𖤐Beau𖤐

春

To be plucked, nurtured, raised, and presented on a platter all for the sake of securing someone's position for the throne. To be placed beside said person and never used. To be nothing more than a tool perfected only to be abandoned before use.

Your lashes flutter as you wander around the palace, pausing to stare at the lotus in the pond, and you ponder the whereabouts of your betrothed. The wind flutters behind you as you stare pitifully at the lilypads, stepping down from the path and onto the grass to touch the water. The dress around your body is tucked behind you by a maid as your fingers brush the water, and you pause, heart rippling in your chest. Something. Anything. You have fulfilled your duty as the most ideal woman in the palace, and now you were to be wed and desired. Yet, one whom you were prepared for did not desire you.

You stay crouched by the pond, and the maids to the other palaces bustle behind you as you stare into nothing.

A quiet woman is to be desired. A gentle woman is to be adored. An obedient wife is every man's dream.

You get up after a while, and you stare at the robes on your body. Pink for the lotus flowers. You wonder how many times you have worn the dresses prepared by the late empress for her ideal daughter in law only to never have been seen by the man you were nurtured for. You hear word of your betrothed and his new maid, and you hear tales about how he desired her and approached her with all these thoughts in mind. You cannot help but wonder what you were created for prior to being picked by the empress.

The wind rustles the leaves above you as you get up, and someone bangs a pot in the background.

Somewhere, there is a rope fraying.

You step back onto the pathing, and you head off to continue wandering. You know the path, each stone and slot of wood stained with a memory that you could never erase from the back of your mind. In your palace that you are to share with your betrothed, there is something staining your fingertips and heart. In the palace of your future and past, there is a drop of your sweat on each tile and piece, each plank and pillar, every color and china. In the palace of the present, you embody everything you can touch and feel. Your skin and body lives in the palace, a shell for your hollow heart.

You wonder if your courses on decorating a house according to what is best for fengshui were helpful. What was the point of decorating a residence if your betrothed never visited you? You wonder and think, fingers swiping to check the maids' cleaning, and you leave the room to return to your tea room, enjoying a cup of tea. You plant so many flowers only to never be visited. You decorate each room to perfectly only to be never seen. You fan yourself with your hand, almost as though you were fanning such pointless thoughts away. A house is to represent its owner. It is not a shell for your hollow heart, it is an abode that will be filled with love one day.

It is an abode that will be filled with love one day, an abode that is currently hollow.

You retire for the night, and the maids leave you to rest as Jinshi enters his corner of the palace, lashes fluttering and his heart souring as he looks at you with something akin to pity. He brushes your hair to the side as he looks down at you, closing his eyes to listen to the summer breeze whisper secrets of his into his ear. The flowers blossom outside, and his shoulder sink, his head heavy as you breathe quietly without a care in the world.

His bride to be.

His wife to be.

A girl picked carefully out of a field and nurtured to be the greatest empress one day. he pities you. You will never be chosen, and it hurts him that you were promised something you could not have nor be loved by. He glances around the room at the decorations, and he hums, lips curled into a sweet smile. It's homey. It's clear you had put thorough thought into where you were told you were to spend your future with him in, but it hurts him that he would not be here with you in the future. Too selfish to throw you away, yet too selfish to fall in love with you.

His heart belongs to someone else.

So, as he slides the door shut behind him to head back to his room, he can't help but wonder what is to become of you when he finally marries someone else. Perhaps you will find yourself, or maybe you will become a shell of what you were made to be, hollow from the inside out and unsure of what to do with the rest of your life. To be a doll and to be grown all for his sake only to be never touched... Jinshi wonders if you know what you want to do if you were to have had a choice in the matter. You did not pick to be as delicate as a flower, after all.

The moon is gorgeous, just a shame that he could not make you the center of his affections.

So Jinshi leaves, wind rustling the tree you planted in your sixth year of life's branches, the lotus flowers planted recently bobbing in the water as the pond rustles from the goose lands on the water, and he closes his eyes, listening to the crickets and noticing the lights in the hallway. A maid nods at him as he passes, and the wood of the residence creaks under his feet, almost as if to warn him to stay away if he would only hurt you.

It was neither of you's choice to end up where you are.

So his only choice made will be to pick his wife.

夏

In summer, you swap the warmer blankets to silk, and you change the coloring to something brighter. It did not matter if Jinshi did not visit you. It only mattered that the residence were still run like a residence. So, the maids swap everything out as you are left to your own again, and you wear lighter clothes, drinking tea alone in your tearoom as you watch the ducks kick in the pond. The residence lacks life. You have no child as you are unmarried, and you are stuck in some sort of crossroad of destiny as you wait for your betrothed to do something.

He does not want you. You know that at the very least.

So, you spend your days drawing, brush wet against the paper as you draw, and you spend your days singing, hoping that somewhere along the lines, you would find something that made you shine in a glass cage. You are nothing if Jinshi does not treasure you. Yet, you do not speak or dare to make more of a sound whenever the maids from the other palaces drop by to request of your presence for their consorts. You are something. You are worth something. You are only worth something because you are still Jinshi's most anticipated betrothed. Yet, all the consorts know that you are not the ideal choice.

You glance at Maomao, lips spreading into a smile as you greet the consort Gyokuyou.

You have tea with her, updating her about the latest news that her maids cannot reach, and you blink at the flower in the tea, smiling apologetically as you ask if you could share another drink. Your eyes trail to her developing baby bump, and you switch topics to how her health has been lately. She tells you it has been fine. A green tea is brought in, and you press the drink to your lips as she continues talking to you.

"Ah, did you hear? Your betrothed has recently taken in a new maid."

"I know." You smile, eyes landing on Maomao. "I heard he had been making unwelcome moves on her as well."

Maomao nods.

"Well, the man's want needs to be placed somewhere." She smiles. "I do hope you take no offense in that."

You laugh. "None taken. He does not want me. I am aware of that much."

Maomao looks at you almost with pity. You do not mind, much used to the look already. Neither of you chose to end up where you currently are. You suppose the difference between her and you is that she is knowledgeable in something specifically while you are knowledgeable in everything generally. It is who you are, and it is who you were raised to be. There is no you without the title of betrothed attached to it. You will be forced to live how you were raised unless you had a reaction and changed. What is there to change in an unchanging environment? Even if you were to change, there would be no difference around you. You are born and raised to be Jinshi's wife. That is all you ever will amount to.

"Then, what do you suppose will happen?"

"The betrothal is simply a formality." You smile bitterly. "I shall simply wait for him to break it."

"He is far too selfish to let go of you."

Your gaze averts to the teapot on the table. "I know."

"Do you truly wish to stay here forever?"

There is no amount of improvement you could pour into yourself to possibly be set free from the palace. You are Jinshi's betrothed. You have been his betrothed, and you will continue to be his betrothed. You have never belonged to yourself as one would have belonged to themselves. You were simply created to be a person that was never your person. You are everything to be desired by the noble worth nothing to the people. You were groomed, grown, nurtured, and ruined for the sake of someone who would never touch you. You are a porcelain doll trapped in a wooden cage with the key around your neck.

You are worth nothing without your title of betrothed.

You have been taught to never escape even when given the chance. You are not to touch the key around your neck. For if you don't, you will be rewarded with riches beyond the comprehension of the common man. For if you don't, the boy you were coerced to crush on will look back at you for once. For if you don't, the world will be a better place all thanks to your small sacrifice. You are to hold the earth up to the sky and die in order for everyone else to live. Then, you will be remembered for the rest of your life.

You are an obedient doll on display for the dignity of the royal dynasty.

"So?"

You laugh dryly. "Where else do I have to go?"

A nameless bride from a nameless family. A dressed up doll on display.

The consort's face weakens in pity.

You can only smile bitterly at her.

There is nothing else you can do. There is no one else you can rely on. You have the key around your neck but you do not know how to use it.

That night, you return to your room, resting on your bed under the summer warmth, silk cool against your skin as the moon shimmers, stars twinkling as you grimace, heart heavy in your chest. You are not loved. You are not loved, nor chosen, nor cherished. You were picked from an empty field and nurtured to become someone you were not simply because there is never a person you were. You are put into the skin of another because you do not have your own. You will never be yourself is there was never a you to begin with. You will never know the warmth nor happiness of being your own person. All you know is to devote yourself to Jinshi.

All you know is that in a field of flowers, you will never be picked by the one you were grown for.

秋

Colored leaves detach from the branches during the season of fall. You change back to warmer blankets, clothing a little more warm, and you arrange for the incense scents to be changed to something else. The bedding becomes thicker, the colors become redder, and you watch the flowers around the residence lose life with each day. The winter is getting colder, and your heart is only further breaking, cracking ever so slightly with each creak of the wood when you step around the place. You are not loved— not by the maids, nor by your soulmate. You are not loved.

You do not have a soulmate.

It is painfully evident when you visit the noble consorts, lips curled into a sweet smile when you drink tea with them. It is painfully obvious when the emperor refuses to let you leave Jinshi when you bring it up as a joke. You are not allowed to do anything in the palace. You are handed a key as a necklace but you do not leave. You are the display at the center of a traveling performance crew. You are a doll that will never be purchased because of your value. A doll that will never be touched because you are too prideful to offer yourself to anyone who is not Jinshi.

The sun may rise and set and the stars may twinkle and sparkle, but you will never be worth anything in the eyes of Jinshi. You are worth nothing. In the eyes of the emperor, you are worth nothing. In the eyes of the other consorts, you are a pitiful child that will be inevitably thrown away. In the eyes of Maomao, you are Jinshi's unfortunate betrothed whom she wishes he would pay more attention to. In the eyes of your maids, one day Maomao will take over as the owner of the residence and you will be left behind. You do not matter in the eyes of anyone.

Somewhere in the distance, a rope frays further.

Somewhere in the distance, in another universe, in every universe, you are cursed to love and never be loved. You are forced to hold the hand of a man who does not want you. In this universe and every other one, you are stuck wallowing in self-hate, pitied for the way you are treated, despised for being the one who stands next to your husband. You are not a person. You exist only as a shell to embody other people. You will never be yourself. In every other universe and yours, you will be the shell that a hermit moves into only to be abandoned when they outgrow you. You will never be someone of value.

You call the maids to remove the tea, and you wander out into the streets of the capital.

Warm colors of red yellow and orange litter the streets with each step you take, and you purchase a quick snack, chewing on the sugar as you consider how you would need to starve yourself in order to lose the weight gained from the sugar. It makes you sick. You do all these things because you were conditioned for no outcome. You love Jinshi with your whole heart only for him to be in love with someone else. You cannot compare to her. She cannot compare to you. You are too different from her. You wonder if Jinshi simply desired a woman who could not be attained. You were too easy. Too simple. You were created and made in order to be perfect for him.

You purchase peanut treats, chewing on the treat as you watch the sun start to set.

A maid tells you it's time to go home.

You only nod.

You stare at the courtesans in the brothels, and then at your own skin. Perhaps that would be a way out. Perhaps if it were ever to come to it, you would pick that. It is not undignified. You would be sold for a good price, and you would have a rich husband. Perhaps the only downturn would be that the man would sleep with you day and night, but you wonder if that would be better than the bitter loneliness that your years of solitude have left you with. Perhaps you would be worth something in the eyes of another man if you just let go of your pride. Perhaps you would be of worth.

You are just an empty shell, after all.

You find yourself stuck in place as you blink quickly, realizing there are tears on your cheeks and splattering onto your chest. Your maid hands you a handkerchief, and you wipe them away, wiping again and again and again until the fabric is drenched and you no longer can wipe your tears. You stay like that, an anomaly in a bustling street of happy people, your emotions tucked behind your mind as your eyes form a mind of their own as you cry. You are not sad. You do not know how to feel sad. You only know how to cry. You are a doll. You should not know how to cry. You were erased of that ability years ago.

Yet, the tears do not stop, and you cry until the sun is no longer visibly, tears splattering still even when they wash you up for the day. It makes you unwell. It makes you feel sick. You should not know anything so unbecoming of a lady like this. You should not know how to cry. You should only know how to smile and wait for your betrothed to come home. You should not know how to be human. You should not know anything in this wretched world other than the happiness that being married could bring you.

So, as the maids clean you up and let you rest for the night, you dream of a happy marriage with Jinshi.

It is the only thing you know, after all.

冬

Winter comes and you dress warm. The fur rests on your shoulders as you sit down for tea with Consort Ah-Duo, wine pressed to your lips as she lets out a heavy sigh.

"It is a pleasure to receive your visit." You smile.

"Jinshi, that child, he's quite the handful, isn't he?" She gets straight to the point, mumbling. "Had I been more upfront about it, perhaps I could have stopped your demise."

You laugh, lips curled into a bashful smile as you try to hide it with your sleeve, but Ah-Duo sees right through you.

"You are hurt."

"It is hard not to be." You hum, letting your sleeve down as you stare at the drink. "But I have grown used to it."

"The residence must be empty without a master."

You shake your head. "I have grown used to it."

"I could ask the emperor to give you to me." She offers, hand held out to you.

You turn her down. Your role in this world is not to be a servant to the late consort. Your role in the world was already predestinated. It is fate for you to end up with Jinshi in every universe. "I would become a servant. That is not my role in the palace."

Ah-Duo grimaces. "Is your role to wait until Jinshi is forced to throw you away?"

You laugh, lips curled into a gentle smile this time. You do not bother hiding this one. She shakes her head in disagreement, but she does not speak up. You are stuck in your role just as she is stuck in hers. She has retired from the main palace now. You will retire from being Jinshi's betrothed when he deems it fit. You will not be the decider of your fate.

"Let us drink. I missed this."

You are her daughter just as Jinshi is her son. You are the child she watched grow up in another consort's palace, your pinky linked with Jinshi's when the two of you were scared of official events, your shoulders straightening through the years as your education furthered, until you were an undeniable presence in the royal court, your words like law, just and righteous as you argued against the old men who would stop at nothing to prove a woman like you wrong. You are her daughter the same way Jinshi is her son. You are her daughter simply because you grew up with her son.

"I did too." You press the wine to your lips, bitterness sliding down your throat as you swallow, that faux happiness dropping almost instantly. You are not a lightweight. You are trained to drink well in order to talk to guests well. You despise it. You have learned that. You have learned to despise things.

You despise yourself.

You despise the people who pity you.

You despise the maids who whisper behind your back about how you would be replaced one day.

"I do not expect you to forgive Jinshi." Ah-Duo speaks. "I would not forgive him either."

"There is no forgiving to be done. He is simply making his own choices." You nod as the maid refills your drink. "I am not a woman to be desired by him. He is the type to pick a chicken leg over an abalone. He is the type to pick a stick rather than a flower. I am simply what the late empress thought of as desirable to him but ended up not to be. I am not something that Jinshi believes is desirable in his eyes. It is that simple."

"You are desirable." The consort refutes you. "You are educated in everything there is to educate someone in. You are smarter than the majority of eunuchs and workers in the palace. You are someone who is the most desirable person there is to be. Your worth does not lie on Jinshi alone."

"That is what I have been conditioned to believe."

"It is not the truth. Ah-Duo presses the liquor to her lips. "You are just as much of a person as Jinshi is. Perhaps, because of your upbringing, you are more noble than him in antics."

"He is more noble than I." You shake your head. "He is more noble simply because his position allows for him to make his own decisions regardless of who he hurts in the process."

"You may make your own as well." She hums. "Regardless of who you hurt in the process."

"I do not know how to do that." You close your eyes, exhaling. "I am not someone with that capability. I must carry the weight of being unwanted for the dignity of the royal family. I am the doll created to keep the royal family desirable. I am an exotic flower planted in a field of domestic ones, dying to be picked, only to never be touched."

"That is a lie." Ah-Duo frowns. "You are not a doll. You are just a girl."

You laugh. "I am not just a girl."

"You are just a girl." She repeats herself, staring into your eyes. "You are a just a girl. You are a girl who does not deserve anything that is happening to her. You are a girl who was picked out of the hundreds of thousands of girls abandoned on the streets because your family could not afford to raise a girl. You are not a flower curated for the betterment of a boy who would never pick you. You are a girl, not a flower. not a doll."

Your eyes do not waver, and you break the silence with another dry laugh.

"I am a doll on display with the key around her neck." You smile. "But I thank you."

You miss the way her features soften with the pity you despise.

春

When spring comes back, you watch the merchants bring in new silk and the streets fill in with the season's specials. You pick out the fruit and ingredients for the newer dishes, testing them out after they are made, and nodding in approval for them to be tasted by the rest of the consorts. Maomao helps you compile a list of ingredients that are not healthy or safe, and you look through them. Then, you send the ingredients out to the rest of the palace alongside the supplier.

Some days, you forget that you are an existence. Some days, you forget you have influence in the palace.

"Madam, what about this one?"

You turn to Maomao, and she shakes her head.

"No." You reject right away.

You wonder what made you change your mind about Maomao. You suppose it is pity that you do not have to give. You pity her for having to put up with Jinshi. Yet, it is not something you worry about for the time being. You squat down as you take your feet out of your shoes, grimacing at the sores on your feet from the shoe size that is too small.

Maomao takes note of it, shaking her head.

"You do not bind your feet, but you force them to stop growing."

"It is no different." You smile. "Your feet remain unbound, do they?"

"They do. I have no need to bind them. Granny did not request of it either."

"That checks out." You smile. "I do not bind them but keep my shoe size small out of my own volition.

"You should stop doing that." She pauses. "Not to sound presumptuous, but shoe size does not matter to Jinshi."

You blink, eyes going wide in amusement as you laugh. "You are as straightforward as the maids warn me."

Maomao bows her head in apology.

"Don't worry about it." You smile. "You are to be the lady of this residence soon, after all."

"I do not wish to." She shudders. "Ever since he... I do hope he regains interest in you."

"There is no way he was interested in me in the beginning." You hum. "It is really that simple."

"You have stopped deluding yourself—" Maomao slaps a hand over her mouth. "Apologies."

You laugh more, lips pulled into a wide laugh. "I quite like you."

She blinks at you cattily. "Please do not."

You shrug. "I understand why Jinshi would find you entertaining. I heard he proposed to you. One of the maids overheard it."

"I do not want him, if that soothes you. It is an honest statement as well." Maomao nods.

"I know that much." You hum. "Unfortunately, men in power tend to coerce women for their gain. If you do not wish for it, you may always let me know. I hold little power over Jinshi, but I hold heavy power over the words heard by these walls."

"You are powerful." She points out. "Yet you are so empty."

"So I've been told." You hum. "Those go over there. Keep that one away from the pure consort. She is unable to have those."

"Yes madam."

"Is there a reason you lack?"

"I do not know how to be anything but empty." You shake your head. "It is one of the many reasons Jinshi does not desire me."

"I believe he seems parts of you in me."

"No." You reject the idea near immediately. "We are not similar to that degree. Jinshi does not have the brain to think of us in that way. He is better than his father."

"The late emperor."

"The dead one."

Maomao shudders. "Children."

"Those poor children." You snort. "I was almost one of them."

"You are not that old."

"The late emperor saw me in the same way he saw the late empress. He was on his last years when the late empress took me in and raise me beside Jinshi." You shake your head. "Had I been born just a little earlier, I would have been sent in as a poor girl to be defiled by the emperor."

Maomao grimaces. "Did you fall in love with Jinshi at first sight?"

"No. I had just been taught that the only man I should look at is Jinshi." You hum. "Halt. What is that?"

The merchant shows you the signed form and hands you a sample, and you frown at the taste, handing the other half to Maomao.

"No."

"You heard her. No." You wave the merchant off, and he gasps, frown on his face.

"It is incredible." Maomao looks at the guards drag the man away. "A single word from you is the equivalent of a royal decree."

"The late empress had this power bestowed on me, after all." You mumble. "I am not someone who has ever had power that belonged to me."

"Can you eat poison?"

"The vast majority of them." You hum. "I was fed them while growing up."

"You seem to be everything at once. You are constituted with all the knowledge there is to offer, yet you are empty inside."

"I am composed of materialistic things." You hum. "I am composed of knowledge. I am the closest thing to perfection, I suppose. Whatever that means."

"A subjective perfection of the late empress regnant."

"Yes." You laugh. "I am a shell created to hold things. I am not constituted of anything that makes a person a person."

"Other than the physical features, I suppose." Maomao mumbles. "Yet, you are quite the enigma. You have a personality and something. You are like a dam that is waiting to explode. You are a pot of medicine simmering, waiting to boil over and become what you need to be. Ah. My apologies. I must have come off as rude."

You shake your head, lips in a smile. "So? Did you understand what to do?"

"I did." She nods. "My greatest appreciations for you for showing me. I hope I never have to take over this position."

You only laugh.

That is inevitable. The pin had already been passed on to her, after all.

But as your eyes trail to her and then to yourself, you wonder. Perhaps the two of you are just parallels of each other.

Maybe you are.

Who knows.

夏

In summer, you see Maomao again, going for tea with consort Gyokuyou.

"I missed you." She smiles. "Sit."

"How is the baby?"

"Good." She nods. "Ah. Your shoes have changed."

You smile. "You can thank your maid for that."

"They must be much more comfortable."

"Yes." You nod. "I will never be desired by Jinshi, yet he will never throw me away, so I may as well give myself a little more leeway."

"That is good. "She smiles. "The new dish you approved for eating was delicious, for your reference."

"I'm glad." You smile. "Maomao helped make that one."

"Oh, really? I am so lucky to have such a capable maid next to me." She giggles.

"Yeah." You hum, lips curled into a smile. "She's great. I'm sure she'd make for a great lady of the house."

"Are you to leave?"

"You heard of the proposal, yes?"

She doesn't react, but that itself is an answer.

"It is only a matter of time." You hum.

"I speak for all the consorts, but we will miss you."

"Thank you." You smile pitifully. "I am grateful for your care over the years."

"We are grateful for your management." She smiles. "So? Have you planned for where to go?"

"The streets." You wink at her, laughing.

She does not reciprocate, and you stop your laughter, eyes closed and lips pulled into a smile as you hum. "It's a secret. Though, I will be around."

"Will you?"

"You will see me in the trees, the breeze, and the wheat." You hum. "I will be in the wind, the sky, the clouds. You will see traces of me everywhere, simply because my blood and sweat has been poured into the imperial palace."

"Perhaps it is time for you to be freed." She hums, lips pulled into a smile. "A journey for the self."

"Rather than that." You hum. "Perhaps it is simply time to let go of Jinshi."

"Does the empress still haunt you?"

"No." You hum. "I am slowly unlearning the need for a husband."

"Then you will become a courtesan?"

"Perhaps I shall simply be employed as a maid instead." You mumble. "I would not be against such."

"Dress as a man and become an assistant." She laughs.

You smile. "Perhaps that is my new role in this narrative."

"Or, perhaps it is simply time for you to be freed from the grasps of the palace." She smiles. "Please take care of yourself."

"I will. After all, I am still a doll for the royal family."

"Darling. You are just a girl."

You do not answer to it this time.

秋

In fall, you have tea with Maomao.

The two of you sit in your tearoom with snacks, and she looks around anxiously, almost as if she were worried about something pouncing on her.

"There have been more assassination attempts on Jinshi lately." She mumbles.

"And you?"

"and I." She mumbles. "I do not understand why."

"Perhaps the emperor is making a move." You hum. "Or perhaps it is one of the consorts."

"I do not know." Maomao mumbles. "It is almost as if it were the calm before the storm."

You hum. "There is a storm brewing, alright."

An arrow pierces through the window as you knock the tea to the ground to hide Maomao with your body. Another one misses you narrowly, and you reach for the blanket on the bed, thick with cotton and warmth as it stops the arrow. Maomao stares up at you, heart racing in her chest, expression unchanging. This is what she meant. You are a force to be reckoned with. You possess the knowledge far beyond the abilities of the average consort, yet you are not acknowledged simply because the one to acknowledge you does not do so. You reach behind her for the sword under the bed, unsheathing it with ease as you slide out of the blanket, jumping out the window to chase after the assassin.

You are everything at once.

Your footsteps are light with each jump, and you swing from the branches as you knock him onto the ground, sword pressed to his neck, slicing through clean as you land with a thud in the pond. The ducks fly away as you land, water all over your robes, the blood from the decapitation bleeding into the water. The water stains your dress red from the blood, and you pant above him, pulling the sword away as you stand up to run a hand through your hair. The sun burns against your back as you throw your head back to breathe, eyes closed as Maomao's footsteps catch up to you.

"Are you injured?"

"No." You shake your head, showing her your hands. "though, these are roughed up."

"I will prepare ointment." She nods.

"Madam!" The maids yell. "Are you alright?!"

"Fine." You nod. "Fetch a change of clothes."

"We shall prepare it. Do you need to be bathed?"

"No." You shake your head. "No need. Perhaps just wash my feet."

They nod, and you hold your hand out for Maomao to apply ointment.

"Maomao!" Jinshi calls. "There you are! What are you doing here?"

You glance at him, nodding, head held down as he excuses you.

"Your sleeves are bloodied!" He reaches for her wrists, and she pulls away with a harsh tug.

"An assassin was after me." Maomao continues sliding the balm against your palm. "Your betrothed saved me."

"...thank you." Jinshi nods at you.

"You owe me one now." You nudge Maomao with a raise of your brows. "Better find a way to pay me back."

"I'll let you marry Jinshi." She deadpans, shuddering.

"Maomao!" Jinshi's jaw drops in hurt.

You laugh. "He won't let me marry him."

"Tsk. Worth a try." Maomao grumbles.

"Madam! The clothes!"

You nod in response, smiling as Maomao is taken away once the maids pull you to rid you of the blood.

You do not despise Maomao, but you do not deserve that lack of attention that Jinshi gives you either.

You are just a girl. You do not deserve this.

冬

Jinshi talks to you this time.

He comes to the residence after being ordered to by the emperor, and he stares at you with your sleeves rolled up in the winter snow arranging the flowers. He does not know what to feel for you. You are his betrothed whom he does not visit, but he is your betrothed whom you do not talk to first. Perhaps it is simply excuses on his end. You do not know what he would think, after all. He was clearly in love with Maomao.

"You could have a gardener tend to such flowers." Jinshi speaks up, and you jump in your skin, visibly surprised to see him in the residence.

"J-Jinshi." You mumble, eyes wide.

"You are dirtying your clothes." He mumbles.

"Is it despicable?" You look up at him, eyes tired.

"It is foreign." He whispers back. "Though, it is not unwelcome."

"I see." You go back to the plants, tending to the roses.

"The emperor... is requesting the two of us for tea."

"I figured you have come for something and not for me." You stand up, dusting off your dress as Jinshi offers his hand to help you back onto the pathing.

You do not take it.

"What have you been up to?"

Jinshi tries to make small talk. You chuckle.

"Not much. I have only been tending to the plants in the garden."

"What about the rooms?"

"They have been filled with warm blankets for the winter." You hum. "The lanterns are all lit since it would be darker earlier in the day, and the walls have been repainted for the season."

"I see." He pauses. "And the salaries of the maids?"

"I have already taught Maomao. Fear not." You glance at the passing maids whisper to one another about you. "When will you be announcing it?"

"I will not be announcing it." He shakes his head. "Once my position is stable, then I will announce it."

"I see." You hear something rustle in the distance, choosing to ignore it as the two of you stop before the emperor's tearoom.

"Announcing the arrival of the second prince and his betrothed!"

"Enter." The emperor speaks from the inside.

The two of you step into the room, bowing to the emperor as he orders for you both to rise.

"Princess." he nods at you. "You have grown yet again."

You nod back. "I have."

"It is great to see." He nods. "Take a seat."

The both of you sit as the doors are shut, and you wait for the emperor to drink his tea.

"Did Jinshi tell you what we are discussing?"

"No." You shake your head.

"Jinshi wishes to marry Maomao." The emperor addresses the problem immediately, and you are reminded of Lady Ah-Duo.

"I am aware." You hum.

"Yet, he does not wish to break off your engagement."

"I am not as open minded to accept a second wife despite the allowance of a harem for the royal family." You chuckle dryly. "Besides. Jinshi only wishes for Maomao to be his wife."

"Yes. I only wish to be wed to Maomao."

"Well, Jinshi." The emperor sighs. "It's a shame, but we cannot break off your engagement to..."

"I am aware."

You hear something rustle again, and a flurry of footsteps rush outside of the door.

The servant yells.

"Maomao has been kidnapped!"

Somewhere in the distance, a rope snaps.

You are a girl You are just a girl You are just... a girl.

You get up and apologize for Jinshi's behavior as he runs out of the room to grab the servant to ask for details, and the emperor shakes his head. You hand Jinshi the seal of his army to him from your pocket, and you watch as he rushes off without a thank you. You stare at him bitterly and miss the way he turns back to look at you. Instead, you turn back to see the emperor staring at you pitifully, and you nod as you call for a maid to bring you into the bathhouse. You need a massage and a break. You need a moment to yourself. You need to relax. Your blood pressure was rising and you were struggling to gauge your importance.

You can say you know Jinshi does not care all you want, but living it is still a different experience.

So, as the maids leave you alone in the bathhouse, you cry, hurricane of tears breaking past your eyes as you cry into the bathwater, years of pain and anguish ricocheting off the walls as the birds outside the bathhouse fly away from your heartbreak. You are just a girl. Why does it have to be you? You are just a girl. You are a girl with no background or home or past but you are just a girl and you should not have to let the world be carried on your back just because you are a girl. You should not be defined by the feelings of a man who does not care about you. You are a girl. You are a simple girl who does not deserve anything that is happening to you.

You are a girl who was stolen from her family because the royal family desired a perfect empress. You are a girl who should not have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders just because she was unfortunate enough to be picked for a job that did not suit her. Why did you have to be the one who has to fall in love with a man who does not love you back and be stuck being in love with him? He does not want you. He has made that clear enough. It does not matter if he would turn around to look at you one day. You would never be picked first.

You are just a girl.

You do not deserve any of this.

So, you stand up in the bathwater as it splashes with your movement, and you rearrange your robes into something moveable before you break past the doors of the bathhouse, footsteps heavy and undignified as you run through the pathing that you've stained with your sweat and love, past the gates that had welcomed you since birth, and you run, wind in your hair icing your scalp in the summer breeze, panting and gasping for air as you run through the streets and cry, losing a shoe on the way, tears still spilling past your eyes, mouth open to breathe, ignoring all the weird looks from the people on the streets as you run into the pathing in the forest and leave. You are free.

Free from the cage you had been locked in since birth, key left behind on the door as you end up somewhere you know will be better.

It does not matter to you anymore.

You are free.

冬

Jinshi does not know what prompts him to visit you when he returns with Maomao. Perhaps it was because of the pain on your face when he had run away from you in order to go save Maomao. Perhaps it had been the realization while saving Maomao that you had given him one of the only powers you held over him without hesitation. Perhaps you had just handed it to him because you wanted him to see you once he returned. Regardless of your mission, he visits you.

When Jinshi steps foot into your residence after saving Maomao, your maids are rushing around the palace yelling at one another.

"Jinshi-sama!" A maid catches him, grabbing onto his armor in a panicked state as he blinks down at her in surprise.

"What?"

"Do you know where the young madam went?!" She cries, genuine fear and worry leaking all over her face as her cheeks are red from the cold and running around. "We've been searching all over for her since she disappeared from the bathhouse while we weren't looking! She's been missing since your leaving, and we assumed that she would return since she had been visiting the streets more and more often and perhaps had gone to visit her parents' graves, but it has been long and she still has not returned! Do you know where she could be?!"

Jinshi furrows his brows.

Missing. You're missing. You are missing.

You, who did not step foot outside of the residence unless it was to have tea with the consorts, was missing.

"I do not know." Jinshi shakes his head. "Where does she frequent in the streets?"

"We sent maids, but they—"

"We finally found the madam's shoe!" A maid yells from the entrance, holding up something in her hand. "Come!"

The maids all crowd around her as she reveals your shoe, and Jinshi grimaces.

It is your shoe. Your shoe, muddied, bloodied, wet with water. Your shoe, that was typically a size too small.

The maids all grimace at the sight, staring up at Jinshi for confirmation.

"Keep searching. She must be there somewhere." He turns away, brows furrowed. "She could not have gotten very far. She has been nurtured by the palace, so surely she is somewhere within reach."

The maids scramble to look, the sun turning it morning, Jinshi searching with them, quietly praying that you would return once the sun did. The sun returns once, twice, and then too many to count with his hands. The sun returns time and time again, and you do not.

