his next question, adding almost shyly, “wouldn’t you miss me too, Y/n?”

“Of course I would, you big dummy,” you assured softly—unaware that those simple words had calmed his racing heart.

“But that's what phone calls and train stations are for. We can plan visits here or there whenever we have time.” 

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” He squeezed the swing chains in his hands. “I still hate it, though.”

“Oh, please,” you laughed, nudging his foot with your own. “Someone as important as you will be too busy to even notice I’m not around in Tokyo.”

It was your attempt at lightening the mood after things had taken such a sad turn all of a sudden.

“You really think I wouldn’t notice when my favorite person isn’t around?” he said, pausing to look at you, not really expecting an answer. “And you call me the big dummy, butterfly.”  

Ah.

There it was—his special nickname for you. 

He’d begun using it not long after your first meeting, the term originating from your favorite Pokémon, Butterfree. You'd expected it to fade out with time, but somehow, it had just stuck around through the years. And you weren't sure why, but it often disarmed you whenever he used it—especially in serious moments like this. 

Really though, you'd considered it endearing that he had given you such a personal nickname. It showed you how much he valued your friendship, and that fact alone had motivated you to do the same for him.  

Over time, you’d come up with several, but many quickly waned or lost his favor. 

‘Char’ lasted a few weeks as you'd followed his lead in using Pokémon as a reference point.

Then came ‘Metal’, after he complained and reminded you he actually preferred Digimon.

Later, there was ‘Sky’, inspired by the color of his eyes, when he finally grew tired of the Digimon one.

Until you finally settled on something simpler, less flashy—just shortening his first name into the childish sound of ‘Toru’.

It was the only one that had stood the test of time these past two years, sticking around just like ‘butterfly’ had for you.

And though simple, he loved it all the same—more so because these two terms of endearment were special, reserved only for the two of you to use with each other. 

No one else could. 

He hadn’t quite realized the reason behind his irritation whenever someone else had tried.

“How silly of me to think I'm so easily forgettable. Sorry, Toru,” you answered, half serious, half playful. 

“I’ll forgive you for today since you've  ‘realized the error of your ways’," he replied, mimicking and mocking his family’s infamous, pompous tone.   

You laughed, playing along with his jest. “Oh yes. I definitely have, young master.”

You gave an exaggerated bow in his direction from your seat.

“Ugh.” He dragged out the sound in utter disgust. “Don't ever call me that. It doesn't sound right coming from you at all.”

“I know, you tell me every time.”

“Pfft, so much for realizing the error of your ways,” he muttered, sarcastically. 

The two of you laughed together before he naturally moved on to another topic—one that gave him a small peek into your past, from before he existed in your life. A fact that he wasn't particularly fond of, especially when he was reminded of it by your family or friends. 

“Did you come here a lot with your brothers and sisters?” he suddenly asked. 

“Yeah, and my friends and classmates also,” you replied. 

“So, just about everyone?” He rolled his eyes, his tone caught somewhere between teasing and something closer to annoyance or jealousy.

You didn't notice. 

“Mmhm. This place has lots of good memories with them…” you paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips before it faltered as your voice cracked. “But some bad ones, too.”

“Oh, yeah? Did someone fall flat on their face or something?”

“Many times,” you giggled, “but that’s not the kind of bad I’m talking about.”

Your swing slowed until you came to a complete stop again. Leaning your head against the left chain, you stared toward the far end of the playground—where the old tree stood.

“See that spot over there by the tree?” you said, lifting a hand to point. “A cursed spirit showed up there once when I was here with some friends.”

“Oh, crap. What grade was it?”

“I don't know the exact number, but my brother took care of it pretty easily, so it must’ve been a lower grade.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

“No. Thankfully, my cousin Keiko was here with me at the time, or I’d have been the only one who could see it. I might not have been able to get everyone to leave without her help.” 

You let out a quiet breath before adding, “I mean, how do you convince people to run away when they can’t even see the monster in front of them?”

“Guess that’s fair. I probably would've called you a liar if I was a normie.”

“Without a doubt,” you playfully narrowed your eyes in his direction.

He grinned at you before asking, “so what'd you'd end up telling them?” 

“We had to lie and say that there was a wasp nest in the tree that had been disturbed,” you shared. 

“Huh. Well, that's believable enough.”

“Yeah…but-,” you hesitated, glancing down at your hands that now rested in your lap, your swing rocking faintly as you worked up the nerve to tell him the truth. “But I didn't run with them. I stayed back… as bait.”

His swing stopped abruptly as your words fully registered in his mind, the chains clinking and creaking at the sudden halt in momentum.

“You what!?” he shouted, turning toward you with wide eyes and a flash of anger.

“Well, I had to give them enough time to get away,” you said quickly, words tumbling out. “And Keiko went to call my siblings for help, so it wasn’t that dangerous.” You sounded like you were trying to convince both of you that was true.

“Anyway,” you rushed on, pointing across the playground, “I managed to trap it in that jungle gym over there. Well, not that one. That’s the replacement after the curse and my brother destroyed the original.”

He didn’t say a word. The look on his face said enough to tell how he really felt—he was seething. 

“Stop giving me that look, Toru,” you muttered. “Acting as bait was all I could do to keep them safe. I’m not you, y’know.”

“It really sucks being useless.” Your gaze dropped from him back to the ground. 

He sighed, loud enough for you to hear. “If that were true, then all your friends would've died.” 

You blinked, caught off guard, not expecting that kind of response.

“You really can’t see how much of a badass you are, huh, butterfly?” he said with a small grin, leaning forward slightly on the swing as he looked at you.

His voice had softened, the earlier anger replaced by something warm and almost proud. 

“You knew the risk and still did something. Most people would’ve frozen up or run away.”

He nudged the heel of his shoe into the dirt, glancing away for a moment before continuing.

“Despite knowing your limits, you still stepped up and protected everyone. Not just anyone could’ve done that—much less pulled it off.”

His eyes met yours again, steady and sincere, all traces of frustration gone.

“So don't sell yourself short. You're braver and stronger than you think.”  

Full of appreciation, your lips curled into a small, shy smile. “Thanks, Satoru…”

It got quiet for a moment after that, the kind that felt heavier than either of you cared to admit. 

Both of you started idly swinging again, letting the creaking sound of the chains fill the silence until he finally spoke, lightening the mood with another joke. 

“See? You just gave me another reason to get you to come with me to Tokyo. I can’t trust you here on your own.”

You raised a brow as a mischievous idea sparked in your mind. 

At the peak of your next swing, you jumped off, landing perfectly on your feet. 

“Mmm, maybe I'll consider it—if you can catch me!”

You flashed him a taunting grin and took off across the playground, sneakers thudding against the field as you dashed toward the jungle gym. 

“Oh, so that's how you wanna play?” Gojo called after you, laughing as he leapt from his own swing. His shoes hit the ground with a solid thud, kicking up a puff of dirt around him.

“Don’t you dare cheat!” you shouted back, your voice echoing under the plastic slides. You ducked beneath the main play structure, slipping behind one of the poles just as he rounded the corner.

“That goes for you too,” he replied, watching as the cursed energy within you swirled to life. 

“Oh whatever—using my technique against you isn't cheating.”

He slowed his steps, smirking as he mirrored your every move—left when you went left and right when you shifted right. 

“Fine. Go ahead. It won't change the outcome anyway, butterfly.” 

The two of you circled each other around the jungle gym and swings, weaving through patches of sunlight and shadows as breathless laughter filled the warm summer air.

Until finally, he cornered you against a rope ladder that connected several platforms, the coarse nylon biting lightly into your palms as you tried to back away.

Again, the world went quiet as neither of you made a move. You stared each other down instead—his gaze remaining steady, quietly daring you to try.

“Nowhere left to run,” he teased, his grin annoyingly too triumphant for your taste. 

Still, you made a play for it, feinting left and bolting right instead. Unfortunately, his hand still managed to catch your sleeve. But before he could tighten his grip and pull you in, you slipped free, leaving your jacket behind in his grasp as you sprinted towards the far side of the playset.    

“Hey- thats not- you said no cheating!” he called after you, holding up the jacket like evidence.

“Slipping out of my jacket isn’t cheating, it's just working with my—what did you call them? Limits!” you shouted back, climbing up to the top of one area.

Though you had just gotten the best of him, he couldn’t help but grin. You were impossible, always managing to challenge him in ways no one else did—but that was exactly why he liked chasing after you, his surprisingly fearless butterfly. 

Moving quickly, he darted towards you, trying to catch up after being fooled by your tricks. 

You dashed across a narrow bridge, the boards clattering beneath your feet and swaying with each step until you reached the next platform—the one specifically housing an enclosed slide. Bracing your hands on its rim, you spun around, catching his eye from across the playground. 

“See ya, Toru!” you called confidently, your laughter echoing off the vibrating plastic walls as you disappeared inside. 

Gojo lingered for a moment, his Six Eyes flickering faintly as he scanned the park—searching for anyone nearby who might catch him using his abilities. The area was empty, save for the hum of the wind and the fading sound of your laughter spiraling through the slide.

Seeing as no one was around, he pushed off the ground, rising effortlessly into the air. Weightless, he glided toward the slide’s exit—the same one you’d so proudly claimed as your escape and means of victory.

And he just couldn’t wait to prove you wrong.  

He landed soundlessly, settling at the foot of the slide and eagerly waiting, listening to your boisterous giggles as you neared the end.   

As the walls opened up and the tunnel spat you out, you realized too late that you’d fallen straight into Gojo’s trap.

He planted a hand on each side of the slide, sunlight catching in his white hair as he leaned over you with a grin far too smug for its own good.

“Caught you, butterfly~”

You stared up at your impossible friend, momentarily caught in the glow of his bright blue eyes—you’d probably never get used to the sight of them, especially when he was this close. 

Still, you weren’t ready to admit defeat just yet. No, not when you had one last move left to try.

Twisting suddenly, you spun around, scrambling to climb back up the slick curve of the slide, your shoes squeaking against the hard plastic as you fought for traction.

His eyes widened at your unexpected defiance—first in disbelief, then amusement. You really never failed to surprise him.

He released his hold from the sides and pulled himself into the slide after you, reaching out with his hand to grab as you struggled upward.

But he was too late—you’d already made it just high enough to stay out of his reach. He was just about to begin climbing himself when lady luck failed you. 

As you pushed your foot up to take another step, the undone lace on your right foot caught under your shoe. You gasped, realizing too late that gravity had taken over. 

The plastic rattled beneath you as you slid back

down,

down,

down,

until you landed straight into Gojo’s arms.

It all happened so fast that it took him a few seconds to register your presence between his arms, caging you there without him meaning to. 

His pulse drummed in his ears as he blinked down at you in shock. Though really, neither of you could believe what had just transpired.

“Don't you dare say anything,” you managed to squeak out between breaths, your face burning hot with embarrassment.   

“Pfft.” He snorted before the two of you doubled over laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all, gasping for air until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. 

The sounds faded slowly, replaced by quiet giggles and the warmth of the moment settling in. 

In the calm that followed, he leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead briefly against yours—a quiet peace replacing the chaotic chase from only minutes before.

You smiled up at him in response, rubbing away the tears that had slipped past your eyes from laughing too hard. 

“Thanks for not saying anything, Toru.”

“You’re welcome, but y’gotta admit that was hilarious.” 

“It was,” you giggled one last time. “But c’mon, get off—you’re all sweaty and heavy!” 

Your hands playfully pushed up at his chest.  

“Ehhh! Oi, that’s such a rude thing to say about your best friend. Now I’m definitely not letting you go.”  

“What? But we still need to get snacks for later.” You protested, pouting.   

He laughed under his breath. 

“Then take it back, or we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

You rolled your eyes, but rescinded your earlier statement. “Alright, fine. I take it back. Satisfied?”

“Not very convincing, but I’ll take it,” he said, amusement flickering across his face.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself up and offered you his hand to help you out of the slide.

You accepted it, placing your hand in his as you slid your way out of the remainder of the tube. 

As the two of you made your way out of the playground, you glanced at him with a soft smile.

“So, did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” he said, matching your pace. “I’ll admit it—I did.”

Just then, he remembered the whole reason he'd been so hell-bent on catching you. 

Snapping his fingers, he shot you a sidelong look, mischief playing at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, and don’t think I forgot what you said.”

“Huh? What’d I say?” You blinked at him, feigning ignorance. He didn’t buy it.

“Since I caught you, that means you have to move with me to Tokyo for high school.”

You scoffed. “No way. I escaped twice! And my shoelace technically won that exchange.”

“Oh, that’s such a cop-out,” he groaned dramatically. “I won, and now you’re backing out of your promise.”

“I made no such promise. I remember saying I’d maybe consider it if you caught me. Not that I would.”

“You slipped straight into my arms! That totally counts,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Don’t start rewriting history just because it doesn’t fit your agenda.”

“Agenda? What agenda?” You laughed, nudging his arm. “You’re just going to have to live with a shoelace stealing all the glory of this match.”

He clicked his tongue, pretending to pout, though the excited sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. 

“Fine. But next time, tuck your damn shoelaces in.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

By the time the sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, the two of you had arrived at your usual grocery store for snack runs.

The soft chime of the door alarm rang out as the two of you stepped inside, the store’s air-conditioning cooling the warmth that clung to your skin. 

It was a familiar routine as the two of you drifted down the aisles, pointing out old favorites and new things to try.

Somewhere along the way, you ended up with a little of everything in your basket. Some things salty, some things sweet—altogether a perfect variety of treats meant to last a few movies, though they rarely ever did.

The real Gojo-Morisato ritual, however, began when you headed toward the register.

You'd continuously insist on paying because he was your guest. He'd shut it down immediately, arguing that if it was something for both of you, then he was handling it—end of discussion.

Naturally, it never actually ended there. You kept arguing your point all the way up to the counter, only for him to wave you off before you could even reach for your wallet. 

And, as always, he refused to let you carry the bags after. Not that you minded. You were used to that kind of quiet chivalry, having grown up with two older brothers who did the same.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Outside, the air was still warm, the glow of the sunset fading to a vanilla-colored sky as the two of you stepped onto the sidewalk. The faint buzz of cicadas filled the silence as you headed in the direction of your home, past the narrow alley beside the store.

You'd walked by it countless times before now, so often that it had practically faded into the background and out of your notice.

But not today. No, today, there was a young boy, no older than six or seven, in the alley. 

And he wasn't alone. 

A curse had him cornered, its mouth stretching open to horrifying lengths as it readied itself to swallow its victim whole. 

Things escalated quickly as the fight-or-flight instincts hardwired in you kicked in. 

But rather than flee, your body moved forward before your mind could fully catch up—or register what Satoru had yelled after you, for that matter.

“I’m going to stall it,” you shouted back to Satoru, unaware of what he had said to begin with. 