You do not, and the maids sent to the streets also come back with no avail.

Even with Maomao asking the lower-ranked maids, you do not return.

You are gone.

Whether it is you have passed or you are missing, it makes no difference.

You are gone.

"I shall prepare for her ceremony." He closes his eyes, brows furrowing.

That is all they need to hear.

春

You haunt every corner of Jinshi's life.

He moves into the residence you left behind shortly after your burial ceremony, and he brings everything with him. He touches nothing you arranged, only bringing his personal items and work, and he sits in your tearoom each afternoon to work on the papers handed to him by the emperor. He drinks your favorite tea because he finds himself slowly losing his sanity with each passing moment that you do not manage the residence.

He is fully capable, but he is just not as well-versed in it as you are.

It drains him more than he'd like. Maomao is still a maid despite the purchase of her as a consort, and he does not wish to overwhelm her. He still very much loves her, he believes, but he supposes losing a huge part of his childhood is even worse in some way. He had chosen to neglect you, but it did not mean he did not cherish you. He could not count the times when you had linked pinkies with him at formal events with the emperor and empress while the two of you stood tall all because you were to be a certain way at a certain place.

Eventually, the two of you had outgrown the need to hold hands or pinkies in official events.

Though, that wasn't the only thing he had to thank you for. He was not a gifted child. He watched you speed through the materials and still have time to play with him, and it made him bitter. He was bitter. You had always been groomed to be perfect and desirable, and it only made him despise you more. Perhaps he had avoided you because you were too put together and perfect. He did not despise you. He does not despise you. In fact, dare he say it, he might have even loved you and forced himself to bury it away.

He could not love you the way you deserved to be loved. You deserved the position of empress, not the position of a eunuch's wife. You did not deserve to be warped into the madness of the royal family in the way that you did. He had made the mistake with you, so he would not make the mistake with Maomao. His heart sours in his chest. Perhaps he had been a liar. He had only avoided you to avoid the pain in his heart. He had been a coward afraid of hurting you only to hurt you more. He is a coward.

He groans, head buried in his papers as Maomao comes in with his dinner.

"You look awful."

Jinshi shifts his head to the side to look at Maomao, closing his eyes again afterward. Her filter around him had disappeared ever since you had left. He does not know if he is thankful or not.

Things have changed since your disappearance.

The maids have all stopped referring to anyone as the madam of the house, only waiting for Maomao to officially give Jinshi an answer to his proposal, and Jinshi has become the master of the house, much different to when they referred to him as Jinshi-sama. He is no longer someone underneath you in the residence that he was to live in with you. He is now the only person who was given a proper status in a palace of such. He groans when he remembers that he has more paperwork. Perhaps you should have been given less to do in the residence.

"Still no news?" He grumbles.

"No." Maomao hums. "She would hate you if you starved yourself like this."

"She did not even know I skipped meals occasionally."

"She did." Maomao refutes. "All of your meals were looked over by her. Your meals had the highest nutrition out of all the meals."

"She did not do that." Jinshi sighs, getting out of your desk to sit at the table. "She did not do that for me."

"She did." Maomao sets the food before him. "It could have only been her. She was the one who let things in and out of the kitchen. She had your allergies memorized like the back of her hand."

"I was such an asshole to her." Jinshi groans.

"You were."

"You're supposed to comfort me as my betrothed!" Jinshi cries.

"I am not your betrothed." Maomao shrugs. "Please get back to work once you finish eating. Gaoshun is asking when this month's report will be ready."

"Please tell him his master is going to kill himself." Jinshi groans. "I can't even bring in an aide because this residence is so secretive."

"I may introduce someone to you." Maomao offers.

"You know people other than me? It cannot be a woman."

"It will not be." Maomao affirms.

Jinshi contemplates it. You had been bred and raised for the purpose of being an ideal wife, so you managed all the numbers and reports of your shared residence despite Jinshi being in charge of a handful of matters. They seemed trivial to him back then, but now that he has to wait for those numbers to reach him, he finds that perhaps you were going through much more than you letting him know about. Not even the maids would tell him how often you were holed up in your office.

Though, according to your maids, you had barely struggled with it, your estimations always on point, even when Jinshi handed you bills late.

For you to be so much better than Jinshi.

How infuriating of you.

夏

"Jinshi." Maomao speaks from the door. "I have brought a eunuch as your new assistant."

"I do not need one." He grumbles. "I am fine on my own."

"No. He is to help manage the estate." Maomao doesn't let him argue, opening the door to reveal his new aide.

The man nods at him, bowing his head. "I greet my new master. My name is Diu."

"There is no need for that." He shakes his head. "Are you well versed in the matters of the house?"

"There is no person who is better versed than I am." He nods. "I assure you."

Jinshi sighs. "Training shall start tomorrow."

"Yes, master."

Jinshi finds that his new aide is just as quick with numbers and things of the residence as you were, fingers fast and calculations smooth, speeding up the process for Jinshi. When he asks how he knew, he smiles at him, telling him that he had helped his wife with her household matters in order to alleviate the stress of being pregnant. Jinshi doesn't pry, but his aide looks too young to be a man capable of such wise thought. He looks too delicate, jaw too smooth and lashes too long. Had Jinshi been any more manic, he might have accused his aide of actually being a woman.

He tilts his head as he watches his aide look over the papers and speak up.

"Master Jinshi, do you have the scroll for the reimbursement report?"

Jinshi nods, handing him the scroll as Diu scribbles down the numbers, handing it to Maomao with a nod as she wanders off to hand it off to another official.

"Please call for me when the next report is due." Diu nods, about to follow her out.

"Are you not a personal aide?"

"I was told by Sister Maomao that I am only to help with the matters of the mansion."

"You... should arrange the guest rooms." Jinshi grumbles. "Please. Are you well versed in the other matters of the house?"

"I am." Diu nods. "Leave the matters of the estate to me."

"Maomao." Jinshi calls for her as she appears at the door. "Diu will be helping you with the affairs of decorating."

She nods. "Shall we go?"

"We shall." Diu smiles, and Jinshi's stomach churns uncomfortably.

He smiles the same way you do.

How nauseating.

How long had it been since you had smiled at him? You had only smiled at Maomao, lips curled into a teasing one, never staring at Jinshi when you had. Perhaps that was his flaw. He was cursed to see parts of you in other people until he could own up to his own emotions. Perhaps he was much too similar to you. Perhaps he is just a boy. Perhaps he just misses what you could have been had he spoken to you. Perhaps he should have reminded you that you were not alone.

You left him, but he forced you to the door, giving you the key you had been taught to never use.

Perhaps he had been the push to force you to leave.

How sickening.

秋

Jinshi finds that Maomao gets along with Diu much more than makes him comfortable.

Maomao discusses and lingers around Diu often, fingers brushing his skin as he leans down to let her wipe the fallen lash from his cheek, a flirty smile on his lips when she pulls away. Maomao does not react. She never does. Yet, it makes Jinshi uncomfortable. He no longer knows if it's how eerily similar Diu is to you or how Diu keeps making a move on Maomao, but it makes his skin crawl uncomfortably each time he comes to Maomao's aide, reprimanding you and reminding you to keep your hands off of her as she was his only love.

"My apologies."

It is the same thing over and over again.

Jinshi finds that the more Diu flirts with Maomao, the less he wants Maomao, his jealous streak overtaken by habituation, and eventually he finds himself just staring until the two are uncomfortable. Maomao seems far too comfortable with Diu's movements, and Jinshi finds it infuriating. So, Jinshi steps in one day, pulling on Diu's wrist as he cages Maomao into the wall.

"Perhaps the master would prefer for me to romance him instead?" Diu pins Jinshi to the wall instead, tilting his head with his fingers, lips curled into a teasing smile. Jinshi flushes red, a shudder rippling down his back at the sight of the shorter pining him to the wall. Maomao watches from the side in amusement, lips curled upward with a cheeky grin as Jinshi eyes her for help.

"My eyes are here, young master," Diu tilts his head again, lips curled into a sweet smile. "Cheating on me already? I'm your servant before I am hers, you know?"

Jinshi shudders, cheeks red as Diu turn to Maomao, a victorious smile on his face.

"Master, it is time for..." Gaoshun trails off, pulling Diu off of Jinshi. "What are you doing?!"

"The master got jealous I was hitting on Maomao." Diu smiles.

Jinshi leaves, glancing behind him at Diu, heart racing in his chest as he tries to calm his cheeks. He is breathtaking, that eunuch. His aide has a beauty that could rival his. He would stop interfering. If he were to get hit on again... heavens knows what kind of atrocities he would commit. Diu is too strong. No wonder the maids in the palace had been flocking to get a look at his face. Maybe that was why he was dethroned as one of the most attractive men in the court. Diu was simply too attractive for his own good.

God, maybe he is a homosexual.

The thought rips through his body as his lips pull down in concern, blinking slowly at the revelation. Damn. Has he stooped this low? Was he willing to go so low as to fall for a man who reminded him of you? Maybe Jinshi was losing his mind. Perhaps this is what the matchmaker meant by he would suffer greatly if he were to lose his yin. He had tried not to touch you, but he had only hurt you instead. He was losing his mind to the point that he was getting flustered over men.

Diu really does things to him. You do things to him.

The man's fingers remind Jinshi of yours as well, reminders of years that are lost in his memory, years when the two of you would hold hands under tables and before the empress, years when he would watch you practice dances with your teachers, hair fluttering in the wind as you moved like a princess. It reminds him of years when you would be able to fit in your shoe size and walk without pain, when you were still young and a child, crying about not wanting to bind your feet.

You got your wish, but your shoe size had still been shrunk one size down to try and prevent your feet from growing.

Sooner than later, you lost your ability to dance.

Jinshi wonders if Diu would be able to do it. His body is slim enough for the dance, and had he been there when the foreign envoys were visiting, perhaps he could have taken Jinshi's place. Swimming in the dress was a nightmare. Perhaps Diu could have worked the same. He has the face for it. Oh, how convenient. Jinshi would no longer need to dress up as a woman with Diu around.

"The next time we have to do female imitation... we are calling Diu." Jinshi shudders.

Gaoshun raises a brow.

Jinshi shakes his head.

Perhaps if Jinshi were desperate enough, he could doll Diu up to resemble you and hold him for the night. As long as the words did not get out, he would be alright. If he were desperate enough, he would sleep in your room, covered by your blanket, engulfed by your faded scent. The scent of summer flowers and a young love. If Jinshi were desperate enough, he could send more soldiers to find you. But Jinshi is not desperate enough.

Not yet. He is not desperate enough yet.

He may be sick to his head thinking about you, but he is not desperate.

冬

There is a crowd of consorts outside of Jinshi's window.

No. Not for him, surprisingly. For Diu.

"Diu-sama!! Look our way!!" The women yell, and Diu looks up from his desk, a smile on his face, waving gently. Both Jinshi and Maomao grimace, frown on their faces at his friendliness. Jinshi finds that Diu has an effect worse than he does. Perhaps this is his karma for playing along with the consorts every now and then. No wonder Maomao found him infuriating when he did so.

"Diu." Maomao hisses.

The man nods, leaning out the window to smile at the women, sighing. "Do you mind giving us some space? We need to finish the report for this month and my master is having quite the moment, you know?"

A girl faints, but the rest of them ultimately scatter off, and you hum, shutting the window.

"The total has been written down."

Maomao hands Jinshi a scroll, and Jinshi nods.

"Diu, is there a reason you never write the reports?"

"Whatever do you mean? I wrote them during summer, no?" You tilt your head. "Master Jinshi, you told me to stop writing them because my writing was not legible."

Jinshi does not remember that, but doesn't argue.

"Let's go for a break today." You pull Maomao out of her seat, smiling at Jinshi. "Master, will you be joining us?"

Jinshi groans. "please."

Diu offer him a hand, and he takes it, his hand strangely familiar in his grasp. It makes him feel nostalgic, almost. It feels like when he used to hold your hand during ceremonies with the royal court. Yet, he is not you. Diu is not you. So, Jinshi pushes the feelings back as he is led through the streets, lights vibrant as he stops at stalls for snacks and food.

Maomao runs out of coins at one point, and Diu offers him more, but she shakes head. She has some things she could trade for coins. She does so, pulling a pin out of her pocket and exchanging it for a bag of coins, a grin on his face. "let's get going."

"What do you even need so many coins for?" Diu raises a brow, picking one up.

"Master doesn't have copper coins."

"Excuse you! I do!" Jinshi tries to argue.

"It's why he has not yet bought anything."

Diu purses his lips in amusement, laughing.

Jinshi thinks he sounds like bells ringing.

How nostalgic.

Almost as if you were there standing there before him. He misses you, perhaps. He misses what the two of you were, and what you could have been had he picked you first. The guilt eats at him more and more, and it seems as though he could open his mouth and confess that he had a burning desire for you. It was almost as if he could have picked you from the start and none of this would have occurred.

"Diu." Jinshi calls. "Are you married?"

"Why? In love with me already, master?" Diu winks, blowing him a kiss.

Jinshi shudders, cheeks red, head ringing. Flirt.

"No. You have the same mannerisms as someone, and many say that a husband resembles his wife." Jinshi shakes his head. "You remind me of someone."

"The one that got away? I will be." Diu laughs as Maomao grabs him and runs off as Jinshi chases them. "Perhaps that is simply my role in this narrative!"

You.

Diu reminds him of you. So Jinshi finds it ironic that he chases after a man who resembles you in the streets of the city outside of the palace walls. Perhaps the two of you would have done something similar in another universe. He would have chased you in the streets, and the two of you would have been free to do whatever without the weight of the palace. Perhaps you would have been worth more in your own eyes, and he would have cared more for you during the time you would have been with him.

Perhaps you would have chosen to stay with him in that universe.

Perhaps he would be less bitter then, too.

春

In spring, the silkworms produce new silk, and the products from the merchants come in. Jinshi observes them, ultimately unable to tell the difference between certain ones because of his lack of practice, and Maomao can only stand and blink, unused to picking them herself. Instead, she steps back for Diu to look at them, the man's fingers feeling at the fabric as he raises a brow.

"These seem to be cheap quality. Are you trying to rip off the palace?" The man raises a brow.

"N-no way!"

"The threading is different one from the one currently present." Diu clicks his tongue. "This is the one commonly used for the middle class."

"A-are you not middle class? The funds mentioned to me a-are less than before." The merchant cowers slightly as Maomao hands Diu the invoice.

"No. The funding has not changed this season."

"Ah, well, surely the inflation has—"

"Nope. The economic state of the capital has not changed either. If you want a couple extra coins just say it." Diu groans. "We can always change suppliers. My family has quite the good one, you know?"

The merchant rolls his eyes. "These are the same blankets as the rest of the palace. If you don't want them—"

Maomao steps up. "The empress uses different ones from a different supplier. Had we needed low-quality textiles as this, we would have talked to the maids."

The merchant scoffs in offense. "What do you know—"

"I know that the palace uses a different supplier because you started cheating the main palace years ago." Diu speaks up, stepping close to the merchant. "Would you like us to switch too? We could formally decree you to be banned from the palace."

"Y-you're a mere servant. You wouldn't dare!"

Diu gives the man a closed-eye smile, and he grumbles, handing over the better blankets buried under the bad ones. The servants bring them in as Diu handles the money, and Jinshi blinks in surprise. He did not know the rest of the palace started using a new supplier. He had only known that Gyokuyou had changed merchants. Diu must have done very thorough research prior to picking up blankets.

"How could you tell?" Jinshi raises a brow.

"It wasn't imperfectly perfect." Diu shrugs. "Also, hand woven silk by the skilled is bound to have flaws, but this one had too many. They may have flaws, but their edges do not fray to this extent."

"Wow." Jinshi hums. "That is impressive."

"In order to be a husband deserving of my wife's noble title, I have to make up in other ways."

"Does your wife not have brothers?"

"No, she simply fell for my charm." Diu winks.

Maomao gags from the side. Though... not surprising.

"A shame you are a eunuch..." Jinshi trails off, eyes wandering. "You seem to be the type to have many sons."

Diu holds a hand over his mouth and his crotch, pretending to be scandalized. "Master! Are you... into me?"

"Nope." Jinshi turns on his heel. "Let us go."

"Where to?" Maomao follows anyway, shrugging when Jinshi doesn't answer Diu's question.

"Who did you hear palace affairs from?"

"I was wandering." Diu shrugs.

It's suspicious, but Jinshi doesn't pry further. After all, Maomao brought him in.

No matter how much Diu is suspicious, Jinshi could never bring you back anyway.

So even if Jinshi begged and sobbed and cried to the moon to return his lover, he could not have it. You had left him. You were gone. No matter how hard he looked, your body could be out in the cold and abandoned, eaten by the wolves or some other sort. It is awful. He could search all he wanted, sending all the guards he wanted, but he would not have you back. He could not live in such a way. You were gone, only your shoe left.

Perhaps Diu was sent by the heavens to remind him of you for the rest of his days.

It is his fault, after all.

夏

There are reports of your ghost haunting the walls.

First, one of the younger ranking maids hear a girl crying in your old room, then an older maid sees a woman rush through the halls at night. Eventually Gaoshun spots a woman clothed in white dancing on the outer walls with Maomao. It is truly a terrifying sight. Jinshi tries his best to ignore it, but ultimate he sees you dancing on the outer walls of the palace as well. It is same position of the moon when Gaoshun and Maomao saw it, but you are dressed in red this time, wedding gown fluttering from your figure, phoenix crown pinned in your hair.

Jinshi stands and stares.

You dance, footsteps light as they used to be when you were but a child and Jinshi watched you in your classes, and your dress flutters in the wind, silk probably cool against your skin, and Jinshi stops to stare, some wretched form of longing on his face. It is nostalgic. It is everything he had once seen in you, your art, your beauty, your existence, all tucked into the back of his mind, threatening to spill over and ruin him. He watches you as you make the same steps you had so many years ago, your memory burning into his mind through his eyes as his conscious forces him to engrain every detail of your ghost into his mind.

The paleness of your skin to the sunken eyelids, to the bloody red that was on your lips with the red on your body. The makeup is fitting of a bride, yet the moon shining behind your body makes you look a mixture of grief and regret in Jinshi's eyes. You do not look down at him, almost as though lost in your own dance, too enthralled with the moon and its secrets as you kick your leg to spin and flutter through the air. Jinshi can do nothing as he look sup at you, exhaustion creeping up his body slowly, almost as though you were the moon herself despite the red on your body.

Your ghost is haunting him as a reminder that you are his wife. Your ghost is dancing to remind him of the day the two of you had been told to bed, but had not. Your ghost is driving him into a corner the same way he had driven you out the entrance. His mind is stuck staring and engraving it into his mind to forever regret you. His mind is stuck holding his chin up to stare at you as the metal in your hair jingles in the wind. His mind is stuck, and he refuses to fight against it.

Instead of stopping you, he stares, fingers stuck to his side as you spin and fall off the wall, and he climbs up, lashes fluttering as he stares down at where you would have fallen, only your dress remaining. He stares down, legs hanging from the wall, something pulling him to fall down with you, something urging him to leave with you. Your ghost tilts its head to run your fingers through his hair, lips brushing his as it urges him to fall down with it— fall down with you. Maybe that would be a way to right his wrongs and wash away his sins. He leans forward into your touch, fingers loosening on the wall.

"Master." Diu's voice breaks him from your trance, the man climbing up the wall after him. "Is something wrong?"

Jinshi blinks at where your ghost was, your fingers no longer on his cheek and your lips no longer brushing his. Ghosts do not exist. He was simply falling to an evil spirit's intentions. Diu had simply freed him. You would not have wanted him to pass away as easily as this. You would have wanted him to suffer through what you did. "I saw the madam."

"The previous owner of the residence?"

"Something like that." Jinshi mumbles. "Do you miss your wife?"

"More often than not." Diu sits next to the man, pulling out a bottle. "Wine?"

Jinshi accepts it, pressing the wine to his lips, legs hanging over the railing as he stares down, blinking slowly at the fabric. Your ghost is gone, yet the fabric still reaches for him. He could see you wearing it. Perhaps it was just a heavy memory of seeing you in all red, gold embroidery on your gown, lips pulled into a sweet smile despite the ever crumbling relationship that was threatening to snap between the two of you. Perhaps Jinshi had a rope somewhere as well.

"How do you cope with missing your wife?"

"She writes me letters." Diu smiles. "I simply reread them when I get lonely. Or, I send a bird for her."

Jinshi grumbles. "Must be nice to have a loving wife."

"A happy marriage goes both ways, master." Diu offers him more. "You must take care of your wife before she takes care of herself and leaves you."

"Do you think someone is doing this to mess with me?" Jinshi rests his cheek on his legs, pulling them closer to his chest as he holds his cup to the man. "I grieve for her loss. Is that not enough?"

"Perhaps they simply miss their madam." Diu hums. "Did the madam teach the servants?"

"There is no servant in the house who could dance the same way she did." Jinshi closes his eyes, wind rustling the branches behind him. The summer breeze is warm but not too warm. In the distance, in the residence, he can still hear the sound of your laughter as a child. You did not laugh enough as an adult around him. He does not know what you are. What does your laughter sound like now? Maybe you stopped laughing because of him.

He misses you.

"Master?"

"Diu." Jinshi mumbles, eyes closed. "If she comes, please wake me."

"Will do, master."

You never return after that, and Jinshi feels sick.

秋

In fall, foreign envoys bring new mirrors. Diu accepts them and lead them to Jinshi, lips curled into a sweet smile as the mirrors are placed within the residences. The old mirrors had been ruined by a maid on accident, but it was not something worth fretting or worrying over. Jinshi stands in front of the mirror, looking at himself, raising a brow when Maomao and Diu peer from behind him at the reflection.

"I have not seen one in a solid minute." Maomao mumbles. "Diu, how about you?"

"My wife has one at home, but this small mirror would be helpful." Diu hums. "She will like it if we have a covering made for her as well."

Jinshi huffs dramatically loud at the word wife.

"What is not too light?" Maomao raises a brow.

"Perhaps a hollow metal." Diu hums. "I shall check the items she owns."

Jinshi huffs again.

"Sorry, master." Diu smiles, eyes closed, teeth out. "I forgot the madam is gone."

Jinshi is going to have an aneurysm because of Diu.

"I am convinced you are mentioning your wife to drive me insane."

"Perhaps." Diu hums. "I miss her very much, after all."

"Then why did you work here?"

"Master." Diu deadpans. "The pay here is incredible. My wife now has the ability to spend my wealth rather than her family's. Is every husband's dream not to spoil their wife rotten?"

"No." Jinshi grumbles. "Perhaps I should do that for the madam."

"The madam is gone." Maomao deadpans. "Perhaps focus on repainting the walls of the residence first."

"Was the report sent?"

"Not yet." Diu shakes his head. "We are missing a fund as the money has grown to be less."

"Perhaps it is for the repainting of the walls."

"I would assume that the repainting must be done during spring." Jinshi frowns. "Was it during fall?"

"I am not sure." Diu shakes his head. "Did the madam ever mention such?"

"It was fall." Maomao hums. "She complained that it should have been spring once, but she never changed it since it rains more in spring than in fall."

"How do the foreigners put it? April showers do bring May's flowers." Diu hums. "Perhaps the Madam had a reason."

"We can repaint it some other time."

"She would kill you." Maomao deadpans.

"She is not here."

"Does not change that she would kill you." Maomao deadpans. "Perhaps her ghost will return and ruin your life again."

Jinshi pauses. "Well, I do miss her."

Maomao blinks at him in concern.

"I shall put it on the report." Diu nods. "Anything else?"

"I believe that is it."

"Then, may I be released after? I would like to drop by somewhere."

Maomao raises a brow, but Jinshi does not question it.

"Of course. You are free for the rest of the day."

Maomao springs up in her seat. "May I follow?"

Diu nods.

"Going without me?"

"You will stand out too much." Diu deadpans. "We are visiting a teahouse."

"You have a wife!?" Jinshi shrieks, confusion all over his face.

"Not that kind." Diu deadpans.

"What will you be trying?"

"I heard they have a new treat." Maomao hums. "We have been saving for it."

"If you let me go I will pay."

"Hard pass." The two of them grimace.

"We don't lack the funds."

"We can pay."

Jinshi gasps, frowning as he watches the two leave the room when Diu finishes the report.

A plate of the new pastries rests on his desk the next day, but he still pouts and frowns.

He later realizes it's because you had once made the treat for him as kids. That was why he was so upset. Your memories with him haunted him each step he took in the mansion. Perhaps he should have reached for your ghost that day and fallen. Perhaps that would have sped up his fraying string, holding onto nothing as he had lost you.

Perhaps then, he would feel less awful.

冬

In winter, Diu and Maomao help set up the new blankets. The wool is warm, and Maomao sighs, cheeks red from the cold. Diu takes off his coat, wrapping it around Maomao as she blows into her hands and sighs.

"Thank you." She mumbles. "It is cold."

"It is." Diu stares at the floor, pulling out a stone from his pocket to hand to Maomao. "A heated stone, perhaps?"

"Thank you." She mumbles, pulling her clothes open to pop the stone in with the rest. "It is cold. I do not remember the palace being this cold."

Diu goes quiet, glancing around.

"There used to be heated bricks underneath the wood here."

Maomao's eyes widen, neck snapping to look at her coworker.

"That was what I heard from the maids, though. I do not believe the maids told the master either." He shrugs. "How's the master?"

"It is report week." Maomao grimaces.

Diu shudders. "I am surprised he has not called for me yet."

"You remind him too much of the late madam." She shares a look with the man, only turning away when Jinshi yells from inside his office. "He prefers to not—"

"Someone call Diu!" He sobs, and Diu snorts.

"Late madam or not, perhaps desperate situations call for desperate measures." Diu nods, knocking on the door. "Master, I am outside."

The door opens, and Jinshi groans. "Diu! Why is this season's reimbursement report so much lower compared to the previous ones?!"

Jinshi's hair is disheveled, the poor man looking as though he hadn't slept in days. It is a new look to Diu, and it makes Maomao laugh. Diu steps next to him, observing the differences, pointing at the cost in insulation. "I heard from the maids the late madam heated bricks for winter underneath the wood."

"She did?"

"The maids mentioned it." Diu shrugs. "So?"

"Is that the only cost? Who is in charge of the bricks?"

"I am not aware." Diu shakes his head.

"The head maid refuses to tell me. Diu, please." Jinshi cries. "I am not well versed in this."

"In my residence, my wife would hire one of the servants to do so. Perhaps it could be found in their salaries."

Jinshi flips through the book as Diu checks everything over, and he cheers when he finds the maid. Jinshi misses you. You did this much better than he did, and though he had neglected you and the whole situation was his fault, it did not stop him from missing you. Your presence in the residence had simply been enough to him. Now, he had to live without you or your presence in a residence that was meant for two.

"Thank you, Diu." Jinshi grumbles, writing down the note on heating bricks, head slamming into the wood of your desk as Diu takes the report. "God, I miss her."

Diu smiles back, eyes closed, almost as though he were insincere.

In the shadow of Diu, Jinshi sees you.

That smile with his eyes closed reminded him of all the times you had smiled at the officials insincerely, abusing your power as the empress' favorite in order to get them rid of. Perhaps Jinshi is simply going insane because you are gone. The ghost of you haunts him everywhere, including in the body of the new aide. Perhaps it is simply divine punishment from the heavens above.

In the closed-eyed, tight-lipped smile of his new aide, he sees the ghost of you whose smile had changed from a sweet smile with your eyes on him, cheeks flushed, to a smile in which you had not even bothered to look at him, eyes closed and lips pulled upward, lacking the flush that he had grown up seeing. His fault. It is always his fault. There had not been a single moment in which he was right when it had come to you. He is to be despised. You had been right to run away. He will never deserve the love you had given him in the past.

Even if he were to cut his own string and tie it to yours, you could always cut him off of you, simply running away as you had previously. Perhaps it was simply his curse to be this way. He could never love you now that you were gone, and he was the only one to blame. He is the culprit of his own demise.

How loathsome of him.

春

In spring, Jinshi attends the royal court's meeting, lashes thick and full, blinking quickly to blink away his exhaustion. Waking up before the sun was never something worth it. He eats the dishes prepared, listening to the ministers and eunuchs talk about everything. Had you been next to him, he would have had a better time, at least focused for the sake of you, but you are not. Instead, he has Diu who has been testing his dishes, pretty face charming even the married men of the court. Had Diu been born a woman, perhaps he would have been stolen away instantly. Tis a great day for his personal aide to be a man.

Now that Jinshi thinks about it, it was the same with you.

You would be busy reading the material and participating, and the rest of the men would be busy ogling at you. You, who had been raised to be the palace flower, a woman in power worthy of standing next to the second prince. You had been worth far more than what those men could have paid to own you for. Perhaps the late empress was right to make you unattainable to the men of the court. It was disgusting— the way their eyes raked Diu's figure the same way they raked yours at the time. In his eyes, the men are no better than rabid animals. At least rabid animals were put down.

"Master?" Diu's voice snaps Jinshi out of his thoughts. "Is the dish not to your liking?"

"It is." Jinshi shakes his head. "I have not much an appetite."

"I see." Diu hums. "Shall I request something else?"

"No need." Jinshi finishes the rest of the dish, sighing as he puts his chopsticks down. "What is the next dish?"

"I believe it is pheasant."

Jinshi frowns staring at Diu's lips.

"Did Maomao put lipstick on you?"

"Hm? Is it strange?" Diu smiles, holding his cheek. "She said I should doll up a little as your personal attendant. Though, this isn't lipstick. I believe Maomao simply put something on my face."

Jinshi blinks slowly, mentally swatting away all his thoughts as the next dish arrives and Diu presses it to his lips, biting and chewing slowly. Jinshi stares at his lips, pale and pink, and he swallows unconsciously as Diu licks his lips, lips curled into a smile similar to Maomao's. The men of the court pay attention too, a strange charm emitting off of the servant's body. Enthralling. He looked enthralling, lips curled into that sinful grin. Next thing Jinshi knows, Diu is probably going to tell him it's poisonous like Maomao did years ago.

"You can't have this, master." He hums.

"Why not?" Jinshi swallows, throat dry all of a sudden.

"It is poisonous."

Called it.

The royal court goes into chaos as all the men spit it out, fooled by the way Diu had looked so elated at the flavor, and a handful of servants rush to their aid. Jinshi lunges at Diu as he bites the rest of the meat, punching him in the gut as Diu spits the meat out into Jinshi's hand.

"Are you crazy?!"

"Master, poisons do not affect me." Diu tilts his head, eyes wide. "Rest assured. The one who has tried to harm you will not get off free either."

Jinshi stares at him incredulously, lips pulled into a frown as he calls for a doctor to check the man. He taps his table impatiently as he waits for Diu to return, a new poison tester confirming that the pheasant was indeed poisonous. Jinshi watches as the new guy passes out and white foams from his mouth. How did... how did Diu almost swallow the pheasant without issue? Jinshi tries his best not to think about it, closing his eyes. Perhaps Maomao is just accustomed to people who taste poison without any effects.

Diu returns a little before the final dish is served, giving Jinshi a closed-eyed smile before he tastes the new dish. It is a palate cleanser this time. Jinshi watches in worry as Diu presses the spoon to his lips, eyes opening as he raises a brow. Jinshi cannot tell if it is a good raised brow or a bad one.

"Servant, is it poison?"

"No." Diu smiles. "It is simply delicious. You may have it, master."

Jinshi only has half, cheeks flushed as he hands the rest back to Diu, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he mouthes words at the man.

'Finish the rest.'

Diu does not complain, drinking straight from the bowl as he licks his lips, eyes bright and happy as he hands it to another servant.

"Thank you, master." He beams, smiling.

Jinshi's heart skips a beat.

How dangerous.

The rest of the court proceeds as normal, the report given by the workers, and the emperor nodding at the report. Nothing out of the ordinary. though, he notes the new numbers in spending. When you were there, they were lower. Perhaps a handful of officials are using the chance to steal money from the royal family now that you no longer look over the ledger before each payment. Jinshi should start investigating. Surely the crushing of the Shi clan should have served as a fair warning. Perhaps not.

Jinshi looks back to glance at Diu, the servant's eyes oddly sharp. Usually servants would have gotten bored at this point. Instead, Diu looks almost intrigued. He wonders what kind of an upbringing would have created a man who cared so much about monetary affairs of a palace. Though, it should have been clear since Diu had been the one hired to help with monetary affairs. His mathematical ability was incredible. Had Jinshi a child, he would have hired the man to teach his young his ways.

But in the same, Jinshi knows he would have not needed an outside teacher when you were right there. Should he had kids with you, you could cover the vast majority of teaching have you the time. You know the palace better than him at times. He wonders how you are, lips pulled into a frown as he focuses back on the minister. Perhaps Maomao had given Diu the same makeup you used to wear to mess with him. How mean of her. It pains him in the heart that he had been the one to cut your rope and now was burning his own.

He misses you.

夏

Summer is great.

Jinshi has less work during summer as a result, and Diu and Maomao cover the affairs of rearranging the residence. The two are still close. It makes Jinshi bitter, but not bitter in the way he would have been seasons ago, he is bitter that Diu is spending less and less time with him. Perhaps he is bitter that Diu, a man who reminded him of you, spends more time with Maomao than he. It is a reflection of himself, yes, but it does not stop the childish jealously that bubbles in his chest.

"Diu!" Jinshi whines, calling for the servant as he throws open the man's room.

The room is empty, but a familiar scent flutters through the air, knocking the nostalgia right into his lungs. The incense sticks burning are the ones you used to put in the residence. During the few times Jinshi would visit, this scent would always be present in your room, your hair, and your being. This scent was you to him. He finds it strange that Diu would have it in his room, but he does not question it. Perhaps it reminds him of his wife.

"Master? What are you doing in my room?"

Jinshi freezes, caught red-handed. "...I was looking for you." He coughs. "Where were you?"

"I went to run errands with Maomao." Diu bows. "Is something wrong? You were looking at the incense sticks."

"They remind me... anyway." Jinshi tries to stroll out casually. "Is that your favorite scent?"

"My wife." Diu smiles. "It reminds me of my wife."

"I see..." Jinshi trails off. "Whatever! Be sure to tell Maomao to bring me dinner."

Diu calls an affirmative after Jinshi as he rushes out of the room. Too much like you. The scent smelled too much like you. You, who had used perfume oils because you liked it. It reminded Jinshi of your scent for as long as he had known you, the signature smell that brushed his nose apparent for as long as his memories with you would run. Perhaps he would forget about you at night.

Night strikes slowly.

The grief of losing you hits Jinshi slowly.

First, he looks around the room you had prepared for the two of you, the room you had stayed in alone, fingers brushing on the paint on the wall, a reminder that he needed to call for the painters to repaint the residence. Then, he sits down in bed, robes warm on his skin, eyes tired as he lays down. His fingers brush the silk the same way you would have while inspecting the quality, the same way he had seen Diu do so to the blankets, and he holds it to his forehead, heart stuttering and stumbling, pain in his chest too much to bear. It was simply too much.

Then, he cries.

Jinshi cries, tears slow as he lays in your bed, holding the blankets to his chest as he whimpers, missing you. You. You who had lived in the residence for years without a visit from him. He is undeserving of you. Perhaps he would be cursed to live the rest of his days crying in the same bed you had to cry in. He would be dammed for all of eternity to never see you again. Perhaps that is his curse. He is simply too weak to admit his love, too prideful to bend down first, too lost to find his way again. He wanted nothing to do with you when you traded the whole world for him. His curse would be to never hold you again, even when he needed you the most.

He sniffles, brows pulled together as he clings harder onto the blanket.

He does not notice the footsteps outside the door nor the knocking from Diu.

"Master Jinshi? Are you alright? I hear crying." Diu's voice rings from the door. "I may bring tea if you would allow it. That helps me when I am hurt."

"It is fine." He speaks, voice oddly even.

"I shall bring you a cup of tea and towel to help freshen up. We could not afford to let the master of the house's beauty be wounded." Diu speaks, stepping and walking off.

Jinshi wipes his tears with his fingers, heaving. When Diu returns, he opens the door after a quick knock, setting the tea on the table as he sits by his bed, helping Jinshi up, eyes gentle, hands wiping at his tears with the cloth, and Jinshi sniffs. Diu's eyes remind him of yours, even. The same gentle shade he had grown up seeing, the same shade that sparkled under the sun's light or the moon's reflection. It is a haunting memory of you. Perhaps the two of you are from the same lineage. Or perhaps Jinshi was simply losing it.

"Diu."

"Yes, master?"

"Are you this gentle with your wife?"

"But of course."

Jinshi sighs dramatically. "Maybe in another life I was born your wife."

Diu snorts. "That would be quite hard, master."

"Why?"

"What if I were born a woman as well?"

"Then I would be born your husband." He pouts, eyes red as he stares at the man. "What tea did you bring?"

"Green tea." Diu hums. "Will you drink it?"

"Please." Jinshi frowns. "Could I meet your wife one day?"

"That would be quite hard." Diu frowns, carrying the tray over and setting it down by the bed.

"Why so?"

Diu does not speak, handing the cup to Jinshi instead, smiling.

"Is she gone?"

"It is hard to explain." Diu hums. "Master, let me know if you require anything else."

"No." Jinshi shakes his head, drinking the tea. It's slightly sweet and brewed to perfection.

It tastes like the tea you used to brew.

It brings tears to his eyes unconsciously, a frown on his face. You had learned to brew tea to perfection. The temperature had been right, you had served them in their little cups, lips pressed to the edge of the cup as you tested it for heat, and then set it before Jinshi, offering him a drink. You had brewed green tea without the bitterness that other consorts had, and you had served tea to even the emperor when it was permitted. Jinshi might just be losing it. No, he has not been in a regular state since your disappearance. He is simply reaping the seeds of his actions.

"Is something wrong?"

"You brew tea like someone I used to know." Jinshi shakes his head. "It is a shame she is gone."

"Maomao is not gone, though?"

"My wife." Jinshi purses his lips. He had mentioned it perhaps once or twice, but it had never been more than that. It is not the madam of the house this time, it is his wife. He misses his wife. You, his beloved who had been betrothed to him. He misses you. You were his wife, not his betrothed. He had seen you in red twice now, that was surely confirmation. Even if you were to forget, he fears that he could not. You are his wife, that much is clear. "That is enough for the night. Thank you."

Diu nods, taking the tray out and closing the door with his foot, leaving Jinshi alone with his thoughts.

It is scary— how much Diu resembles you.

Perhaps your ghost is really haunting him through his aide.

秋

"Maomao." Jinshi hisses.

"Yes, Master Jinshi?" The girl turns to look at him.

"Where did you find Diu? He seems as though he yields from an elite family, yet there are no records of him anywhere." Jinshi raises a brow. "He is far too trained in arithmetic to be from a middle-class family as well."

"Oh, his family records were burned." Maomao shrugs. "He helped me once when I was about to be scammed by a merchant, so I decided to pay him back by employing him. He is good, is he not?"

"He is, but it is highly suspicious." Jinshi grumbles. "Who is his wife?"

"I have never met her."

Jinshi blinks. "You know nothing about him other than that he is good at math and has a wife, and you hired him?"

"Master Jinshi, he is not good at just math." Maomao argues. "She—"

"She?"

"I mean," Maomao sighs. "He is good at arranging the interior of the residence, is he not? He is highly trained in both what the women wield and what the men do. I hired him because he was capable in such areas. Are you doubting my loyalty? I value my head, you know? Diu is a great servant."

"That cannot be refuted, but—"

"I heard my name." Diu flicks Maomao's forehead. "And heard myself get misgendered. I am a man, Maomao. Must you hurt my pride further? I am already a eunuch. My poor wife will never get to experience penetrative pleasure from me because of the profession I have taken."

"Do you have children?" Jinshi raises a brow.

"No, master." Diu shakes his head. "My wife and I are perfectly content with no children. After all, I married into my wife's family."

"Oh, so you yield from nothing?" Jinshi interrogates, leaning onto his palm as he stares the man down.

"Yes." Diu nods. "I yield from nothing. Apart from my wife, I am nothing."

"Suspicious."

"Master." Maomao sighs.

Jinshi holds a hand up to signal for her to stop speaking. "Are you sure you do not yield from money?"

"I do not." Diu nods.

"Then why did Maomao call you a she?"

"Perhaps because I am pretty as one?" Diu winks at Jinshi, blowing a kiss.

Maomao hunches over in laughter as Jinshi fans his face.

"Fair point."

"You are gorgeous too, master." Diu hums. "Pretty like the lilies in the pond... dazzling like the stars in the sky. Surely, if you were a woman, the men would flock to your like bees to a flower."

Jinshi takes a moment to recover, holding his hand up. "The same would go to you, Diu."

"They already do." Diu hums. "I have submitted the report for the season."

"That is good." Jinshi sighs. "Maomao, do not hire random people from the street next time. I am starting to believe you only hired Diu because he is attractive."

"Attractive people need an attractive servants." Maomao shrugs.

Jinshi can't argue with that one.

"Or, perhaps similar people tend to flock to one another." Diu hums, picking up the flower pot with ease.

"Or haunt each other." Maomao mumbles, nodding as the two of them leave the room with the flowers.

It does not take two people to arrange flowers.

Yet, Jinshi pays attention to Maomao's words.

Haunt. Similar people haunt each other.

Maybe that is why he sees you in Diu.

冬

Jinshi finishes the affairs for the day, groaning and rolling his shoulders back as he returns to your office, expecting the rest of his papers to still be there. Instead, he finds Maomao knocked out on the tea table, a finished stack of paper next to her, completed and only left behind for him to sign and seal. He takes the papers, reading through the contents, writing eerily similar. You are not here, yet the writing mirrors yours perfectly. It is your writing down to the bone. It is the same writing that he had read in your reports and invoices for the residence's monthly fees. Furthermore, it was not Maomao's handwriting.

Something is wrong.

The writing is yours. You are present in the mansion. You had danced on the walls, haunted his life, brewed him tea, and done so many things to him. It was not your ghost. You were there to haunt him. It infuriates him to no end, but you had to have a hand in the residence to be able to do so. You may not be there physically, but surely someone would have been sent to do the dirty work for you. There seems to be someone new doing the dirty work for him, and who else than his new aide? Perhaps this was some twisted divine punishment in the worst way. Perhaps he would not see the end of the world as he knows it, and you would crawl out of your grave to wrap your fingers around his ankle and drag him to hell with you.

Or perhaps Diu was out for revenge on your behalf.

"Hm?" Maomao wakes up first, jumping in her skin when he stares into her eyes harshly.

There are three people in the residence allowed to write reports.

"Who is Diu."

It is not a question. A command. It is a command.

Maomao stares into Jinshi's eyes, sighing, clicking her tongue in disdain.

"I shall rid of him."

"No. Who is he. Answer." Jinshi curses out. "You brought him in. Who is he."

"I owed him a debt so I hired him." Maomao speaks. "It is that simple."

"Who is he."

"Someone you lost."

"Master!" A maid calls. "Come out to the entrance! There is a maid claiming she knows the madam's whereabouts!"

Jinshi glares at Maomao, pointing down to make sure she stays put.

Maomao watches Jinshi rush out, and she sighs, taking the ointment from her pocket. Now to find you. No way in hell she was listening to him in this situation.

Jinshi meets the maid, and he sees through her immediately. A ploy. This is a ploy. This is some cruel set up by fate who wishes for him to be miserable, and the maid did not know where you were at all. Maomao did. Maomao probably knew exactly where you were, and she had probably known for a while now. He was foolish not to realize it, but he knows it now. He is no longer mad, simply exhausted. He misses you. How he wishes you would just appear out of nowhere. That would fix him.

Jinshi looks up when he hears something above.

Something snaps.

冬

Your lips quirk up from the roof, humming as your voice returns to normal and Maomao wipes the makeup off your face. Your brows are less bushy and your lips turn more delicate. Your lashes remain the same, and you thread your fingers through your hair, smiling as Maomao stares down at the random woman. Talk about timing.

You're sure Jinshi is somewhat aware by now.

You stand up, the tiles clattering under your feet, and you laugh as you stretch your arms above your head, catching the way the woman at the gate pales in horror at the sight of you on the roof. Maomao sits behind you, same wind in her hair, leaning on her palm as you look down at Jinshi with a brow raised, Diu's clothes still on your body. Jinshi's eyes widen as he yells for you, leaving the other woman.

"With that, your debt is paid." You smile at Maomao. "I'll see you around, Maomao."

Maomao watches as you jump over the wall to the residence and Jinshi chase after you.

You sprint through the streets, Jinshi hot on your tail as you weave through the crowds swiftly, leaving Jinshi no chance to catch up to you. You really did think dressing as a man was fun, however much of a shame it was that Jinshi found out that you were the same eunuch hitting on everyone in the residence. You wonder if he'll catch you. At some point, you manage to ditch the outer coat to your shirt, only pants left and the wrap around your chest, throwing the coat at Jinshi to stop him as you rush into the forest.

It does not stop him, and when you dive into the water to get to the cave, a hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you to the surface with it as you kick to be freed. The hand lets go, but not before grabbing your face with a second hand, lips pressed to yours, the two of you float out of the water as Jinshi holds onto your face, legs kicking to keep himself afloat. His grip on your face is solid, no strength spared as he keeps you in place.

"Are you stupid?"

"Me? Stupid?!" You scoff, hands gripping his wrist to try to pull him off. "You're the one who said you would marry no one but Maomao! I simply left because you left me behind!"

"I went back for you!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?!" You scream, thrashing against his grip as it tightens, your nails digging into his wrist as he remains unbothered. "You've left me behind so many times! You left me during tea with the fucking emperor so you could save Maomao you nitwit!"

"I needed to save her! You would have done the same! You gave me the army seal!"

"But I would not have neglected you in the outer walls of the palace!" You shriek, finally breaking from his grasp as you dive underwater to swim away.

Jinshi follows after you, hand wrapping around your ankle to pull you to him, hands finding your waist as he pulls you with him to the cave, holding you down on the ground as water drips from his hair onto your face, his vision blurry from something he doesn't know anymore. You make him feel things. The dam holding back all of his emotions for you shatter as he pants, mouth open and chest heaving as he cries, hot tears splattering onto your face, his head hung as you resort to your fate, annoyance all over your face as you wait for him to cry it out.

"Jinshi. You love Maomao. We both know—"

"I don't." He whimpers. "I don't. I don't love her."

"Jinshi—"

somewhere in his subconscious, a rope snags.

"I love you." Jinshi whimpers, tears hot and warm on your cheeks now, dark eyes murky and cloudy, desperation bleeding past his fingers onto your skin as his grip on your tightens, a sob breaking past his lips, almost as if he had been in the same boat as you, the two of you both needing to break in order to be fixed. You had jumped off first, leaving Jinshi on his own as he had to figure out what he needed to do to get you back. You had floated off, lips curled into a peaceful smile and your eyes full of light, only to leave him behind. "I love you." Jinshi repeats again, voice cracking. Deep down, he is still that same child that held hands with you. Both of you were born and bred in order to grow quickly, not spared by the rapids of the palace as you both grew and grew and grew until you were perfect on the outside and hollow on the inside. "I love you." He sobs. "I have loved you for longer than I have been conscious. I did not pick to love Maomao because she had been perfect for me. I had picked her because she had been so full of life and full compared to the both of us. I can't love the same way everyone else does. I have given up my right as emperor, do you not know?! Do you know why you had to treat my wound when Maomao was gone?! I gave up the title! I cannot offer you what you were born and raised for. You deserve—"

You slap him, breathing heavy as the sound echoes through the cave.

"I deserve far more than you can give me." You speak, voice oddly even. "I deserve the world, but there is no point taking someone else's world when all I have ever been raised to know as my world is you. You should have spoken up and done something to communicate. I deserve the title of empress only because I was raised to become one. Beneath the title, all I deserved was for my childhood friend and the anchor of my life to stare at me just once outside of the royal court."

Jinshi whimpers, head still hung, cheek stinging from your slap.

"I was scared. We both cannot afford to have such weaknesses in the royal palace." Jinshi's voice goes quiet. "If I had revealed that I had an attachment to you, then the assassinations would have targeted you. I do not wish for you to drink more poison than you can take. I already know the previous empress made you swallow and swallow until there was nothing left. You are not a doll to me. You are something precious."

"Well you didn't choose me." You sigh. "We are getting nowhere—"

"I love you." Jinshi says it again.

"You do not—"

"I love you." Jinshi stares you in the eye, breathing slowing down and his eyes clear. "Until I stop chasing you under the sun and until the world ends, I love you. Until the heavens themselves strike me down, I will be in love with you. I do not deserve to love you right now, but it does not stop me. I will keep loving you until we return to the dirt of the ground. You may hate me for the rest of your life, despising everything that the royal name I own has put you through, but I will love you. Until I am bleeding my heart out and I become a star in the sky, I will love you. The moon is only gorgeous because it reflects the light from the sun. I am only the moon prince because the sun stands next to me in every event. Without you, I am worth nothing."

"That is a lie and you know it!"

"It is not!" Jinshi yells, lips pressing to yours to shut you up, even when you thrash against him, he holds you down, want and passion rippling through his lips to yours, and even when you accept his kiss, he does not stop, teeth gnashing against yours in something akin to a burning passion. He loves you. You are the sun to his moon, the light that he reflects in his day to day. He may have despised you, but the want that bled through his body at the sight of you was not something he could have ignored either. He loves you. He loves you until he returns to the dust of the world and both of you are lost to history. He loves you until the world caves in on itself and the royal family collapses.

When he finally pulls away, he notices the tears in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

"I love you." He whispers.

"Your mother was right." You whimper, voice frail and broken as you cry. "I am just a girl. I did not deserve the fate of the universe to rest on my back. I did not deserve for you to neglect me only to cry to me about loving me all alone. I do not deserve this, Jinshi."

"You are just a girl. I am just a boy." He whispers. "Neither of us deserved what we went through. I have never been in the right when it came to treating you. I will spend eternity trying to win you back after losing you. It will be my divine punishment, and the two of us may enter the afterlife, but I will continue to follow you. I have never been right when it has come to you, and I will spend my life regretting that."

And you cry, chest hurt from the years of pain, heart free from the years of hiding.

You are just a girl, and he is just a boy.

Neither of you deserved what you have been put through in the name of a better nation.

And as he ties his burnt rope to your frayed one to fix the gap, neither did he.

You are just a girl, and he is just a boy.

Alone in a royal palace with no real family.

You did not deserve it.

春

Jinshi brought you home.

His hand on your lower back as the two of you were drenched from head to toe, he brought you back. Maomao wiped your hair down as you thanked her, same dignified smile on your face as always, thanking Maomao for bringing you back. She helped you clean up, and you were returned to your room, the papers of the residence now split between you and Jinshi. Jinshi helps with what he is capable of, papers on his desk split with yours as you help him sort through the affairs of the residence. You are much more well-versed in it than he is.

"Beloved." Jinshi groans. "I need a drink."

You snort, sliding a paper to the side. "Ask Maomao for a drink. I need to make a round in the residence. The new blankets are coming today."

"When will we be wed? We must celebrate your return."

"I find no reason to if I never left." You hum. "You are still yet to propose to me. Not to mention how Maomao still has the hairpin you have given her."

"She does not." Jinshi raises a brow. "She traded it for wen at the pawn store when we went to the streets to get coins."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"You can ask her." Jinshi goes back to whining, Gaoshun sighing.

"Madam." Maomao knocks at the door. "Do you have time?"

You nod, closing the door behind you, and one of the maids hands you something with a bow and runs off when you accept it. It is a treat. Your lips quirk up as you unwrap it, handing Maomao one as you press the other one to your lips. The two of you chew quietly, and you stare at the pond. The red is all gone. You're not sure how Jinshi did it, but he had gotten rid of the blood you stained in it three winters prior. It had been gone for a while now. Yet, you do not say much, chewing on the peanut treat, tossing some at the ducks in the garden as you squat down.

"When is your wedding?"

"There is no need for one." You mumble. "Jinshi may not remember it, but we had been wed already."

Maomao blinks. "You were?"

"It was a simple ceremony. I had no family, so the empress had the two of us wed in secret before her death." You hum. "They dressed me up in red and proceeded with customs, but we continued to refer to each other as betrothed simply because it would be been troublesome for us to be married with no children."

"I see." Maomao mumbles. "Does he remember?"

"I do not believe so—"

You jump in your skin when Jinshi brushes his fingers over the nape of your neck.

"How could I not?" He pouts. "Though, you deserve a bigger wedding. It is the least I should do after putting you through so much."

You grimace at him. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning. Best of luck sending a proposal letter to my nonexistent family, Jinshi."

"No, we should pick up from the wedding." He frowns. "The bed. We never shared a bed."

"Because the empress passed away that same night so no one was there to watch us to rest together." You roll your eyes. "Treat?"

He takes one, humming. "I would prefer to host the wedding again."

You shrug. "The one to plan shall be you, despite the traditional way to go about it. It is not like I can bed you, anyway."

Maomao blinks slowly, cogs turning in her head. You watch, lips curled into a smile when it clicks for her.

"He's a eunuch." She pauses. "Which is why they did not make him bed you."

"Bingo!" You grin. "The second prince officially has one spouse. Master Jinshi has none."

"...then why do the maids here refer to him as master?"

"We force them to be tight-lipped." Jinshi hums. "Anyone who lets a word slip is executed. You live longer when you are tight lipped in this residence."

"I kill at least three maids a year." You hum. "You should watch. I line them up and shoot arrows at them."

Maomao blinks at you in concern. She supposes it is adequate since revealing Jinshi's true name would be like selling him out, but the idea of you wielding a bow... She pauses. No. You've cut a man's head off clean before. It is not out of character. It is simply out of character for the persona you display in front of the royal palace. Huh. Amusing. The contradiction of your quiet personality and the reality of your abilities. Perhaps you had been groomed in such a way to prevent your turning on the late empress.

"You are strange."

"Yes." You smile. "Very strange."

"You know what is strange? The fact that you are not my wife yet." Jinshi sighs dramatically.

You snort.

"Shall we get married in fall? When the harvest is most bountiful?"

"Perhaps." You yawn. "Though, you are to prepare everything."

"Except the dress?" Jinshi pauses. "No. It would be best if I pick the dress. I would simply—"

You smack him in the back of his head. "Bad. Leave the dress and decorations to me. You will simply plan the day and time."

"Yes, beloved." He pouts.

In the distance, a maid waves her hand, and you nod at Jinshi heading off.

Maomao's gaze lingers on you, only speaking up when you are out of earshot.

"Perhaps a new hairpin for her would be good as well."

"Well obviously." He pouts. "Perhaps you know what gem she would prefer?"

"Perhaps out of jade." She turns to look at Jinshi. "And hand carved."

Jinshi spits out blood.

Alright. For you.

Jinshi finishes the hairpin surprisingly fast, going home with ash on his face more often than he liked, but the hairpin is finished, jade shiny under the sun, pearls fastened with red silk, perfect for you to wear. It weighs light in his hand, but the metal is precious. So, he waits for a nice spring day, the sky clear and blue, sun in the sky, and he calls you out for tea.

This time, it would be his turn to chase after you, and he was determined to get you back.

After all, by the stars and the moon, by your birthdays and luck, you were destined.

And even if you were just a girl and he was just a boy, at least he was your boy.

If you would let him, of course.

“she doesn’t even know we exist,” suguru replied, sounding almost proud of the fact. as if it made the fantasy better. purer. untouchable.

they were in the back row of their social studies lecture, half-asleep and overstimulated. the professor was droning on about something like economic hierarchies but all satoru could think about was the curve of your tongue and whether or not that was your real lip color or something expensive and sticky. suguru’s mind wasn’t much better. he’d already saved the photo to his camera roll.

you were the shit, and not in a try-hard way. you were just it. everyone wanted you, and everyone knew it. you breezed through the quad in whatever sneakers were hot that week, and low-rise jeans like you were walking a runway. always laughing, always draped in people who looked just as cool but still somehow dimmer than you. there were whispers every time you passed, who you were dating now, what party you were at last night, which guy was crying after you’d ghosted him. you were a story everyone wanted to tell.

but satoru and suguru didn’t just want to tell it. they wanted to live inside it.

no one looked at them. not really. not in the way that mattered. sure, they were hot, obviously. satoru was tall with ridiculous bone structure and even more ridiculous glasses, the kind of guy who made eye contact and made your stomach drop. suguru was all cool, low hum energy, hair pulled back in a lazy tie, pierced, always looking like he’d just rolled out of bed and still better than everyone. but they were weird. smart. intimidating in the kind of way that made girls glance and then quickly look away. too much. too intense. too unnoticed.

but not when it came to you. they noticed everything about you.

like how you always posted around 11:30, like clockwork, probably right after class. like how you changed your highlights every other week—“🍸” was suguru’s favorite, the one with the photo of you in a tiny yellow bikini licking salt off your wrist. like how your phone case was different now, a clear one with a blurry photo tucked into the back. satoru had spent ten minutes trying to enhance it in his camera app. some girl. maybe a friend. maybe someone you kissed. either way, it ruined his entire afternoon.

“remember that video she posted last month?” satoru said suddenly, dreamily, like he was thinking about a dead lover. “the one with her in the pool?” suguru closed his eyes. “don’t,” he said.

“she was doing that thing with her legs, remember? like floating? and she had that little silver chain around her waist, oh my god—”

“i said don’t,” suguru snapped, though he was smiling. his voice was strained. “i had to excuse myself from psych after that one. couldn’t stand up for ten fucking minutes.”

they laughed under their breath, starved, like they were sharing state secrets. satoru swiped through your profile. every photo was a different flavor of devastating. you and your friends in the back of a limo. you holding a cocktail and laughing, head thrown back. you bent over in a mini skirt, taking a mirror selfie with a little ass showing. he made a noise in the back of his throat. “look at her,” he whispered. suguru leaned closer again. “she knows what she’s doing.”

“oh, she knows. she’s evil.” satoru’s leg bounced under the desk like he couldn’t contain himself. he was flushed, glassy-eyed, pupils blown wide like he was high off the mere suggestion of you, cock hard. he adjusted his glasses with one hand and pulled his pants looser with the other.

“i bet she moans pretty,” he said absently. suguru blinked. then nodded. “she definitely talks during sex.”

“she’d be such a brat.”

“she’d make you beg.”

“i’d thank her.”

satoru made a soft, strangled sound. “i’d buy her a car just for saying my name.” saying that wasn’t even absurd, the two of the boys were filthy rich.

they went quiet for a beat. the professor’s voice droned on about institutional frameworks or whatever, but neither of them heard a word. satoru was scrolling mindlessly now, not even seeing the images, just replaying your stories from memory. your voice, that light, lilting tone you used when you were playfully mocking someone. the way your laugh made other girls laugh too, like they wanted to be in on the joke. like you were magnetic.

“do you think she knows how loved she is?” he said, still reverent, like he was talking about a pop star. “she has to,” suguru said. “you walk through campus with a face like that, dressed like a fucking godess, there’s no way you don’t know everyone’s watching.”

“she always smells good,” satoru whispered, like he’d uncovered a secret. “like… like vanilla and something expensive. i don’t even know what it is. something sweet and grown. it fucking lingers.” suguru huffed a soft laugh. “you sound insane.”

“you smelled it too, though, that one time in the elevator. when she came in with maki and was on the phone with sukuna? she pressed the button and i literally blacked out.”

“right, and she had those jeans on, the real low rise ones.” satoru clutched his chest. “fuck. she’s so hot.” they lapsed into silence again, both of them stewing in their own separate daydreams. it wasn’t just that you were hot. everyone was hot in college. but you were something else, your own category. untouchable. legendary. you made everything look intentional, curated, like your entire life was a highlight reel and even your fuckups came with glossy lighting and a custom filter.

“remember that time in the quad when she dropped her lip gloss?” suguru said suddenly, his voice low, almost nostalgic. “and that guy from her media theory class literally sprinted across the grass to pick it up for her?”

“he almost tripped over someone’s laptop,” satoru said, grinning. “she just laughed and called him a gentleman. i almost passed out.”

“i think he changed his major after that.”

“she’s a menace.”

“she’s a religion.”

suguru was one for delving into your god like standing, being as he studied religion and cults as a hobby. (see what i did there)

another beat of silence. suguru reached for satoru’s phone and swiped through your tagged photos now, which were even more chaotic than your feed. candid flashes of your life. you in the club with yuki and maki, glitter around your eyes and a bottle in one hand. you curled up on a dorm bed with shoko, half-asleep and pouting with perfect lips, arms toght around ieris torso. you and choso at a rooftop party, your chin on his shoulder and your fingers looped loosely around his belt.

satoru groaned. “i hate that she’s close with choso.”

“he’s her best friend.”

“he doesn’t deserve her.”

“he’s cooler than us.”

“so is shoko.”

“so is maki.”

they both paused.

“yuki’s not,” they said in unison.

the boys snorted.

satoru’s leg was still bouncing. he was chewing the inside if his cheeke now, something he hadn’t done since freshman year calculus, the night before the midterm. he looked dazed, like he was seconds from declaring his undying love or jumping off the lecture hall balcony.

“what do you think she’d major in if she wasn’t doing fashion?” he asked, voice soft.

suguru didn’t even hesitate. “media. or journalism. something where everyone has to listen to her.”

“right,” satoru sighed. “she’d run a magazine. or like, start a podcast that goes viral. and then she’d interview celebrities and they’d fall in love with her. obviously.”

“she’s the main character,” suguru said, not for the first time. “she makes other people look blurry.”

“i’d pay her to bully me.”

“i’d pay her to just notice me.”

they both stared ahead, glassy-eyed, entranced, like worshippers at the altar. the professor was clicking through a powerpoint now. no one in the room was paying attention. no one except them, and it wasn’t even to the class. satoru sighed again. “she’s gonna ruin my life.”

“you’d let her.”

~

class ended in a blur.

satoru didn’t even register the final slide or whatever the professor said about the next assignment. he just stood up like he was waking from a dream, hoodie sleeves stretched over his hands, pupils still blown wide. suguru slung his bag over his shoulder as satoru joked about something or other, the two best friends falling into easy conversation.

and then they saw you.

you were at the end of the hall, posted against the lockers like you were starring in a movie. even the fluorescent lighting couldn’t make you look bad, if anything, it just made your skin glow warmer, your lip color glossier, the low-rise dip of your jeans even more criminal. your laugh rang out above the crowd, light and effortless, head tipped back, hand brushing your hair behind your ear like you didn’t even know the world was watching.

but you weren’t alone.

he was there, sukuna.

and god, he looked like a warning sign. like something out of a sex and violence cautionary tale. tall and cut like a knife, eyes heavy-lidded and mean, that cocky half-smirk on his face like he owned the place. like he owned you.

“fuck,” satoru muttered, ducking his head.

suguru didn’t speak. just stared, jaw tight, something ugly twisting behind his eyes.

sukuna had his hand on your waist. rings catching in the light. pinky grazing bare skin. possessive and lazy, like he was daring anyone to look. you leaned into it like it was natural. like it was yours. like it belonged.

satoru swallowed hard.

“he doesn’t deserve her,” he whispered, too quiet for anyone but suguru to hear.

“he cheats on her,” suguru muttered. “everyone knows it. shoko was telling me he was touching up some girl at a bar the other week right infront of her.”

(the two of them got all of their inside scoop from shoko, she was one of your best friends after all.)

“but she stays.”

“she laughs at his jokes.”

“she defends him.”

“she loves him,” suguru spat, like it physically hurt.

they both stood there in silence, letting the scene unfold in slow motion, sukuna murmuring something low against your ear, you rolling your eyes and hitting his chest playfully, him gripping your wrist and pulling you closer with that smug grin like he knew he could get away with anything. and maybe he could. because you let him. because you always let him.

satoru’s heart was pounding. not with jealousy, or not just jealousy. it was rage, helplessness, obsession. it was the primal ache of wanting to save you from someone who didn’t deserve your attention, much less your affection. he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and ask what you were doing. ask why you stayed. ask what you saw in him when you could have had the world.

when you could have had them.

“look at her,” suguru said again, his voice rough now. “she’s still smiling.”

“she smiles at everyone,” satoru mumbled.

“not like that.”

a beat passed. you tilted your head to say something, and sukuna’s hand slipped a little lower. satoru felt something short-circuit behind his eyes.

“he’s not even all that,” he said weakly.

“he’s objectively hot,” suguru corrected, bitter.