All of a sudden, you found yourself running towards the boy, towards the danger you had no way of stopping on your own. 

Even so, you just had to do something. 

Anything to help. 

As you got closer, you activated your cursed technique and shouted their way, calling out to both the frightened child and the curse, hoping that the noise or acting as bait might buy him even a second more of time as you sprinted in their direction. 

The boy turned toward you, fear and desperation welling in his wide eyes. With this one look, you knew he was begging for your help as you closed the distance. 

You couldn't stop now.

But, as it turns out, your impulsive plan had worked. Almost too well, in fact.

You watched as the curse’s head snapped in your direction, abandoning the boy as it crawled forward, limbs cracking and scraping against the pavement in a grotesque rush towards you. 

“I'm luring it away! Be ready to run!” you yelled to the boy as you took several fast steps backwards, still trying to give him more time to escape in the face of danger.

As you turned to continue drawing it away, you barely managed to get out his name before crashing straight into his chest.

“Sato-”

His arm wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close to him as he leapt back, the grocery bags bumping lightly against your back.

Somehow, even in a precarious moment like this, he was still holding onto the bags of snacks. If it wasn't a life-or-death situation, you might have laughed. 

‘He must be so mad at me right now,’ you thought, peeking up at his face to quickly gauge his expression before shifting in his arms to face forward again. There was no point in trying to get out of his grasp—you could clearly tell Satoru wasn’t letting you go. 

With your attention back on the spirit, you gripped his forearm, where it stayed firm across you, bracing yourself as the curse continued its mad dash toward you both now. 

“Tch… Hey ugly! This is what you get for interrupting movie night with my best friend.”

Your eyes followed the movement of his right hand as he swept it across in a horizontal motion toward the curse.

Then everything stilled.

Hell, even the curse seemed to hesitate, its grotesque form trembling mid-motion as the air around you thickened. 

It looked… afraid? Was it scared of Satoru?

A second later, you received your answer as it screeched out in pain, quickly disintegrating before your eyes, vanishing in a shimmer of light and heat that resembled flames. 

Incredible. 

With one seamless move from your formidable friend, the danger had been eliminated as if it was nothing.

It almost didn’t feel real.

With the threat extinguished, you let go of the breath you’d been holding in before turning your attention back to the young boy. He was still frozen in fear, paralyzed and unable to move from where the curse had left him.

As if sensing your intentions, Satoru moved his arm away and released you from his hold. It seemed like he was letting you off easy for now, but he’d definitely scold you for your borderline suicidal stunt later.

Kneeling beside the boy, you offered a reassuring smile, gently resting a hand on his shoulder as he continued to cry. You could tell those were tears of relief and lingering fear.  

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay now,” you murmured, your voice calm despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “Everything’s alright now, you’re safe.”  

The boy’s wide eyes slowly focused on you as he nodded, his breathing gradually steadying after your reassuring words.

“My name’s Morisato, and that’s my good friend Gojo. What’s yours?”

“Saito,” he sniffled. 

“That’s a pretty name,” you said warmly. “Do you live around here?”

He nodded again, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Want us to walk you home, Saito-kun?”

“Yes, please. I'm still scared. What if- what if it comes back?” The poor boy kept shivering as he spoke. 

“It won't, right, Gojo?” you asked, glancing over at your friend. 

Gojo had moved closer to the two of you, quietly watching the interaction unfold. His stern expression softened slightly as he crouched beside you, voice steady when he answered.

“Right. I took care of it so you don’t have to worry about it anymore, kid.” He reached out to pat the boy’s head, ruffling his hair for a second. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Though it wasn’t far from the convenience store, Saito’s home was situated in the opposite direction of the Morisato residence, adding about twenty minutes to the initial snack run. 

Satoru had watched in silence as you continued to reassure and comfort Saito the entire way over. After passing a few blocks, the boy had settled completely. No longer whimpering or afraid, he spent the last stretch thanking the two of you profusely for your help.

Now standing at the gate of his residence, the two of you watched as Saito raced towards the front door, turning back to give one final wave goodbye before walking past the threshold. At last, the young boy was home, safe and sound. 

Not waiting another second, Gojo spun you around and pinned you to the neighboring fence, caging you in between his arms for the second time today. Only this time it wasn't accidental. 

Standing like this, he realized just how much taller he’d grown compared to you in such a short time. 

‘When had that happened? And how had he not noticed?’

Seeing the size difference only made his overprotective instincts flare up even more.

His brows furrowed in irritation, barely able to contain his anger as he stared down at you, his vulnerable and stupidly brave little friend. 

He shouldn’t have complimented you earlier. Maybe you’d have hesitated if he hadn't. Just for a second, and he’d have been able to handle the situation without you putting yourself in harm's way. 

“Do you have a death wish or something? You're never pulling a stupid stunt like that again, Y/n.” 

“No, but-” you tried to protest. 

“No buts, nothing. Your plan was dangerous and irresponsible as hell.”

You looked down at your shoes, like a scolded child.  

“Did you even hear me when I said to stay back? I even called out after you when you took off running.”

“I didn't…” You trailed off, still looking down at the ground. He watched as you fiddled with your hands before you continued. “But I think, now that you’ve mentioned it, I can vaguely hear you saying something to me. It’s just- everything happened so fast I missed it.”

“'Cause you should've just asked me to help.” One of his hands flexed against the fence beside your head before stilling once again. “I could’ve taken care of it without you acting like bait. Despite what you believe, that’s not all you're good for.”

“I was going to. I mean, I had just started calling for you when I bumped right into you, Toru,” you sighed, deciding to look up from the sidewalk and directly into his eyes as he still hovered over you. 

“Yeah, only after you almost got yourself killed. Bit too late, don’t you think?”

“I’m not saying it was smart, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. Still… I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“That’s your idea of an apology?” He sighed, shaking his head. “And for the record, I could’ve reached him in time.”

“You say that, but there’s no guarantee you would’ve,” you shot back.

“Butterfly,” he huffed, his knuckles tapping restlessly against the wooden fence. “You wouldn’t be second-guessing me if you saw how hard I train.”

“Then why didn’t you just run past me?”

“Because you caught me off guard, that’s why! You didn’t even hesitate when you activated your technique and ran. Makes me regret calling you brave earlier since it probably egged you on.”

He watched the corner of your mouth twitch as you tried not to smile up at him. That small reaction only irritated him further. It made it seem like you weren’t taking the recklessness of the situation seriously. And yet, it also brought him a quiet sense of relief. Knowing how much you already endured from your elders, he hated having to add to it—but you’d left him no choice this time.

“Well, maybe I felt safe enough to be reckless because you were with me,” you said, your shoulders lifting in a small, helpless shrug beneath his arms as you looked up at him with a purposefully charming smile. He recognized it immediately for what it was—your attempt to soften him up and lighten the mood. 

“Pfft. Are you trying to sweet-talk your way out of this?” he scoffed, tilting his head to one side, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“Maayyyy-be. Is it working?” you teased.

He fought the urge to smirk, biting the inside of his cheek instead.

“Not a chance.”

“Really? Not even a tiny bit, Toru?” you said lightly, tip-toeing to bop his nose.

He caught your hand before you could pull back, lacing his fingers through yours.

“You’re such a pain,” he muttered, squeezing your hand tighter.

You grinned up at him, unbothered. “And yet you keep visiting me. All. The. Time.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You got me there.”

Still, he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Since it's obvious you’re not sorry and acted like a total baby today,” he said after a pause, his tone turning mock-serious, “I’m gonna have to hold your hand all the way home. Just to keep you out of trouble.”

“What? That’s not fair!” you protested, tugging against his grip to no avail.

“And,” he added with a playful grin, “as punishment, we’re watching action films instead of your boring romances.”

“What? But I really wanted to see the one that just became available to rent! Please, can't we just watch that one at least? I've been waiting for monthsss.”

“Tch. Fine. But just that one.” He eased back from the fence, his grip loosening just enough to give your hand room, though he never let go of it. He felt you squeeze back as the two of you began walking together, side by side.

“By the way,” you said softly, looking up at him with a sweet smile, “thank you for saving me and little Saito, Toru.”

He glanced at you, getting caught by that familiar softness in your expression. Something about it made his chest tighten in a way he still didn’t understand. Without warning, a heat crept up from his neck to his whole face.  

Crap. Was he… blushing? Why the hell was that even happening? 

He quickly looked ahead, pretending to focus on the sidewalk and hoping you wouldn’t notice as he answered you.

“Y-you don’t have to thank me,” he stammered, trying to sound casual and completely failing. “You know I’ll always protect you, butterfly.”

“So you've told me like a hundred times now. But still, I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

His lips twitched, and the warmth across his face from before turned into a raging hot fire. 

“Same goes for you, y’know,” he managed.

“I do,” you replied as he felt your fingers tug his hand into a gentle, back-and-forth swing.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

By the time you both reached your house, the sky had already turned a deep shade of indigo. The cicadas and crickets hummed softly somewhere beyond the garden walls of the Morisato residence, and the warm glow from the porch light made everything feel a little calmer after the chaos from earlier.

As always, you welcomed him into your family’s home, inviting him inside and greeting your household as though the two of you hadn’t just been through something almost life-threatening.

Your two brothers called out to him, one half-joking that Gojo might as well start renting out the guest room with how often he was over. The comment had made the room laugh, with even your parents joining in—the sound felt strange, almost foreign, coming from them. But then again, Satoru Gojo was always an exception to their rules. 

Neither you nor Satoru were blind to that fact, or to their hypocrisy. False politeness and shallow acceptance were simply a part of the culture, especially among sorcerer families. 

Still, it was better than at the Gojo estate, where every glance felt rehearsed and every word served as a reminder of who Satoru was expected to become. Here, at least, the conversations and laughs with your siblings sounded real.

Despite their lax restrictions, your parents did require one thing from him if he planned to stay the night, and that was to personally call the Gojo residence and inform them that he’d be at the Morisatos again. 

It was an obvious power play on your family's part. Satoru didn't care if it was, he just wanted to prolong his time with you whenever he could. The Gojo clan weren't keen on these overnight stays, however. They had tried to protest them when they first began, citing how such actions might be misconstrued as something more than friendship. 

But their efforts never succeeded, and eventually, they stopped trying altogether. So, truly, him calling and letting them know where he'd be had become little more than a ‘formality'. 

And tonight was no different.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Later that night, you sat cross-legged beside him on the floor, a bowl of popcorn and other snacks from the convenience store between you as the two of you watched the single romance movie he’d reluctantly agreed to. You kept sneaking little smiles his way whenever something sappy happened, clearly amused at his exaggerated groans.

And yet, somewhere between your laughter and the flicker of the over-the-top scenes on the TV, Satoru realized something. He felt happy here—calm, at ease.  

That unguarded feeling wasn’t something he had anywhere else, and it only ever surfaced when he was with you. 

Is this what having a ‘home’ felt like? He wondered. 

Without really thinking, he leaned his head against your shoulder, his white hair landing and lying on your shirts sleeve.

“You getting sleepy already?” you teased.

He only grinned. “Nah. Just bored to death with your tragic love story.”

A moment after he said that, you paused the film and turned your head toward him. “If you really don’t like it, we can change it.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “What? And miss finding out if these two defy the odds and get married? How could we ever go on living, butterfly?”

You squinted at him. “I’m serious, Toru.”

“And so am I,” he replied with a smirk, peeking up at you from the corner of his view. “Press play. We finish what we start.”

You rolled your eyes but did as he asked.

He shouldn’t have been surprised by your offer—you were always so selfless. You’d proven that to him more than ever today. 

It wasn’t long before the star-crossed lovers on screen were reunited in a flurry of breathless declarations and swelling music, the woman rushing into the man’s arms as he swept her off her feet and spun her around in a tight embrace before sealing it all with a kiss meant to promise forever—or a happily ever after.

Without quite realizing what he was doing, his eyes had drifted upwards to your lips. Then he wondered—briefly, stupidly—what it might feel like to do the same, to kiss you.

Moving from your shoulder, he shook the thought away and grabbed another handful of popcorn, pretending to be extremely invested in chewing to distract himself.

It didn’t help. 

He still snuck another glance a moment later.

When the credits rolled, he cleared his throat and reached for the remote. “Alright, that’s enough sappy romance for today. Action time.”

“Thanks for enduring it for me, Toru,” you said cheerily.

“It’s fine. Wasn’t so bad.”

You laughed. “Really? You’re not lying?”

“Yeah. I liked that they got together at the end.”

“Me too,” you murmured, stretching out your arms. “So many movies have been so sad lately.”

“Yeah, we shouldn't have to worry about that with this one,” he said, tapping the case of his chosen film.

Satoru fixed his gaze on the screen as the previews played across it. But despite himself, his mind still drifted back to that ridiculous reunion scene once more—the twirling embrace, the kiss between lovers. 

Why the hell was he so fixated on it?

Stop it. 

Stop thinking about it, you idiot. 

He tried to ignore the question lingering in the back of his mind, but it proved impossible.

“Hey, butterfly.”  

“Yes?”  

He kept his eyes on the TV, pretending to sound casual. 

“Want to try that scene at the end? I could lift you up, easy.” 

You blinked at his sudden suggestion, then smiled while nodding. “Sure, but you better not drop me.”

“Pfft. Fat chance,” he replied, already springing to his feet. “After today, you should know that I wouldn’t.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

After moving to a more suitable empty spot in the room, the two of you stood across from each other. 

“Ready when you are,” he said with a grin.

You took a few steps forward, careful not to activate your technique or go too fast. The soft tap, tap, tap of your socks on the floor filled the quiet silence as you neared him. Satoru braced himself with an exaggerated seriousness that made you giggle. 

The second you were close enough, his hands slid to your waist—and in one fluid, overconfident motion, he lifted you right off your feet as your hands instinctively shifted onto his shoulders for balance. 

Then he twirled the two of you around—not once, but twice.

The first spin was a little wobbly, sending both of you into a fit of laughter. The second turn smoothed out as he adjusted his footing and grip, his grin growing more and more triumphant as the room blurred in a soft circle of color around you both.  

He softly guided you down, gently setting your feet back onto the floor. “See?” he puffed, trying to act cool. “Told you. Zero chance I’d drop you.”

“Yeah, yeah, Toru,” you rolled your eyes at him as you moved away and out of his arms. “I can see why they do it so often in the movies now.”

“Was it that fun? Maybe you should try to twirl me around a bit, huh?”

“I wouldn’t be able to do that, Satoru.”

“Maybe not like this, but if I activate my technique then I’d be practically weightless.”

“You can’t be serious,” you said, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the couch and floor cushions. “Even with your help, I’d totally drop you.”

He clicked his tongue, following after you and flopping down beside you. “Yeah, but it’d be hilarious.” Then, with a lazy bump of his shoulder on yours, he added, “C’mon. Movie’s waiting, fraidy-cat. Press play.”