“okay, but he’s a dick.”

“he threatened that guy in line at the boba shop for ‘looking too long.’”

“he almost fought toji last week.”

“and he still gets to touch her.”

they watched in silence as sukuna leaned in and kissed your cheek. the corner of your mouth twitched, like maybe you didn’t love it. but then you grabbed his hand, and the moment was gone.you turned toward the hallway, eyes scanning lazily, and for a second, just a second, they caught yours. satoru stopped breathing.

your gaze swept over the crowd like you were barely registering it. and then it paused, on them. or maybe just past them. maybe you didn’t see them at all. but your lashes flicked up, and satoru swore your eyes met his.

it was less than a second. a glitch in time. and then you looked away. “we should go,” suguru said hoarsely. satoru nodded, dazed. “yeah.”

they turned and walked the other direction, hearts pounding, ears ringing, like they’d just survived a brush with a godess and came out unworthy.

~

you felt them before you saw them.

just for a moment, the faint prickle on the back of your neck, that sixth sense, like someone was watching. not in a creepy way. not entirely. more like a spotlight brushing over your skin. you glanced up, lazy, bored, your hand still in sukuna’s. and there they were.

satoru and suguru. the weird ones. the smart ones. the ones who sat in the back row and whispered and wore dark colors and always looked like they were thinking about something too complicated to say out loud. you knew who they were. obviously. not by name at first, but by vibe. the tall one with the white hair. the other one with the bun and the earrings. always together. always quiet. always staring.

they were looking at you now. or maybe through you.

you held their gaze for a beat too long. or maybe not long enough. your eyes flicked over them like flipping a page. like you hadn’t just felt something strange and bright bloom in your chest. like your stomach didn’t twist a little when the tall one blinked slow, mouth parted like he was afraid to breathe. and then you turned away.

“what?” sukuna asked, possessive already, voice low against your temple. “who was that?”

“no one,” you said quickly. “just some nerds.” he grunted, satisfied, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. it was wet and a little too loud. you smiled like you liked it.

~

his hand stayed on you the whole walk back to your dorm. you liked it when people looked. or you were supposed to. that was kind of the whole point, being seen with him. being claimed. being the girl everyone whispered about. it meant you were wanted. it meant you were interesting. it meant you were doing something right.

and sukuna was… a lot of things. hot. dangerous. magnetic. your friends all had different names for it, toxic, thrilling, psychotic, exciting. but he was never boring. never soft. always burning at the edges like he might ruin something if you got too close. you weren’t sure when that had started to feel like a good thing.

the dorm door clicked shut behind you and suddenly he was on you, hands hot and greedy, mouth already dragging over your neck like he needed to mark you. you let him. tilted your chin up and played along. giggled when he pushed you against the wall.

“missed you,” he said, already pulling at your top. “fuck, you look so hot in this.”

“you saw me this morning,” you said lightly, unbothered, even as your stomach curled tight.

“not enough,” he muttered, like he was doing you a favor.

he kissed you hard. messy. teeth clicking, hands everywhere. he tugged at your waistband and shoved you toward the bed. you went. you always did.

~

it felt good. in theory.

his body, the weight of him, the way he knew exactly where to touch, it should’ve been enough. you knew what this was supposed to feel like. the flushed skin and gasping breath and tangled sheets. the dizzy rush when he grabbed your thighs and hissed against your ear. the way he said your name like a curse. but your mind kept wandering.

you thought about how his hand always pressed too hard on your throat. how he never asked. how he got mean when you moan loud enough. how he always acted like he was the one doing something foryou. like you were lucky. like you should be grateful.

you thought about the way he said ‘mine’ like it was a threat. the way he got mad when you wore skirts without telling him. the way he snapped at choso. the way he hated to see you cry but never stopped doing the things that made you cry in the first place.

you didn’t moan. not really. you made sounds, but they felt empty. performative. like you were playing a role in something you didn’t write. he didn’t notice. he never did.

~

afterwards, you’re both sprawled across the bed, the heat between your bodies already fading, peeled away by the hum of the box fan in the corner. your dorm smells like sex and cigarette smoke, cheap jasmine incense half-burned in the tray by your desk. the sheets are twisted around your calves, his hand resting on your thigh like an afterthought. heavy. possessive. a warning, maybe.

you don’t move. not yet.

sukuna exhales slow, dragging smoke from the cigarette between his fingers, eyes flicking across your body like he’s still hungry. or maybe just checking to make sure you’re still there. still his. still quiet.

“you came, right?” he asks, flat.

you nod. you didn’t. not really. but he’s not looking at your face. he grunts, satisfied, and tosses the butt into an empty soda can on your nightstand. it hisses and dies. you watch the smoke curl.

his fingers squeeze your thigh once, almost as if to say, ‘good girl’. then he’s sitting up, rubbing a hand over his jaw, flexing his shoulders. still shirtless, tattoos shifting across his skin like they mean something. you’d thought they were cool, once. bold. hot, in a violent kind of way.

now they just look like warnings you ignored. “you’ve been weird lately,” he says suddenly. your heart skips. you roll onto your side, away from him, dragging the sheet higher.

“i’m tired,” you say.

“you’re always fucking tired.” he says it like an accusation. like it’s your fault for being drained. like he’s not the reason you keep losing sleep. the reason you fake smiles at parties. the reason you check your phone every ten minutes in case he’s texting something mean and calling it love.

he gets up. doesn’t bother with a shirt. just paces toward the mirror, checking his reflection like there’s something there he can control. you watch him from the corner of your eye. the way he adjusts his necklace. the way he wipes his thumb across his mouth, tugging the corner up in a smirk like he’s practicing it for someone else.

“i don’t like when you get quiet,” he says.

“i’m not quiet.”

“you were quiet at the party last week. and yesterday. when i called. you sounded off.” he doesn’t ask how you are. he never does. it’s always what’s wrong with you, never what happened.he can tell when something’s different, but he doesn’t want to understand. he wants it fixed. he wants you back to normal. back to the version he likes. the one that pouts and kisses his jaw and laughs at his jokes and clings to his arm at kickbacks like a prize.

“i’m fine,” you say.

you’re not. you haven’t been. you don’t know when it started, that dull ache in your chest after he touches you. that knot of disappointment in your stomach when he says your name like a command. the way you dread his messages and crave them in the same breath. how he flips your moods inside out with a single emoji. how you get dressed based on whether or not he’ll approve. how you deleted that one photo choso took because sukuna said it made you look like you were trying too hard.

you used to feel chosen. now you just feel watched. “you’re not gonna start some shit, are you?” sukuna asks suddenly, voice sharp. “don’t be dramatic.” you blink. slow. “what are you talking about?” 

he turns around, eyes narrowed. “you always do this. pull back when things are good. look—i know i fucked up last weekend, okay? that bitch came onto me. i didn’t do shit.” you hadn’t brought it up. hadn’t said a word about the girl at the bar, the one with the hand on his chest and the way he smiled down at her like he didn’t know you were watching. but now he’s bringing it up. spinning it. making it yours.

you sit up slowly. your arms around your knees. the sheet clutched to your chest like armor. “i didn’t say anything about that,” you murmur.

“yeah, well, you’re thinking it. i can see it. i know how your brain works.” that’s the problem, isn’t it? he doesn’t know how your brain works. he only knows how to manage it. redirect it. drown it out.

he climbs back onto the bed, looming over you, caging you in with his arms. “don’t start being weird, babe,” he says, softer now. persuasive. his hand cups your jaw. thumb strokes your cheek. “you’re mine. yeah?”

you nod. a slow, reluctant thing. he kisses your forehead like it’s a reward. like he’s doing something tender. but your skin feels tight. you don’t want this anymore. but you don’t know what else there is.

he’s the one you said yes to. the one your friends warned you about. the one who made your heart race at first, all teeth and heat and recklessness. and there’s still a part of you that clings to that version of him. the sukuna who showed up at your dorm with flowers that one time. the one who beat the shit out of a guy for grabbing your ass. the one who called you dreamgirl under his breath at 3 a.m. when he thought you were asleep.

but now it feels like you’re shrinking around him. and maybe he doesn’t notice. or maybe he does, and likes it better this way. he lies back down, one arm slung over your waist, tugging you close. you let him. because it’s easier than fighting. because it’s easier than leaving.

but your eyes stay open. your thoughts drift.

you think about the quiet look from earlier. the ones in the hallway. the way the tall one blinked at you like you were something too bright to touch. the way the other one leaned in close, like he was listening. like he always listened.

you don’t know their names.

but you remember the way it made you feel. and for the first time, you wonder what it would be like to have someone touch you like they didn’t already think they owned you.

~

before you know it sukunas throwing on a beater and fixing his hair in your mirror before patting your ass and mumbling a ‘later.’ like you were just another one of his problems rather than his girlfriend. you don’t know why that’s the part that makes your chest burn.

there’s a hollow ache in your ribs, the kind that feels like disappointment. and not the big kind, not betrayal or heartbreak. it’s the small kind. the kind you swallow until it piles up somewhere behind your lungs, quietly waiting to rot.

you sit up. the mirror on your vanity catches your reflection. smudged mascara. lipstick half-gone. your necklace twisted. you look like a girl who’s just been fucked and not in a good way. not in a way that means anything.

why do you keep letting him do this to you? you stare at your phone. then pick it up. then put it back down. then pick it up again and scroll to choso.

he picks up after two rings. “yo.”

“hey,” you say softly, curling your legs beneath you. “you busy?”

there’s a pause. a car in the background, maybe people talking. “nah. what’s up?”

“just…” you hesitate. the words feel too heavy. “i feel like shit.” another pause. then quieter,

“ryomen?”

you sigh.

“he’s such a dick,” choso mutters, like he’s already angry for you. “what happened this time?”

“same shit,” you mumble. “he left without even looking at me. he barely touched me. like i was just… just there to get him off.” you hate how your voice breaks a little. hate how you sound like someone who’s still hoping for tenderness. you hear choso inhale like he wants to say something cruel about sukuna but doesn’t want to kick you while you’re down.

“you should come to this thing tonight,” he says instead. casual, but not really. “at my place. just a few people. yuki’s coming. maybe shoko. i’ll roll for you.”you press your lips together. “sukuna’ll be there.”

“no,” he says simply. “he doesn’t know about it." that surprises you.

“what?” he adds dryly. “i’m allowed to throw a party without that asshole. you need to get out. please?” you hesitate again. your fingers dig into the blanket. you’re still bare beneath it.

“you can wear that matching set, the leopard print one,” choso adds. “the one that makes you look like sin.” you huff a laugh, despite yourself.

“fine,” you say. “i’ll come.” he hums like he knew you would. “i’ll text you the details. bring whoever you want.” you hang up and lay back again.

you don’t move for a while. just stare at the ceiling, wondering when sex started feeling like silence. like erasure. you touch your own wrist, thinking about how sukuna hadn’t. not really. he didn’t hold you after. didn’t ask if you were okay. you don’t even think he noticed when you turned your head away.

you get up, shower. dress slowly. the corset, just like choso said. your lipstick red this time. something meaner in the mirror now. something you like better.

~

meanwhile, satoru’s dorm smells like weed and expensive cologne.

his legs are folded on the bed, shirt clinging to his chest, socks mismatched. his glasses are halfway down his nose. suguru’s in the desk chair, sketchbook balanced on his thigh, pen flying. they’re both a little too high.

“her mouth,” satoru mumbles, flopped sideways like his spine doesn’t exist. “i swear to god, sugu. her mouth. it’s like—it’s like the curve of god’s palm.”

“which god?”

“any god.” suguru doesn’t respond. just keeps sketching. his tongue is tucked between his teeth in concentration. you, rendered in graphite: legs crossed, lips parted, looking somewhere over the viewer’s shoulder. suguru’s version of heaven.

“she posted a story earlier,” satoru continues, dreamy. “walking somewhere. her heels were clacking on pavement. i watched it six times.”

“ten,” suguru corrects.

“okay, ten. shut up.” suguru lets out a hum. the tip of his pencil darkens the outline of your jaw.

“sukuna doesn’t deserve her,” satoru says after a moment. “he’s such a fucking caveman.”

“he doesn’t even look at her like he sees her,” suguru murmurs. “just like something he’s already claimed.”

“she deserves to be worshipped.”

“she should be worshipped,” suguru echoes, voice low. “slowly. with hands and tongue and praise.”

satoru laughs, but it’s breathy. “you’re gonna make me hard again.”

“you’re always hard.”

“only for her.” they’re quiet for a moment. satoru grabs the lighter and takes another hit, eyes fluttering shut. suguru adds a shadow to your lips, the shape of them exact from memory. he doesn’t need reference photos anymore. he could draw you from bone and ash.

“what do you think she’s doing right now?” satoru asks.

“existing. devastating the world.”

“wearing something cute,” satoru adds.

“touching her neck.”

“moaning, maybe,” suguru murmurs. “fuck,” satoru groans, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over his face. “i need to go to the gym.”

suguru just keeps drawing. his phone buzzes against the desk. he glances down. then lifts it. “it’s choso.”

“ooh.” he picks up. “yeah?”

choso’s voice is clear. “yo. party at my place. you two should come.”suguru glances at satoru, who’s peeking from beneath the pillow. “who’s coming?” 

“yuki. maybe shoko. and, uh—” choso pauses. “y/n.” suguru’s grip on the phone tightens.

“she’s coming?” satoru mouths, sitting bolt upright.

“we’ll bring something,” suguru says, calm as ever. “see you soon.” he hangs up and closes the sketchbook. satoru is already scrambling for his hoodie. “pot?”

“obviously.”

“should i put on cologne or is that too much?”

“never too much.” satoru hesitates. “okay okay. the expensive one.”

“do you think she’ll talk to us?” satoru asks, suddenly nervous.

“no,” suguru says. “but we’ll be near her.” satoru swallows. “okay. yeah. near’s good.” they leave the dorm like they’re heading to the altar.

~

choso’s posted on the porch like he’s guarding something precious. hoodie up, hood eyes sharp. the usual quiet cool of him edged tonight with something more electric. his shoulders relax slightly when he sees them walking up the sidewalk, two tall silhouettes backlit by the streetlight haze, all confidence and casual blasphemy. satoru gets there first, grinning, his geeky faded digimon shirt being overshadowed by his sheer muscular mass. 

“you postin’ up like a bouncer now?” he teases, breath fogging in the chill.

“gotta keep the freaks out,” choso mutters, glancing between the two of them. “and then i remember i invited you.”

suguru smiles slow, a corner curl of his mouth that feels like heat. he was dressed like a chanel model cross frat attire. black button up halfway open reveling his tribal tattooed chest. “and aren’t you glad you did?”

“jury’s out,” choso deadpans, but there’s a smirk there, hiding. satoru digs into his pocket and pulls out a tin of joints. “peace offering,” he says, flipping it open and offering it like a tray of macarons. “top shelf. rolled by virgins.”

“liar,” choso says, but he takes one.

“suguru packed ‘em. he’s got a surgeon’s hands,” satoru adds, with a suggestive little wiggle of his fingers. suguru doesn’t even look up.

“and the self-control of a monk,” suguru adds flatly.

“not the first time someone’s called you daddy,” choso mutters, lighting the joint with a quick flick. his eyes flick up through the smoke. “you gonna be cool in there?”

“we’re always cool,” satoru grins.

“that’s the problem,” choso says. “you two have a weird effect on people.” satoru leans in a little, like he’s telling a secret. “you mean a sexy effect.”

“i mean a weird one,” choso replies, exhaling. “but yeah. that too.” suguru chuckles, low and dry. “we’re on our best behavior.”

“that your best?” choso gestures to suguru’s half-open shirt. “jesus.”

“he wasn’t invited,” suguru shrugs, brushing past him with the confidence of someone who doesn’t care if god watches.

choso watches him walk inside, then glances at satoru. “you seriously still into her?” satoru’s grin falters for a second, then smooths back over. “we’re not into her,” he says. “we worship her.”

“same difference,” choso says, and takes another drag.

inside, the air is warm and thrumming. satoru and suguru move like a current through the crowd, all glances and gravitational pull. girls glance. guys glance. no one says anything.

they find a couch in the corner. low, stained corduroy, good for people-watching. suguru takes the end, ankle resting over his knee, posture open and loose. satoru slouches beside him, long limbs draped in studied disarray, finger idly tapping his phone screen but not looking at it.

the music’s just loud enough to feel like it’s inside your ribs.

that’s when they notice toji. he’s posted near the kitchen, leaning against the frame like the house belongs to him, dressed in black on black on black. he doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink, just watches them watching him.

satoru lifts two fingers in lazy salute.

“toji,” he calls.

toji raises his cup in acknowledgment, barely.

“you look like you’ve already committed a felony tonight,” suguru murmurs, amused.

toji’s voice cuts across the room. “what’d you bring?”

“weed,” satoru answers, grinning. “and each other.”

“figured,” toji mutters. he takes a sip from his cup, then adds, “she’s here.”

they both go still.

“when?” suguru asks.

“just walked in,” toji says. “looked abit sad.”

“fuck,” satoru mutters, already scanning the crowd.

“and sukuna?” suguru asks.

toji’s mouth twists. “haven’t seen him.”

“good,” satoru says, teeth flashing. toji watches them for another beat. “you two are fucking sick,” he says. “we know,” satoru replies.

“but you’re fun to watch,” toji adds, then vanishes into the kitchen. satoru exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “you feel that?”

“yeah,” suguru says. “she’s close.” they don’t move from the couch. they just wait.

and when you walk in, all gloss and godlight, eyes scanning the crowd like you’re above it, they see you before you see them. satoru breathes your name like a prayer. suguru doesn’t say anything. his hands are already itching for a pen, wanting to capture this moment in his own depiction. 

you looked perfect. 

that’s all satoru can think, half-baked and half-crazy, watching you from across the room like you’re the moon and he’s never seen the night before. the party bends around you, color and noise and heat, all orbiting the shine of your smile, the flash of your earrings, the sweet ridiculous sway of your hips as you laugh at something yuki says and lean into her like you belong to no one.

he’s not breathing right. he knows it. keeps inhaling too deep, too slow, then holding it like he’s trying to trap the moment inside his lungs. “fuck,” he mutters, voice low, “she’s unreal tonight.”

suguru’s sketching. he’s been sketching since he saw you cunty skirt, fuck-me heels, glossed lips. his fingers move without looking. he’s not drawing the room. he’s drawing you, always you, even if it’s just fragments. a line of your collarbone. the curve of your wrist. the shadow under your jaw.

“she’s wearing that perfume again,” suguru says, voice barely audible under the music. “you can smell her from here?” satoru asks, a little manic. “no,” suguru replies. “i just know.”

they’re stoned, yeah, but it’s the kind of high that sharpens things instead of dulling them. the kind that makes your mouth dry and your stomach hollow and your hands twitch when you see something you want but can’t touch.

you’re surrounded, of course. toji was right, everyone wants a piece of you. you’re draped in limbs and conversation, smiling too brightly, sipping from someone else’s cup. yuki’s arm around your waist, maki’s laughing near your shoulder, shoko leaning in close to murmur something that makes you roll your eyes but grin anyway. you flick your hair over one shoulder and satoru almost chokes.

“she’s touching everyone,” he says. “she’s allowed to,” suguru replies, tone even. “yeah, but—”

“but you want it to be us.” satoru doesn’t respond. just takes another slow drag from the joint suguru passed him and exhales like it hurts.

“god,” he says, “look at her.”

and they do. you dance. just a little. barely anything. just the sway of your hips to the bassline, the subtle twist of your mouth like you know you’re being watched. suguru swallows hard. satoru adjusts his glasses even though they’re not slipping.

“i’d ruin her,” satoru says softly.

“you’d fall apart first,” suguru murmurs.

then — choso. he slips behind you like a shadow and you lean back into him without hesitation, head tilting toward his shoulder, hand coming up to curl around his wrist like it’s a habit. your fingers brush the hem of his sleeve and satoru twitches.

“what the fuck,” satoru mutters.

“best friends,” suguru says. “remember?”

choso says something and you laugh, a real one this time, bright and loose and open. he looks smug. affectionate, even. he wraps an arm around your waist and you don’t move away. satoru makes a strangled noise.

“calm down,” suguru says, though his voice is tighter now, his pen paused mid-line. then, your eyes flick across the room. you see them, just for a second, you see them.

satoru feels it like a physical thing. the way your gaze lands on him, then suguru, then both of them at once. your lashes flicker. your expression doesn’t change much, just a soft, almost curious look. and then choso follows your gaze, too, and—

fuck.

he smirks.

he says something to you, and then starts walking toward them, still holding your waist, guiding you through the party like he’s bringing you home. satoru’s heart’s doing something weird. stuttering. flipping. maybe dying. suguru just closes his sketchbook, slow and deliberate, then sets it beside him.

“play it cool,” he murmurs.

satoru nods. “cool,” he says, voice too high.

“lower your shoulders,” suguru adds.

“right.”

“stop bouncing your leg.”

“fuck.”

you stop in front of them like a vision. choso grins. “you two remember how to say hi to a girl or do i have to teach you?”

“i—uh,” satoru blinks, then recovers, barely. “hi. you smile at him, sweet and a little amused. your perfume is real now, no longer imagined — floral and sugary with something darker underneath. it curls around him, dizzying.

“hi,” you say, and your voice is warm and clear.

“this is satoru,” choso says, gesturing lazily. “he’s a science freak. thinks weed makes him smarter.”

“it does,” satoru replies instantly. “scientifically.”

“and this is suguru,” choso continues, looking at him with a smirk. “he’s a total stoner but he sketches like he’s possessed. probably has a hundred drawings of you already.” suguru raises his brows. “don’t tell her that.” you glance at him, tilting your head. “do you?”

he meets your eyes without flinching. “maybe. you laugh, light and glittery, and satoru feels it in his chest. “you’re choso’s friends?” you ask, looking between them.

“classmates,” suguru says. “co-conspirators,” satoru adds. “puff buddy’s ,” choso supplies. you smile again. “i’m a media comms major,” you say. “minoring in fashion marketing.”

“we know,” satoru blurts, then catches himself. “i mean, cool. that’s cool.”

you raise a brow. “you guys stalking my linkedin or something?”

“instagram,” suguru says, unapologetic.

“jesus,” choso mutters. but you laugh again, like it’s funny, like you don’t mind. you twirl a piece of hair around your finger. “you guys gonna just sit here all night?”

“we’re observing,” suguru says. “we’re patient,” satoru echoes, gaze dragging over your legs.

“you’re freaks,” choso says fondly. and you just smile like you’re not even a little surprised. like maybe you knew.

“good,” you say. “i like freaks.” and satoru’s entire brain short-circuits. you sit beside them like you belong there. choso drops down first, legs spread, back slouched, and you slip easily into the space beside him, your thigh brushing his.

“so,” you say, stretching your legs out, the hem of your skirt riding higher, “what do two scary-smart stoners like you do for fun?”

“this,” satoru says. “and this,” suguru murmurs, tapping his sketchbook. “and this,” choso adds, leaning back on his palms while you flick ash into a half-empty red cup. you glance over at suguru. “are you really drawing me?” he doesn’t answer at first, just looks at you, lazy and direct. then flips open the sketchbook, turns it toward you, and holds it still.

your face. your neck. the fall of your hair. the bow of your mouth. all charcoal and smudge and obsession, haunting and soft.

you blink. then smile.

“that’s kinda insane,” you murmur.

“he’s kinda insane,” satoru says.

“takes one to know one,” you reply, not looking away from suguru.

his voice is low. “you mind?”

you glance at him, then satoru, then choso, who just shrugs like he’s used to this kind of attention orbiting you.

“nah,” you say. “i think it’s sexy.”

satoru makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat. suguru just hums and flips to a fresh page.

your eyes flick to satoru next. “and you? theoretical physics, right? what do you actually do?”

“i… read things. i think about time a lot.”

you blink. “time?”

“yeah, like, the concept of it. what it means that we experience things in sequence. how we know we’re not dreaming.”

you stare at him for a second. then grin, a slow, wicked thing.

“you are so weird.”

“yeah,” he says, breathless, “i know.”

you pass the joint back to choso. he takes a drag, then hands it to suguru. your fingers brush, the moment stretches.

you’re high, but not stupid. not numb. you feel every shift in the air, satoru’s stare, suguru’s gaze dropping to your legs, the way their postures have changed now that you’re here. you’re used to attention, but not like this. theirs feels… different. more intense. more sacred. more dangerous.

they’re not flirting.they’re studying.

choso slings an arm behind you, tapping your shoulder with two fingers. “you good?”

“mmhm,” you hum, leaning into his touch. “they’re fun.”

“told you.”

“you didn’t tell me they were hot,” you murmur.

satoru hears it. his breath hitches.

“you guys live on campus?” you ask them, eyes lazy, lips glossy.

“dorms,” satoru says. “it’s gross.”

“you wanna see gross,” suguru adds, “check his mini fridge.”

“hey,” satoru mutters. “that’s personal.”

“so you guys hang out a lot?” you ask, tilting your head.

“basically live in each other’s pockets,” choso says, tapping ash into the cup again. “they’re like married. it’s freakish.”

“it’s practical,” suguru replies.

“it’s hot,” you say again.

satoru makes another strangled sound and takes a very large hit.

you’re lounging now, fully relaxed, toe tracing the edge of suguru’s shoe, your thigh still brushing choso’s. the couch is small, the room buzzing, and the weed makes everything soft and hazy, except for them. they’re sharp in the haze. focused. real.

you tilt your head toward suguru. “what’s your favorite book?”

he pauses. “i’m not saying.”

“why not?”

“you’ll make fun of me.”

“probably."

he looks at you. “it’s the bell jar.”

you raise a brow. “really?”

“really.”

“that’s cute.”

satoru chokes.

“you okay?” you ask, not even trying to hide the smile curling on your lips.

“fine,” he wheezes. “i’m fine.”

you tap his knee gently, fingertips lingering. “what about you? what’s your favorite equation?”

he blinks. “i—uh—”

“yeah, you have to answer now.”

“schrödinger’s equation.”

“do you actually understand it or are you just saying that to sound hot?”

“both?”

you giggle. it’s automatic. light. sincere.

“you’re weird,” you say again.

“so are you,” satoru says.

“that’s why i like you.”

the room pulses. something shifts.

suguru’s still sketching, but slower now. his eyes on you between strokes, his jaw tight. satoru’s glassy-eyed and flushed, glasses slipping a little, shirt collar rumpled. choso is exhaling smoke toward the ceiling, but even he’s quieter now, just watching the way you look between them, curious, amused, glowing.

you’re not touching either of them, not really. but you may as well be sitting in their laps with the way your presence has unraveled them.

and you know it.

“i think i like this party,” you murmur.

“yeah,” suguru says, voice low, “me too.”

you’re still smiling when you say it, but something in your eyes shifts, gleams. not a sparkle. not a flutter. a glint. something sharp. calculated. choso sees it first, of course. he knows you too well. his fingers drum a rhythm against your shoulder, twice, then disappear like he’s giving you space. or permission.

“i’m gonna go grab a drink,” he says, voice low but laced with amusement. he pushes up from the couch, eyes flicking from you to them, and back again. a knowing smirk curls his mouth. “don’t burn anything down while i’m gone.”

you hum, like the idea pleases you. “no promises.”

and just like that, you’re alone.

suddenly, the room is too small. the party noise blurs to static, the laughter and clinking glasses and music all fading into a low, irrelevant hum. in this corner of the couch, there’s only you and them, two boys who have been watching you for months like they were starving for something they weren’t allowed to taste. two boys who’ve memorized your Instagram captions, who can recognize your perfume from a room away, who have notebooks filled with your face.

the shift is instant. palpable. electric.

satoru’s legs slide wider, a subtle but instinctive thing, his jeans pulling taut at the knees. his fingers curl slightly where they rest, like he’s trying to ground himself, but he’s buzzing, like every neuron is misfiring, every inch of skin alive and stinging. suguru’s hand stills entirely on the sketchpad in his lap. the pencil halts mid-line. he’s not even pretending anymore. both of them are looking at you, no buffer, no distraction, just their full, undivided attention. it feels like something tectonic.

your eyes flick between them. your lip twitches. “you guys always this intense?”

your voice is low. smooth. velvet, dipped in wine and layered in implication.

satoru blinks like you’ve slapped him. “uh. i—”

“yes,” suguru says.

your laugh is soft, throaty. indulgent. “good.”

satoru feels it everywhere. in his stomach, in his chest, in his fucking throat. like you’ve reached inside him and stroked something raw.

you lean forward, casually, like you’re stretching, but it’s measured. intentional. your bare thigh brushes suguru’s, the warmth of your skin dragging slow across denim. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t even breathe. and neither do you.

your gaze drifts down toward the sketchbook in suguru’s lap, the half-drawn lines of your jaw and shoulder and smile etched in graphite. “you always draw girls you wanna fuck?”

suguru’s mouth parts just slightly. but his voice, when it comes, is steady. “no.”

you turn your head. just a little. just enough. “just me?”

there’s a flicker in his eyes, something ancient, something aching. his throat bobs. “yeah,” he says. barely a whisper. “just you.”

you hum again, pleased. your lips part, just slightly, and satoru can feel the blood pounding in his ears. you look at him next. slowly. deliberately. your eyes slide over his face like you’re dissecting it. like you’re hunting.

and you say, “what about you, satoru?”

he blinks, trying to reboot his brain. “what about me?”

you tilt your head. smile like you already know the answer. “you wanna have me too?”

satoru thinks this might be the moment he dies.

his pulse spikes, eyes wide, mouth open and dry. he tries to speak but forgets how. “uh—yeah? i mean. yes.”

you bite your lip, like you’re suppressing a smile.

he thinks you look like a movie scene. soft lighting. forbidden touch. the thing that ruins him.

“okay,” you say, and it’s devastating. because you say it like it’s no big deal. like it’s an everyday occurrence. like it doesn’t mean the whole world just cracked open.

his whole body is buzzing. blood is flooding lower, heavy and hard, and he shifts like it’ll help, it doesn’t. suguru is dead silent beside him, but satoru sees the way his jaw flexes, the tight grip of his fingers curled around the edge of the sketchbook. like he’s holding onto it just to keep from reaching for you.

your thigh is still against suguru’s. your knee touches his now too, and it’s like you’re testing pressure points. your eyes drag between them, slow, lascivious. you lean in slightly, and your voice drops.

“you ever think about what it’d be like?” you murmur. “taking me apart together?”

satoru nearly chokes.

suguru’s nostrils flare. his eyes are pitch black, fixed on your mouth like it’s the only thing that matters.

you go on, like you don’t notice. like you don’t care. “which one of you would start,” you murmur, “and which one would finish.”

your hand ghosts over your own knee as you speak, casual and slow, fingers brushing the bare skin there. suguru’s eyes follow the motion like it’s life or death. satoru thinks he might spontaneously combust.

“you’d take turns, right?” you ask, quiet and curious. “be nice to me?”

satoru makes a sound, not even a word, just a soft, helpless exhale. suguru’s knuckles go white on the page.

your eyes flutter half-lidded. “or maybe not.”

and now their heads are filled with images they’ve only let themselves fantasize about in the dark. suguru’s brain is showing him flashes, your hands bound with his belt, your mouth open and wet, your thighs trembling under both their grips. satoru’s picturing you in his lap, suguru behind you, his fingers splayed over your throat while satoru kisses the words out of your mouth.

you lean back, finally giving them room to breathe, but they don’t. can’t.

and still, through the thick syrup of want, you feel it: the sting of guilt. you’re not drunk. abit high. just reckless, and sharp, and aching. and it hits you in the gut for a moment, the memory of sukuna’s hands on your waist just yesterday, the way he grunted when he finished, the way he didn’t kiss you after. didn’t look you in the eye. just zipped up, muttered something, and left. the silence of your bedroom after. the hollow echo of your own heartbeat.

you think of all the nights you cried over him. all the times you begged. all the times you forgave him just to feel wanted.

and you think of last weekend.

the texts you saw. the girl from his seminar with the tan lines and acrylics. her voice on speakerphone, laughing about how sukuna “hates condoms.”

you inhale. sharp. shallow.

then you exhale.

“fuck it,” you whisper. not to them. to yourself.

your fingers trail slow, suguru’s chest first, where the cotton of his shirt clings faintly to the muscles beneath, then over to satoru’s thigh, warm through his jeans. your touch is gentle, exploratory. like a whisper of intention. but the weight of it lands like thunder.

suguru exhales through his nose, the sound low and sharp. his whole body’s gone tense, rigid beneath your hand, like he’s trying to suppress some ancient instinct. satoru’s leg jumps under your palm. his eyes are wide, his breath shallow, and you can feel the way he’s looking at you , like he’s been dreaming of this exact moment for years and now it’s finally arrived, he’s too stunned to survive it.

and then you’re moving, slowly, languidly, like you’re underwater. like this couch is the center of the universe and gravity only bends for you. you shift up onto your knees, both hands now in motion, one sliding up suguru’s chest to his collarbone, the other curling around satoru’s jaw. he stares at you like he’s drowning. like he wants to drown.

“jesus christ,” satoru whispers.

you lean in. suguru’s breath ghosts over your cheek as you press your lips to satoru’s first, soft and warm and teasing. not a kiss, not really. just the suggestion of one. and then, with a slow turn of your head, you kiss suguru.

his lips part immediately, almost startled. he meets you halfway, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slow and reverent against yours like he’s praying. his hand rises, brushes your waist, stops. he doesn’t pull you in — not yet. not unless you want it.

you do.

so you kiss him deeper, one hand gripping his shirt, the other sliding up into satoru’s hair. and suddenly they’re both touching you, tentative at first, like they can’t believe it’s real, like they expect to wake up in a cold sweat. satoru’s hand finds your waist, fingers trembling slightly as they spread, as if to hold you still. suguru’s palm settles low on your back, broad and warm. grounding.

you pull back for air, lips kiss-bruised, and satoru’s chasing you before he even knows it, a needy, gasping thing. your mouths meet messily this time. breathless. hungry. you nip his lower lip and he whimpers, then moans low in his throat as your hips shift between them, pressing firm to suguru’s thigh.

you’re surrounded. heat, limbs, breath, the deep undercurrent of want that pulses between you in waves. your lipstick is smudged. your mascara’s probably smeared. suguru’s sketchpad lies discarded on the carpet, forgotten. satoru’s pupils are blown so wide they look bottomless.

and god, god, they want you.

you feel it in the way their hands tighten, in the slow rhythm of their mouths against your skin, in the press of suguru’s fingers at your hip and the way satoru’s jaw tenses when you grind just slightly against him. it’s electric. it’s suffocating. it’s perfect—

until the fear hits.

not like a slap. not like a scream. just a shift a flicker at the edge of your mind, subtle but insistent.

your eyes open, just barely. a quick sweep of the room.

and that’s when you see them.

phones.

not aimed at you, not really. just everywhere. in hands, on laps, on tables. camera lenses you can’t see. screens you can’t control. this isn’t your dorm. this isn’t even your party. this is choso’s house. and you’ve made a career, a life, out of being seen a certain way.

you can’t risk it.

not like this.

not when there’s a chance he could see it.

sukuna, in his shitty apartment. sukuna, shirtless and smug, scrolling through snaps sent by girls you don’t even know. sukuna, watching a video of you pressed between two boys, the wrong boys, with a cruel little scowl on his face, fuming.

the bile rises. you swallow it.

and then you move.

you pull back, gentle but firm, pressing your palms to their chests. their mouths chase yours, dazed and breathless, but you hush them with a kiss to the corner of suguru’s lips, a brush of your fingers down satoru’s jaw.

“not here,” you murmur, voice low and velvet again, but with an edge of purpose now. “come on.”

you slide off the couch and tug your dress into place, checking over your shoulder once ,a coy smile, a flick of your lashes. suguru’s already standing. satoru fumbles with his belt.

“where are we—?”

“upstairs.”

you don’t wait for them to follow. you know they will.

the hallway is narrow. the party fades behind you, music muffled. the lights are dimmer here. more intimate. like the world’s finally shrinking to just you again. your pulse pounds as you slip toward the stairs, heels clicking slow. deliberate. like you’re giving them a show. and behind you, you hear them. footfalls. breath. whispered curses.

“jesus, fuck,” satoru mutters under his breath. “what is even happening—”

“this is a fucking dream,” suguru says. “if it’ is, don’t wake me.”

you reach the landing. pause.

and choso is standing in the hallway, shoulder against the wall, a half-empty bottle of water in his hand. like he’s been waiting.

you meet his gaze.

his eyes flick over your body, the smear of gloss on your chin, the flushed heat of your cheeks, the soft puff of your breath.

he sees everything. knows everything.

but he doesn’t judge.

his gaze flicks behind you, briefly, to where satoru and suguru have stopped at the top of the stairs, awkward and uncertain, like they’re not sure if they’re intruding or dreaming or about to be arrested. choso arches a brow.

you step close, just enough for him to hear you over the thump of the bass.

“can i use your room, cho?” you murmur. your tone is sweet, light, but underneath it there’s steel. and he hears it. hears the venom you’re trying to burn out. the rage. the heartbreak. the fuck-you of it all.

he studies you.

then exhales through his nose. “door locks.”

you smile, soft, grateful. your fingers brush his wrist as you pass.

he doesn’t stop you.

doesn’t stop them either.

just mutters, low and dry, “don’t mess up my pillows.”

you reach the door. push it open. gesture them inside.

they follow. obedient. entranced. yours.

satoru closes the door behind you with trembling fingers.

it clicks shut like a secret, like a promise.

the room is quiet except for the muffled pulse of the party below and your own thudding heart. soft lamplight glows amber across the sheets, and when you turn, they’re both just standing there, staring at you like they’ve forgotten how to breathe.

satoru’s flushed. messy. pink creeping high on his cheeks, his lips parted and wet. suguru’s still and sharp-edged beside him, jaw tight, eyes dark. his chest rises slow and controlled, like he’s barely holding himself together.

they’re both so fucking beautiful you want to cry.

and they’re looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

you take a shaky step back toward the bed.

and they follow.

they don’t rush. don’t fumble. just come closer like gravity’s dragging them to you. like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment and they’d die before wasting it.

“is this okay?” suguru asks, voice low and quiet, already brushing his fingers along the hem of your skirt. “we’ll stop if—”

“yes,” you breathe. “please.”

and satoru makes a sound, high, sweet, desperate, like your permission broke something in him.

their hands start slow.

soft.

satoru’s knuckles skim under the hem of your top, fingertips feathering over the skin just above your waistband. suguru stands behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a deftness that makes your breath hitch, his mouth grazing your shoulder as the straps fall loose down your arms.

they undress you like they’re unwrapping something precious.

like they’ve imagined this a thousand different ways and now that it’s happening, they’re afraid they’ll wake up.

your top comes off. then your bra. then suguru’s hands slide down your sides to unzip your skirt, and it pools around your ankles in a whisper. satoru drops to his knees to help you step out of it, and you could swear he shudders when your bare thighs come into view.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re…”

but he doesn’t finish.

he just looks up at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, blue and blown with awe, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares.

like your body is something divine.

like you’re not real.

then suguru turns you gently, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face toward his. he kisses you slow, deliberate, and when he pulls back, you’re trembling.

they guide you to the bed.

choso’s sheets are soft and rumpled beneath your thighs as they ease you down, laying you back like something fragile, something holy. satoru kneels beside you, suguru leans over you, and then they start undressing.

your breath catches.

because god—they’re unreal.

suguru shrugs off his sweater first, the hem dragging over his sharp waist, revealing smooth, pale skin and lean lines of muscle traced with soft hair. he’s covered in little scars, faint, old things, like he’s lived a hundred lives just to get here. you can’t look away tribal tattoos curb around his chest as it flex's as he moves.

satoru pulls off his sweater in one messy sweep, ruffling his snowy hair and leaving it even more wild. his t-shirt comes next, and it clings for a second to his chest, lifting high enough for you to see the soft curve of his stomach, the carved dip of his hips. he’s all long limbs and lean definition, built like something elegant and a little unhinged.

you stare.

and they know you’re staring.

satoru flushes pink under the attention. bites his lip. his hands are shaking again as he peels off his jeans, and when you glance down, you see he’s already hard.

suguru’s slower, more deliberate, keeping his eyes on you the whole time as he undoes his belt and pushes down his slacks, the sharp snap of leather making your thighs clench.

and then they’re both kneeling at the foot of the bed, fully undressed, looking at you like you’re some kind of miracle.

like you’re something they’ve only ever dreamed of.

“you’re…” satoru starts, voice cracking. “you’re so—fuck, you’re perfect—”

“she’s shaking,” suguru murmurs, eyes trailing up your bare legs. “we should go slow.”

“y-yeah,” satoru says, crawling closer. “yeah. slow. gentle. she deserves…”

he swallows.

“everything.”

and when they lay you back again, when they open your thighs with trembling hands and reverent mouths, you feel it in your bones.

this is not sukuna.

this is not cold hands and colder eyes.

this is not being used, this is worship, and it’s only just beginning.

you’ve been touched before, plenty. you’ve been kissed. been fucked. been thrown around a bedroom by a man who only knew how to want you with his hands, not his heart. sukuna was always rough. always selfish. he’d shove your knees apart without looking you in the eye, fuck you hard and fast like he was trying to win something. always left you cold after. empty.

never kissed you when it was over. never stayed.

and even when he did, when he lingered, when his voice went sweet and slow and his hand curved around your cheek — it was a manipulation. a performance. something rehearsed to keep you docile.

you always knew that.

but you wanted so badly to believe otherwise.

so you let yourself be used. again and again. hoping one day he’d see you, really see you — want you like more than just a convenience. you let him call you baby, even when it sounded hollow. you let him lie.

and now? now, there’s this.

satoru’s tongue is trembling in your cunt like he’s going to cry from how good you taste.

he’s murmuring your name like it’s sacred, wet lips dragging sloppy kisses over your folds, his moans humming against your clit. he sounds wrecked. ruined. unworthy.

and suguru, he’s watching like a man starved. his hand slides over your stomach, reverent, tracing circles against your skin as he holds you still for satoru’s mouth. every movement is gentle. purposeful.

“she’s shaking,” suguru whispers. “toru. slow down.”

but satoru just groans, deeper, like he physically can’t help himself.

“can’t—she’s so good—fuck, you’re so fucking good—”

his voice is raw.

he licks through your folds with a helpless rhythm, messy and eager, and his hands are gripping your thighs like he’s terrified you’ll disappear. his glasses are long gone. his eyes are glazed. his mouth is glistening with you.

and you can barely breathe.

you’re crying. not loud, not messy — just quiet, stuttering tears. and it’s not from the orgasm building in your spine. it’s from how they’re looking at you.

like you’re holy.

suguru leans in, kisses your cheek. “you okay, sweetheart?”

you nod. barely. “i just—he never—”

your voice cracks.

you don’t finish the sentence. don’t need to.

because they know. they know.

satoru’s pace falters, just a little. suguru’s fingers flex on your waist.

“he didn’t deserve you,” suguru says, so low it’s almost a growl. “he didn’t even fucking see you.”

you turn your head and sob once — small and sharp.

and then you come.

hard.

satoru groans like he’s the one unraveling, licking you through it with desperate, uncoordinated strokes, gasping against you like he’s addicted to the taste of your pleasure.

your body locks. then shudders. then melts.

and suguru pulls you into his arms, kissing your eyelids, your jaw, your throat. murmuring soft, incoherent things against your skin.

you blink up at him. flushed. dazed. sore.

“you wanna stop?” he asks, voice quiet.

and you say no.

no, you don’t want to stop.

you want to be held. ruined. rebuilt.

you want them to drown out everything he left behind.

so suguru fucks you slow.

deep.

he guides you onto your back, one hand cradling your jaw, the other stroking down your thigh as he lines himself up. you feel the thick head of his cock press to your entrance, and your fingers tremble where they’re fisted in the sheets.

he pushes in.

inch by inch.

watching your face.

watching every reaction.

he doesn’t slam. doesn’t shove. just presses, slow and deliberate, until he’s buried inside you to the hilt and your walls are fluttering around him.

you gasp. whimper.

and he moans.

“fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re—so tight—so good—”

satoru is still beside you, one hand in your hair, the other jerking himself slow, his mouth slack.

“she’s perfect,” he whispers. “she’s fucking—god, suguru, look at her—”

and suguru does.

he fucks you like you’re made of glass. like this is the only chance he’ll ever get to love you. slow, dragging thrusts that push so deep they punch little sounds out of you.

you cling to him.

you whimper his name.

“please,” you gasp. “please—don’t stop—don’t leave—”

and he kisses you so soft it makes you ache.

“never,” he says.

then: “he didn’t deserve your body. or your heart.”

then: “we’ll take better care of you.”

and then: “open for satoru, sweetheart.”

you blink through the tears, still spread open and full of suguru, and then satoru is there again, cock flushed and leaking, breath ragged as he kneels by your head.

“can i?” he whispers. “i’ll go slow. i swear.”

and you nod.

because you trust them.

because you want them.

because something inside you is shattering and growing back stronger.

satoru straddles your chest, his cock heavy on your lips, and you open for him, tongue out, lashes wet, suguru still thrusting into you slow and deep and steady.

“fuck,” satoru breathes. “fuck, baby—just like that—”

you suck him in.

he chokes on a groan.

his fingers curl in your hair as he starts to fuck your mouth, soft at first, tentative, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you, but you whimper and gag and grip his thigh, and he loses it.

starts moving faster.

deeper.

the wet sounds of your mouth around him mix with the slap of suguru’s hips against yours.

you’re being worshipped. consumed. you can’t speak, can’t even think — you’re just feeling, a vessel for their reverence, full of their hands and cocks and love.

because that’s what it is.

twisted and breathless and bruising, but it’s love.

not possession. not violence.

just two boys who’ve been obsessed with you for years, who would rather die than see you cry over him again.

and when they both come, satoru across your tongue with a helpless sob, suguru deep inside you with a raw groan and a hand pressed over your heart — it feels like freedom.

they don’t move for a while.

just lay there.

tangled with you.

your mouth swollen. your thighs trembling. your skin sticky and flushed and raw.

and when suguru kisses your temple, and satoru strokes your cheek, they don’t say anything.

they don’t have to.

because this was never just about sex.

this was about undoing every piece of damage he left behind.

and you think, maybe this is what it feels like to be loved right.

~

you’re asleep before either of them can speak.

curled between them in the tangle of choso’s sheets, one leg tossed over suguru’s thigh, your cheek pressed to satoru’s chest. your breaths are soft. slow. steady. like you’ve never slept better. like you were meant to end up right here, with both of them wrapped around you like a secret.

satoru doesn’t move. doesn’t even blink. he just stares down at you, stunned.

“she’s asleep,” he whispers, like it’s a confession.

“mm,” suguru hums beside him. “out cold.”

they’re both quiet for a moment. reverent. the air still smells like sweat and skin and sex, still thick with it, heavy like honey. your perfume is smeared all over their bodies, suguru’s neck, satoru’s chest, the crook of your own thighs, and neither of them want to wash it off. ever.

satoru breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “holy shit.”

suguru smiles slowly. “yeah.”

“i mean,” satoru says, voice still hushed, “did that actually just happen?”

he looks at you again. at your bare shoulder rising and falling. the way your lashes kiss your cheeks. your hand is curled into his shirt like you’re holding onto him in your sleep.

he swallows. “fuck, man.”

suguru’s hand rests lightly on the curve of your hip, his fingers tracing soft patterns over your skin, like he can’t stop touching you even now. “she was unreal.”

“she was perfect,” satoru says.

suguru glances at him. “you almost cried.”

“you did cry.”

“i did not.”

“you sniffled.”

“you made a noise like a dying cat.”

satoru flushes, but he’s grinning. dazed. dizzy. “she kept looking at me like she, like she wanted me.”

“she did,” suguru murmurs. “you saw the way she touched you.”

“yeah, but—”

“and kissed you.”

satoru’s chest rises. “i know.”

his hand slides carefully up your spine, slow and barely-there, fingertips ghosting over the delicate dip between your shoulder blades. you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur, your brow twitching, and both of them freeze like they’ve been caught. but you don’t wake. just sigh, sweet and content, pressing closer into the warm stretch of their bodies.

suguru watches you like he’s studying scripture. “i’ve imagined it,” he says quietly. “a thousand times. how she’d sound. how she’d taste.”

satoru nods. “i thought it wouldn’t be as good as i imagined.”

they fall quiet again. the kind of silence that aches.

“it was better,” suguru says, voice hoarse.

“so much better.”

satoru tips his head back against the headboard, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling like it might tell him what the fuck just happened. “her mouth, dude.”

“i know.”

“her mouth—”

“i know.”

“—the way she looked up at me when she—”

“i was there.”

“—like i was the only thing she wanted. like—like she needed it.”

suguru’s throat bobs. “she did.”

satoru looks at you again, then over to him. “you were hot.”

suguru raises a brow. “i know.”

“seriously,” satoru mutters. “like. fuck. the way you were talking to her.”

suguru smirks faintly, still watching your face. “you weren’t so bad yourself.”

“thanks.”

“you begged.”

“shut up.”

but he doesn’t mean it, he’s still smiling, too soft, too warm. like he’s been gutted and put back together wrong. he’s never felt this high without being high. never felt this much all at once, like his chest might split open from the pressure of it.

“she wanted both of us,” satoru whispers. “at the same time.”

“i know.”

“she asked for it.”

“satoru.”

“what?”

“i think i’d kill someone if she asked me to.”

satoru stares at him.

suguru doesn’t blink.

“oh,” satoru says. “same.”

your leg shifts where it’s draped over suguru’s hip, the line of your thigh brushing his stomach, and he draws in a slow breath through his nose. “i thought she was gonna change her mind,” he murmurs. “when she stopped on the couch. when she looked toward the hallway. i thought she’d get scared.”

“she did get scared,” satoru says, softer now. “she just… kept going anyway.”

suguru’s brows draw together. “she wanted to get caught.”

“no,” satoru says. “she wanted to stop feeling caught.”

they both fall quiet again. this time, the silence is heavier. sharper.

because they know what he means. they saw it. they saw the way your voice trembled when you first invited them back. the way you hesitated in the doorway. the way your fingers twitched when you reached for the light. and they saw what happened next, how fast it changed. how quickly you went from nervous to ravenous. from soft to feral. like something broke inside you, and everything that came out was need.

satoru’s voice is low. “he never touched her like that.”

suguru’s jaw clenches. “no. he didn’t.”

“he didn’t deserve to.”

“he still doesn’t.”

they look at you again. your parted lips. the swell of your chest. the faint red marks that still linger where their hands were, where their mouths pressed. you wear them like proof.

satoru brushes a knuckle along your temple. “she let us see all of her.”

suguru nods.

“she let us touch all of her.”

another nod.

satoru breathes out a laugh. “she used to walk past me in the quad and i’d forget my name.”

“i used to sketch her from memory for hours.”

“i jacked off to her tagged photos like three nights ago.”

suguru’s eyes narrow. “which ones?”

“the one where she’s at that rooftop bar with yuki.”

“oh,” suguru says thoughtfully. “the one with the strappy black dress?”

“yes.” satoru closes his eyes, like he can still see it. “she sat on my face and it was better than anything i ever imagined.”

suguru hums. “she clenched so hard on my cock, i thought i was gonna die.”

they both fall silent again, looking down at you. how peaceful you are. how easy you breathe. like nothing hurts. like nothing ever did.

“we made her forget,” suguru says.

satoru nods. “for once.”

“we gave her something good.”

“we were good.”

he says it with quiet awe. like he can’t believe it either. like he still half-expects someone to barge in and rip this away from him, a prank, a punishment, a dream with a cruel ending. but you’re still here. still sleeping soundly in the cradle of their arms, safe and spent and stunning.

“she deserves it,” suguru murmurs.

“yeah,” satoru says. “she deserves everything.”

the room smells like you. they smell like you. they’ve got you on their hands, in their mouths, under their nails. you’re in their teeth. in their veins. in their bloodstream.

they’re never getting rid of it.

and neither of them want to.

~

the door creaks open just after two.

neither of them hear it at first, too wrapped up in the silence, too busy memorizing the shape of your body against theirs, like it might disappear if they blink too long. suguru is still tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your hipbone. satoru’s fingers are threaded loosely through your hair.

then: the familiar scuff of boots across hardwood.

choso leans into the doorway with a lazy tilt to his posture, expression unreadable. he stares for a moment. just stares. takes in the tangle of limbs and flushed skin and wrinkled sheets. your bare back. your peaceful breathing.

“hey.”

satoru flinches like he’s been electrocuted.

“jesus—!”

“shhh.” choso raises a brow, tone dry. “you’ll wake her.”

suguru doesn’t move. just lifts his eyes slowly toward the doorway, mouth tight. “how long have you been standing there?”

“long enough,” choso says, stepping fully into the room now. he crosses to the side of the bed like he’s done it a thousand times. “relax. i’m not pissed off it anutning.”

“you’re not?”

choso shrugs. “i let you guys come up.”

satoru looks at him. “so you’re not… gonna kill us?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

suguru’s brow twitches. “you’re not… disappointed?”

choso pauses at that.

he glances down at you again, at the way you’re sleeping, deep and undisturbed, a softness on your face he hasn’t seen in weeks. he sees the glow in your skin. the red at your neck. the gentle tension gone from your shoulders, melted away like butter in sunlight.

he sighs. “she clearly needed this.”

satoru and suguru exchange a glance, unsure if they’re about to be punched or hugged.

but choso only leans over, hands surprisingly careful, and nudges satoru’s shoulder with a low murmur. “alright. up.”

satoru blinks. “what?”

“move. she sleeps better when she’s not squished.”

“but she’s—”

“don’t make me repeat myself.”

suguru shifts first, slow and reluctant, untangling himself from the bedsheets and carefully withdrawing from the warmth of your body. satoru follows, groaning quietly under his breath. you stir a little but don’t wake, just curl inward, into the space they leave behind, a faint sound of protest escaping your lips.

satoru almost cries.

“go,” choso tells them, tone light but firm. “before she wakes up and feels weird.”

suguru looks at you one more time. then nods, solemn. he pulls on his hoodie, grabs his sketchbook from the floor.

satoru just stands there, staring.

choso raises a brow. “need help?”

“no,” satoru mutters. “i’m fine.”

he pulls his shirt on inside out.

they both hesitate at the door.

“guys,” choso says, softer now. “it’s okay. she’s okay. i got her.”

and somehow, they believe it.

they leave without another word.

the door clicks shut behind them.

choso exhales. then pulls off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his desk chair. he pads quietly back to the bed, careful not to wake you, and eases himself into the space satoru left behind.

you shift instinctively, gravitating toward the new heat. you nuzzle into his chest with a little sigh, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

his breath catches.

“hey,” he murmurs, low and fond, brushing your hair from your face. “there she is.”

he doesn’t say anything else. just watches you sleep for a moment, long fingers stroking the curve of your cheek. your lashes flutter a little. your lips part, and you breathe his name without waking.

he closes his eyes.

“sleep, ma,” he whispers. “you’re safe.”

~

the morning sun is warm on your skin.

you wake slowly, mind foggy, body heavy with the kind of satisfied ache that makes your thighs tremble when you stretch. the sheets are soft. the room smells familiar. you shift under the covers and blink blearily into the chest in front of you.

“choso…?”

“hey.” his voice is thick with sleep. he’s barely opened his eyes. “mornin’, sweetheart.”

you blink again, surprised.

you’re nestled against him like you always do, like nothing’s changed, except your lips are swollen, your thighs are sore, and your body still sings with the memory of being touched like you were something sacred.

“how did you…?”

“found you like this,” he says simply, brushing a knuckle under your eye. “figured you’d want someone to keep the nightmares away.”

your heart softens. melts.

“thank you,” you whisper.

he just hums, low in his chest, like it’s no big deal. like holding you through the night isn’t his favorite part of every week.

you curl closer into him, face tucked under his chin, breathing in the familiar scent of him, laundry detergent and shampoo and the faintest trace of weed. safe. warm. constant.

you and choso have always made sense.

you’ve never had to ask.

not with choso.

not when you call him at 2am, voice cracking like you’re trying not to cry. not when you crawl onto his couch in silence, curled up like you’re trying to disappear. not when you show up with smudged eyeliner and scraped knuckles and say “i’m fine” like that’s supposed to mean anything.

he just knows.

how to read the quiet. what kind of soda to hand you when you can’t speak. what kind of playlist to queue when you’re trembling. how long to wait before asking what happened this time.

maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t care so much.

if he could just be the guy who hosts the parties. the chem major. the one who rolls joints and makes everyone laugh and doesn’t get involved in the messy shit.

but he’s never had that option.

not with you.

not when he’s watched you make yourself small for someone who doesn’t deserve you. not when he’s seen the way sukuna leaves you hollow. not when he’s picked you up from the worst nights and still thought you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

you never have to ask.

he’s just there.

not because he wants anything from you — god, never.

he’s not sukuna.

he just wants you safe. wants you happy. wants you to know that someone sees you. someone gives a shit.

so yeah, if it means slipping into bed beside you so you don’t wake up alone, brushing your hair back from your cheek while you breathe soft and steady, he’ll do it. no hesitation. because you’re his girl, even if the world doesn’t get it. and he’s always going to look out for you. no matter what. your voice is quiet when you speak again.

“hey, cho?”

“mm?”

“…do you have their numbers?” he doesn’t have to ask who you mean. he smiles. “yeah, baby,” he says. “i got you.”

"and cho?"

"yes?"

"don't tell ryo."

~

monday

you told yourself it was a one-time thing.

something about the night, the heat, the way you’d felt so raw and untethered — it made sense then. made sense to let go. made sense to reach for something warm and worshipping. made sense to choose the boys who looked at you like you were god.

but then monday came.

and you walked into the campus café with your laptop tucked under one arm and your sunglasses still perched high on your cheekbones, and there they were. satoru and suguru. sitting in the back, sharing a muffin, whispering furiously over a notebook. like they hadn’t been inside you at the same time forty-eight hours ago.

you almost turned around. but then suguru looked up.

and his eyes changed when they landed on you, dark and hungry and something almost reverent, and you couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. couldn’t not walk over to them when he raised a slow hand and curled his fingers in a quiet, come-here. so you sat between them. and their knees brushed yours.

and satoru whispered something stupid under his breath that made you laugh for real for the first time in days. suguru’s knuckles skimmed your wrist when he reached for his coffee, and your stomach flipped like a schoolgirl’s.

you didn’t kiss them. you didn’t have to.

you just smiled when satoru leaned in and murmured, “wanna come over later?” and you nodded. you didn’t even blink.

tuesday

satoru keeps a bottle of lotion on his nightstand that smells like coconut and sandalwood.

you’re not sure why that’s what sticks with you, not the way he kissed your thighs for fifteen full minutes before even touching you, not the way he whispered mine, mine, mine into the hollow of your throat when you came, not the way he looked at you after, eyes wet and mouth parted like he’d seen something divine.

no.

it’s the lotion.

the smell of it on your wrists when you woke up in his bed, body aching and sore in the best way. the way he sat behind you on the floor after your shower, hands gliding gently over your skin, warm and slow, like he was sealing you up. like he didn’t want anything to leak out.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he’d murmured, rubbing circles into your shoulders. “all quiet and sleepy and soft.”

you let him touch you for a long time. let him press kisses down your spine. let him pull you into his lap and rest his cheek against your back like it soothed him. you didn’t ask what this meant. neither did he. but he kissed your fingers when you left. and that was enough.

Wednesday

suguru sketches you.

you don’t know how you found out, only that you were sitting on his bed in your underwear, eating strawberries from a chipped glass bowl, and he looked at you like you were glowing.

“stay like that,” he said, voice low. you thought he meant it as a joke. maybe something teasing. maybe something dirty. but then he grabbed his sketchbook.

and then he drew you.

the whole time, you didn’t speak. just sat there under the weight of his gaze, naked and unhidden and burning. when he was done, he closed the notebook carefully and set it aside like it was holy.

then he climbed onto the bed, straddled your hips, and kissed you like he wanted to commit your mouth to memory. he’s quieter than satoru. more intense. less prone to fidgeting. more prone to staring.

“you should be adored,” he said at one point, dragging his mouth along your collarbone. “you should be touched with purpose.” you didn’t realize you were crying until he kissed your cheeks and tasted the salt.

thursday

satoru’s the one who spirals.

he doesn’t say it, not at first. just acts weird, talks fast, says shit like “we’re not your boyfriends, right?” and “i don’t wanna make it weird, haha, unless you do, but even then like… not weird weird, right?” you’re on his dorm floor when it happens, legs tangled, your head on his thigh. there’s an anime playing, but neither of you are watching.

he keeps running his fingers through your hair. you’re not wearing a bra. and he’s definitely hard. “do you regret it?” he asks suddenly, too casual. you blink.

“last weekend,” he says. “and… everything after.” you sit up slowly.

satoru’s face is a mess of contradictions, smug and insecure, nervous and cocky, like he’s daring you to reject him. like it would ruin him but at least he’d know. you kiss him before he can say anything else. kiss him until he gasps. kiss him until he melts.

“does that answer your question?” you murmur against his mouth. he swallows hard.

“i’m so in love with you it’s disgusting,” he blurts. you blink. he turns red. “wait. shit. pretend i didn’t—” you kiss him again. he forgets how to breathe.

friday

suguru finds you in the library.

you’re curled into a corner with your laptop, hoodie pulled over your head, sunglasses on. trying to pretend you’re being productive when really, you’re just replaying the last five nights like a reel in your mind, slow motion, soft focus, heart in your throat.

you don’t notice him until he sets a coffee next to your hand. you glance up. “hey,” he says quietly.

he’s wearing glasses today. a loose button-down. his hair is tied back in a low bun. he looks devastating. you smile before you can stop yourself. “hey.” he drops into the seat beside you, draping his arm over the back of your chair. it’s casual. so casual.

but when your knees touch under the table, neither of you pull away. “you looked like you needed caffeine,” he murmurs. you glance at the coffee. it’s your exact order. “and a kiss,” he adds, even softer. your breath catches.

“but i can wait,” he finishes. “until later.” he doesn’t say “my place or yours,” but you hear it anyway. you bite your lip. “later,” you echo.

his hand brushes your thigh under the table. and somehow, the wait makes it even worse. even better. even more.

saturday

you stop pretending.

there’s no “maybe this is a phase.” no “maybe i just needed a distraction.”

there’s no one-night-stand logic that can explain the way suguru presses his face into your stomach after he comes, arms wrapped tight around your hips like he never wants to let go.

there’s no flippant excuse for the way satoru touches your face like he’s afraid you’ll shatter, palms cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing your lip, whispering your name like he’s praying.

there’s no ignoring the ache in your chest when you leave them. the way your fingers hover over your phone every night, like maybe if you just called, one of them would show up at your door again. you’re not sure when this stopped being about sex.

you’re not sure it ever was.

sunday

you’re with both of them again.

the room is warm and low-lit, golden afternoon light filtering through suguru’s window. you think time has stopped. it feels like it, like the outside world has been paused just for this moment. just for you, and satoru, and suguru.

their touch lingers long after the climax, after your body has collapsed between theirs, sweat-slick and breathless, kissed raw and trembling. it had been slow this time. almost reverent. like they were scared to break you.

suguru’s hands are still on your hips, strong but soft, grounding. satoru’s mouth moves lazily against your shoulder, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you with every kiss. your fingers are tangled in both of their hair, one hand curled in suguru’s silky dark strands, the other lost in the wild snowdrift of satoru’s. you don’t know where one of them ends and the other begins.

you don’t want to.

your mind is still swimming, floating in the afterglow, but it’s not just the sex. it’s not just the slow grind of their bodies against yours, or the endless mouths, or the whispered praise. it’s how they look at you afterward. like you’re something holy. like they’ve waited their whole lives for you and still can’t believe they’re allowed to touch you. satoru props himself up on one elbow and leans in to kiss your forehead. it’s soft. unbearably soft.

suguru shifts, brushing your hair back and pressing a kiss to your knee, then resting his cheek against your thigh like he’s anchoring himself. they’re touching you like they’re grateful. like they still don’t quite believe this is real. and suddenly, you’re scared. the words crawl up your throat before you can stop them.