As the movie came to its climactic end and the credits began to roll, Satoru stretched out his hand and poked your cheek to grab your attention. 

“Hmm?” you hummed, still half-focused on the screen.

“Why don’t we make it our thing,” he said, without adding the proper context—which left you a bit lost in the moment.

You turned toward him, confused. “Make what our thing?”

“The thing we just did? The twirl,” he said easily, swirling his finger in the air as a demonstration. “When we see each other from now on, I'll greet you with it.”

You scoffed, incredulous. “Hah! As fun as that was, isn't it a bit too much? People would look at us like we’re crazy, Toru”

“So?” he shrugged. “It'll be our own inside joke. And we don't have to do it every time, just when we feel like it.”

He watched your expression shift as you thought it over.

“C’mon, butterfly,” he nudged, smirking. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

You bumped his shoulder back, giving in to his suggestion with hardly any convincing. “Okay, fine. Fiiiine. But not all the time—and only one spin from here on out.” 

His grin widened. “Deal.”

 ⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Two action films, empty snacks, and a goodnight wave later, you found yourself lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling of your room as you recalled the events of the day—like the memories of your childhood at the playground, the adrenaline rush of saving that sweet boy, and the new tradition you and Satoru had laughed into existence.

Despite the dangers you’d faced, each passing reflection made you smile as sleep slowly crept in, your eyelids beginning to droop. 

Briefly, your mind drifted back to Satoru and the strength he'd shown you only a few hours ago. ‘To have power like that,’ you thought drowsily, ‘would’ve changed everything for you.’ 

How could you not feel even a little bit envious of your friend then? Especially when your grandparents' words constantly echoed in your head.

Even now you could hear them as you floated between the land of dreams and reality. 

“The only way to restore your worth to this family is to marry a powerful sorcerer and provide him with heirs. Strengthen this bloodline the only way you can or else.”

Is that what they expected from your friendship with Satoru? 

You could never do that to him—trap him and use him like that just to satisfy the demands of your horrible elders. The thought alone made your chest tighten as the room faded from focus, sleep finally claiming you for the night.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Sunday, December 7, 2003.

Satoru Gojo was now fourteen—and one year closer to leaving, despite the uproar he'd continued to receive from the Gojo clan for his choices. 

It was just as you'd said, though. Being a jujutsu sorcerer made sense for him, and it would be a waste if he didn't pursue improvement elsewhere—away from their pointless monitoring and interference. 

He’d made up his mind. They’d just have to come to terms with it eventually—or risk him publicly severing ties with the clan altogether. He knew he could leverage that against them. They’d never gamble with the position he gave them in jujutsu society.

Already, they were trying to put on a false united front, hosting a birthday dinner at the Gojo estate in his honor. Of course, they had made sure to invite the Morisatos—he'd have skipped the event otherwise if they hadn't.   

It was the usual elegant affair with luxurious traditional clothing, an abundance of tasteful foods, and elaborate entertainment.

Somehow, he'd let you convince him to observe the proper etiquette requirements—which, given your family's status compared to others in attendance, meant you were seated farther away. 

It made having a conversation impossible, unless the two of you yelled across the room. Satoru wasn't opposed to doing so, but you'd forbidden him from trying. 

So now here he was—sitting bored at the head of the table during this grand dinner, surrounded by people that annoyed him to no end.

He watched you from afar as you mingled with your siblings and others seated near you. Eventually, you noticed his gaze and gave him a sweet, reassuring smile that read ‘you're doing great, and it'll be over soon’.

He sighed, taking another bite full from his plate of food. 

As the dining portion of this so-called celebration came to a close, the guests were escorted to another hall, where the evening's entertainment would be held. 

He'd had enough of following rules for the day and waited for your group, walking alongside you rather than where he should've been. 

“Toru, shouldn't you be over there?” You whispered quietly. 

“Yeah, but I played along during dinner already, butterfly. Isn't that enough? Can't I sit with you now?” He replied just as hushed, almost pouting at you when the conversation was interrupted by your eldest sister.

“Gojo, make sure not to get lost on your way to your seat. The Morisatos wouldn't want you to miss out on your celebration,” Hana smoothly said with a pointed smile before moving away again.

‘Damnit.’ He thought, knowing all too well that he had lost this battle.

“Go before you get both of us in more trouble. We'll do something after this. Promise.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

“Uuugh. It felt like that was never going to end,” Gojo complained, kicking the dirt beneath his feet as the two of you walked the path around the Gojo estate—the same one that had led to your meeting. 

“It did seem to drag on a bit more than usual.” You agreed, following behind him.

“See? Even you can't defend them this time.”

You laughed and shrugged your shoulders. 

“And please don't ever ask me to sit away from you again. Listening to those old geezers go on and on was basically torture.”

You rolled your eyes at his overdramatic words, though you still felt sorry for him—especially since it was supposed to be his special day.

“At least it's over with?” you added. 

“Yeah,” he paused. “Want to head out to our spot, butterfly?”

“Think we can? It might still be a bit wet after the snow melted today.”

“We should be fine. Besides, I can always carry you if need be,” he teased, tilting his head in your direction. 

You laughed, nudging his arm. “Just ‘cause it's your birthday, I'll take the risk. But, I'd rather we not have to resort to that, Toru.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔 

Luckily, the melted snow did not make a damsel in distress out of you. The two of you had made it to the pile of rocks where you’d first met, safe and sound. 

As he leaned his back against the stone, you pulled out his birthday gifts from your purse—one was in the shape of a letter and the other a small, yet artfully wrapped present.

“Surprise! Happy Birthday Toru~” you excitedly said, handing over the gifts to your best friend. 

He took them from you carefully, turning them over in his hands as if weighing something more than their size. A slow, bright smile spread across his face, one brow lifting with quiet amazement.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said softly. “Spoiling me like this…”

“Of course you can.” You beamed back.

He glanced back up at you, eyes alight.

“Can I open them here?”

“I'll start with the present then,” he replied, carefully removing the wrapping from the gift to reveal a box.

Inside it were two small canvases you'd painted yourself. One was of the butterfly Pokémon you still loved, and the other was of his favorite Digimon—together, the pair were a silly reminder of the start of your friendship. How appropriate that he'd opened them here. 

He laughed before he could stop himself, blinking hard as something unfamiliar pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Geez, is my painting so bad that it made you cry?” You giggled.

“Nah, are you kidding?” They're so cool. I love them.”

“I'm glad you think so, my teacher called it a waste of materials.”

He clicked his tongue. “Shows what she knows. This is something special.”

“I can hold them for you if you want to open the letter now,” you offered, extending your arm. He handed the box over to you as he moved on to your next gift, noting the attentive excitement on your face as he unfolded the card.

Inside the envelope was a heartfelt note from you, money from your family, and a folded-up map of Kyoto marked at specific locations. 

He unfolded it, brows lifting as he took in the familiar streets—and then the locations you'd marked yourself.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” he asked, glancing up at you.

“It's your birthday adventure,” you said, rocking back on your heels. “My brother told me they started putting up all the holiday lights, so I thought it would be fun if we went to see them. And we can explore wherever else you want, too.”

He stared at it for a second longer than necessary before a grin formed across his face. “Wow. You really went all out, huh?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed before continuing. “And I already got permission from my side and yours. You just have to choose when.” 

“It'll have to be soon, then. They've got me doing something at the end of the month that'll keep me away for a while.”

“Oh? How come?” You questioned aloud.

“It's really just extra training, but I can't tell you specifics. Or I'd have to kill ya'” he joked, winking at you before adding, “don’t worry, I’ll be done before your birthday. Promise.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not why I asked.” 

“I know—just thought I should mention it.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “How about this Friday?”

“Yeah, I think Friday will work out just fine.” 

“Then it's settled,” he said, pushing off the stone structure, lacing his hands behind his head as he turned toward you. “I'm actually excited. I've never been to the festivities in Kyoto before.”

“The Gojo clan has never taken you anywhere normal, have they?” You sighed as you walked in his direction. 

“Nah, guess not.” He laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours as the two of you started back toward the estate. “But that’s what I’ve got you for, butterfly~”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Friday, December 12, 2003.

The week had seemingly dragged on, each day blending into the next as Friday approached at a frustratingly slow pace. Your schooling, after-class lessons, familial obligations, and Satoru’s training filled the hours, leaving little room to dwell on anything else. And yet, beneath it all lingered the quiet anticipation of the sightseeing trip to Kyoto for his birthday. 

When the day finally arrived, everything moved so quickly. 

By early evening, the two of you were walking side by side through the streets of Kyoto, coats pulled close against the cold. The winter air carried a sharp chill, only softened by the glow of holiday lights strung overhead and wrapped around storefronts and the trees lining each area the two of you wandered through. You both slowed more than once to admire the displays, lingering beneath the lights before moving on, unhurried and content to let the evening unfold at its own pace.

You found yourself tugging lightly at Satoru’s sleeve whenever something interesting caught your attention. And, without fail, he had followed your gaze every time, though his eyes sometimes lingered on you afterwards. 

Street booths lined the busier paths, their warm lights, hanging lanterns, and inviting scents breaking up the walk the two of you were on in gentle increments. You drifted from one establishment to the next, sampling sweets and small treats meant to be enjoyed in this cold weather. And each time you reached for your wallet, Satoru stepped in without hesitation, brushing off your protests and paying anyway, as if this trip were your birthday celebration rather than his. You teased him for it, of course, but he only shrugged it off, already moving ahead as though the matter had never been up for debate—an act that was truly reminiscent of your every snack run and movie night with him. 

At some point, the two of you ducked into a small photo booth tucked between several shops in Shinkyogoku. The pictures came out uneven and imperfect—there was one caught mid-laugh, another with exaggerated expressions, and one where the two of you were looking at each other rather than the camera. Neither of you minded; they felt more real that way. Candid. For safekeeping, you tucked the photo strips into your purse afterward.

Not far from the shopping district, the familiar glow and hum of a small arcade drew the two of you inside. It was a welcomed reprieve, a pocket of warmth away from the cold. The air buzzed with electronic sounds and muffled music, lights flashing across rows of claw machines as you wandered between them. You challenged each other to a few rounds of Street Fighter, laughing when things didn’t go as planned and celebrating small victories as if they were somthing far more impressive.

In the end, you'd beaten Satoru by one match—something he protested immediately, blaming your unfair advantage after you'd spent years playing against your brothers. He'd only stopped being a brat about it when you won him a prize at one of the claw machines as an olive branch. 

It had been over an hour by the time you both stepped back outside—the crowds had already thinned as the evening began to wind down around you. With your hands full of small souvenirs and the last of the arcade’s warmth fading, the two of you turned toward the train station. When the train finally came, he boarded it with you without hesitation, taking a seat beside you as it pulled away. It carried you both back to Nara—and away from the Gojo residence. Outside the window, Kyoto slipped past in a blur of lights before giving way to the darkness.

Once the train arrived back in Nara, the two of you stepped onto the platform together. The night settled comfortably around you as the outing quietly came to an end. Well, at least the Kyoto part of it—since Satoru seemed to be planning on staying over at your house again. The Gojos would not be happy about that. Not in the slightest. And you both knew it. 

But that was just another detail to add to this collection of memories you were building together. One more “remember when” tucked carefully into the shared history of your friendship. 

And as far as either one of you could tell, there was no end to this closeness in sight.

Tag list: @ms-aman, @ilyannailyanna, @mel-vaz, @cursedadoration, (let me know if you'd like to be tagged as well <3)

Gojo took one look at the nerd sitting in the desk next to his usual one at the back next to the window and glanced over to the balding homeroom teacher with his brows raised. There was no way you had sat there of your own accord. You looked too puny to be trying to take him on for strongest in the school and if you were there to flirt you at least would have tried to tame down the bedhead a little.

He set down his bag on the table, seeing you jump as his textbooks knocked against the wood and made a loud noise. Reminding him of a jumpy little rabbit but still you didn't even turn to look his way. He pulled out the chair and slumped down on it, long legs having trouble fitting beneath the desk, another reason he liked to sit at the back so he had a little extra room.

"Hey rabbit, why are you sitting here?" Gojo asked.

"Sugoshi Sensei asked me to." You responded without taking your eyes off the workbook you were furiously scribbling on.

Gojo turned his glare back to the balding man at the front, rolling his eyes when the man was already looking at him. He wasn't an asshole enough to make your life hard when you clearly had no interest being here anymore than he wanted you here, but the old geezer definitely had it coming. Gojo liked resting his legs up on that desk next to him but now he'd have to sit straight while the old bore droned on.

He didn't go to his next period, choosing instead to walk over to the convenience store and buy himself a chocolate milk. Wandering around the little streets that surrounded the school instead of going to his second period.

When he got to third period he was surprised to see you sitting next to his usual spot again. The teacher of this class a middle aged woman who liked to hold him back to discuss his future and then make eyes at him while she told him about how she believed in his potential. It was too bad she wasn't his type and she certainly wasn't getting so much as a graze of his hand now with the stunt she'd pulled.

It was like you were in every class, there before he was. Taking up the desk he normally used as a leg rest. He ignored you in the rest of the classes, legs cramped by last period from being forced to fold uncomfortably on the low chairs that weren't made for people as tall as him.

He took the long way to the internet cafe he usually went to afterschool, the other kids who had taken to frequenting it because he went there taking up all the computers, except the one with the buggy mouse.

"Hey move." Gojo said to one of the kids whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember who sat at his usual computer. It had the vantage point of the screen not being turned towards the rest of the cafe so he could do whatever he wanted without everyone gawking at his screen. The kid with the buzzcut turned, standing up to his full height that was still a good six inches below Gojo.

"And if I don't?" The boy asked making Gojo smile for the first time that day.

He invited him outside politely, not wanting to risk getting banned from the internet cafe. Leaving buzzcut leaned up against a tree a couple storefronts down from the cafe with a bruised and swollen face, nearly out of consciousness but still managing to promise he would regret this making Gojo laugh.

Gojo returned to the cafe, the kids sitting inside quietening the moment he opened the door telling him all he needed to know about the topic for the day. Two of the guys left, presumably to go get their friend, though they weren't such great friends for waiting till after their friend had gotten a beating before making their move. It was a pity they were so disloyal, he could have used more of a workout today. Beating just one kid with a bad attitude wasn't enough to work out all the kinks in his muscles.

Over the next few days he went to class even less than usual, classes were unbearable as it was but having to sit in that tiny desk made them downright painful.

You had been worried when the teachers in each of your classes besides math and history told you to go sit next to Gojo Satoru. The boy with perpetually bruised knuckles who everyone knew better than to sit next to.

Gojo Satoru always sat with the utmost disrespect, long legs extended out before him and feet resting on the desk next to his, bright blue eyes either looking down at his phone or out the window.