“i’m scared.” everything stills.

satoru’s mouth hovers, motionless, over your temple. suguru lifts his head slowly, the crease between his brows deepening. “of what?” suguru asks gently, fingers tracing your jaw. you want to pull the words back. you want to be brave. but they’re already spilling out. “what if this isn’t real?”

satoru’s breath catches audibly, like you’ve cracked something open in him. like you’ve taken a blade to the delicate thing they’ve been building, the secret, sacred thing between the three of you. he looks down at you, wide-eyed and hurt and exposed. “it’s real,” he says quickly. too quickly. but you can’t stop.

“but what if it’s just a phase? or something stupid we’re all chasing because it’s new? what if i wake up and it’s gone? what if you don’t want me tomorrow? what if this whole thing is just…” you can’t finish. suguru cuts in, firm. “no.”

your eyes flick to him. he’s closer now, elbow bent so he can rest beside you, eyes searching your face. “don’t do that,” he says. “don’t disappear into your head.”

you swallow hard. “you’re real,” suguru says. “we’re real. this —” he gestures, vague but certain, “— this is the most real thing i’ve ever felt.”

“same,” satoru says. his voice cracks halfway through it. “you’re not just something we wanted, okay? you’re everything.”

you close your eyes. the room is so quiet now, just your breathing, and theirs, and the soft creak of the floorboards as the building settles.

“i don’t know how to trust it,” you whisper. “i don’t know how to trust any of it. i’ve never been… seen like this. touched like this. not without it meaning something else. not without it being taken later.” satoru moves closer, his long fingers brushing your ribs, then your wrist, then your cheek.

“we’re not taking anything from you,” he says, eyes shining. “we don’t want to. we just want… you. in whatever way you want to be wanted.”

suguru exhales through his nose. “we’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs. “in silence. in secret. thought it would kill us.” you glance at him. he’s staring at you with something raw in his gaze.

“i used to sit behind you in lecture,” he says quietly. “watching your hair catch the light. writing poems about the curve of your shoulder. about your laugh. about the space you leave behind when you leave a room.” your throat tightens.

“i never thought i’d get to touch you,” suguru adds. “never even dreamed of this. of holding you like this. of being held by you like this.”

“i had a folder,” satoru blurts. you blink.

he flushes pink. “like. a whole folder on my laptop. photos of you. from your instagram. screenshots of your tweets. the way you held your coffee, or laughed with your friends, or wore your lip gloss.” you laugh softly, disbelieving. “you’re serious?”

“pathetically,” he says, burying his face in your shoulder. “i used to scroll it like a damn bible, until i finally got a piece of you.”

“we never thought we’d have this,” suguru says. “but now that we do, we’re not going to let it go. not unless you want us to.” you’re quiet for a long moment.

“you make me feel like i matter,” you say. “like i’m not just something to use.”

“you do matter,” satoru says fiercely, lifting his head. “you’re not an accessory. not a status symbol. not a hot girl on a pedestal. you’re you.”

“and we love you,” suguru says. “messy, scared, soft, angry. you.” your eyes sting.

you think of sukuna, of all the nights you curled away from him after he’d taken what he wanted. you think of the mornings he didn’t even say goodbye. you think of the shame. the emptiness. the way you convinced yourself it was love just because it hurt. this, what satoru and suguru give you, is nothing like that.

this is slow, and steady, and infinite. this is breathless and warm and honest. this is the kind of love that waits. that sees you. that learns your wounds and still wants to hold you. you don’t have the words for it. so you don’t try.

instead, you reach for them, pull them closer until their limbs are tangled in yours again, until you’re flush against suguru’s chest and satoru’s long body is draped around your back.

you close your eyes, throat tight. “don’t let me go,” you whisper. “never,” satoru murmurs into your hair. “not ever,” suguru echoes, thumb stroking your waist.

and you believe them. you sleep like that, tucked between them, held like something fragile and adored. not claimed. not broken. not hidden.

just wanted. just safe. just theirs.

~

after your week of emotional, intense sex with satoru and suguru, sukuna finally came over and basically cock blocked you just as you were about to leave your room.

your dorm room is too quiet. it always is when sukuna’s here.

he sits at the edge of your bed, arms folded across his broad chest, his jaw tight and eyes unreadable. you’re still by the door, keys dangling from your hand, bag slipping off your shoulder. the silence stretches like a wire between you, thin, tense, seconds from snapping.

“you’ve been weird,” he says flatly.

you blink, taken aback. “what?” he doesn’t look at you when he says it again. “you’ve been weird. for days. don’t pretend you haven’t.” your throat tightens. “sukuna, i’ve just been—”

“busy?” he cuts you off, his voice sharp. “yeah. busy ignoring me.” the door clicks shut behind you. your hand trembles on the knob. “i’m not ignoring you,” you say, quieter now. “you’ve been busy too. law midterms? remember?”

“don’t patronize me.” you flinch. something ugly ripples through your chest.

“i’m not,” you murmur. “i’m trying to talk to you.” he stands abruptly, pacing now, fingers running through his pink hair in that agitated way that always comes before he says something cruel.

“nah,” he mutters. “you’re trying to do damage control. every time i text, you take hours to respond. you come back late, you dodge my calls, you’ve been hanging out with..." he pauses, squinting. “who’ve you even been hanging out with?”

your mouth goes dry. you feel the heat rise in your cheeks like guilt, even though you told yourself a hundred times it wasn’t cheating. not really. you never even kissed them. you just let yourself get close. too close. and you liked it. “choso,” you lie. “shoko. i’ve just been trying to keep my head on straight, kuna.”

“bullshit,” he snaps. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

you can’t look at him. because he’s right, you are. not just about who you’ve been with, but about everything. about how you flinch when he touches you now. how you don’t like how he talks to you in front of your friends. how you look for other names in your phone when things go wrong.

“why are you doing this,” you ask softly, “why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“because you’re not the same,” he snarls. “because something’s fucking off, and you think i’m too stupid to notice.”

you feel something twist in your stomach, not guilt, but anger. sharp and sudden. you’ve kept your mouth shut for months, made excuses for him, wiped away your own tears before anyone else could see them. and now he’s standing in your dorm, looking at you like you’re the problem, like he hasn’t been slowly sucking the light out of you since the start of the semester. “maybe i have changed,” you snap.

his eyes narrow. “maybe i don’t want to tiptoe around you every day. maybe i’m tired of getting punished for needing space, or being quiet, or not wanting to fuck you every single time you come over—”

his face twists. “so that’s what this is about?” you laugh, bitter. “of course that’s what you heard.”

“i fucking knew it,” he seethes, stepping closer. “you’ve been getting it from someone else.” your blood goes cold.

“excuse me?”

“who is it?” he demands. “that freak choso? is it toji? what, are you on some slut streak now, trying to fuck your way through all your little guy friends?” you’re shaking.

“get out.”

“what?”

“get out, sukuna.” he stares at you, chest heaving.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you whisper. “don’t come into my room and call me names and accuse me of shit that you’ve done to me.” he scoffs, stepping back. “so that’s it, huh? i call out your bullshit and suddenly i’m the villain?”

“you’ve always been the villain,” you whisper. “i just stopped pretending it was romantic.”

the silence is deafening. for a second you think he’s going to throw something. break something. scream. but he just laughs. quiet and mean.

“you’re pathetic,” he says. “cry me a river.”

you don’t cry. not until after the door slams. not until you hear his boots stomp all the way down the hall. not until he’s gone. and then you’re on the floor.

knees to your chest. hands shaking. it’s not even the fight, it’s everything. it’s the months you spent convincing yourself he loved you. it’s the way you forgot how to want things that weren’t him. it’s the way he turned every good thing sour and convinced you that it was your fault. your phone buzzes. you don’t look at it. you don’t know how long you stay there, cold and numb, face pressed to your knees. eventually, your hand finds your phone. you stare at your contact list. you scroll past his name. you scroll past choso.

and you stop on satoru and suguru. your chest twists. you shouldn’t. they don’t deserve this. you can’t drag them into your mess just because you’re too weak to be alone. but you think about satoru’s hands, trembling and gentle, offering you his hoodie when you were cold. you think about suguru’s eyes, dark and steady, the way he watched you like you were a miracle. you think about how neither of them ever looked at you like you owed them something. they just looked. you press call. it rings once. twice.

“hello?”

satoru’s voice. too awake. too alert. like he was already waiting for you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. “hey,” he says, voice softer now. “you okay?” and you break. “can i come over?” you whisper. “please?” he doesn’t ask why. he doesn’t hesitate. “of course,” he says. “i’ll come get you.”

“no,” you say quickly. “don’t. i just… i need to be somewhere else. anywhere else.” there’s a beat of silence. you imagine him looking at suguru. maybe nodding. maybe holding the phone between them like you’re some rare bird that landed in their hands and they’re afraid to scare you away. “we’re here,” suguru says quietly now. “whenever you want.”you nod, even though they can’t see you. “i’m leaving now.” you hang up.

your body moves before your brain catches up, you grab your coat, your bag, your charger. you don’t care how you look. you don’t care what anyone thinks. you walk across campus with your hands shoved deep in your pockets and your throat tight. you keep thinking about how sukuna didn’t even try to stay. how quick he was to make you feel disgusting, like love was a performance you were failing. but that ache inside you, that ugly, raw place he carved out. it quiets just a little when you reach their door. it opens before you knock.

satoru’s there. messy hair, eyes wide and searching. suguru stands just behind him, black t-shirt, hair tied back, gaze soft and solemn. you don’t say anything, they don’t ask. satoru steps aside. suguru holds the door. and when you walk in, the door shuts behind you with a soft click. you don’t move.

you stand in the middle of satoru and suguru’s dorm, wrapped in quiet and shadows, heart still cracked open from everything sukuna said. everything he made you feel. you don’t have to say a word. they see it in your eyes.

satoru comes to you first, barefoot, shirtless, looking like he just woke up from a dream and realized you were real. his arms open, wide and safe and trembling. suguru follows close behind, darker and quieter, but his eyes shine like he’s about to get on his knees and thank god. you fall into satoru’s chest, shaking. he holds you like he wants to sew your broken parts together with his hands. suguru’s arms wrap around you both from behind, breath warm on your neck. no one speaks. until you whisper, “can i stay?” suguru answers first. “you never have to leave.” they kiss you like they’ve been waiting.

satoru’s mouth is hot and fast and greedy, lips parted, tongue sliding deep into yours, moaning like he’s already inside you. suguru’s hands slide under your shirt, groping your tits like he owns them, like he’s memorized every soft curve in the dark. “want you naked,” satoru gasps, tugging at your jeans. “fuck, want you bare. now.” you nod. shakily. breathless. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “good girl,” suguru says, and it makes you throb. clothes come off fast. eager. teeth drag over skin. satoru falls to his knees and kisses your thighs like he’s starved. suguru groans behind you, palming your ass, pulling it apart to watch satoru’s spit drip onto your pussy before he licks it up with a filthy moan. “fuck, you’re wet,” satoru pants. “is that for us?” you nod, hips trembling. “say it,” suguru murmurs, fingers digging into your hips. “say who it’s for.”

“it’s for you,” you gasp. “fuck, it’s always for you—”

they moan in sync. satoru buries his face in your cunt like he’s trying to suffocate in it — tongue circling your clit, two fingers working deep inside you, slapping wet sounds into the quiet of the room. he’s sloppy and greedy, jaw soaked, eyes rolling back every time you whimper. “taste her,” he mumbles up to suguru. “holy shit— taste—” suguru leans down without hesitation, licks your cunt right off satoru’s mouth. your knees almost give out. “perfect,” he mutters.

“so fucking good,” satoru finishes. they drag you to the bed, both of them hard and leaking. you see the way satoru grips the base of his cock, flushed red and twitching, precum spilling down his knuckles. suguru’s is heavier, curved mean, veined and dark, a piercing glinting at the tip. “can we wreck you?” satoru pants. “please— fuck, please let us—”

“yeah,” you whimper. “please.” suguru’s on you first, face buried between your thighs, tongue working your clit while satoru kneels beside your head, stroking his cock. “open,” he tells you. you do. he spits in your mouth. you moan. “swallow it,” suguru says, watching from between your legs. “good fucking girl.”

they take turns. satoru fucks your throat slow and deep, his hands cradling your head like you’re precious. suguru licks every inch of you, tongue curling inside you, then pulls back and spits on your cunt before rubbing it in with his fingers. “she likes that,” satoru says, voice wrecked. “look how messy she is.”

“messy for us,” suguru growls. “god, let me fuck her already—”

“wait,” satoru groans, pulling out of your throat with a pop. “i wanna be in her mouth when you go in.”

“jesus,” suguru mutters. “you’re fucking insane.” they flip you, get you on your hands and knees. satoru kneels in front of you, his cock glossy with your spit. suguru lines himself up behind you, hands firm on your hips. you’re soaked. throbbing. he slides in with one slow, mean thrust. you scream around satoru’s cock. suguru groans like he’s dying. “tight little pussy,” he pants. “gripping me like she’s in love—”

“she is,” satoru gasps, thrusting into your mouth. “we all are— fuck, look at you—” they fuck you in sync. suguru pounds into you from behind, each thrust making your thighs shake, cock punching deep into your cunt while satoru holds your face steady and uses your throat like he owns it. tears streak your cheeks. spit drips from your lips. you’ve never felt more loved. “gonna cum,” suguru growls, yanking you up by the hair. “gonna fill her up—”

“inside,” you gasp, pulling off satoru. “please, please—” suguru moans, spilling inside you hard and deep. he keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum back into you, thick and messy. you’re shaking.

“switch,” you mumble. “i want both.” satoru helps you onto your back. suguru leans down and kisses you, filthy and sweet, cum dripping from your pussy onto the sheets. you’re still soaking. overstimmed. hungry. “you sure?” satoru pants, lining up. “yes,” you breathe. he slides in, slow and gentle, but the moment he bottoms out, his control shatters. he slams into you, moaning like he’s possessed, watching his cock fuck suguru’s cum out of you with every thrust. “fuck— you’re dripping,” he gasps. “that’s his? all that for us?”

“mine now,” he grits, slapping your thigh. “fucking mine—” you sob. he leans down and kisses your open mouth, then pulls back to spit in it again. you swallow with a moan. suguru watches, stroking himself slowly.

“you’re both fucking ruined,” he murmurs. “look at you.” satoru cums inside you hard, cock jerking deep in your cunt. you feel every spurt, hot and full, mixing with suguru’s. dripping down your thighs.“open up,” suguru says, kneeling over your chest.

he strokes himself faster. you look up at him with your tongue out, eyes glazed. he groans and cums across your lips and cheeks and chin, painting you with it. you don’t wipe it away. you don’t want to. you lay there, soaked and shaking, while they pet your hair and murmur praise. “so good,” satoru whispers. “you were so fucking good."

“you always are,” suguru says. “you’re ours.”

you’re not crying, not quite. but your chest feels split open, nerves buzzing like something too big to hold is trying to crawl out. you can’t speak. can’t move. you just lay there, fucked full and coated in their cum, staring at the ceiling like it’s got answers hidden in the cracks. satoru notices first. “hey,” he says softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “too much?”

you shake your head, but your mouth doesn’t cooperate. suguru’s weight shifts behind you, he’d curled around your back after they’d finished, warm and sticky and safe. now he leans over you, voice low in your ear. “you’re okay,” he murmurs. “you’re safe, baby. with us.” you nod, a tiny tremble. satoru presses a kiss to your forehead.

“let’s clean you up.” they lift you gently, one arm under your knees, one around your back. you don’t even try to walk. they don’t expect you to. satoru carries you to the bathroom while suguru turns on the shower, testing the temperature with his hand. steam curls around your skin, soft and warm.

they step in with you, slow and patient, as if touching something sacred. satoru supports you against his chest, water running down both your bodies. suguru kneels in front of you with a washcloth, moving like he’s handling a painting or a prayer. “gonna clean you real gentle,” he says. “you did so good for us.” the first touch of the cloth between your legs makes you shiver.

“i know, i know,” suguru murmurs. “you’re sore. we’ll be careful.”he’s not just washing you, he’s caring for you. reverent. he dabs away the mess between your thighs like it’s holy. like he wants to press it into a book and keep it forever. “look at how much we gave you,” he says softly, gazing up. “you took it all. every drop.” you whimper, just a little. overwhelmed. satoru kisses your temple. “we’re so proud of you,” he breathes. “never seen anything so beautiful.”

suguru leans in, mouth brushing your hip. “no one’s ever made me feel like that,” he whispers. “like i’d kill somebody just to see you cum again.” your breath catches. you don’t say it, not out loud, but god, it’s different. so different from sukuna.

with sukuna, there was always performance. tension. this need to look perfect, sound perfect. to moan at the right times, arch the right way. to make sure he was pleased. he didn’t talk like this. didn’t look at you like you were something he worshipped. you remember him turning over after, already texting someone else. remember how cold the sheets felt when he pulled away. how often you cried in the shower and told yourself it was just hormones.

you never cried like this. not with love. not with awe. satoru tilts your chin up, smiling softly. “you with us, sweetheart?” you nod. the tears finally slip free. they don’t panic. don’t ask what’s wrong. they know.

suguru stands and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist while water runs down his back. “he never deserved you,” he says. your lip trembles. “he doesn’t see you,” satoru murmurs, curling behind you, arms sliding around your shoulders. “not like we do.”

“he fucked your body,” suguru says, voice low, “but he never touched your soul.”

that’s what it feels like, like they’ve cracked your soul open and poured themselves inside. you look up at them, blinking through tears and steam. “you don’t just want me for sex,” you whisper. satoru makes a strangled sound and hugs you tighter. “jesus,” he breathes. “no. never.”

“we want all of you,” suguru says. “your mind. your mood swings. your anxiety at three a.m. the weird little faces you make when you’re reading your texts. every inch of you, baby. we’ve wanted you for years.” you bury your face in satoru’s chest. he’s trembling.

“you could fuck us a thousand times,” he says, voice cracking, “and we’d still just wanna talk to you. sit next to you. listen to you ramble about your classes and your clothes and that time you cried over a dog video.”

“we wanna know you,” suguru says. “wanna ruin every memory you had with him. overwrite them.”

“we wanna be your first real everything,” satoru murmurs. “first time you felt safe. first time you felt… loved.” that’s when you break.

not from pain, not from pleasure, from the terrifying, beautiful truth of being seen. being known. being held like something worth keeping. you cry in the shower and they kiss your cheeks through it. suguru whispers, “you’re so good to us.” satoru kisses your forehead. “you don’t even know how much we love you.”

“you don’t have to perform,” suguru says. “you don’t have to pretend.”

“you’re enough,” satoru says. “just like this.” you think about sukuna’s hands. rough, impatient. how often he flipped you over without asking. how he told you to “relax” when you flinched. how you’d go quiet halfway through and he never noticed.

you think about satoru’s trembling voice asking if you’re okay. think about suguru on his knees, washing you like you’re art. it never felt like this. not even close.

you press your hand to satoru’s chest. his heart’s racing. suguru’s hands slide up your spine, strong and steady. “stay with us,” satoru whispers. “for good,” suguru adds. you nod before you even mean to. because you already know the truth.

sukuna fucked you.

but they love you.

you fall asleep warm, surrounded, soothed down into unconsciousness by their arms and their whispers and the way they held you under the water like you were fragile. like they could keep you from breaking if they just held on tight enough. now, you’re silent between them.

your breathing is slow. even. your lips parted just slightly, your cheek smushed against satoru’s chest. one hand curled in the fabric of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go even in sleep. suguru watches you in the dark. he can’t stop. there’s a sharp ache in his chest he can’t name. not lust. not possessiveness. something more painful. more afraid.

satoru is awake too. lying stiff beside you, eyes wide open and glassy in the moonlight. “she hasn’t broken up with him,” suguru says finally, voice barely audible. satoru’s jaw flexes. he knows exactly who suguru means. “i know.”

suguru shifts. just a little. so he’s curled around your back, hand splayed low on your stomach beneath the sheets. “he still thinks she’s his.” satoru doesn’t answer right away. he looks down at your sleeping face. the faint crease in your brow, like even now you can’t fully relax. like something’s chasing you even here.

“maybe she thinks so too,” he says, quiet. suguru looks at him sharply. “don’t do that.”

“i’m not—”

“you are.” satoru exhales, rubbing slow circles on your arm. “i just… i don’t wanna be a secret, y’know?” he says. “feels like i’m in middle school again. like i’ve got a crush on the most popular girl in school, and if anyone finds out, i’m gonna get laughed out of the room.”

“you’re not in middle school,” suguru mutters. “you’re in a bed with her.”

“doesn’t feel real.” satoru looks like he’s about to cry. he doesn’t blink. just stares up at the ceiling like it’s got answers he can’t read. “i keep thinking,” he says softly, “what if she wakes up and regrets it?” suguru doesn’t say anything. the thought has haunted him too. “what if this is just a rebellion?” satoru whispers. “what if she’s just pissed at sukuna and we’re… convenient?”

“we’re not convenient,” suguru says. satoru lets out a short, bitter laugh. “you really think that matters to him? if he finds out?” suguru’s fingers flex on your stomach. his voice darkens. “if he finds out,” he says, “he’s going to wish he didn’t.”

satoru swallows. he doesn’t usually like when suguru gets like this, cold, quiet, dangerous. but this time, he doesn’t argue. “he called her disgusting,” satoru says. “i heard her say it. he made her feel like she was disgusting.” his voice breaks at the end. “i swear to god,” he chokes, “if he ever says something like that to her again—”

“he won’t,” suguru interrupts. “we won’t let him.” silence. thick and heavy. your breath still slow between them. satoru closes his eyes. “i just don’t get it,” he says. “why him?” suguru doesn’t answer.

“he’s… mean. and selfish. and he doesn’t even fucking like her. not like we do.” his voice is rising now, angry. “i notice everything about her, y’know? the way she pretends to laugh when she’s uncomfortable. the way she fiddles with her bracelets when she’s nervous. the way she talks about love like it’s a strategy, not a feeling.” he swallows, hard.

“i know what she looks like when she’s trying not to cry. i know what her real smile looks like. i’ve watched her fall asleep in lectures and dream with her eyes open and fuck, suguru—i love her. i’ve been in love with her for years.” suguru doesn’t interrupt. doesn’t breathe too loud. doesn’t blink. because he feels the exact same way.

“and he treats her like she’s disposable,” satoru says, shaking. “like she’s only worth something if she’s making him feel good. if she’s quiet. if she’s pretty. if she doesn’t take up too much space.” he turns his head, eyes burning. “but you saw her tonight. didn’t you? when she came in. she looked, god, she looked so small. like she’d been stepped on. like she thought she was dirt.”

suguru nods, slow and steady. “and you know what kills me?” satoru whispers. suguru waits. “i think she believes him.” that silences them both. because that’s the wound they can’t reach. the one they can’t fuck away. the one they can’t kiss better.

because it lives in her now. that ugly little voice. the one that says: you’re not enough. you’re too much. you’re disgusting. he only treats you like this because you deserve it. satoru exhales shakily. presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. “i would never make her feel like that,” he says. “not in a million years.”

“me neither.”

“so why is she still with him?” suguru doesn’t answer for a long time. his thumb strokes your bare hip. “because that kind of love,” he says finally, “the kind that hurts… it makes you believe pain means devotion.” satoru closes his eyes. “and what do we mean?” he asks. “what does it mean when someone kisses you like you’re god?”

suguru looks down at you, asleep and warm and aching between them. “i don’t know yet,” he says softly. “but i want her to find out.” satoru nods. quiet stretches between them again. your breath. your body. your warmth. the weight of you pressed into both of them. they’re quiet for so long that suguru thinks satoru might have drifted off. but then,

“do you think she’ll tell him?” suguru sighs. “eventually.” “do you think she’ll stay?” that one hurts. suguru closes his eyes. presses his mouth to your shoulder. “i don’t know.” satoru breathes in, slow and ragged.

“i want her to,” he says. “even if we have to wait. even if it’s messy. i’d wait forever.”

“you won’t have to,” suguru says. “she’s already halfway gone from him.”

“you think so?”

“i saw it in her face,” suguru murmurs. “when you held her. when i kissed her. she didn’t look scared. she looked content.”

“i just don’t wanna be the reason she breaks.”

“you won’t be,” suguru says. “he already did that.” satoru nods. slow. thoughtful. then he curls his arms tighter around you. presses his mouth to your hair. “i love you,” he whispers. not expecting an answer. just needing to say it. suguru’s hand curls protectively over your stomach. “i do too,” he says. “always have.” you stir a little, murmuring something incoherent in your sleep. satoru freezes. suguru holds his breath. you don’t wake. just nuzzle closer, like your body knows where you’re safest. they exhale together. and they don’t say anything else after that. they just hold you in silence. in moonlight. in a love that’s waiting to be real. ~ you were back in your own orbit, mentally healing from the crash out with sukuna and using the memory of satoru and suguru to ground you. you were doing well, things seemed a little less scary when you were alone nower days. a disturbance from your daily note revision was interrupted by a loud knock. you open your dorm door half-asleep, thinking it’s shoko or maybe choso coming to check in. your voice is groggy. “who is it—”

“you fucking them?”

it’s sukuna. he storms inside without waiting, all sharp movements and wild eyes, his jaw tight enough to splinter bone. he smells like weed and sweat and rage, and when the door slams shut behind him, it rattles the frame. “answer me,” he snarls. “are you fucking gojo and geto?” you blink, stunned. your heart jumps in your chest. “what are you even talking about—”

“don’t fuck around right now,” he growls, stalking closer. “don’t lie to me. i’m not stupid.”

“then why are you acting like it?”

“oh, really?” he scoffs, a bitter sound. “you think i haven’t noticed you acting different? walking around like you’re glowing? always checking your phone, leaving parties early, looking like you’ve been—” his mouth twists — “bred.” you freeze. “i didn’t want to believe it,” he spits. “but you’re fucking filthy. knew it the second i saw you tonight. knew something was wrong. you’ve got that look on your face, like you’ve been ruined, like some other dick already beat me there.”

“you’re out of your mind.”

“am i? am i?!” his voice ricochets off the walls. your heart’s pounding. he stares at you with something feral behind his eyes. “how long has this been going on? how long you been sneaking around behind my back? letting those losers put their hands all over you — let them stretch you out like the whore you are?”

“don’t talk to me like that,” you say quietly.

he laughs. sharp, cruel. “why not? isn’t that what you are now? a whore? letting two guys take turns on you like you’re community pussy?” you flinch like he’s hit you. your throat tightens. “what’d you do, huh? let them talk sweet to you?” he sneers, advancing again. “gojo tell you you’re pretty? geto say you’re ‘divine’ like he’s reading fucking poetry off your tits? is that all it took to get you wet for them?” you slap him, hard. he doesn’t react. just wipes the corner of his mouth, then looks at you with something darker than fury, something broken.

“you don’t get to talk about them,” you say, voice trembling. “they treat me better in one night than you have this whole relationship.”

“so that’s it, then?” his voice rises. “you let them rail you and now you’re in love?”

“they actually give a fuck about me.”

he laughs again, but it breaks off. something flashes across his face, almost like pain. then: “they don’t care about you. they just wanted to see if they could fuck the golden girl. you’re nothing special. not once they’ve both had you.”

“you don’t know a damn thing about them.”

“i know they’re pathetic. i know they’re weak little virgins who’ve probably been jerking off to your instagram for years. and now what? they tag-teamed you and called you their pretty girl? whispered some sweet nothings while they watched each other fuck you? did you like that? getting split open like a pornstar? is that your thing now?” you’re shaking.

“you think that makes you powerful? makes you wanted? makes you loved?” you stare at him. your hands are fists at your sides.

“i didn’t want to believe it,” he says, quieter now. “choso said you were glowing. said you were soft lately. didn’t even think twice. just figured maybe i’d finally gotten through to you. maybe you were actually starting to feel something. but you were getting it from them.” you take a breath, steadying yourself.

“you never got through to me,” you say. “you never even tried.”

he snarls. “don’t fucking do that. don’t act like i didn’t care—”

“you cared about you, sukuna. about being right. about being the one i came back to, even when you didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw ticks. “and they do?”

“they see me. they listen to me. they make me feel safe.” he stares at you. his breathing is hard now, chest heaving.

“so what, you gonna be their girlfriend now? hold hands in the quad with your little nerd boyfriends? gonna let them show you off like some prize they won?”

“maybe,” you say. “maybe i will.” he shakes his head. “you’re a fucking slut.” you feel the blood drain from your face. he sees it. sees the pain flash in your eyes. and for a second, he looks like he regrets it. but only for a second. you lift your chin. “you don’t get to call me that.”

“why not?” he snaps. “it’s what you are now, isn’t it? playing perfect on campus while you get used like a fleshlight by the two weirdest freaks in the math building.”

“get out,” you whisper. he doesn’t move. “get the fuck out.” he stares at you. something in him flickers, like even he knows this is beyond repair. “you’ll miss me.”

“i already missed you while we were still together.” silence. he turns for the door. stands there for a second, hand hovering on the knob. “they’re not gonna love you like i did.” you laugh. soft, bitter. “they already do. and they don’t love me in pieces.” he doesn’t say anything else. the door slams behind him. you stand there for a long time, staring at the space he used to occupy like it’s something haunted.

your breathing won’t settle. your hands are shaking. but you’re not broken. not this time. because deep down, under the adrenaline and the ache, you feel it again. the quiet truth that’s been blooming in your chest since the night you let gojo and geto touch you like something sacred: you were never a slut. you were starving. and now, finally, you’re being fed.

you don’t hear from sukuna again after that night. you thought maybe he’d show up the next day, demanding an apology, some groveling, some ridiculous admission that you were wrong to move on. but he doesn’t. not really. not directly.

instead, he starts showing up in other ways, on your feed, tagged in blurry stories from campus parties, surrounded by girls who don’t know better. you see the way his hands grip their waists like they’re props. how his smile never quite reaches his eyes. you hear through the grapevine that he’s been on a spree. sleeping around. saying shit like “i’m single now, guess i gotta make up for lost time,” with a smug little grin. even maki brings it up once, rolling her eyes. “he’s just a horny cunt. it’s pathetic.” you nod, sip your iced coffee.

“he’s trying to prove he doesn’t care,” choso adds. “but he did. he still does. he just didn’t know how to act when he had you, fucking embarrassing.”

you don’t reply. not because you agree, not because you disagree. just because you don’t have room in your chest for him anymore. instead, you start filling that space with something else. ever since you finally broke shit off with sukuna, you’ve been getting closer and closer to satoru and suguru, and not just physically anymore.

it starts slow. soft. safe. they text you constantly, like it’s instinct, like they don’t know how not to. morning check-ins and nightcap rambles, shared playlists and stupid memes. sometimes satoru sends you half-baked voice notes, rambling while he’s stoned and giggly. sometimes suguru sends you selfies of his sketchbooks, delicate, reverent outlines of your figure. always faceless.

always sacred. you go to another party the following friday. not one of choso’s this time, but a campus-wide art show afterparty in some crumbling loft. suguru’s reading a short piece upstairs, and you cheer loudest in the crowd.

satoru stands beside you in his hoodie and jeans, chewing his lip and looking like he’d throw hands for a single glance in your direction. afterward, you snap a photo of you sitting on a couch, a flash of suguru’s rings on your waist and satoru’s hand on your thigh. a caption that says, “new orbit.” your comments go feral.

“who is she with???”

“this is so cryptic.”

“she’s got secret lovers now?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. every day you spend with them, your light gets brighter. you start studying with suguru in the campus chapel between classes, lying beside him in the pews while he reads out loud from his religion texts, voice low and lulling. he smells like amber and ink. he always buys you your favorite tea.

every afternoon with satoru, he walks you across campus just to detour into the physics building to show you something dumb, a chalkboard equation that “reminds him of you,” or a busted vending machine that “won’t accept anything but offerings of love.”

he makes you laugh so hard your cheeks hurt. he always knows when you’re about to cry, even if you don’t. they don’t push. they don’t ask for more than you’re ready to give. and yet, you want to give them everything. satoru starts leaving one of his hoodies in your dorm. suguru brings you incense and hangs it by your mirror. their things start to trickle in, little tokens, little offerings. one night, you fall asleep with your head on suguru’s chest and wake up to satoru’s fingers in your hair, his sleepy voice whispering something like, “she’s so perfect.” you pretend to still be asleep.

sometimes you wake up alone. sometimes you wake up tangled between them, your legs draped across suguru’s lap, satoru’s breath hot on your neck. and sometimes, on soft mornings, when the world is still, one of them will whisper that they like being your favorite. you still don’t define it. not out loud. but everyone sees it. yuki corners you after class.