A part of you had been convinced that you would get a black-eye for daring to take his footrest but didn't have the guts to argue with teachers. Hopefully he wouldn't hit you too hard and then they'd be forced to let you switch.

To your surprise Gojo simply ignored you after asking why you were sitting there. Being called a rabbit was strange but then Gojo never really remembered anyone's names, using descriptive terms or nicknames that no one questioned in their place.

He wasn't too bad to sit next to once you got over the initial anxiety that he was going to punch you. Quiet and didn't pester you with questions about the school work or borrowing your notes the way other kids did. Not that he'd need them, everyone knew Gojo got the best grades in the school. Though there were rumours that was due to his rich parents buying his grades but either way it left him uninterested in your school work.

Other than taking up too much room due to his hulking physique, he was actually an improvement from your past desk mates. Just if kids didn't swarm around your desks so much to talk to him, he would have been the ideal student to sit next to.

You struggled to focus on the math homework you still had to complete, having not been able to get through all the problems during lunch while a group of students loudly giggled and jeered around you.

Two of the idiots were playing catch over your head with their gym bag that smelt putrid. You held your hand up to your nose to try to block out the smell, glancing back just in time to see one of the idiots trip while trying to catch the bag, flailing to stop himself from falling forwards and onto you. You barely had time to put your hands up in front of your face, hoping only to minimize damage but a large pale hand caught hold of the boy’s hoodie, tugging backwards to keep him from falling onto you.

"Watch it sweaty pits, you nearly crushed the rabbit." Gojo said, answering your question as to who the terrible smelling bag belonged to.

"Thanks." You said and Gojo only nodded, going right back to his conversation with a girl who was practically standing on his feet while flirting.

A couple days later in third period he dropped down a chocolate milk on your desk.

"BOGO at the convenience store. You want it?" He asked and you nodded, hesitantly grabbing it. He looked away, spending the rest of the period staring out the window as usual and after carefully inspecting the carton to ensure it hadn't been tampered with as subtly as you could, you opened it and drank the chocolate milk while taking notes.

You were discomforted by the way the teacher of this class stared at the boy beside you. Walking by your desks often, resting a hand on his shoulder and asking him to start doing his work.

Her face turned red when she saw the disgusted look you hadn't even realized you were wearing seeing her grope Gojo's shoulder under the pretense of asking why he wasn't starting the homework assignment she gave. Gojo seemed to see it too and let out a bark of laughter making her look almost furious. Her glare softening as it turned on him when he rose to ask to go to the washroom, though he would most likely not come back the rest of the period.

You didn't know the boy who sat next to you in nearly every class well but knew enough from proximity alone to know that half of the rumours about him were a lie. He sadly really did earn his grades, finishing every exam and quiz first even though you spent so much more time studying than he did. And that basketball player's girlfriend everyone had accused him of seducing had been the one to fawn all over him in chemistry. Asking him repeatedly to go to her house for a study session.

So when you heard some students gossiping that the reason he was doing so well in English was because he hit on the teacher, you couldn't help yourself but pipe up to defend him.

"He's doing well because he's smart and for the record it's that creepy old woman that keeps hitting on him. If you don't know him, shouldn't you not talk about him?" You asked the group of freshman who were blocking your way into the library. Completely oblivious to Gojo who had been coming down the stairs and heard the way you defended him.

Blue eyes tracking you as you stomped past the group of horrified freshman who had seen him come up behind you to listen and feared they would get a demonstration of the infamous Gojo Satoru's fighting skills. It was lucky for them he was too preoccupied thinking about the loyal little rabbit he had never realized was brave enough to stick up for him to terrorize them.

From that day on Gojo Satoru stopped ignoring you, though you had no idea why. He pestered you about the homework you were working on, annoying you by telling you all the questions you had gotten wrong. Asking you what you did at lunch and surprised to hear you spent it in the library.

"So when do you eat?" He asked.

"I eat my lunch there too."

"They don't let you take the cafeteria food in there."

"I don't eat the cafeteria food." You said, leaving it at that but then curious about what you did eat he started following you to the library at lunch.

"Milk bread, is that really all you're eating?" He asked, fascinated by the way your ears reddened at the tips and you grumbled out about the cafeteria food being overpriced and not tasting as good as your milk bread.

"No wonder you're so short." He said and you simply blinked at him, not wanting to stroke his ego by saying he was a giant. Choosing to ignore him instead and hope he would go away.

"So where are your friends?" He asked.

"Don't have any." You mumbled, people would probably be embarrassed over that but it never really bothered you. You didn't have time for friends. You spent every spare moment in school studying or doing your homework since you worked a part-time job after school.

"Me neither." He said, blue eyes taking on a weird glint you missed since you had your head bent over your history notes.

You assumed he was merely trying to spare your feelings since he was constantly surrounded by others but Gojo didn't consider any of them to be his friend. Every one of them seemed to hover around him because they wanted something. To leech off his popularity, leech off his money or learn what it was like to sleep with the Gojo Satoru. All except you, who didn't really want to be there and never asked him for anything.

You had assumed his attention would be short-lived and once the curiosity he had about you was abated, he would go back to leaving you alone. Unfortunately that didn't happen. Suddenly he was attending every class, waiting out in the school yard till you arrived so he could walk with you to your first period. His attendance perfect in all classes besides the two he didn't have with you.

You weren't the biggest fan of the change, now with him taking up all your time with his chatter, you had less time to focus on your homework. That resulted in you having to do it at night when you got home from work which disrupted your sleep making you crankier.

You blamed it on your lack of sleep for getting you into this situation. 99% sure Gojo was about to punch your daylights out. He had been pestering you as usual while you did your math problems in homeroom silent study. Telling you in a sing-song voice that was getting on your last nerve that your answer was incorrect and he'd tell you where you went wrong if you looked at him.

"Do you ever shut up?" You asked, your voice rising over the quiet chatter of the other students which died out immediately as everyone heard what had been said to Gojo Satoru. Gojo had put kids in the hospital for far less. Your eyes widened in horror at realizing what you had said and more importantly to who.

Your face went pale as your heartbeat picked up. Blood rushing through your ears making you feel faint as you stayed deadly still, waiting for Gojo to make his move.

"Only when I'm eating. Say wanna share some of that milk bread of yours with me? I skipped breakfast to make it here on time." Gojo said and you could practically here everyone's jaws drop to the floor.

"H-here." You said, digging it out of your bag and offering it up to him with trembling hands. Hoping it would be seen as a peace offering and save your life.

"Thanks." He said, tearing it open and breaking off half. Holding the rest out to you which you took back gingerly. Flinching when he moved his hand back suddenly.

"Don't save it for lunch. I feel like eating pizza and you're coming with me." Gojo said and you nodded, wondering if this was a new form of bullying.

By the time lunch came around you had convinced yourself he was luring you off school grounds to beat you up. Somewhere secluded where no one would interfere.

You tried to make excuses to avoid going. Saying you had a test next period but the freak seemed to know even what was going on in the classes of yours he wasn't in. Then trying to tell him you had an appointment with the guidance counsellor but he merely told you to reschedule it. Telling him you were sick and couldn't eat didn't work because your stomach chose to growl loudly right at that moment making him laugh and snatch your bag. Swinging it over his shoulder and telling you the only way you'd get it back was if you went with him.

You couldn't afford to buy those textbooks again so you had to follow him. Wary eyes tracking his every movement, just waiting for him to try to shove you into an alleyway. When you made it to the pizza place without incident you were really quite confused. Asking for your bag back so you could pay for a slice after he was done ordering, his face blanking as he stared down at you.

"I ordered a whole pizza so we could share." He said.

"Oh well let me pay you for half then." You said, reaching for your bag again but he stepped out of the way.

"Don't worry about it." He said, ruffling your hair. Surprised at how soft it was. He reached for your hair again but you pushed away his hand with a glare that made him laugh. Jumpy as a rabbit and about as threatening as one too.

He'd never noticed before but you were oddly cute. Grumpy and withdrawn but in a way that came off as endearing instead of boring like he had first assumed. You glanced at him and a weird fluttering feeling occurred in his stomach, he would have thought he was sick if it hadn't been strangely pleasant.

You both sat there to have your pizza. Gojo quizzing you on all your favourite foods and polishing off slice after slice with ease. You ate about a quarter of the pizza before declaring you were done. Gojo tried to make you eat more but you told him you were full and he blamed your appetite on only eating milk bread for lunch for god knows how long.

By the time you both finished, fourth period had started and when you caught sight of the time you made a run for it. Gojo watching you for a second in stunned surprise before darting after you with a whoop. Covering double the distance with his freakishly long legs making him frequently outpace you and then circle back, cheering you to go faster.

By the time you both got to class you were winded from the run, a painful stitch in your side and Gojo was grinning ear to ear. Watching you keeled over trying to catch your breath and all he could think about was how he had never had that much fun with anyone before.

That day he tried to convince you to come to the internet cafe, very perplexed to learn that you had a part-time job to get to. He hadn't known high school students worked. Much to your chagrin he followed you to the little supermarket you worked at.

Following you around as you stocked items and leaning up against the counter as you cashed out customers. Earning compliments about what a handsome young man he was from the old women who frequented the store.

Soon that became your routine, Gojo waited outside the school for you to arrive. You sat next to him in all your classes besides two which he both walked you to and collected you from. Either followed you to the library at lunch or forced you to accompany him out by hijacking your school bag.

Annoyed the few times you managed to pay for the food but secretly relieved you weren’t just putting up with him for his money. Trying to tell you he should pay since he wasn't the one who worked hard for his money but you merely replied that surely his parents would cancel his cards if they found out he was spending money so recklessly. You clearly had no idea just how rich his parents were and he was in no rush to tell you, he'd rather you think of him as normal.

At the end of the day he would follow you to your part-time job. The middle aged man who owned the store had been very skeptical at first about having him hang around but then seeing all the female customers he attracted, he had become much more welcoming. Offering Gojo fruit cups and candy on the house.

You spent most of your day with him Monday to Friday so when he asked what you were doing over the weekend you drew the line. Putting your foot down about him not being allowed to see you on the weekend even if it meant telling the Gojo Satoru no.

Weekends were the days you spent relaxing after your hectic week. Sleeping in, eating junk food and watching movies. Studying only if you needed to which since Gojo had decided he was going to spend most of the school day distracting you, became more often.

On Monday when you got to school Gojo was there, head cast down and you only realized why when you got closer. The skin around his right eye was a terrible mix of black and blue. You had never seen Gojo Satoru with anything other than bruised knuckles before but even that had stopped for a while. When you glanced down at his hands, both palms were wrapped in gauze, knuckles unharmed.

"Have you iced it?" You asked and he shook his head, watching you silently. You grabbed the cuff of his sleeve, tugging him along behind you to the nurse's office. His eyes on your little hand that gripped his sleeve and he had the strangest urge to push his hand into yours instead. Before he could act on the impulse you were at the nurse's office.

The school nurse got Gojo an ice pack, muttering under her breath about how usually it was Gojo sending people to her office. She had been holding the ice to his face but was called away by the principal, handing it to you as she left. He expected you to just hand it to him, taken aback when you stepped close to the cot he sat on, pressing the ice pack gingerly to his bruised eye. Worried it may hurt for him to hold the ice bag since both his hands were also hurt. Your face contorting into a pained grimace as though you were the one who had gotten hurt.

He was suddenly all too aware of his heartbeat, never having felt so keenly the closeness of another person in his life. He could practically count your lashes at this distance, seeing flecks of honey in your eyes that he had never noticed before. The shape of your parted lips, your tongue that darted out to wet them making him gulp and look away. A red flush spreading over his pale cheeks worrying you that he had a fever.

You pressed your hand to his forehead, then checked your own but didn’t sense any significant difference. The feel of your skin against his had his mouth going dry.

"You look feverish but you don't have a fever. Maybe you're just overheated. Take off your sweater." You said and he complied, pulling the hoodie over his head.

Your expression went blank as his toned upper body was revealed. So pale and perfectly proportionate he looked like he was cut from marble. Shoulders and chest too broad to belong to a high schooler, waist tiny enough to make you jealous and arms packed with muscle that showed why he was considered the strongest.

“I thought you’d have something underneath. Put it back on.” You said, disgusted by how pretty he was and not wanting to be faced with such nauseating perfection so early in the morning. He complied, confused as to why you looked mad.

“Are you not going to ask what happened?” He asked. Normally he hated when people tried to stick their nose in his business but it made him weirdly upset that you didn’t care to ask.

“I’m sure you’d tell me if you wanted to.” You said simply, silence settling between you two as you continued to hold the ice pack to his eye.

He’d never wanted to tell anyone about his asshole dad before. It wasn’t like they would actually care nor could they do anything about it. It would only make his dad angrier to learn he’d blabbed to someone about what he called family conflict. Though beating your kid the few times a year you actually managed to be home wasn’t much conflict in Gojo’s perspective.

“It was my dad.” Gojo said, voice quiet and almost small in a way you’d never heard before.

“Does it happen often?” You asked.

“No he’s only home a couple days of the year.”

“Is he going to be home tonight?” You asked and Gojo nodded, eyes on the white tiles of the nurse’s office floor.

“You can sleep over at mine until he’s gone.” You said and Gojo’s head flew up. He’d been thinking of staying at the Internet cafe and only going home in the morning to shower and change. But staying at your house, getting to be in your house, with you sounded so much better.

"Is that really okay?" Gojo asked, suddenly grabbing your hand that held the ice bag in his, uncaring of the way it aggravated the cut on his palm. His dad had shoved him into the glass table and he had sliced his hands on the broken shards of glass while pushing himself back up.

You flinched back at how close he suddenly was. A near manic look on his pretty face that you mistook for desperation to be away from his dad.

"Of course, you're my friend aren't you?" You asked, slipping your hand carefully out of his so you could continue icing his face.

"Friend." Gojo muttered, tasting the word on his tongue. Mind more preoccupied with you calling him your anything. He liked that, the idea of belonging to you in some way.

Friends didn't seem like enough though, even the idiots who walked around in rowdy groups called each other friends. That wasn't enough to describe what was between the both of you but it could be a start.

That day Gojo made you do everything for him, from taking out and putting back the bags needed for each class, to feeding him his lunch to passing in his classwork which he never normally did but was enthusiastic about completing when you had to write his answers for him. You had drawn the line at undoing the zipper of his pants when he needed to go to the washroom. Needless to say by the the end of the day came around you were not excited about the impromptu sleepover.

Gojo looked at the little house you lived in with your mother with such curiosity and amazement as though exploring a relic from ancient times. Though compared to what you were sure was a fancy mansion or penthouse apartment, your little shack of a house probably seemed like something from another time.

Your mother was overjoyed to meet Gojo, so glad you had finally brought a friend home. A little less thrilled to find out he would be sleeping over but seeing his bruises and making her own assumptions she hadn't fought you over it. Simply telling you to ensure you ordered food for the both of your dinners instead of just getting something from the convenience store before she headed out to her night shift.

Gojo was thrilled to be alone with you in your house, turning overjoyed bright blue eyes over to you the moment she was gone. The sour look on your face could not bring down his good mood.

He sat right next to you on your raggedy couch watching TV as you both ate the convenience store bentos you had bought on the way home. Also having bought a bunch of extra snacks since you knew what Gojo's appetite was like after countless lunches spent seeing him pack away enough food for three grown men.

Your eyes began to droop as you both sat there watching episode after episode. You tried to fight it, telling yourself you needed to set out the futon for Gojo before you fell asleep but eventually lost the battle.

Gojo paused mid sentence as he felt a warm solid weight thunk onto his arm. Glancing down and his heart nearly stopping as he saw it was your head that was resting against him. For a moment he couldn't bring himself to move, heart pounding in his chest and blood rushing in his ears drowning out the sounds of the TV. Eventually he was able to gather himself enough to lean forward a bit and take a peek at your face. Heart clenching at the sight of you fast asleep.

Features that were normally twisted into an unimpressed look or glare now soft and slack with sleep. Lips parted, long lashes appearing to be resting on the apples of your cheeks. He became all too aware of his breathing and the way it made his body move up and down, trying to regulate it so it wouldn't disturb your sleep.

He was so grateful you didn't have any other friends. Just the thought of you so vulnerable in front of someone else filled him with the urge to break and to hurt.

Having you so close soothed him, normally after a run in with his father he would be out on the prowl for a fight to pick. A way to unleash the frustration and aggression that built up every time he was forced to confront the man that seemed like a demon who wore his face. However, there was nowhere he would rather be than here with you.

When you woke you couldn't help the scream that escaped you nor the way your hands flailed out smacking away the bright blue headlight like eyes that were staring a hole into you. Gojo let out a curse, clutching his hand over his eye.

Your terror abated into guilt as you caught your breath after getting the worst jump scare of your life.

"I'm so sorry but why were you watching me sleep?" You asked, trying to get a glance around his freakishly large hands to his face.

"I wasn't watching you sleep." Gojo grumbled, not very convincing when his ears were burning bright red in embarrassment.

"Do you need another ice pack?" You asked and he nodded.

You went to the kitchen to make an ice pack, bringing it back to the tv room where he was waiting. Hand still over his eyes making you feel even guiltier. You rushed over not seeing the empty bento container on the ground, slipping on it and going sprawling across Gojo's lap. Your forehead knocking into his mouth making him curse again and hand landing unfortunately right on his crotch. Telling you more than you ever wanted to know about how what they said about men with big hands was quite true.

You glanced up at him and the quiet string of curses he had been muttering stopped as he saw how close you were. If the weight of your head resting on his arm had been soothing, your warm weight in his lap was anything but. He pushed you off before you could feel first hand what you being so close was doing to him.

"Might have been safer on the street." He joked as a deflection, heart pounding as he quickly grabbed a pillow and put it over his lap.

"God I am so sorry Gojo." You said, holding out the ice pack not trusting yourself to put your hands anywhere near him at the moment.

"It's fine and call me Satoru. You're my friend aren't you?" Gojo asked.

"I don't think we're really close enough to be on a first name basis." You said.

"You just grabbed a solid handful of my junk. It's going to make me feel very cheap and used if you don't at least call me by my first name." He said and you snorted out a laugh, cheeks pinkening in embarrassment at what you had done. Gojo's heart feeling like it was being squeezed and wrung dry at seeing your smile and pink cheeks. The image softened by how sleep rumpled you still were.

"Fine Satoru." You relented and he was glad he had already placed that pillow on his lap. His name sounded so much better coming from you, like he really was something special. Someone held dear to someone.

"Now ice my eye. You really smacked me like you were trying to break open a pinata." He said instigating an argument over pinatas not being broken with bare hands though he insisted that was how he had broken open his own as a child.

You two bickered until it was time to go to bed. He seemed incredibly let down to learn he would be sleeping on a futon in the tv room.

"Can't I just sleep in your bed?" He asked making your eye twitch.

"No and if you have a problem with the futon then you can sleep on the floor." You said, ignoring his sulking as you laid everything out for him on the floor next to the couch.

"How about we stay up and talk?" He asked.

"No I need a break from hearing your nonsense even if it's just for - 6 hours." You said, checking your phone to see how many hours you had to sleep before getting up for school.

"You'd be bored without me." He said.

"I'd be peaceful." You retorted walking towards your room but turning back before you went through the door to bid him goodnight. His chest filling with a warm feeling. He couldn't remember the last time someone had bid him goodnight.

Gojo went to sleep that night with a smile on his face. Thoughts of you swarming his head, ears ringing with your voice saying his name. Those thoughts following him into his dreams. You may have wanted 6 hours away from him but he was glad he didn't have to endure that much without you.

The week passed with Gojo crashing at your place every night. The only time he truly left you were those two classes you had without him and every morning before school when he would run to his place to shower and change. Reassuring you that his dad left for work so early that there would be no chance of their paths overlapping.

You only realized his dad had left days ago when Gojo accidentally played out loud a voicemail from his condominium saying his dad had asked them to call him to set a time to come upgrade the locks since he was out of the country again. You turned to Gojo with a look of complete disbelief that morphed into rage when you saw the sheepish look on his face.

That night you forced him to return to his apartment though he begged and sulked for you to let him stayed another night but for your own sanity and clean criminal record you could not. He was driving you up the wall, you were used to being alone. Not growing up with any siblings or making any friends at school you spent your days alone and had the house to yourself at night since your mom worked.

Having another being as impossible to ignore as Gojo Satoru constantly in your space was overstimulating to your very sensitive and poorly developed social senses. Much to your misfortune the teachers in every class had decided that just making you sit next to him wasn't enough. They also decided to pair you with him for every class assignment or group project giving Gojo just the excuse he needed to invite himself back to your home.

You wanted to complain and scream but there was an advantage to being paired with the top student. Though you had to yell at him to do his work, when he did it, he did better than any of the other idiots in your classes or even you yourself could have done.

However not all assignments were done in pairs and for your English class you all had been put in groups of four to do book reports on your assigned novels. Gojo and you had been paired up with another two boys, one of which you remembered as the boy Gojo called sweaty pits who had nearly fallen onto you and another Gojo called curly for his big curly hair.

Curly seemed terrified of Gojo, avoiding eye contact as you too had done at first upon meeting Gojo. Sweaty pits was reluctant to get too close and be told off about how bad he smelled so both boys resorted to communicating with Gojo through you. For whatever reason that just made him meaner to them both and gave them more reason to be afraid.

Meeting up at the school library after school to research together had been a bust. Gojo entirely unwilling to cooperate and do his part, spending most of his time interrupting the conversations between you and the other two. Sweaty pits wasn't really an academic mind so most of the conversing was happening between you and curly and it was making Gojo boil over with rage.

He snapped the pencil he held in half when you snorted at something curly said. Seeing the boy's eyes widen at seeing your smile. Gojo knew firsthand the sight you made and the effect it had. The way your entire face lit up when you smiled, eyes crinkling and looking even brighter than usual. Something incredibly soft about you when you exhibited even the slightest amount of happiness compared to your usual prickly exterior. Only he should be able to see that side of you. How sweet you were under the standoffishness.

Gojo had immediately swiped your things into your bag, ignoring your protests and complaints about him crinkling up your notes. Grabbing your wrist when curly piped up saying that you all could meet up again whenever worked best for the both of you making Gojo's attention turn to him. Blue eyes blazing with a hatred so visceral it had the boy's voice getting stuck in his throat.

You were dragged away under the pretense of Gojo having been hungry. Enduring the whack you gave him upside the head for bending the pages of your book over not being able to wait another hour to eat. Bad mood lingering all throughout the evening and he didn't argue when you told him he couldn't come to your house after you two had eaten together.

Walking from your apartment straight to the park in the seedier part of town. Not even wasting a moment trying to find a reason but stalking right up to a group of boys older than him smoking and throwing a punch at the biggest one.

Gojo showed up for school the next day with his knuckles split and bruised for the first time in months. The whispers that Gojo was back to his usual self following him through the halls as he made his way to class, late for first period.

You glanced at his knuckles as he sat down but didn't say a word, worsening his bad mood. He didn't understand how you could act so indifferent to him. He wanted you to be nosy, to intrude into his business and demand answers. Hated the nonchalance with which you treated him making him feel as though he was the only one who wanted to know everything about you and thought of you constantly.

For the rest of the day he was uncharacteristically quiet. Emanating an aura that screamed that anyone who came near him was going to get punched. A silent, furious shadow following you around throughout the day.

Everyone was allowed to have their off days and you figured that if he wanted to tell you he would, so you gave him his space. Not instigating conversation and using the time to work through your math homework.

When you got to last period, it was almost a relief to be in a class without Gojo. His terrible mood had been near palpable, suffocating in its intensity and you were glad to be away from it.

A bag settled down on the desk next to yours and you glanced up, surprised to see Curly. He nervously played with the straps of his bag as he asked if he could sit next to you. Quickly going on to explain that it was only because he wanted to ask you some questions about the assignment.

"Sure." You responded simply, having not even realized that you two shared this class too before today.

Curly was abysmal at math and you were glad there were no group assignments for this class or you would have risked failing. His English was luckily better. When you were given time to work on the assigned homework after the lecture, Curly told you he wanted to go over the plot points you needed him to add in the summary to support your part on symbolism.

It was the last class of the day so even when the bell rang you both stayed seated to finish going through the little bit you had left. You rubbed at your eye as you watched Curly furiously jotting down notes about the parts you had asked him to include. Glancing up to ask you a question but pausing as he caught sight of your face.

"You've got some ink on your face." He said and you glanced down at the hand you'd just rubbed your eyes with, groaning when you saw it was covered in ink from having been pressed against your freshly written homework. You swiped at your face with your other hand.

"Better?" You asked and the boy shook his head pointing at where the ink still was staining your face blue. You rubbed in the direction you thought he had pointed and raised your brow at him.

"Here let me just-" The boy said, leaning a bit closer and rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone.

"What the fuck is going on here?" You heard a familiar voice growl. Glancing up to see Gojo charging into the room from where he'd been standing in the doorway. Having arrived to pick you up from your last class only to see you and Curly with your heads close together, Curly's hand on you enough to make Gojo's vision go red.

You could only gasp as a hand yanked the curly haired boy out of his chair and away from you. Tossing him to the ground like he weighed nothing and Gojo swung his leg over him, the first hit making blood spray and the audible crunching of bone breaking rung out in the quiet room. But Gojo didn’t stop there, pummeling fist after fist into the boy's face. Each hit raining down so quickly one after the other the boy couldn't even get his hands in front of his face.

"Gojo." You screamed, grabbing onto his hoodie and trying to pull him off the boy but it was like he didn't even notice you.

You couldn't make out what Gojo was saying, your screams for him to stop drowning out his voice. Your screams attracted the kids passing by in the hall and students came rushing in to the math class, not one of them daring to interfere.

"Get a teacher." You screamed at them grabbing onto Gojo's arm to stop him but he pulled free of you making you fall back onto your bottom.

"Stop it, you're gonna kill him." You wept but it was like he was deaf to the world in his rage. Finally you were pushed back as two teachers came charging in, each grabbing one of Gojo's arms and hauling him off the boy.

The hand you were using to push yourself up off the floor slipping, sending you sprawling back as you caught sight of Gojo's face. Features twisted in animalistic rage, the veins on his neck standing out. Blue eyes blazing with fury, teeth barred as he snarled out words just barely legible to you over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

"How dare you touch her? She's mine." Gojo was screaming over and over as he thrashed around to be let go. Two other teachers running out in front of him and pushing him back as he broke free and lunged for the boy again.

You scampered backwards in fear, having landed close enough to the curly haired boy to be in Gojo's way. Your movement making his eyes dart to you, the fight draining out of him at the frightened look on your face.

The four teachers took advantage of his state and dragged him out. You could hear Gojo's screams of your name long past when he was out of sight.

For the first time you realized what a mistake it had been to befriend someone known for their violent personality. The curly haired boy was helped up by the principal and another teacher, the students following them leaving you sitting alone in the math class.

You skipped work that day, going straight home. Telling your mom you weren't feeling well and she called the owner of the supermarket for you. Letting you go straight to bed and only coming in to tell you she'd made porridge for you on her way to work.

The next day you didn't go to school. Feigning sick again but actually unwilling to go in and face all the questions that were sure to be asked about the incident. People had seen you there.

You had nothing to tell, you didn't know what had set Gojo off. You remembered what he had been yelling but his words made no sense to you. As wrong as what he had done was, a part of you still felt loyal to your friend and didn't want to say anything against him. Figuring that if you simply didn't show up then you wouldn't have to make a choice between what was right and being loyal.

Gojo had come to school the next day eager to see you and apologize for scaring you. His dad had been called the night before and though the principal had been threatening to suspend him, he'd instead just gotten off with a week of helping the caretaker clean for an hour after school. The principal’s riteous fury doused when his dad brought up how great it would be for the education of the other kids if he got all the school computers replaced.

The principal had let it go, saying boys get into fights and it wasn't worth risking their admission to university to write them up. His father's secretary had flown in and gone to see the boy's family while they were still in the hospital with him. Promising to pay for all of his post-secondary education fees including board and spending money if they didn't press charges and that was simply too good a deal for a parent to pass up.

It was all back to normal like nothing had happened except you weren't there. You didn't come to school the rest of the week and Friday when you didn't show up during first period, Gojo had had enough. He stalked out of the room with the first period teacher asking him to come back or at least take the bathroom hall pass with him if we was leaving but Gojo didn't turn back. Walking right out of school and getting a taxi to your house.

Just the sight of your house was enough to make his heart swell. He knocked on the door, staying quiet as he heard you ask who it was. His knees went weak as the door swung open and revealed you. Standing there in mismatched pajamas with bedhead worse than the first time he'd laid eyes on you and yet he'd never seen such a welcome sight.

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of him. Torn between not wanting to talk to him and ask why he’d done what he did. You stepped out into the cold, closing the door behind you. Wrapping your arms around yourself. Gojo shrugged off the jacket he was wearing, taking a step forward to drape it over you but freezing when you immediately took a step back.

"Take it." He said, holding out his jacket. Blue eyes boring into you waiting for you to finally look up at him and stop staring at the ground. It was maddening to have you before him but still have you avoiding him like this.

"I'm fine." You mumbled.

"If you won't take it then let's talk inside." Gojo said, taking a step forward to reach for your door but you stepped in front of the doorknob.