“soooo, are you dating the hot weirdos or what?”

you laugh. shrug.

“okay, fine, keep your secrets,” she teases. “but just know, you’re glowing. like, unfairly.”

~

sukuna watches from the sidelines. you know he does. you catch him across campus sometimes, lingering too long when you walk by. you hear about the girls he’s sleeping with. the way he drinks too much now. picks fights with guys he used to ignore. you don’t feel anything for it anymore. not pity. not anger. not jealousy. just… distance.

you’re not that version of yourself anymore. the one who waited on his texts, the one who settled for crumbs. the one who tried to be what he wanted and hated yourself for it. you’ve stopped starving. and every time satoru kisses your shoulder in public or suguru laces his fingers through yours under the table, you remember: you’re not a secret. you’re not a phase. you’re not disposable. you’re theirs. and they’re yours. and for the first time in your life, truly, deeply, you feel chosen.

~

a few weeks pass by of healing, love, friendship, all that lovely gooey shit. you’re sitting at a tiny two-top in a tucked-away campus cafe, one of those old ones that still plays jazz from a radio and serves lattes in chipped ceramic mugs. your hands are wrapped around your cup, legs crossed under the table, suguru’s sketchbook open between you. “this doesn’t look like me,” you tease, squinting at his latest drawing. “it’s not you,” suguru murmurs, smirking faintly. “it’s the concept of you.”

“oh my god,” satoru groans from your other side, halfway through stealing the foamfrom your latte with his spoon. “can we go five minutes without suguru seducing someone with metaphors?”

“i’m not seducing her,” suguru says, without looking up. “i’m studying her.”

“same thing,” satoru mutters, dropping the spoon into your saucer and leaning over your shoulder. “let me see.” you tilt the sketchbook so he can look. his chin brushes your temple. his breath is warm. “whoa,” he says, genuinely awed. “she looks… holy.” suguru glances up. shrugs. “that’s what she is.” you roll your eyes, but your smile is shy. “you guys are ridiculous.”

“and you like it,” satoru beams. you bump your shoulder into his. “unfortunately.” suguru just hums, pencil still moving. “you keep saying that like we didn’t catch you doodling our initials in your notebook last week.” you go still. “…you went through my notebook?”

“you left it open.”

“that’s private!”

“you drew little hearts,” satoru gasps. “and put mine before his. scandalous.”

“i’m leaving.”

“you’re not,” suguru says calmly, flipping the page again. “you haven’t finished your drink.” you huff. but you stay. because of course you do. because this is what it’s like now, cozy tables, half-finished pastries, sketchbooks full of soft devotion. the three of you orbiting each other so naturally, like maybe this was always meant to happen. like maybe this is the kind of love that sneaks up on you, in coffee spoons, in scribbled margins, in stolen sips of cappuccino foam. you catch suguru’s eye. he doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s something quiet and certain in his gaze. satoru tosses a sugar packet at you and sticks out his tongue. you laugh. and it’s good. it’s easy.

you think you could do this forever.

forever with these two insanely hot nerds who just so happen to be just as infatuated with you as you are them.

forever intertwined with these two, people who look at you like you're made of gold, something to be nurtured and celebrated, worshiped.

you knew for the rest of your life, you were going to be deeply rooted in the thread that was satoru and suguru, and god, they wouldn't have it any other way. you ruined them, sure. made them even more utterly obsessed than they already were, but god,

they wouldn't have it any other way.

m.list!!

ok i lowkey hate this why am i so bad at writing two character love interests... i feel like the character depth and personality's weren't really developed but it is what it is i hope you enjoyed regardless I LOVE YOU ALLL ❤️❤️❤️

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ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 5/4/25

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa

You knew it was stupid. You knew you were incredibly stupid for doing what you were doing these past few weeks. You were so deep in this tragedy that the thought of calling your mom had slipped your mind for a reasonable amount of time, but you quickly realized that you were not quite ready to tell your mom that you had slept with two guys in the span of four weeks who, to make matters worse, were also best friends.

You wanted nothing more than to leave what had happened behind you, but for some reason you kept coming back to that one particular moment. Your thoughts revolved around that one night that changed everything. Nick had called you that night to catch up on your day, and you had asked him outright if he was in love with you. You wanted to be the bigger person, wanted to show Noah that you were really just casual with Nick, but when he did not answer right away, you felt something crack inside of you. You liked Nick. Maybe a little too much for your own good.

On the other hand, you really didn't know where to put Noah. You had noticed the way he looked at you before something had even happened between you. You saw how he always seemed a little too close to be just friendly with you. You had noticed the way he looked at you when you were with Nick, and somehow you understood how he felt.

It must have felt similar to the first time you saw him and Nick in that bar. They felt like this unbreakable team. Like a duo that really cared and loved each other no matter what. You had sworn to yourself that you would not try to challenge their bond, but when Nick kissed you just a few days later, you knew it was too late. You were already far more invested than you should have been.

You liked to think of yourself as rational and collected, but you really couldn’t understand the actions you had participated in, these past few weeks. You had sworn to keep your distance, even skipping classes to avoid Noah, but somehow he kept slipping right back into your life. Or literally… into you.

Not once had the two of you talked about Nick as if his name was a curse. But you soon realized that you were stupid to think that Nick would just let it go.

The air in your room was tense as Nick stormed in angrily. There had been weeks of silence and tension since your breakup, but this night would be different.

You sat on the bed, your legs crossed and your eyes fixed on the papers you had to finish soon. You knew exactly why he was here, but you weren't quite ready to face it.

"Please tell me you're joking." Nick hissed, his eyes glittering with anger.

"What?" You asked, your eyes still glued to the screen. Then he threw something at you. You jumped at the impact before examining the piece of cloth. A small piece of black lace with a little heart on the waistband. It was your panties. You vividly remembered the last time you had worn them. You had stood outside Noah's room that night like a desperate little shit.

Your eyes darted to Nick's angry face and back to the garment. Inside you were screaming, but there was also this intense anger bubbling up inside you.

"Could you explain to me why you think it is necessary to snoop through people's things and then barge into my room like that? I have things to do." You exclaimed as calmly as possible while throwing your panties to the floor.

"You know exactly why I'm here. You slept with him, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question, but an accusation that dripped from his lips like poison.

"So, what? The last time I checked, we weren't serious or exclusive." You answered him, the annoyance you felt lacing your words. It still stung. Thinking about how he had gotten to you and how pathetic you were to think he really wanted a real relationship with you. With Noah, things seemed easier. You knew something was there, but neither of you felt the need to talk about it, and you liked it that way.

"He's my best friend, for fuck sake." He said, his eyes cold and distant. If you weren't so sure that this had to do with his ego being bruised, you might have misinterpreted it as some kind of vulnerability.

He took two big steps to stand in front of your bed and leaned down slightly, causing you to close your laptop. "You knew it was wrong. You knew how he felt about you."

You quickly got up from your bed and looked him in the eyes with a fake smile. "And now? It's not like it stopped you from fucking me anyway, knowing damn well how he felt."

Nick clenched his jaw as he studied your face. Neither of you dared look away.

"To be honest, it sounds to me like you are jealous that he actually had the courage to show me how he felt." You almost spat the words in his face.

His gaze darkened, but that only made you ramble on. "Or maybe you're angry that he can get me off a lot faster than you can."

"You're a fucking whore, you know that?" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't flinch at his words, but leaned forward, his warmth radiating off your body. "And you're a fucking hypocrite, Ruffilo."

His eyes traveled to your lips for such a brief moment that you almost missed it. Anger was written all over his face, but there was something else you noticed that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"Wait." You murmured, a small and mocking grin finding its place on your features. "This shit turns you on, doesn't it?"

Nick didn't say anything, but didn't dare to move away from you either, while you started to snicker bitterly. "You're seriously calling me a whore when you get all aroused at the thought of Noah and me together? "You're pathetic."

Nick was silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stared down at you with such intensity that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes as they bore into you. His hands were clenched into fists and before you knew it, he had grabbed your wrist and was pushing you against the wall next to your bed.

“Noah just doesn’t know how to deal with your fucking attitude.” Nick hissed, bringing you so close that your lips almost touched. You met his eyes, the warmth spreading through your body, while your heart still leaped with pride.

"Noah has a bigger dick than you." You answered him, knowing it was childish, but you wouldn't let it go.

"Yeah, that's a lie." He breathed. "Maybe you need a reminder."

"Noah has a bigger dick than you." You answered him, knowing it was childish, but you wouldn't let it go.

"Yeah, that's a lie." He breathed. "Maybe you need a reminder."

With a quick move, he had turned you around. You leaned your hands against the wall for support as you felt Nick's breath against your neck. You tried to stifle a moan as his hand traveled over the curve of your body, but failed miserably. You cursed yourself internally for wearing only your thinnest shorts, making it harder and harder to ignore his touch against your lower abdomen.

“You still wanna tell me about Noah?” He asked as his hand slipped through the waistband of your shorts, teasing you.

“As if you wouldn’t like it.” You tried to say as confident as possible, while his hand slipped into your panties. 

“Aw, look at you. You’re so invested in Noah that you’re already soaking wet for me and I didn’t do shit.” He mocked you as his finger teasingly flicked over your clit. A stuttering breath escaped your mouth.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, but you also weren’t thinking about stopping him in the slightest. 

“Don’t be like that, princess. We both know you love this.” He snarled in your ear before retrieving his hand, causing you to shiver. You were about to push away from the wall, when you heard him hiss: “Don’t you dare.”

It merely took seconds for him to get you out of your shorts and also get rid of his pants. He kicked your feet further apart, one hand placed on your waist, the other lining up his hard dick at your entrance. You felt precum leak onto your leg, causing you to suppress another moan and you felt how you arch your back in his direction, without even realizing it.

“Look at you. All of the sudden, all desperate for my cock.” He said, as he slowly pushed inside of you. “You can brag about Noah all you want, he still can’t fuck you like I can.” With that he bottomed out, groaning quietly.

You clenched around him. Of course, he was right. But you would rather run into an open fire than admit that to him. You bit down on your lip when he started to move, his pace immediately as brutal as his emotions.

You wanted to say something. You desperately wanted to put him into his place, but you were too busy trying to lower the pleas that left your mouth, while your pussy throbbed with the burning need to come.

You gasped for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his cock, but nothing besides whimpers came out.

“I see why Noah couldn’t resist you. I think we both like it a little too much to see you fall apart like this.” Nick tried to hiss, but his words came out as a moan. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to moan out his name, as his right hand dropped from your waist onto your swollen clit.

“You sound like the desperate little slut you are.” Nick mocked you as heavy breaths left your mouth. You sputtered, one of your hands leaving the wall to grasp onto his wrist as if it would save you from falling apart.

“Tell me… Who do you think makes you come harder?” Nick whispered in your ear and your mind betrayed you. For a split second you thought about the two of them together. You wondered if they would try to compete against each other. You remembered how Noah’s tongue felt against your clit and with what precision he carried out his acts in comparison to Nick.  

The image alone of Nick and Noah sent you flying over the edge. “Nick - I…” you stuttered, your voice strained. “I’m gonna…” 

“Come on.” He almost ordered, his finger flicking over your clit in fast motions while he hammered into you. “Come on my dick just like you did on his.”

You let out a sharp cry as your head hit the wall, thighs shaking violently as Nick’s hips went on in his brutal pace. You tensed up, your vision becoming blurry as you moaned out his name in a repeating and pleading manner. Nick, in the meantime, didn’t stop, fucking into you in overstimulating manner. 

You felt how his nails dug into your hips, causing you to gasp for air immediately. It felt like something was missing to tip him over, when an idea shot in your head.

“The night…” You breathed out. “when he first fucked me, I was wearing your Limp Bizkit hoodie.” Your voice was so hoarse and quiet, you first weren’t sure if he heard you, but all of the sudden, he let out a groan.

“F-... Fuck you.” He cried out, his hips stuttering ever so slightly, while his grip on your hips became bruising. Without another warning he spilled into you so violently, you could feel each hot splash painting the walls of your pussy.

With a deep breath, he leaned against your back, his head resting on your shoulder. 

It took the two of you a few long minutes, before anyone dared to move or talk. You were sure if he suddenly decided to move, you would simply collapse to the ground. 

“You know, Noah would-...” You wanted to annoy him even more, but he quickly cut you off. “I swear to god, if you say his name one more time.”

Something in his tone had changed though. He wasn’t as angry anymore as he used to be. If you had heard right, he even let out a small snicker.

It took another minute, before Nick slowly pulled out of you, causing you to take a deep breath. You felt how his cum slowly started dripping down your thighs, but you couldn’t care less.

You silently cleaned up and got dressed again, before facing each other. 

“Noah told me, by the way.” Nick confessed, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah, and we both think the three of us have something to talk through.” Nick then exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. You started to pick the skin on your index finger, not knowing what was about to come, but you slowly began to nod.

“Text us when you’re ready.”

That was the last thing Nick said, before stepping out of your dorm without looking back. 

There was no way you could ignore that now.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Day 1: Public Sex with Reaper

Day 2: Roleplay with Kiriko

Day 3: Cockwarming with Lucio

Day 4: Mutual Masturbation with Lifeweaver

Day 5: Bondage with Ashe

Day 6: Cum Swapping with Cole Cassidy and Hanzo

Day 7: Phone sex with Sombra

Day 8: Free use with Ramattra

Day 9: Spanking with Venture

Day 10: Dacryphilia with Moira

Day 11: Face sitting with Mauga

Day 12: Threesome with Ashe and Widowmaker

Day 13: Body worship with Brigitte

Day 14: Mirror sex with Baptiste

Day 15: Orgasm control with Tracer

Day 16: Clothed sex with Junkrat

Day 17: Somnophilia with Cole Cassidy

Day 18: Size kink with Roadhog

Day 19: Anal with Hanzo

Day 20: Wax play with Pharah

Day 21: Blindfolds with Reinhardt

Day 22: Food play with Widowmaker

Day 23: Daddy kink with Ramattra

Day 24: Mommy kink with Mercy

Day 25: Pet play with Moira

Day 26: Femdom with Lucio

Day 27: Panties with Junkrat

Day 28: Praise kink with Lifeweaver

Day 29: Temperature play with Sigma

Day 30: Choking with Junker Queen

Dates with Boothill were few and far between, and when you two are able to have one, it’s not necessarily the most glamorous. Case in point, you were at a dingy rodeo, standing near the railings as you watched some poor soul get tossed around like a ragdoll on the bull, clutching on for dear life for only 2 seconds. As spectators cheered and hollered around you, the wranglers did their best to calm the beast down and usher it out of the ring, the announcers chatting about the performance in a language you don’t understand. Due to the rodeo’s clearly small budget, no gear had been provided for the riders, you can’t help but cringe at the thought of the possible back pain of the rider, but that fades quickly as you finally start paying attention. You could care less about the other riders, and most likely, after the next, you’d probably leave.

The next rider being Boothill. You don’t have to worry about Boothill and his gear; he’s a big boy, and he can deal. If anything were to happen, he’d just have to ask his mechanics to buff it out. It’s the last ride, and the crowd is antsy. Chatting reaches a peak around you, as the smell of alcohol becomes more prominent. Your eyes fall to the stall below you, where Boothill’s stationed, hand on the railing, chatting away with the handlers. His attention is broken for just a second, looking up at you with a cocky grin, and a tip of his hat. His eyes linger, met with a soft smile from you.

The eye contact is fleeting, however, and the announcers pull him back to focus on what’s next. They rile the crowd up, talking so fast it makes your head spin, as if you were at an auction. The only word you catch is ‘Boothill’, of course, and when you look back down at him, he’s raring to go. The minute that gate opens, he lets go of the bar, his right hand up.

The bull bucks, left, then right, right again, and into a full circle. It’s miraculous how his hat has stayed atop his head with how violently the bull is throwing him around. His chin is tucked to his chest, knees pressed against the bull, spurs digging into the bull’s ribs. Beneath the rim of his hat, you can see that cocky grin, in fact, you can almost hear his laughter under all the cheering and muttering as he makes it past 2 seconds. The wranglers pace back and forth around the bull as it jumps, another left spin. It has to be the longest 8 seconds of your life, every time the bull’s hooves touch or kick up dust, your stomach tightens. You’re undoubtedly more nervous than he is, but that feeling is soon replaced with something else.

You don’t understand why, but watching him steady while the bull thrashes about, toothy grin unwavering, heel and knees tight, something stirs within you. The whole world goes quiet as you watch intently, biting at your lip as you try and fathom how you are attracted to this. Your face flushes, the people around you are too rowdy to notice how you’ve squeezed your legs, to abate the heat forming. Luckily, that action snaps you back to reality, and as the horn sounds above you, signaling that Boothill has made it to 8 seconds, he rides out a couple more. Finally, after about another second and a half, he lets go, falling to the ground and rolling back on his feet. The bull continues to buck, and the wranglers usher it back out of the ring.

The crowd cheers and hollers as he climbs up the railings, taking his hat off and waving with a triumphant grin. Some people around you grumble and move away while the announcers try to end off the show. Boothill looks directly towards you, and you must’ve given him the look, because he gives you a sultry smirk, one that screams ‘I'm gonna get my reward’. You can even hear him say it in your head, as you try and tear your gaze away. Alas, it’s futile, cause he shoots a wink at you, before putting his hat back on and tipping it towards you again. You can’t help but stare, really. It’s only when he walks out of the ring with the wranglers that you can look away.

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

You meet Boothill outside of the ring, the stars above dulled by the shabby street lamps that flickered weakly. As he walks up to you, he’s thumbing through the money he’s got, grumbling something about being scammed. Yet, when he sees you, he beams, as if he hadn’t been annoyed at how little he won.

“What’s the payout?” You ask, trying to look over the cash.

“Enough for a motel,” Boothill replies quickly, moving his hands away from you as if to hide the money. “That’s all that matters.”

Despite his complaining, his tone is heavy with implications. Truth is, he could care less about the cash. He’s never around one place long enough to really need their currency; save for enough for a round of drinks or two. He was much more interested in the adrenaline rush, or the substitute of it. Boothill has always been rough n’ rowdy, he didn’t mind being thrown around, especially now. He enjoys pushing his body to his limits. But, since you’ve come into his life, there’s a new thrill added to the list. Who cares about the money when he could have his head pressed between your thighs? You knew exactly where this was going. And it’s not like you mind.

“C’mon,” Boothill jerks his head in the direction of the motel he’s got in mind, that grin never leaving his face. “There’s one close to here.” You can tell he’s eager, as much as he does his best to hide it. His hand slips around your waist, squeezing your hip gently as he ushers you away from the venue. He’s quick to pull you away from the crowd forming outside, perhaps it is to slip away from any sore losers.

You follow his lead without complaint, after all, why not indulge? A date with Boothill is rare, a night with him even rarer. You can’t reel your mind in once it’s wandered back to the sight of Boothill on the bull. You have no idea why you were entranced and why it stoked the fire low in your belly, but it’d be quelled soon enough.

As honest and sometimes discrete Boothill may be, the quick walk to the motel is filled with all sorts of lingering touches. He hooks his thumb into the waistband of your pants, teasing lightly at your hip bone. He presses himself up against your side, whispering all sorts of sweet nothings and dirty words, or what he can, at least. His goal is to make you squirm, and squirm you do. Every heavy-lidded look, every breath, it serves to fan the flames of want, of need. And by the Aeons, he’s doing it. And doing it well, at that.

By the time you two make it to the motel, you’re essentially whipped. He’s got you wrapped around his finger, and it’s hard to keep your composure for much longer. You’re a blushing mess, and you can only hope the clerk doesn’t take notice of the way you’re clinging to Boothill, the way that you avert your gaze from anyone else, even the cowboy himself. It’s not that you’re embarrassed, it’s just… a while without his touch and his time, you’ve been left empty for a long time. It’s a hunger that you can’t satiate with your hands or even toys– which feels ironic, considering the definition of Boothill’s dick was essentially a toy. But you weren’t after his dick. No, it’s his mouth you missed.

As you reminisced, you hadn’t realized he had whisked you away to the room. But, he brings you back to reality with a bruising kiss, pushing you further into the room and slamming the door behind him. His eyes are shut tight, it seems he’s more keen on satiating the heat within him then you are. He cups your face as your hands find his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Out of instinct, he begins to grind against you, even if it does nothing to abate his own desire. Regardless, he moans into the kiss. Perhaps it was some sort of phantom feeling, chasing after something he can’t quite feel. But that didn’t matter, no, not at all. What mattered was the feeling of your lips pressed against his, the way his hands tangle into your hair and pull ever so lightly, and the way you give him another moan in response.

As you begin to lose your breath, he finally pulls away. With a half-lidded gaze, his hands drift down to your waist. Wordlessly, he pushes himself closer once more, bending down ever so slightly and wrapping his arms underneath the curve of your ass, before essentially throwing you onto the bed. You yelp when your back meets the plush mattress, bouncing back slightly as the springs squeak underneath you.

Everything he does is hasty, it’s not that he’s rushing the moment, he’s just hungry… starved. He snakes his way in between your legs, arms caging you in, placed by your waist as he finally leans back down. Boothill’s face is flushed, lips parted as he pants slightly. He takes in another heavy breath before he closes the distance between you two again. He allows no room for words, only breathy moans and whimpers. This kiss is a lot shorter, it is more like an act of devouring your lips then anything, short ragged breaths escaping from the both of you in the split seconds that your lips part. Eventually, his lips make their way from your lips, down your chin, to your neck. His teeth graze your throat, causing you to sigh softly.

Oh, how you’ve missed this feeling. The sense of desperation that fills the air as you two rut against each other, the gasps and breaths that fill the space around you. As much as the space between you two feels like it could kill you, and how those nights wishing– even praying– to have Boothill in bed with you again are agonizing, these nights where desperation reigned supreme made up for it. Where you two could be at eachothers throats, ripping each other apart, exploring every inch of skin and metal once more. The nights where Boothill sinks his teeth into every inch of skin he can see, where you’re putty in his hands. It’s wonderful, letting everything go, allowing yourself to unravel. The touch you so desperately craved, metal and skin alike, honeyed words lost into a sea of bliss.

His cold hands slide up your shirt, anchoring you back into reality for a second time. His teeth sink into the crook of your neck, letting out a low hum as you whine. You arch your hips, but he pushes them back down, running his tongue along the definition of his bite. He murmurs something against your skin, the first words since you two have entered the room, and you can’t exactly make out what it is. Something like ‘stay put’, which you oblige to, regardless. His hands knead at the flesh, trailing his tongue along your shoulder where his teeth find home once more. He groans this time, as you close your eyes and roll your head back. He doesn’t even have your shirt off and you are soaked. You try to close your legs to stave off the heat build between them, however, his legs prevent you from doing that. You whimper slightly at this, which finally draws Boothill’s attention away from your neck and shoulders. He looks down between you with a smirk, and for a moment you swear you could see his eyes lock on.

“This what ya want?” Boothill asks, pressing his body closer, grinding his groin against yours. The friction makes you groan, arching your back once more. The friction is delicious, every press of his hips against yours fanning the flames of tension. It only serves as a temporary reprieve, but it feels good. You can only nod and babble out something that sounds like a ‘yeah’, pressing your hips up against his every moment they pull away.

It’s wonderful, the way that his cock slots in between your legs, and presses up against your clit, despite the barrier. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist, locking him closer. In your hazy dance, you feel as if you mourn every split second his cock doesn’t press against you. He can only chuckle at your desperation, pressing increasingly more feverish kisses against your neck, sometimes sucking, sometimes biting.

Boothill is drunk off all the little sounds you make, picking up the pace of his grinding, pressing you back into the mattress. He just can’t get enough, the way you raise your hips into him, wordlessly begging for more, the taste of your skin… Aeons, you’re addicting. He could care less about how little physical gratification he gets, to have you undone beneath him already is reward enough. Every moan from you earns a grunt of appreciation from him, throwing his head back. While you miss the warmth of his mouth against your skin, you aren’t necessarily disappointed with the view from below…

The heat in between your legs hits a fever pitch as you feel a coil tighten below your stomach. Your legs squeeze against Boothill’s, shutting your eyes tight and letting out a high pitched ‘mmh!’ as a warning. Boothill takes this as a sign to stop, to toy with you. Just as you feel like you’re about to unravel, he pulls away, leaving you feeling empty. You groan and reach up for him, wiggling a little underneath him as an attempt to allow yourself to finish.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Boothill tuts, stepping back. Before you can press your legs together, he catches your thigh with his hand, squeezing and the flesh. “Gotta wait. You can do that, yeah?”

All you manage is a weak nod, wanting so desperately to beg him to let you cum. That doesn’t mean you’ll be complacent though, you know he’s missed you just as much as you have, and you know he’s rather… impulsive. All you have to do is moan a little louder, say his name in a sweeter way, and you’ll have him weak in the knees. You’re so sure of it.

As you hatch your plan, Boothill takes his sweet time getting himself ready. He takes off his hat, setting it on the bedside table, before climbing up onto the bed. His knees pressed against your hips, stradling you. He’s got his cocky grin plastered to his face once more, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he looks down at your flushed face. You prop yourself up on your elbows, a silent challenge as you shift beneath him. His grin turns sultry, leaning his head down and meeting your lips. It’s a chaste kiss, somehow softer from the hungry kisses from early, and he pulls away all too soon.

He doesn’t leave you wanting this time, though. You can tell by the way his eyebrows are barely furrowed, the way he starts chewing on his lip, and the slight narrow in his eyes that, good Aeons, he just cannot wait. That, and, the very obvious tent in his pants. Sure, he’s not adorned with the most ‘human’ bits, but he told the mechanic to make sure ‘it worked juuuust right’. But that’s not the focus here, no, the way he’s sliding down between your body, practically drooling as his head rests on your thigh.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” Boothill grumbles as he fumbles with the button on your jeans. It takes him a full second to undo them, sliding them down to your ankles. You wiggle them off, just as he decides he’s too impatient and presses his mouth to your underwear, tongue flat against your pussy. You let out a stifled moan, hand instinctively tangling within his hair.

Boothill’s eyes flicker up to you, then close, his hands sliding up and anchoring you in place by your hips. He noses at your clit, lapping up whatever he can between your legs. He could care less about the barrier, really, you can feel his teeth grazing your clit every once in a while, which adds a whole new thrill to this experience as is. He wouldn’t bite, as he is prone to, he knows better.

In between hurried licks and sloppy sucks, getting what he can even through the barrier, he presses gentle kisses to your thighs, sometimes licking along your stretch marks. He does this to prolong the experience, granting himself some restraint, no matter how badly he wants to make you cum over and over and over in his mouth. You can tell how hard he’s trying to hold back, his fingertips digging into the plush of your hips, small exasperated grunts found their way in between his ministrations.

You tug on his hair softly, thighs pressed against either side of his face. He looks beautiful like this, face squished between your thighs, eyes closed, mouth open as he laps at your clothed folds. It’s a sight to behold, truly. Every lick causes you to whine, the rough feeling of your underwear pressing against you, pushing just a little further. His breath fans against your pussy, soft grunts and groans escaping his lips, providing a delicious vibrating sensation against your heat.

You feel the coil tightening once more, and silently pray to Lan that he won’t stop in your hazy mind. Your moans increase, letting out soft, high-pitched noises, tugging at his hair slightly. Boothill lets out a low, raspy laugh, hands pulling you closer harshly as if you weren’t close enough. He doesn’t pull away this time, lapping at your underwear at a near crazed pace, like he needs you to cum. And cum you do, your body arching as you dig your nails into his scalp, whimpering out his name.

He laps up your release, or what he can, growing increasingly agitated at what little he can taste through your underwear. Only then does he finally peel away the barrier, his fingers almost too quick. If he was still human, he’d be shaking. He is too quick to claim his place back at your pussy, his licks sloppy and greedy as he claims his prize. Each stripe licked up against your drooling pussy sends a tingling feeling up your spine, making you whine and try and push his head away. But he doesn’t stop.

When your thighs squeeze against his face, as if trying to block him away from such a precious well of ambrosia, his hands fall from your hips, snaking in between your thighs and pushing them open. He pants against your pussy, his warm breath fanning over it, causing you to shiver. You feel like you are… at his mercy, even if you’ve only came once. It is not a bad feeling, you yourself know you are putty in his hands, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

However, it seems Boothill is now unsatisfied with this position. He pulls away from you reluctantly, pushing you up further on the bed, and shimmying his way up onto the bed fully. Before you can even ask what he’s doing, he grabs you by the hips and rolls you over so you were on top of him, hauling you down easily. His mouth finds purchase on your pussy so easily, lapping at it eagerly.

You don’t dare to even move, simply arching your back as you press your hands into his abdomen to keep yourself up. All sorts of lewd noises come from his throat as he continues his ministrations, staring right up at you with a near challenging look. He alternates between licking and suckling on your clit, hungry growls filling the space in between grunts as if having you press flush against his mouth was not enough.

You can feel overstimulation creep up on you, while his actions don’t hurt, it’s starting to tingle a little, providing a comfortably numb feeling alongside the pleasure that wells between your legs once more. Your body heats up more than you thought it could, and slowly your hips follow Boothill’s tongue. It’s not long until you start to grind against his mouth fully, his nose notching against your clit when he wasn’t sucking on it.

“Ya forkin’ like that?” Boothill asks, muffled, before diving back in once more, his hands pulling your hips down even more, pressing you into his mouth. “F-Fudge… So gosh dang good…”

You’d be poking fun at his censorship, but you just can’t help the moans that roll off your tongue. You can’t help but chase after it, your orgasm already gripping you. Your thighs tense and you groan, rolling your head back and cumming onto Boothill’s tongue once more. But he wasn’t done. Your hips jolt as his eating becomes even more hungry, sloppy, the need to ravage you taking hold. What a beautiful aphrodisiac you are, how he would love to drown in between your thighs.

But you stop him from that dream, unfortunately. The numb feeling gave way to an odd hurt, something that felt almost electric. Your hips buck as your body tenses, doing what you can to pull away from Boothill’s iron grip. Eventually, he loosens, his hands coming down onto your thighs, and you raise your pussy from his lips. Slimy tendrils of spit and slick connect his mouth to you, his chin covered in your slick. He grins up at you, eyes practically sparkling.

“M’sorry,” He starts, squeezing your thighs. “Taste too good. Got ahead of m’self.”

You can’t help but admire the sight beneath you, Boothill’s flushed face, happy as can be, as if he had just won the world. Before he lets you go, he leans in, pressing a heated kiss to your clit, pulling back. He changes his mind quickly though, now peppering your folds with more kisses until you shuffle off of him. At that, he lets out a low, mock annoyed groan, before sitting back up.

You sit on his stomach, your slick painting his abdomen, your ass pressed up against the erection pressing against his tight jeans. He doesn’t move to relieve it, he could really care less about it. He’d already taken what he wanted– more like what he deserved– and he was sated. Unless you were game to give him more…

he’s sure to lean in to smear a kiss along your temple before he continues, he knows how much you like when he does that. “do you remember what i told you? everything i do is with your best intentions at heart, or do you feel that is otherwise not the case?” you feel a pang in your own chest at his words, like he’s appealing to that adoring part of you that he values so much, coaxing it back to him with a barely moving stutter of his hips that isn’t much; but with how he’s holding out on you it makes you twitch.

and sunday softens as he watches you, before he continues.

“although i know you would never tell me my means of showing my adoration for you could be considered too.. overbearing, would you? or am i wrong for thinking as such?”

you‘re shaking your head quickly before sunday can even finish his sentence with a question, responding with something that’s a little whispery and choked off, “i know, i wouldn’t.” you hiccup and the man over you coos—feathers shuddering at the sweet sound. “i’m sorry, just.. please, just fuck me!”

oh—he loves you like this, pliant and pretty beneath him and you’re all his, so he decides that he’ll reward you with a few teasing thrusts as your tight cunt squeezes down around him at the sudden friction you’ve been craving. “there is no need to apologise my dear, unless you have done something that requires repentance?” he’s closer this time when he leans over you — brushing his nose along your jawline as he inhales the familiar scent of your perfume that’s now mixed with his own scent, making something carnal boil in his stomach.

your fingers and toes curl tight, so driven by your own yearning for bliss, but you still find it in yourself to shake your head at the question, and sunday chuckles.