"My mom's sleeping, you can't come inside." You said and Gojo tried to tell himself it was just because you were worried he would make too much noise and wake her and not because you didn't want him in your house anymore. He knew he had made a mistake, scared you but you had some explaining to do yourself. You had said he was your only friend so why were you letting that little curly haired bastard put his hands on you?

"Why haven't you been coming to school?" Gojo asked and you finally glanced up at him, surprised to hear he had been to school. You were sure he must have been expelled or at least suspended.

It was like he could breathe again now that your eyes were on him. Air filling his lungs for what felt like the first time in days.

"You were at school?" You asked.

"Yeah they put me on cleaning duty this week. Said it wasn't a big deal." He said, sounding so blasé about the whole situation it made your stomach drop. He had beat the curly haired boy to unconsciousness, most likely breaking his nose and taking out some teeth based on the amount of blood but to him it was no big deal?

"How is beating someone to unconsciousness not a big deal?"

"He's fine." Gojo snapped, annoyed that even after not seeing him for days you were talking about that bastard.

"Why are you here?" You asked, realizing you weren't going to get through to him from a morality perspective.

"What do you mean why am I here? You haven't been to school in days, I came to see you." Gojo said, taking a step forward but you stepped away from the door to put more distance between the both of you.

"I don't want to see you right now." You said making Gojo freeze. A cold sweat breaking out on his body as the words you had just spoken rung in his ears. You didn't want to see him. He had been dying to see you and you didn't want him here. You were done with him. He wouldn't allow for it.

"Why do you not want to see me? Look I won't even ask why you were letting that little bastard put his hands on you. It doesn't matter as long as you don't do it again. Let's just go out and get breakfast. You haven't eaten yet, right? We'll bring something back for your mom too." He rambled, voice friendly and bright but eyes manic with desperation that had you balking.

"What are you talking about? Did you hit him for touching me?" You asked, having been raking your brain for days trying to figure out why he had attacked the boy and been unable to think of a reason.

"I don't like others touching you. I'm your only friend. Only I should get to touch you." Gojo said making your heart drop.

"Gojo I'm my own person. You don't get to decide who I'm friends with or who touches me." You said carefully, still hoping this was all a horrid misunderstanding and you were mistaking the implication of his words.

He latched onto your upper arms making you jolt in surprise, pulling you in close until you were nearly chest to chest.

"But you're mine. Just the thought of anyone else touching you makes me so mad I can't think straight. I hate when others talk to you, hate it when they even look at you."

You could only stare up at him in horror. Finally recognizing that glint in his eyes for what it was, mania. You didn't know when he had started thinking of you this way, something he owned and should keep to himself. All you knew was you needed to get away from him.

Not only was he dangerous, with a temper that frequently got the best of him and strength far beyond your imagination, he was also backed by a father who covered up all his misdeeds. Gojo had power and there was no threat of repercussions or consequences to stop him from using it.

"Let go of me." You said but your words had the opposite of their intended effect. He pulled you in to his chest, stooping down to wrap his burly arms around you. Resting his chin on your head and clutching you to him as furiously as a child does their favourite stuffed toy.

"No, can't let you go." He mumbled, turning his face into your hair and breathing in your familiar scent.

"Gojo let go." You demanded, pushing at his chest but with your arms trapped you could barely get enough momentum behind them for him to even feel the pressure, let alone move.

"Stop calling me Gojo. It's Satoru to you." He said, tightening his grip on you making you gasp out in pain.

"You're hurting me, let go." You ordered and Gojo immediately stepped back, horrified at the thought of having hurt you. Gojo had hurt many people in his life, but he never wanted to hurt you. You were the most precious thing to him.

"Leave and don't ever come back. I want nothing to do with you." You said.

"No darling, I'm sorry." Gojo pleaded, trembling hands reaching out to grab hold of you and look you over.

"Leave Gojo." You demanded, turning to go back into your house but his next words made you pause.

"I can't live without you, I need you." He said, voice breaking in a way that had your resolve threatening to crumble. You turned back to him, unable to turn your back on him when the boy you had considered to be your friend sounded close to crying.

"No one's ever made me feel the way you do. I feel like I can't breathe when I'm not around you. I'll die without you, don't push me away." Gojo begged, capturing your hand in his. Blue eyes filling with tears.

You could barely believe this was the boy who nearly killed someone with his bare hands just a couple days ago. But even now as he cried he showed no remorse for what he had done to that boy. He was only upset at the thought of losing you.

He couldn't stop himself as he blurted out everything he felt for you. Needed you to see the truth, how badly he needed you. How he was nothing without you.

"Gojo I've only ever thought of you as a friend, I'm sorry. I think it's best we stay away from each other, I can't return your feelings." You said, watching the tears spill over onto his cheeks at your words.

"You're lying." He said and you glanced up at him, heart clenching at the way the tears poured down his cheeks but he didn't so much as blink or wipe them away.

"You feel the same way. Why else would you spend all your time with me when you don't even talk to anyone else? You invited me to sleep over, took care of me after what my dad did. You do care about me, you're just denying it cause I scared you didn't I?"

"Gojo that's not it, I'm sorry I've never seen you that way. I did all of that because I thought of you as a friend but now I don't think we can even be friends anymore. Just go, okay?" You said turning to go inside leaving him there staring at the spot where you stood as you tore open his heart.

You didn't even want to be friends with him anymore. You couldn't love a monster like him, you couldn't even tolerate to be around him. His dad had warned him that men like them always get left behind. But he wasn't like his dad, he'd get you back. He didn't know how but he would.

Wiping at his eyes Gojo turned to leave, heading right for that part of town he had been told never to return to just a couple nights ago. He found those thugs again, there was a bigger group of them this time. One pointed him out the moment he was in there line of sight.

"Didn't we warn you not to come back here?" One of them asked, standing up from where he was leant against the wall and stepping up to meet Gojo in the middle of the pathway he was walking down.

Gojo didn't even slightly falter at his words. Throwing the first punch once again.

"Oh you're in for it today pretty boy, all our guys are coming here to make sure you don't get to walk away this time."

That day Gojo fought like he really didn't care to continue living. He had lost the one thing that made it all worth it. If Gojo had been rash before then today he was downright reckless. Uncaring about the damage he took, only continuing to move through the swarm of bodies until he physically couldn't anymore.

It took more than one swing of the metal bat to his head to get him down. Barely any of them were left standing by the time he went down and it was lucky that the ones left didn't care to be arrested, leaving him there on the ground and collecting their own men before running off.

He woke up in the hospital. His dad's secretary by his side, glancing up from his laptop when Gojo groaned as he came to consciousness becoming aware of the debilitating headache he had.

You didn’t even come to see him, he called you and sent texts that went unread until they stopped delivering. He refused to stay in hospital longer than the moment he could stand up without the world spinning around him. He had to go back to school, had to see you.

You were relieved not to see Gojo in school when you went back on Monday. Back to being left alone without him there to pester you, letting you get all your homework done during school hours. Your mom wondered why he wasn’t coming over but you told her he was hanging out with his other friends.

It felt strange now to just study throughout lunch but this was for the best of everyone. You got news that the curly haired boy, whose name you finally learned had transferred schools and you wondered if Gojo had done the same. Though you would assume that a lot more people would have been talking about it if the Gojo Satoru left their school.

You only got 3 days of peace before he was back. Whispers and eyes following him as he trudged down the hall, gauze at the back of his head and two black eyes. Knuckles scabbing over from where they’d been split over and over.

His heart leapt when he got to first period and you were sitting there in your usual spot. Hunched over doing your math homework like always. You didn’t even seem to notice the hush that fell over the class when he walked in, going to his rightful seat next to you.

You glanced over as the chair next to you was pulled back, glancing up to see Gojo watching you with a blank expression. You quickly looked back to your homework, heart skipping a beat at the feel of those eyes on you again and you let out a slow shaky exhale to try to regain your composure. It was strange to feel this nervous around someone you used to be so comfortable around.

As much as you wanted to ask if he was okay you thought it better to ignore him. He had feelings for you that you didn't return and after seeing that other side of him, you didn’t want him in your life even as a friend. Best to distance yourself and not get his hopes up.

You could feel his stare boring holes into you all throughout first period, presence seeming to fill up the room and leave no room even for you to draw in a breath. You had never been so glad to hear that bell ring, throwing your stuff haphazardly into your bag not caring if you bent the pages of your textbooks or crumpled your homework.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Gojo asked before you could make your escape.

“I’m sorry.” You said, meaning it. You’d never meant to cause him pain. He scoffed out a laugh and you made your escape.

From that day on Gojo didn’t talk to you in class. He attended every class you both had together. Sitting silently next to you staring out the window. He got into more fights than ever before, knuckles constantly scabbed over from being split over and over again. When you’d pass him in the halls terrorizing the poor soul who’d had the misfortune of capturing his attention that day those blue eyes would stare at you accusingly. As though telling you this was all your fault.

When you walked into first period the next week and saw him on top of the teacher, throwing punch after punch in the man’s face you nearly fell backwards. It felt like another one of the nightmares you were now very prone to having of him attacking the student and you standing by, doing nothing to intervene. Those blue eyes flicked up to you as you finally managed to find your voice and scream for help.

A smirk twisting up those lips as he pulled back his fist and hit the man even harder than before, blood spraying onto perfect pale skin. He continued hitting the man long after he'd gone limp in his hold. Not taking his eyes off you even as he was dragged away by multiple other teachers.

You ran to the nearest bathroom, throwing up your breakfast and sinking down onto the ground. Entire body shaking as you remembered the look in those eyes. Like a cornered predator holding its head high even as it was torn to shreds.

For that incident he was suspended. It seemed even Gojo Satoru couldn’t get away with putting a teacher in the hospital but considering if it were anyone else they’d be in jail, you guessed his father had used his influence again. You hated the part of you that worried about the price Gojo must have paid for that interference.

For the next 2 weeks Gojo didn’t come to school. Slowly you stopped expecting to see him around every corner you turned and in every class you walked into. The owner of the supermarket stopped asking you to bring him back to attract customers and your mom stopped asking if you two had fought and when he'd come over again.

You went back to doing your schoolwork during your classes, eating your milk bread alone in the library during lunch. Walking to the supermarket, with your brain playing tricks on you and making you see flashes of a tall boy with white hair and impossibly blue eyes in your peripheral.

It was why when you heard a knocking on your door close to midnight on a Saturday, you didn't even suspect it would be Gojo. Being home alone so late at night you had no intention of opening the door. Clutching your phone, ready to call the police as the banging got progressively louder.

"What, now I can't even come around and visit?" You heard a familiar voice call out making you nearly drop your phone. You hurried to the door as he continued his banging, worried he was going to break your door.

You opened the door and there he stood. The dim streetlight illuminating his face as he glanced up from where he'd knelt down on your steps. Hood falling back and revealing his face that was covered in bruises. There was a cut across his eyebrow, edge of his jaw purple, lip split and a bandage over the bridge of his nose.

The smell of alcohol hit you as he got up to his feet, staggering slightly. Split lip pulling into a smile at the sight of you.

"What happened to you?" You asked and he was glad that you had finally dropped the uncaring act. Perhaps it was true what they said about distance making the heart grow fonder. Maybe you had spent all this time apart thinking of him just as his every thought had been consumed by you. No amount of fights or alcohol were helping. He didn't need any of that, he just needed you to feel better.

"Won't you invite me in?" He asked, ignoring your question. Wanting to see the worried look on your face a little longer. You probably thought his dad had done this to him. And well while he had a part to play, not all of it had been his dad. Just the lip really that had split when his dad backhanded him for making him abandon a deal and fly back home to set him straight. Threatening to cancel his cards and looking almost repulsed when that made Gojo start laughing manically.

He had flown back out the next day without making good on his promise. Clearly in no mood to do any actual parenting, either thinking him beyond help or believing the threat to cut him off to be sufficient.

You stepped back from the door giving him the space to enter. Unable to turn him away when he looked like he could barely stand up straight and had god knows how many more injuries. You were glad you let him in when he walked past and you caught sight of the blood that glinted red on the black hoodie he wore.

"Gojo what happened to your side?" You asked and he glanced down to the stained fabric as though just noticing it, lifting his hoodie and revealing a deep gash across his hip making you gasp.

"Jesus Gojo you need to go to the hospital." You said, rushing to follow him in and trying to catch him as he slumped back on the couch in a way that could not be good for his injury.

"Don't need anything else but you." He mumbled, reaching up to grab your hand while you were stood in front of him, legs trapped between his. Not noticing how close you had gotten in your worrying.

"I'm serious, I'm gonna call a taxi and let's take you to the hospital." You said, moving to step back but he tugged you down into his lap. Wrapping his arms around you to hold you down.

"Don't move, need this. Missed you so much." He mumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there. Your eyes widening at his actions.

"Gojo let go." You said, pushing at his arms around you but they wouldn't budge.

"Stop calling me that, acting like we're strangers." He whined, pressing kisses up your neck to your jaw. You panicked, shoving at his face. Accidentally hitting his injured nose and he let you go, winded from the pressure on the broken bone.

You scampered backwards out of reach, breathing hard. Glancing over at the door, wishing you had never let him in. He was drunk and completely out of control.

He was up on his feet by the time you glanced back at him and though you had been aware of how tall he was, you had never really noticed how much bigger he was than you before now. So much taller and broader than you. There was no competition when it came to strength. You could only hope you would be able to get through to him.

You stumbled back as he took a step forward, eyes darting down to your feet and back up to you. Pupils dilating as he zeroed in on his prey, each of his steps forward matched with yours trying to maintain the distance between the both of you.

You jolted in surprise as you felt your back hit something solid, taking a quick glance behind you to see you had reached the wall. But darling hadn't anyone ever told you never to take your eyes off the predator? He closed the gap between you the moment you turned your head, on you in a flash. Large hand grabbing hold of your jaw and you didn't even have time to try to pull away before he was crashing his mouth over yours.

Groaning at the taste of you, sweeter than he could have imagined. All the fantasies his brain tormented him with were nothing compared to the real thing. How soft and warm you felt under him, the smell of you that filled his senses. How perfectly your lips fit against his.

For a moment you were too stunned to move but as he licked over your lips to try to coax them into parting it was like you were kicked back into action. You pushed at him with all your might, fingers scrabbling against the solid mass of him for purchase. Soon you were running out of air and without any other options you bit down on his lip.

He pulled back with a laugh, swiping at his lip that you had torn again. Eyes catching on his blood that stained your mouth. Pretty lips slick with spit and his blood colouring them red on the side you had bitten him. Chest heaving with every breath as you watched him warily.

He saw you glance at the door a millisecond before you tried to lunge past him to get to it. But even when he was intoxicated you were no match for his reflexes, he pushed you back into the wall with ease.

Caging you there with both forearms leaned on either side of your head. He traced his thumb gently over your bottom lip, swiping his blood across it. Desperate for another taste.

You turned your head angrily and he tutted, tilting your face back towards him with a hand guiding your jaw. Careful not to apply too much pressure. Last thing he wanted was to hurt you. You looked so pretty with his blood on you but he had no intention of ever seeing your own, certainly not ever drawn by his hand.

"Don't touch me." You snarled.

"Don't be angry darling. I just missed you so much I couldn't help myself. I've wanted to do this for so long, longer than even I realized." Gojo murmured, eyes still tracked on your lips. Just wanting another taste but it had made you so angry the first time so he tried to hold himself back. You had no idea how much he had always been holding back for your sake.

"You disgust me." You spat making him freeze.

He didn't understand why you said all those hurtful things. It had ruined him to hear you say you never wanted to see him again but then tonight you'd let him in again. Been so worried over just a couple bruises and a cut that you had wanted to take him to the hospital in the dead of the night.

You had to be lying now too. It was such a terrible habit of yours. Lying about all these hurtful things, not knowing what it did to him.

"Don't say stuff like that." He admonished gently.

"You do, I wish I'd never met you." You said and he clenched his jaw. Trying so hard to hold back the rage he felt at being treated this way by the one he'd put above everything else.

"After what you did today, you mean nothing to me." You said and he slapped his hand over your mouth. Taking a long slow deep breath in and out to contain his anger.

"Enough." Gojo said quietly, glancing up to look into your widened eyes watching him, the understanding of the sort of situation you were in starting to settle in.

"What a terrible temper you have, saying all these hurtful things I know you don't mean." He said, taking his hand off your mouth to smooth your hair back from your face.

"Please leave." You asked quietly making him sigh.

"Why would I leave my pretty darling all alone this late at night?" Gojo asked softly, fingers playing with the tendrils of hair that fell across your cheek. Brows furrowing in confusion as a pearly drop slid down your cheek and it took him a moment to realize you were crying.

"No, no baby don't cry." Gojo cooed as he looked at your pretty eyes glassy with tears. He swiped his thumbs gently under your eyes, cupping your face between his hands and pressing the tenderest of kisses to your lips.

"It's been so hard on both of us being away from one another but I'm here now. I won't let them keep us apart anymore." He said, pulling you in close to his chest as you choked on a sob that broke free from your chest.

"Others have tried to get in your head haven't they? Telling you terrible things about me and trying to lure you away. My poor naive darling." He cooed and you steeled yourself to do what you had to in order to get away.

"Satoru." You called softly making him pull back to look at you. Eyes filling up with hope and a smile blooming on his face.

You reached up for him, carefully cupping his jaw within both your trembling hands. Keeping your eyes on his all the while you got up on the tips of your toes. Glancing down to your target and his eyes flickered down to your lips.

He leant down and you took the opportunity of finally having him the closest to eye level as you could to ram your head forward with all the momentum you could muster in that amount of space. Your head connected with his nose and an audible crack was heard that you were sure would ring in your ears for the rest of time.

Gojo stumbled back a step, hands flying to his nose. Not even understanding at first why his fingers were suddenly stained crimson until you shoved at his chest making him fall back on his bottom.

You darted for the door, fingers just grazing the door knob before your ankle was grabbed and tugged sharply, bringing you down. You cried out as you hit the floor, chin hitting the ground so hard it made your teeth rattle.

You were flipped onto your back as Gojo crawled on top of you, drops of the blood dripping from his nose dropping down onto you. You pushed and scratched with all your might, besides yourself with the need to get away but your wrists were caught in each of his hands and pinned down on either side of your head.

You sobbed beneath him, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head so you wouldn't have to see the horrifying image he made. Blue eyes lit up with the flame of his manic obsession, blood dripping down his nose past his lips and down his chin. Dropping onto your chest and splattering you with red.

"Why would you try to run from me darling? What have I ever done to you to make you act like this?" He asked, voice sounding so hurt as though he had any right to feel betrayed.

"Look at me." Gojo said but you kept your eyes squeezed shut. Hoping this was all a nightmare and you'd wake up soon.

"I said look at me." He said releasing one of your wrists to grab your jaw and force your head straight. Grip tightening until you complied, a fresh wave of tears swelling in your eyes at the sight of him.

"Fuck, look at what you've done to yourself." He muttered, gingerly stroking over your bruised chin making you flinch.

"Please let me go." You begged making his heart clench.

"I am never going to let you go. We belong together. Now come on, up on your feet. If we stay here they'll never stop getting between us. We have to leave." Gojo said, not waiting for you to comply. Rising up to his feet and forcefully pulling you up too by your hands.

"Now listen to me good darling, once we get outside I want you to keep your head down and stay quiet. If you so much as say a word to anyone, I'll kill them." Gojo warned, waiting till you nodded before pulling you in close and tucking you under his arm. Casting one last look at the only place that had ever felt like home to him before he ushered you out.

You stride over to the thermostat to crank up the heat. To your surprise, the screen displays an overwhelming blue, explaining the sudden coldness. You slide the dial high, until it turns a bright red and head back to lie down on the couch with your book.

After a few minutes, the cold seeps in again. You try your best to ignore it, curling up into a ball and tucking your legs under yourself. You don’t want to get up again. The leather couch is not helping your case. In fact, it’s actively making it worse.

“Cold Kitten?” Sylus’s smug voice calls out from the other side of the room. He seems completely fine. Content even. Watching you freeze to death as you’re curled up like a literal kitten. You huff and purposely ignore eye contact. Sylus seems ever more amused watching you try to conserve your heat in the bitter temperature.

Eventually, you can't take it anymore, so you stand up begrudgingly once again to head to the thermostat. It’s set to a cool blue yet again.

“Sylus, for all your boasting about your amazing house in the N109 zone, your heating system sucks.”

“Why don’t we use our body heat to warm us up Sweetie, hm?”

“Did you do this on purpose?” You phrase it like a question, but you know that Sylus is the one behind this. The dark red tendrils of his evol hover behind the thermostat like thieves hiding from police. You try to fiddle with the settings of the thermostat, but it remains frozen at the cold temperature.

You huff again and resign yourself to sitting on the cold couch in misery. Several minutes pass as the cold air runs over your skin, wrapping around your limbs until they stiffen. Your teeth slightly chatter and your hands shake until the book you were intent on reading is neglected.

You look up at Sylus. He’s wearing his signature slacks paired with a dark sweater. His legs are spread enticingly as he continues to polish the gun in his hand. You know for sure that his body heat will be more than enough to warm you up. He’s basically a heater personified. Whenever you both cuddled to sleep, it was common for you to wake up overheated.

You sigh. You can't believe you’re about to give in. But it’ll be worth it in the end, despite the teasing you know you’ll have to deal with. You stand up and stalk towards him.

“Sylus.”

“Yes Sweetie?”

You don’t answer as you sink down onto his lap like you own it, which you do, Sylus can attest to that. You wrap your limbs around him and bury your head into his comfy chest. His calming, natural scent and overwhelming warmth instantly cocoon you. Sylus wraps his muscled arms around your body, further warming you up. He presses a loving kiss to the top of your head as he blissfully cuddles you.

“You purposefully made it cold didn’t you?” You look up at him, chin digging to his chest.

“I did Kitten, but you weren’t talking to me no matter what I did. I had to do something.” Sylus crowed.

“Just say you’re needy next time,” you hide your smile in his neck, tightening your grasp around him. Previous pettiness floating away now that you and Sylus aren’t at odds anymore.

Caleb thinks life would have been easier had you been the cruel stepmother his nursemaids once told him and his siblings about. 

Ambitious, beautiful, a succubus in human form sent by the devil to corrupt weak men. Men who were vulnerable, like his Father. A lonely widower stuck with too many children, no proper lady, no partner, to look after them as he carried out his duties as the lord of a vast domain.

When he hears the word of his Father’s hasty remarriage in a rural town no one has ever heard of in the capital, he thinks you must have been a seductress. 

Instead, what arrives at the Xia estate is a slip of a girl, not even fully a woman yet. Too young, too soft-spoken, too naive still. Eighteen years old, country-side bred, a poor noble from a ruined house, you look more like a misplaced daughter rather than the scheming bride he imagined you to be.

You are two years younger than him, barely out of your teenage years and months into adulthood. Young enough that calling you stepmother sounds less like a title and more like a cruel joke his house insists on telling. 

Still, he thinks that maybe that was what attracted his Father to you. The way you look pure and innocent. He assumes that you wanted all of this, the Xia name, the wealth, the power, and the protection that comes with it.

He braces himself against you, puts up defenses, prepares himself to protect his inheritance and his younger siblings. He lets resentment fester in his veins as he thinks of the evil schemes you would do now that you are tied to his family. 

But like a fragile mirror, the illusion he held of you was never meant to endure. 

He realizes, too late, how wrong he had been. 

You were not a succubus made flesh, nor an ambitious country girl reaching outside her place. He would later learn, from whispers, that it was your parents, who brought your house to ruin by gambling away what little wealth remained, who sold you to his Father. That you had cried when you heard the news, pleaded with them not to give you to a man older than your Father.

You had only been kind. You didn’t attempt to flirt nor seduce.

You were only kind enough to approach a wealthy stranger you had found wandering by the field of violets by the roadside that you frequent. He had been so out of place in your quiet rural town, his expression clouded with trouble that you had naively asked if he was alright, and just like that his Father had been smitten. 

Later on, Caleb will shudder when he finds the truth of what that meeting meant to Lord Xia and how it completely shaped your future.

(Your kindness was what drew his siblings to you. Caleb had been convinced you were false, but you were the only one who saw them as human, children, not merely vulnerable, motherless heirs. You were gentle with them, overseeing their education where his father’s sisters had abandoned them, lingering only to savor his father’s favor and wealth.) 

You never told them you were sold, never once spoke of your fear of him. Instead, you romanticized the first meeting when telling the story to his younger siblings, who had been curious about how you first met him.

You had tried to make it beautiful, like a quiet love story for the ages, painting his Father as a benevolent man, a knight in shining armor who came to take you away from your poor, poor town, where your beauty and grace would have been wasted. 

(Caleb thinks that if his Father were a good man, he would have just taken you as a ward, sponsored your education, and let you live instead of trapping you in a gilded cage and called it love.)

Caleb does not understand it at first. 

Only that something about the way his Father looks at you unsettles him.

What Lord Xia feels is something else. It is an attention too precise and too constant. He watches the way you dress, corrects the way you speak, selects the colors you are permitted to wear as though arranging a display rather than suggesting a pretty dress for his young wife. He praises your beauty with the same care he once reserved for breeding horses and his curated collections. 

His hand is always at your waist. 

As though afraid that you might wander off if left unattended even for several seconds, as though you might forget where you belong, or to whom you belong.

When there are visitors at the estate, his Father’s touch lingers a bit longer. Fingers pressed in a deliberate familiarity as though guiding, claiming. Caleb notices how you try to move when he does, how you still when his Father stills, how you only breathe freely when his attention shifts elsewhere. 

It all feels wrong to him, but no one comments about it. 

That is what troubles him the most. 

At gatherings, his Father watches you as closely as guests do, perhaps even more. When they praise you, for your beauty, your grace, he smiles as though the praise belongs to him. When they address you directly, his attention sharpens. 

Once a guest, an old friend of his uncle, laughs and remarks that marriage must be demanding in its own way especially to a young woman like you, a country girl brought to manage a huge estate and plenty of children not your own. 

You smile in response. Polite and distant, a smile that does not reach your eyes. 

Caleb notices then, the shadows beneath them.

Gone was the unblemished and pretty face of the girl who first stepped inside the manor. Now, the skin beneath your eyes has darkened, like violets left too long in the cold. 

Later that evening, you wear a lower collar than usual, a gown he saw his Father gifting you in the morning and insisting you to wear tonight. Caleb sees the marks blooming along your skin - dark like violets, petaled and unmistakable. His Father notices the look they draw and seems pleased by them. Whether he notices Caleb also noticing them, Caleb cannot tell, nor does he think his Father cares what he thinks of them. 

At dinner, his Father jokes about devotion.

About how a good wife brings order to a man’s life.

About how marriage keeps a man young.

The words are indulgent and careless.

It drew laughter from the other guests, specifically men, while women tittered behind their fans as though scandalized. 

Caleb does not laugh.

He watches you instead. Sees the way your shoulders draw inward, sees your smile falter, then steady and sees the way his Father’s hand tightens briefly at your waist, a warning delivered without words.

The moment passes, no one notices, and conversation resumes, as though his Father had not just implied the happenings in his marriage bed with his wife who was young enough to be his daughter.

Caleb tells himself this is what marriage looks like. Convinces himself that has no right to judge what he has never experienced. 

Later, as you pass him in the corridor, your sleeve brushes his arm.

You flinch.

The reaction is small and barely there, but Caleb freezes all the same.

You recover quickly, apologize for bumping into him, and hurried away. You do not look back.

That night, long after the estate has quieted, Caleb finds himself unable to forget it.

Not the bruises, not the jokes, not the way his Father looks at you.

But the way you recoiled at the lightest, most accidental touch.

And for the first time in the few months of your marriage to his Father, the thought forms, unnamed and unwelcomed.

Whatever binds you to his Father is not held together by affection alone.

A few months later, the Xia estate wakes to absence.

At first, it is only noticed by the servants who attend you closely. Your chambers are untouched. Your bed lies smooth, cold, and unused. Your cloak is missing from its place in the wardrobe. A cup of tea left by one of the maids, gone cold, and sits where it was left the night before. 

By midday, the silence had settled into the walls. 

Lord Xia says nothing, as though nothing was amiss. 

He does not raise his voice. He does not scream, does not panic. He does not summon the household. Instead, he sends for a handful of his most trusted knights and gives them quiet orders behind the closed doors of his private chambers. 

The gates in the estate are watched. The roads are searched. The nearby towns combed with discretion. 

The estate hums with unease. 

Only a few servants know the reason, and fewer dare whisper it. 

Caleb learns by accident, from a hurried exchange by the head of the Xia knights in the corridors where they thought the Lord’s children would not pass through. He hears your name spoken too quickly, the word found followed immediately by not yet. 

He feels the cold settle in his chest before he understands why. 

You have run away. 

Caleb does not know the reason why, but he secretly finds himself preparing his horse, cloak pulled tight around his face as he follows the last batch of knights that leaves the estate to join the search. 

He does not ask where the search has gone nor can he claim that he truly knows you.

Instinct drives him to push on a road he believes you would take, guiding his horse away from the estate and out of sight of the knights he followed. Rain begins to fall and Caleb urges his horse forward. 

He rides through the worsening weather, along the roads that turned treacherous and slick by rain. 

For two days he searches every town nearby. By the third, the storm breaks in earnest. 

He finds you then, in a small town not far from the estate, sheltered in the home of an old woman who takes one look at him and leads him to you. You sit by the hearth when he enters, half-soaked and trembling, a tattered blanket around your shoulders, knees drawn close, hand clenched in your skirts as though holding yourself together by force alone. Dried tear tracks stain your face.

You look smaller than he remembers from the night before.

There was no relief in your face as you saw him, only blankness.

It unsettles him. 

The rain lashes against the windows and the thunder rolls overhead. 

Your breathing is shallow and uneven, as though you have not yet recovered from whatever panic drove you here. 

When Caleb speaks your name gently, you flinch. Then he sees it, the way you hand drifts, almost unconsciously, to your stomach. You notice his gaze and for a moment, you seem to consider saying nothing. Then you exhale slowly.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you whisper. 

Caleb does not respond. You do not look at him when you speak again, your eyes focusing on the flames in the hearth. 

“I was afraid.”

His eyes drop again to where your hand rests. He swallows as realization forms. 

“You are–”

You nod before he can even finish his sentence. There was a haunted look on your face when the brightness of the flames catches your features and Caleb is reminded how young you truly are. 

Something inside him splits open. 

The silence stretches and the storm outside fills the room for you. After a moment, you speak again, as though remembering something.

Your voice shakes as you tell him.

“There was an amethyst necklace that someone sent. They left it in my chambers.”

You stop yourself and seem to hesitate. 

“When he found it, he didn’t ask who sent it. He–”

“What did he do?”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but you recoil all the same, body twisting sideways as if bracing for a blow.

Then you seem to remember yourself.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, chuckling humorlessly.

The words land like a lie told for survival.

You do not speak of the punishment. You do not have to, Caleb sees the way you keep your hands folded, how carefully you hold yourself still, as though movement might invite more.

“I wanted to leave before it was too late,” you added as you straightened yourself. “Before I couldn’t.”

Caleb does not know what to say.

The urge to protect you rises suddenly and without reason. It terrifies him.

He hears the horses before he sees them.

Your head turns first.

“No,” you whisper.

Lord Xia enters the room as though he owns it, which, of course, he does. His gaze moves from the old woman, to Caleb, and finally to you.

It sharpens when he sees how close you are standing to his son.

Something dark passes through his eyes.

Not anger.

Something else.

“Come here,” he says.

His hand closes around your arm, tight and abrupt.

You gasp sharply. 

Caleb steps forward without thinking, setting himself between you and his Father, but Lord Xia stops him just as easily.

“Father—”

There’s a hand to his chest, firm and unyielding.

For a moment, they look at one another, Father to son.

Violet and violet.

There was something in his gaze that Caleb had not seen directed to him before.

“Step aside," his Father orders sharply.

His grip on you tightens.

“I’m tired,” you murmur, barely audible.

Then, the strength leaves you all at once.

Exhaustion finally claims what fear has kept upright. You collapse forward, and Caleb catches you instinctively, your weight sudden and real, your body warm and shaking in his arms.

For a brief moment, he holds you, then his father takes you back.

“Enough,” Lord Xia says, already turning away.

He does not look back at his son.

Caleb remains where he is, rain still beating against the windows, your warmth gone from his arms.

 He understands now that whatever has been done cannot be undone.

And that whatever he feels has come too late to be anything but wrong.

You are returned to the estate before dawn.

There are no announcements made, no explanations offered.

Only a quiet instruction passed through the household.

Lady Xia is tired and should not be disturbed.

His siblings look for you when your place at the breakfast table is empty and when your chambers remain locked. The explanation is repeated and unchanged.

Lord Xia does not raise his voice. He keeps a calm, collected demeanor, as if nothing strange or alarming has occurred the day before.

But his hand is always on you now.

Not merely guiding.

Not merely present.

Possessive in a way that no longer attempts subtlety.

You are kept close to him at all times. At meals, during walks, even within the privacy of the estate. When you move, he moves with you. When you stop, he stops you.

Caleb notices the change immediately.

Where once chance allowed brief moments of quiet, passing in corridors, shared silences at the edge of gatherings, now there are always witnesses. Knights stationed where they were not before. Maids who do not look at you so much as they watch the space around you.

Lord Xia does not forbid Caleb outright.

He does not need to.

When Caleb enters a room, his father is already there. When his father leaves, you leave with him. Conversations are shortened and paths that you once crossed are redirected with effortless authority.

Caleb understands then though not fully, but just enough.

His father has begun to see him.

The knowledge settles uneasily in his chest.

He tries to make sense of the pregnancy as well.

He knows what marriage entails, knows what is expected of a wife. He knows the duties spoken of openly and those never named. He tells himself this is not unusual. That this is simply how things are done. His mother bore children and so did every woman before her.

And yet…

There is an urgency to your pregnancy he does not understand. 

His father does not need heirs. He already has them. Caleb and his siblings exist. The succession is secure and the line will continue regardless. This pregnancy comes too quickly, your marriage to his Father has not even marked a year yet. 

So why the secrecy?

Why the panic when you ran?

Why the tightening of control now, as though something or someone might steal you?

Caleb cannot reconcile it.

He thinks of the amethyst necklace you told him about. A gift that was not given by his father. He does not know who sent it. He does not know why it mattered.

Only that it did.

Only that it was enough to frighten you. And it was enough to warrant punishment. Enough to provoke a reaction from his father that bordered on fury. Enough to scare you.

Was that the reason you ran away?

But Caleb understands then that it was never about the necklace itself.

It was about his Father’s ownership of you.

Caleb does not name what follows.

It begins as restlessness, as irritation he cannot place.

He finds himself listening for footsteps that are not meant for him, starts counting the days by how often he sees you, and resenting himself for noticing when he does not.

You move more slowly now.

The change is subtle, but unmistakable. There’s a pause before you stand. There’s a hand braced against the back of a chair. The servants now adjust their pace to yours without comment.

No one speaks of it openly. No one needs to.

Caleb tells himself this is not his concern, that it is not his place to comment. He was young when his mother was pregnant with his siblings. Perhaps this is simply how it looks when the lady of the house is with child.

And yet, his father behaves as though something might still be lost.

Caleb begins to recognize the pattern.

Not in what is said, but in what is prevented.

He notices how often moments end before they begin. How his proximity is interrupted or prohibited. How attention, his attention, is quietly redirected.

He becomes aware that his presence changes the shape of rooms.

This unsettles him more than he expects.

He catches himself watching for signs of fatigue as the pregnancy progresses. Counting how often you sit. Noticing when you do not finish your meals. He hates himself for it. Tells himself this is familiarity mistaken for concern.

It does not stop.

Once, he hears his father laugh about devotion again. About how a wife must endure discomfort for the sake of family. The words are careless, spoken to others, not meant for him.

Caleb feels something sharp settle in his chest.

He wonders, briefly, if you feel it too.

He wonders what it costs you to endure what his Father has done to you.

The thought follows him longer than it should.

There are days when he does not see you at all. 

Those days are worse. 

He tells himself he prefers distance. That it is safer. That whatever is forming will quiet itself if he denies it opportunity.

It does not.

When he does see you, it is always from a distance. Always across rooms. Always across tables. Always surrounded by others. Your gaze never lingers. When it does meet his, it is brief and careful, as though even acknowledgment is dangerous.

Caleb understands then that whatever has taken root inside him is already forbidden.

Not because of desire, but because it is care. Care for you, for your well-being and for the child you carry.

And now his father now watches him with the same careful interest he once reserved for you.

The thought arrives unbidden and unwelcome.

I want to save you and take you somewhere he cannot see nor find. 

The realization frightens him.

He does not pursue it.

He tells himself restraint is a virtue, that keeping his silence is safe, for you, for his siblings, for him, and for the child.

That wanting nothing is the same as being innocent.

The lie does not hold.

It is his father’s absence that creates the opening.

Only for one afternoon, only long enough for the estate to forget itself. The corridors loosen the security, the tension eases by a fraction.

Caleb does not intend to look for you.

He only intends to check on his siblings and that is how he finds you in the nursery.

The room is dim, the curtains drawn just enough to soften the afternoon light. His youngest siblings sleep, sprawled and warm, their breathing uneven. You have just finished settling them. One blanket adjusted, one small hand tucked safely beneath it.

You move carefully.

When you turn and see him, you gasp and still. The surprise passes quickly.

You do not flinch.

“They finally slept,” you say quietly, smiling faintly.

He nods.

You look tired.

The pregnancy has altered you in ways Caleb cannot pretend not to see. There is a fragility to you now that sharpens his awareness, not with longing, but with consequence.

You sit for a moment, just to rest.

Caleb remains standing.

The silence between you is borrowed, temporary, both of you know it.

“They ask about you,” you say. “When you’ll come by again.”

He swallows.

Your hand drifts, absentminded, to your stomach. It is more visible now than several months ago.

“They’ll be born soon,” you add.

It is not a question.

“Yes,” he says.

You hesitate, then speak, as though the thought escaped before caution could stop it.

“I hope they have your eyes.”

He looks at you.

“They are the most beautiful shade of violet I have ever seen.”

You say it simply, without calculation nor fear. 

For the first time in his life, Caleb is not being compared to his father. You don’t say it like the servants, like the other nobles in Philos, or like the people of Skyhaven.

The realization lands softly, and then all at once.

You seem to realize it too. Your expression immediately shifts. Not to regret, but to caution.

You quickly glance toward the door as though those words had summoned his Father.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” you murmur.

Caleb shakes his head, small and uncertain. 

“It’s fine,” he says.

It is not.

One of the children stirs and you rise at once, instinctive and gentle. You hum softly and smooth their hair. 

The moment closes.

You pass Caleb on your way out. Your sleeve brushes his arm.

You do not flinch.

But you do not linger either.

When you are gone, the nursery feels unbearably quiet.

Caleb remains where he is, surrounded by sleeping children who know nothing of the world waiting for them.

He understands now. Too late to retreat, too early to act.

He understands now that what has taken root inside him is not hope.

It is something he was never meant to feel.

Caleb does not want to leave the estate, not yet, not when you are close to giving birth. 

But he accepts the invitation anyway. 

Gideon has been his friend since childhood, and he is simply not another lord-in-waiting like Caleb is, it is a royal summon from the Crown Prince to his dearest and closest friend. But even then, as a subject, Caleb cannot refuse without reason nor consequence. 

He rides for the capital with dread settling heavily in his chest.

He thinks of you. 

Of the locked doors in the estate, of the corridors littered by knights, of how easily a cage can be moved when no one is watching. The thought of his Father moving you to another place, another manor that he does not know when Caleb is away fills him with fear.

He tells himself you will still be there when he returns, but he doesn’t quite believe it. 

The palace remains unchanged back when he last saw it.

Gold and marble, light still spilling in through the tall glass windows. Gideon greets him with warmth and claps his shoulders and drags him through the palace, through a narrow passage known only to the royal family. 

He begins to ramble on about trivial things, of the hunts Caleb missed, the most recent court gossip, of how dull everything feels without Caleb here. 

Caleb barely listens. 

It is the portrait that stills him.

He stops so abruptly Gideon is already two steps ahead before noticing.

It hangs in a quiet gallery Caleb does not remember entering before, set apart from the others. The late empress is painted in half-profile, her posture composed, her expression unnaturally serene.

Her eyes are violet. 

Not bright nor vivid. It was deepened by shadows and age, like the violet flowers you had pressed between the pages for the children. The color has softened with time, but it has not faded. 

Caleb realizes he has stopped breathing.

His chest aches as he draws in air.

And yet, he cannot look away.

It’s the shape of her face, the line of her jaw, the stillness in her expression. 

She is wrong in the ways you are not, but you are her in the flesh, like something reborn imperfectly, recast. 

Remembered incorrectly. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”  Gideon says lightly, coming to stand beside him. His eyes, so close in color to the portrait’s, flick briefly upward.

“She would have aged beautifully, I think. Had she lived past my birth.”

Caleb does not answer.

His fingers curl against his palm without him noticing.

“My father says she was beloved,” Gideon continues, unaware of his friend’s inner turmoil, “Not just by him.”

Caleb turns slowly to face his friend.

“They were friends, once. My father and yours,” Gideon says. “Both close to her. Both very young and very serious.”

Gideon laughs softly as though remembering something fond.

“They competed for her hand, you know. For her affection and for marriage as well.”

Something cold slides down Caleb’s spine.

“My Father won, of course,” Gideon goes on. “He stayed for her. He fought for her. He choose love.”

There is a pause, thoughtful.

“Your father…” Gideon hesitates, thoughtful. “Acted for duty. For his house.”

The words settle, heavy and final.

Gideon does not notice the way Caleb’s jaw tightens.

“My mother came from a minor house,” he adds. “Not wealthy. Not powerful. She was beautiful, though, and gentle. People always forget that part.”

Caleb hears blood rush in his ears.

He thinks of the violet field by the roadside, of the amethyst necklace, of everything his Father did after the marriage. From the dresses to the lessons. 

He thinks of the way his father watches you, as though waiting for something to align

And something inside him recoils.

This is not coincidence.

This is not love.

The realization does not arrive cleanly, it fractures.

You are not wanted for who you are.

You are wanted for who you resemble.

A second attempt at a woman who chose another man.

A punishment disguised as devotion.

A living vessel for something already dead.

Caleb remembers the way his father looked at you standing too close to him that night months ago.

Now he understands.

He has never been a son at that moment.

His own Father had seen him as a rival.

Caleb excuses himself shortly after. Gideon does not stop him.

That night, alone in the guest chambers, Caleb does not sleep.

He thinks of you.

Of how you would never leave if he asked. Not for yourself. Not with a child. Not when the cost would fall on his siblings.

On him.

You will endure.

You always have.

The thought is unbearable.

For the first time, Caleb considers what it would take to end this.

Not escape.

Not distance.

Not patience.

An ending.

The idea does not frighten him as much as it should.

Because now he understands what his father calls love.

And he knows that as long as that love exists,

you will never be free.

⚜ a/n: this fic drained me tbh, i already made a draft and wrote and rewrote it several times before but when it came to finally editing the whole thing, everything seems off and it doesn't convey what i wanted to convey. so idk if this still feels like the og draft that i wrote.

anyway, i am a huge fan of a stepmother's marchen and while i am a norah x shuri lover, i am also in love love love with jeremy. like shuri you can have norah, but can I please have jeremy :]]]] the very og draft was supposed to have caleb as norah and while making the outlines, i thought that he kind of fits jeremy more? then the idea just spiraled into what if johanne was even more obsessed with ludovica? so i apologize if i added dark elements here. i was really trying to portray horror/dark fairytale/helplessness in caleb's part as well as the reader's. however, idk if i did it well or i gave it justice. so i am sorry if this quality is just me.

i also have like 3-4 drafts of caleb angst in my docs? westworld au part 2 just needs some editing and will be posted soon.

please note, unbeta'd and unedited.