“heh, it is as i thought. i simply do not want to put you in a position where you may be taken from me.” his teeth nip softly at your jawline as you lean into him, lifting your otherwise bleary gaze to meet his own all-consuming one as he smiles, kindhearted despite the way he’s making your lungs and insides quake. “you are aware of your importance to me, are you not? or must i remind you by… other means, hm?”

your lips part, almost quietly—wordlessly until he offers you another thrust and the pleasure it plants to bloom makes you arch as you manage out a strangled, soft little please! anything, i just need you! as you lashes flutter.

your answer pulls a groan from sunday nonetheless, it’s a sweet sound that makes your insides curl and ache when it’s followed up with another languid roll of his hips — deliberately pushing up against the sweet spot inside of you that has your lips parting to moan his name.

“very well, my angel. then allow me to extend my most sincere apologies to you.” as much as sunday’s words may feel otherwise insincere, you know that he would never ignore your comfort despite his own anxieties. so he’ll simply ask your accompanying guards to keep a more casual distance next time they escort you around penacony, maybe then you would feel less trapped.

like the door to the birds cage has been propped open just enough for them to explore the locked room the cage otherwise resides in, he’s simply expanding your territory is all.

he feels like the breath is punched from his lungs with how intoxicating you look beneath him as he ready’s himself to begin a pace. but you feel his fingers tighten around your jaw before he’s forcing your gaze to meet his with the next deep push of his cock into your cunt.

“fret not, i will ensure your satisfaction with this outcome, it is my utmost priority afterall.”

⭒ AVENTURINE

you and aventurine rarely argued… but there was a particularly noticeable strain whenever a certain topic seemed to emerge in your relationship. notably so, whenever he seemed to have little to no regard for his own life, using it as a bargaining chip or a means to acquire intel.

he seen no value in himself and given who he was—where he came from, he served to gain a lot more than he had to lose. high risk, high rewards was something that he frequently lived by but what he never really considered was how that made you feel when he opted to risk dying by that same motto. he always had a way of talking himself out of the topic of conversation but it never squashed it no matter how good he was at it, so you’re hellbent on making him hear you now as you grind yourself down onto his cock.

aventurine looks up at you from where his head is resting back into the pillows on his bed, hair mused as he digs it back beneath him and the grin on his pretty features almost seems misplaced given the situation.. the topic.

“hey now, is it really something to get upset about? if all that’s at risk is my neck, what’s the loss? especially when i stand to gain so much.” he drawls in that same saccharine tone that he always used with you. you’re resting above him, thighs straddling his hips as you press the shaft of his pretty cock between your folds, rubbing your slick along the length of him. but you still can’t quite ignore the heavy weight in your chest despite the lust that licks at your spine.

“you have other means to gamble with; money, information..” your words are a soft mule when aventurine deliberately meets the next roll of your hips with one of his own, like he’s coaxing you to drop the topic despite the way you stubbornly refuse to.

that’s exactly why you’re not letting him have as much of you as he wants until you know your words are reaching him. but before you can continue listing the long list of other means your lover has at his disposal, he snorts beneath you.

“please, even the ipc are aware of my disposability and what’s more tempting than a game with high stakes? having no surviving family members only lessens the draw back—anyway, i emerged victorious so it was a worthwhile bet.” you find it to be quite fascinating how aventurine treats himself with so little regard. he truly seen himself as a pawn, as something that would be forgotten about completely if one of his deals fall through and he pays for it with his life.

instead of the person he truly is.. the one he deserves to live to be, and it makes you ache terribly.

“but if you lose, what happens to me?” you whisper and keen, peering at him from where he’s gazing up at you and his thighs quiver beneath you at the languid back and forth sway of your hips in his lap. “your possessions are nothing to me but trinkets unless you’re there to accompany them.”

“oh? i don’t think i quite understand what you mean.” the feeling of your body against aventurine’s is truly captivating, your pussy feels like silk as you roll your puffy folds along his cock, his swollen cockhead catching under the hood of your clit as you both twitch and sigh.

“i don’t want to lose you, don’t you see that’s why i’m upset. i’d cry for you.. mourn you.” you lean and settle down above him as you take his cheeks in your palms and for the first time since this exchange started, his smile drops.

aventurine looks at you, flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and his mind is so full with conflicting emotions—all while he’s mindlessly helping you rock back and forth along the length of him. he feels you begin to press slow, soft kisses along his cheeks and his lips part to allow another whimper to slip through with a lewd swirl of your hips.

it’s an almost vulnerable sound, like you’ve just taken your heart in his hands—he wonders if you’d be as mad as you are now if he offered his life up to you instead, he trusts you’d treat it well.. he knows you wouldn’t ask for anything in return either.

aventurine swallows once before he returns to his usual demeanour and you feel his fingertips squeeze into your skin before he’s twisting his neck to meet the next press of your lips with his own. its softer than the kisses you’ve shared before and it makes you feel terribly warm, looking up to realise that he’s already gazing at you when you pull away to continue with another sinful roll of your hips.

he chuckles, “well it seems… i have a little more to lose than i thought, hah. however will i repay you, i wonder?”

“just be careful, please?” as he expected, its a soft request—you don’t ask much from him but just to be, and he finds himself gripping your hips tightly as you continue to grind yourself against him. aventurine suddenly feels like he can barely think, he loves how it feels to push against you, he could spend every day like this, watching you thrust and glide your pussy across the length of his cock and suddenly he realises the weight of everything he truly has to lose.

“oh, you can count on that, although i don’t think that’s an equal deal and im all about playing fair…”

he takes another greedy swirl of your clit across the intense, sensitive nerves of his cock before he draws himself back completely and he huffs when he gives you a teasing look from beneath you, “so how about i start here, instead?” he drawls, as you finally feels the head of his cock press against the entrance to your sweet pussy and you gasp as he pushes into you, slowly and gently.

⭒ JING YUAN

it’s not that you’re notably upset about jing yuan’s responsibilities or his lacking presence considering how busy he would get at work. it would be silly for you to be ignorant to how busy he was as general of the luofu, so it was never something you notably brought up to him. ofcourse, you missed him—but it was an emotion you kept to yourself, not overwhelming enough to risk an argument over.

but, your lover still finds it vital for him to makeup his absence to you in a way that reminds you of how much he adores you… just incase you’ve forgotten while he’s been gone. it’s like he is immediately aware of the yearning residing inside of you without it ever being spoken out loud, irritatingly so when he seems to be wearing that same smug grin on his lips as he does.

“come now, my dear. i didn’t realise you’d become so sensitive in my absence.” jing yuan breathes, a teasing undercurrent to his voice when he draws his hips back, and his hands massage your waist almost soothingly as he feels your tight walls stretch around his thick cock.

every stroke feels like an apology, every press against the sweet nerves inside of you making you keen. it was almost insufferable how well he was able to fill you up, your walls trembling around the thick spread of him only after a few days apart—you’re already struggling to stave off your orgasm but it’s more to prove a point rather than anything else.

jing yuan only seems to feed on your reactions like this though, despite how eager you are to always welcome him home—he still finds it an essential feat for him to apologise for your time apart anyway. although he would much rather hear how much you’ve missed him while he’s been gone, so he continues “well it would be rude of me to not tend to your needs, wouldn’t you agree? you needn’t have to ask.”

he noses against your cheek as he presses you beneath him, it’s just as slow when he sinks back into you, rolling his hips forward into yours and you watch his lips part, a breathy whine falling from them as he blinks down at you smugly. there’s a familiar gleam in his gaze when you lift your own to meet it,

“stop doing that,” you gasp, strained and choked because despite your reluctance to admit it.. you did feel much more sensitive after a few days away from him. but maybe it was the idea of jing yuan making it up to you when he returned home that had you staving off dealing with your own creeping needs—although you’d rather he not know that.

not when he’s already teasing you enough as is,

“and what may that be? i am simply seeing to my most important duties, there’s no need to make a fuss.” the general over you hisses when he feels your pussy flex around his heavy cock at his words, like it’s a little payback for how he’s handing you right now. you manage to mumble something ineligible back—something that has a chuckle falling from jing yuan’s lips when he begins a steady pace because he thinks it’s as sweet as ever.

and you pout as he looks over you, although overcome with the pleasure he gives you regardless. “i feel like you’re teasing me. what’s your p-plan?”

“hm? was it not obvious that i missed you just as much as you have missed me?” his hips jolt forward, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure, needy moans of his name falling from your lips and his head dips towards you, placing a gentle kiss against your cheek as his cock twitches when you look up at him again.

you feel so good, you can barely find it in yourself to be anything other than grateful at how well he treats you.. even if he is insufferably teasing when he wants to be.

but still, you try just to wipe that grin off of his face— “i didn’t say that! you’ve just been busy with work… who said i missed you?” you grumble, teasing him as you find yourself suddenly turning away to avoid his lazy, lidded gaze and he chuckles before offering you a particularly sharp thrust.

it’s enough to make you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself steady, but you pull him closer in the process, watching him lean down to hover just over you—his hair messy and unkempt as it hangs over his face.

he looks almost a little too smug at the pleasure he knows hes giving you, yet… you can’t help but crumble.

“oh? but i have reason to believe otherwise, my dear.” he rocks his huge body into yours again, and you know what he’s referring to when your pussy squeezes around him in that ever so tight, saccharine grip that only seems to beg him for even more, and he lifts a brow at you as you prove his point. “so allow me to apologise for not returning to you sooner.”

you whimper at how good he fills you, your eyes closing in bliss and for a moment you feel his hips stutter, he had a job to do afterall… he simply couldn’t have you mad at him, even if it’s only an excuse for him to spoil you.

“i will make it up to you as many times as you please.”

⭒ BOOTHILL

boothill has a bad habit, mostly due to his past experiences and the things that have been… taken from him. but he was a runner; although it was never meant to hurt your feelings, it was more the fear of having something so close that the sudden idea of it him losing it once more made him seize up, it drove him away and he knows it’s selfish.

but he couldn’t lose you, so he ran—took on a job that took him from you for a good few weeks when he left without a word and even the thought of that sweet expression on your face crumbling made the space in his chest that was once occupied still ache. but because he still wants to be with you, he always seems to come back—it’s like he’s hoping he’ll return to you and you’ll kick him to the curb and tell him to get lost, for your sake.

but you never do, even despite the pout on your features and the cloudy look in your gaze when you blink up at boothill standing in your doorway, you don’t tell him to leave. there’s an apologetic, charming grin on his features but you can tell there’s a longing wrapped up beneath there too.. regret, or maybe that’s just what you’re hoping for.

“come on, darlin’ can’t stand when y’re all mad at me like this. ain’t movin’ ‘til ya talk to me.” he sighs from where he’s got you pressed in his lap.

you’re arching your back to press your chest closer to the cool metallic touch of boothill’s and your cunt flexes around his mechanical cock when it only serves to push him deeper. you’d think given his absence and the fact he’s the reason you’re mad in the first place, that he’d be more than happy to make it up to you. but instead—he’s halting your movements and almost torturing you as he holds you still against him, refusing to give you the pleasure you’ve been missing out on since he left… not until you atleast look at him again.

“you left me, w-what do you expect?” your voice is strained, hurt and it makes the galaxy ranger beneath you hiss like it stings him. it’s not as familiar as the soft tone thats usually reserved for him is and he can’t help but find himself yearning for that same sultry drawl once more as he gives you a tired, regretful look.

“awh, fudge. ya know i never wanna leave ya, sweetheart. ‘ts complicated is all.” boothill’s jaw clenches as you watch him sink back into the chair he’s hauled up on in your living room—tipping his hat off of his head to cast it aside with his next sigh so he can really look at you as his other hand continues to sink into your hips.

he knows you’re not gonna let him off easy with this one and… he can’t really blame you either.

“then why can’t you atleast tell me, instead of just u-up and leaving.. just like that! what if something happened to you?” your voice hiccups slightly as you readjust yourself on his lap, and it’s like boothill can feel all the pain he’s brought to you despite his absence.

he grits his teeth as he meets your gaze, “ain’t nobody gon’ take me from ya, that’s for sure. they’ll sooner be eatin’ bullets, so ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that.” his voice is low and smooth—as self assured as always and the tone has your back curling when he leans in closer as if to emphasis it. there’s something intimate in the way the movement makes his hips roll against yours and your body feels so ready for the pleasure that you know only he can give you. “listen here, i know i fudged up real bad but cmon, ya really gon’ make me beg?”

“nobody took you from me because you left, it was you.” boothill picks up on the way your voice shakes and its scarily instantaneous the way his fingertips reach out to brush against your cheek, to comfort you, as you lean into the familiar cold metal press of his palm. “do you know how that felt?”

“i do, cause i sure am feelin’ somethin’ right now, sweetheart.” his words reply quietly, but the small little call of his voice urges you to blink up at him again and for the first time, you smile. he knows you’ve got a lot more unpacking to do, but for now—he hopes you’ll atleast let him offer you this until you both have a real talk about it.

boothill’s free hand smoothes along the shape of your hips as he appreciates every part of you—basking in the way your soft skin squishes beneath his movements and he huffs out a laugh before he offers you his first, real thrust. its slow and languid and nowhere near enough, but he still can’t help but feel completely enamoured by the way your lips part to gasp because you’re still as beautiful as the day he left you.

“shhhh, there we go, a bet that feels much better for ya, don’t it? i sure got a lot of makin’ up to do, i bet. so, ya gon’ give me a chance to make it up to ya?” he hums before thrusting into you again and you hold onto him with the next, hands pressing against the machinery in his shoulders to keep yourself steady. he lets his hand leave your cheek to join the other on your hips this time as he begins a pace, a little rougher and full of want as the sound of your skin slapping against him echos and he pulls you into him more.

you’re closer now, lips almost pressed to boothill’s ear and he can hear every pretty whine that falls from between them as he ruts up into you. but “i just want you to talk to me.” catches him off guard and he turns to look at you when he hears it.

his cock is still smoothing along all of your sweet spots effortlessly but there’s a sudden softness to the way his lips quickly press against yours when you catch his gaze. its a contrast to how ruthlessly he’s fucking into you—this is gentle, feeling his cold fingers smooth along the side of your cheek again before he pulls away just as quickly, and he offers you one of his usual smirks when he looks at you this time.

“yer real stubborn for somethin’ so fudgin’ sweet, ain’t ya, darlin’? but alright—alls well, no harm done, i ain’t leavin’ ya again anytime soon.” boothill offers you the reassurance under his breath and as much as you want to accept it as enough—you both know it’s going to take time. but he’s willing to work and that is something that you are sure of as you feel a familiar rush of warmth in your veins, letting yourself completely give in to him as lets you use him for your own pleasure.

he chuckles,

“we can get into this later, right now—how about ya show me what i’ve been missin’?”

⭒ BLADE

it was just the sort of person blade was truly, you’d tried so hard to convince yourself of that—that he wasn’t exactly a man who would give anyone he didn’t truly enjoy the presence of the time of day. but you couldn’t help the pang for your anxieties, the insecurities knowing that your relationship didn’t resemble much of the usual one.

there was rarely any affection from the otherwise cold stellaron hunter and although you never expected him to be the type to kiss you in a crowd or confess his love to you in company, sometimes you just needed some simple reassurance that… he really did want a relationship with you like he said he did, albeit in very short words.

but, blade has his own ways of trying to get his point across.

which is why his dark hair is already mused from your hands and you’ve both left a trail of clothes in your wake no doubt that lead to where he resides for now. he’d caught you off guard when he’d came to you, kissing you hard before you’ve both ended up where you are—with the weight of his hips leaning against yours and his fingers groping almost too tight into your skin.

but the thing that surprises you the most, is when blade follows up one of his particularly sharp, rough thrusts with a kiss that’s so gentle it almost seems misplaced amongst his otherwise sharp exterior. although, you can’t help but find yourself arching into the soft touch, closer—especially when it’s followed by another deep kiss of his cock and another smeared kiss as his large hands bruise into your skin.

“why are you being so affectionate suddenly?” part of you didn’t want to ask—almost deciding to just live selectively ignorant and bask in the rare affection that your lover was giving you. but it seemed… off, and as much as you desired more from him, you would never force him into a place of discomfort due to your own selfish gain.

but, even with your question—blade gives you another, albeit shorter kiss before he answers, gruff and low. “why? is this not what you desired?” his words a hum, although you barely pick up on them from where he’s grinding into your pussy.

his answer makes something warm seem to rattle beneath your skin because, he truly was doing this for you but still, you can’t help but find yourself thinking whether he really wants to or if it’s just something he seems to think is a requirement. although its selfish, you can’t help but find yourself wanting to bask in it—even just for a short while, because his cock reaches so deep it has your toes curling and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this new side of him, even if it was an act.

but because you value blade more than that, you find it in yourself to pry. “you don’t have to force yourself to be affectionate i-if.. if you don’t want to be.” your lashes flutter as you speak, and you meet his hips with your own everytime he rocks forward.

but still, the press of his lips and squeeze of his hands on you doesn’t cease. instead, he only seems to offer you a dissatisfied sort of growl at your statement before he slows his pace, albeit only slightly as you still jolt beneath him with every wet connection.

“i told you before. i do not do things that i myself find unnecessary, this is simply the opposite.” blade pushes his cock up against something sensitive inside of you as he speaks, and any anxieties you had about his sudden affectionate tendencies melt with his next quick thrust — leaving you breathless, mindless as he forces his cock deeper into your pussy with the next smear of his lips along your cheek.

“now, as i asked prior, will it do?” he hisses this time, his words are a little sharper with the way you’re squeezing tight around him but when it’s followed by the gentleness in which he kisses along your features before nibbling at your jaw, you don’t even notice.

instead you can’t help but yearn to have blade closer so you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his shoulders before you’re arching into him, leaning into every press of his mouth until you’re turning to meet the next with your own.

“whatever you can give is fine.”

“i hope to provide you with whatever you seek is all. but, very well..” so he kisses you, unbashfully rough and full of teeth as he fucks into you ruthlessly, but this one seems to warm you a little more than the rest do with his next words, “as i please then.”

DAN HENG .ᐟ୨୧ starting it off sweet with him, i see dan heng as more of a bottom than anything... he's not super experienced, quite a tender lover, and i see him as remaining quite serious and stoic within the bedroom too. definitely more of a slow and sensual pace, just wants to feel it all with you <3 he's quite hesitant to try things out imo, but i reckon that you could convince him to try out using toys with some convincing! 1000% a thigh guy, really likes pulling out and painting your thighs with his cum as he watches them shake. presses kisses to your forehead as you come down from both of your highs. lowkey i get the vibe that the aftercare and the cuddling and falling asleep together is more satisfying to him than having sex. THIS MAN CRAVES SKIN TO SKIN!!!! he will interlace your fingers while fucking and kiss all over your face!!! a very sweet lover <3

GEPARD .ᐟ୨୧ this man SCREAMS pleasure service top to me. he could cum in his pants just by watching you i swear. he just wants to satisfy you as best as he can :((( your wish is his command frfr. he'll put you in whatever positions you want fully customisable experience just say the word. will sometimes pause midway through sex just to ask you if he's doing a good job and if it feels good with his big puppy dog eyes AWEE. i think he would probably be a little hesitant to try out toys, especially at first? his logic reverts to him assuming that he wasn't good enough at pleasuring you and so you have to revert to a piece of plastic... but be a bit dominant and show, don't tell, him just how good a vibrator can feel and he'll be a lot more on board with the idea <3 his whole mentality is just.. do anything to give you pleasure so if you're on the freakier side, this man is game! (PEG HIM) the little sadistic side of you gets a kick seeing tears well up in his eyes if you edge him just to hear his whines and moans... he might be a top but this man is a sub thru and thru. a bad bitch (you) tells him what to do and he listens!! anyways back to when you and him are fucking... this man is just utterly in love with your pussy, they way it gushes and clenches around him, and his absolute favourite position is any where he gets to just bury his face in ur tits while he's buried inside of you because everything is just so comforting and all of him is now surrounded by something so warm and soft... he's in heaven <3 so yeah he's a tits guy who would have thought!! no matter the shape or size HE'S PUTTING THEM IN HIS MOUTH <3 his thrusts get real sloppy at the end when he's about to cum too, starts babbling in your ear about how good it feels and how much he loves u. what a cutie pie

ARGENTI .ᐟ୨୧ to be honest? i had to think a bit about this one. to me, argenti doesn't really seem like the type to bring up using toys... but that doesn't mean that he isn't game if you mention it. he seems ... not passive exactly? but he just seems like the type to go with the flow with sex. whatever you're into he'll just be like shit i'm down let's go. not kinky per se, but he's definitely a passionate lover. very much wants to explore sensuality. ooh maybe he would be into some sort of wax play or blindfold type behaviour i take it back. would probably chuckle if you decide to get on top and place his hands on your hips to help you adjust to his size and set your own pace <3 very loving, wants to celebrate the beauty of your naked body and worship it in the name of adrila. so yeah if you've got a praise kink, HE'S YOUR MAN!!! you feel like the subject of a poem as he sings your praises, telling you how pretty you look and sound when you cum. like shiiiii that would be enough to make me blush <33 in terms of pace and stuff, i feel like he would be pretty standard? maybe on the slower side because of... you know... passion. it's nothing crazy but still a good time. he seems like he prefers to be looking up at you so RIDE THAT MAN!! maintain eye contact as you sink down on it. raise your hips back up ever so slowly and watch the slightest twitch of his brow as you swivel your hips, sinking back down on it ever so slowly. you might just see him blush. and just as the name suggests, the knight of beauty is a SIGHT to behold when he cums (probably inside).

WELT .ᐟ୨୧ yeah peepaw has got some EXPERIENCE to him lmaoo. he's got a sort of... cheekier? side to him. as an older man, though, he doesn't exactly have the same stamina as he did in his youth :( but that doesn't mean that he can't still get down and dirty with you!! quite the opposite actually. so his solution? he uses toys on you <3 he's more of a bottom but he is DEFINITELY in charge. his dirty talk OMFGG im giggling just thinking about it he would praise you and whisper such sweet words to you as he slowly splits you open on his fat cock, telling you how you're such a good girl for taking him so well, how you feel so good around him, all so he can feel you clench around him like a vice grip as he finally bottoms out <33 def would just have his hands around your waist as he moves you up and down his length when you're feeling weightless. but if he's in a more passive mood, he also LOVESSSS just sitting back and watching you struggle to ride him with a lazy adoring look in his eyes as he holds a vibrator to your clit <333 he'll coo at you as you start crying from the overstimulation, his hands wiping away your tears so tenderly and encouraging you to keep going just for him <3 a little bit of a sadistic side to him because he really does just love watching you squirm. another thigh and ass guy imo, really loves the way they jiggle as they slam down against his own thighs as you start to pick up the pace and ride him with increasing desperation. also loves watching them shake when you cum <3. so yeah as a no brainer i think one of his favourite positions would be reverse cowgirl. yum <3

BOOTHILL .ᐟ୨୧ now dont get me wrong this man FUCKS. since he's a cyborg does his dick count as a toy...? yeah fuck it let's go with it HIS BIOCOCK VIBRATES!! so the sensations on that will go CRAZYYYY. and then i'm thinking because of his synthesia beacon and stuff he doesn't exactly experience much sensation down there. so when you're having sex, what gets him off the most is just seeing your pleasure as you unravel. makes him feel good vicariously <3 so yeah definitely a missionary lover in my eyes so he can watch all your facial expressions and reactions as he hits all the right places, how your brows furrow and your eyes slide shut and eyes roll back in your head as he keeps up his unforgiving pace at juuuuust the right angle <33 but don't get me wrong he's no vanilla bitch either!! if he wants to be feeling more ... sensations he can and will make you just sit on his face for actual HOURS just eating you out to his heart's content. you'd think that his tongue is cybernetic too with the way it flicks across your clit at a borderline INHUMAN speed. but no he's just that good. some of ur most intense orgasms have been from him tonguefucking you like this, his head firmly sandwiched between your quivering thighs as you're basically humping his face as u ride out your high. and hey, he's not complaining <3 and then his smug shit-eating grin does NOT help at all when you're still trying to come back down to earth and he's sitting up wiping the slick off his face with that hungry look STILL in his eyes good lord i hope u can survive the night. this bastard has definitely ruined toys for you, they just don't feel the same any more <//3

BLADE .ᐟ୨୧ fucks hard. angry and/or jealous sex with him has just gotta be >>> 😮‍💨😮‍💨 he's on the rougher side and for MOST of the time will dom. and also tbh i don't really see him as being the type to use toys since he's more spontaneous in terms of having sex (public sex. he's got a high sex drive) but very very passionate for sure- lots of grunts and low moans right up in ur ear mhhhnrng. but also at the same time i feel like he would be quite emotionally detached from sex at first, seeing it as more like stress relief than an act of intimacy? and don't get me wrong, some of the best fucks of your life have come from him when he's just trying to release some pent up anger, but on the flip side there's a more vulnerable side to him, almost. one that's barely there any more from years of bitterness and resentment, but still manages to creep up on him on those late nights where he can't quite sleep. so if you're with him on those rare occasions, this is when you experience him not fucking you, but making LOVE. he won't talk, but he doesn't need to, not with the way he's holding you close to him and kissing you with something akin to desperation as he sinks into you and kind of just... stays there for a bit. it's oddly comforting to him, and if he's feeling especially weak he'll need some comfort- just to get him through the night. it's these nights where you take control more, setting a slow and sweet pace and kind of just... hushing him and whispering sweet words to him as you slowly let yourself grind over him, feeling the way he twitches inside of u <333 but yeah back to not vulnerable blade. a fan of quickies for sureeee (see: high sex drive) another tit guy because i am biased. the force of his thrusts in some dark alleyway or hidden corner will have them jiggling and threatening to fall out of whatever shirt you wear. and if he's got you lifted up in his arms, your legs wrapped around him as you're chest to chest with each other, he just can't tear his eyes away from your boobs. leaves bites on them, laves over them like a damn dog until they're coated in saliva and stiff and perked up because of how cold it feels when drying on your skin. if you're in doggystyle, you'll feel his hands clasp over them from behind, a few short and sweet squeezes to them before his blunt nails are flicking over your nipples just to hear you squeal <3

AVENTURINE .ᐟ୨୧ just like blade, he very much has two different modes. let's start with the freaky one bc that's fun. he's quite open to experiment with all aspects of sex- who's in charge, who's topping, toys, positions, you name it. he trusts you enough to do anything with or to you short of causing each other pain. so yeah he's a freak alright!! i feel like if you're in an established relationship, he'll feel guilty due to the amount if time that he spends away from you because of his job, and make it up to you by spoiling you with gifts... he loves to buy you new toys to try out as he sits back and just watches as you squirm and then writhe in pleasure as he slowly palms himself, eventually unzipping his trousers and jerking himself off until he cums all over u <33 definitely gets a kick out of seeing his cum painting your pretty face and how your tongue darts out to catch it before it drips onto the floor <333 or maybe he just strokes himself to stay hard, his eyes hungrily watching you as your own remain transfixed on his cock, the flushed tip disappearing with every stroke of his hand, the slick noises of his precum overpowering the buzzing hum of the dildo inside of you. and then when neither of you can handle the tension any more, dying to feel each other's touch, after you've cum a couple of times and are all nice and sensitive for him, then and ONLY then will he finally put it in, quickly setting a pace to fuck your brains out like a wild animal <3 lovessss doggystyle or the speedbump position because then he's all up in your guts and ur moans/screams of pleasure are just music to his ears. definitely the type to go a little feral bc... yeah. so yeah that's freaky mode! but like blade he has a softer side to him UNLIKE blade it is still definitely there and more accessible... but that doesn't mean he exposes it to you just like that either. but yeah if he's feeling more vulnerable emotionally, especially right after he wakes up from a nightmare while you're groggily waking up next to him, he just needs comfort. you holding him and stroking his hair, telling him how he's safe and how much you love him. if you've been together for a while and he really trusts you, he might even cry. almost begs you to call him kakavasha instead of aventurine, and you oblige. and then as soon as his name leaves your lips, he's kissing you hard, gradually letting them become tender as you undress each other with the utmost amount of care. it's love that motivates him, from what you can feel from his fingers tracing your skin and how soft his lips press against yours. he lets out a quiet moan as he sinks into you and basks in your warmth for a bit, letting his arms now wrap around your frame tightly, holding you to himself as if you would disappear any moment. and you hug him too, draw patterns on his back, stroke his hair and hum as you tell him how much you love him, listening to the sound of his shaky breaths as you slowly raise your hips, sinking back down inch by inch to hear him hiss. at first, he would still refuse to let you see his face when you have sex like this, not until you gently coax him to look at you, and you see the crystalline tears already escaping from his eyes. he's definitely the type to cry during sex like this- something so soft and tender that it's overwhelming to him for so many reasons- the vulnerability of it all, how much you love and care for him written all over your face, the way you squeeze against him so perfectly. and then he buries his face in your chest as you keep whispering words of affirmation to him and he cums so fast, deep inside of you and then he stays even when he feels himself go soft. just because it feels nice. and he falls asleep just like that, clinging to you, the person he loves.

JING YUAN .ᐟ୨୧ another member of team lazy but pussydrunk (him and welt have permanent memberships lmfao) whenever the two of you fuck it usually starts with him making you work for it. involving either you getting off by grinding on his thigh or riding him, desperately throwing your weight back onto him to even simulate the feeling of his powerful thrusts- all in vain as he merely sits there, looking up at you with a maddening smile and just WATCHING you... what a creep <3 but yeah he loves loves loves seeing how worked up and whiny you get for him to do something, anything, just for him to do the exact opposite, placing two firm hands on your hips to effectively get you to stop, and you whine again from the loss of friction. and he'll merely smile, telling you how you're such a good girl for him, getti my off from watching you get so so close, just to do it over and over again. orgasm denial and edging really are his two best friends fr. so he's not really a strict dom but more of a tease, you get me? i think that YES he will use toys. really gets a kick out of vibrating panties or a vibrator inside of you that he can remote control <33 just really enjoys when you're in public trying to remain composed (what a creep <3) keeps u constantly stimulated all day, finally making it up to you when you both get back home, fucking you properly as you're on the verge of tears and ready to cum any second. hmmm hear me out on this but i think his favourite place to cum would be your back.. like yeah finishing inside is cool and all but pulling out and cumming all over your back just drives him CRAZY and ready for another round... as soon as you recover <3

LUOCHA .ᐟ୨୧ LORDDDDDD he's like jing yuan but even WORSE. he's dangerous too because in his eyes, it isn't him or a toy but him AND a toy. this man will have u in his lap thighs spread legs hanging over his knees so he can keep them open as he has one hand gripping your chin forcing to look at yourself in a mirror, the other hand holding a vibe to yr clit <33 every time your eyes start to roll back he'll do a light slap to your face, forcing you to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, his feline eyes dancing with mirth at your already fucked-out expression. and then when he's sure that his gaze is holding your attention, he'll let go of your face, letting his hand snaie downwards until his hands are collecting your slick on his fingers before pushing into you, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek that contradicts how hard he's fingering you <3 squirting is not an achievement but the new standard with him!! that man is NOT relenting until you coat his arm and the floor (even the mirror) he really likes making you kiss him just after you cum- when your brain is foggy from the intensity of your orgasm, you can barely hear, let alone process what he's saying, and when u finally manage to connect your lips to his the kiss is just so sweet n sloppy, showing how worked up he is already <33 he's a little mean with it but you wouldn't have it any other way!! because that man knows what you need and will DELIVER. and he loves alllll of you. especially your pussy. and ass lol

DR RATIO .ᐟ୨୧ ok stay with me now cos this one's more of a scenario but!!! imagine that you haven't seen veritas in a while because you've both been busy but he messages you, saying how he'll finally be back soon!!! and ur just so excited that you can't contain it, and all those lonely nights are starting to tally up... your hands just don't do the trick any more and you finally cave, getting out your old reliable dildo to try and satiate your lust. trying your hardest to focus on veritas while you fuck yourself so that you'll be able to cum... pretending that it's his cock instead of some silicone... moaning out his name into your room with your eyes screwed shut to try trick your brain into believing that it's really him!! and it seems to work because you can feel that coil in you begin to tighten, and just when ur about to cum you feel a hand on top of yours, startling you out of your impending orgasm. and you open your eyes to see none other than the man who you had been fantasising about just now <3 and he's got this smirk on his face and a certain look in his eyes, and when you glance down you can see that he isn't exactly... unaffected from watching you earlier <33 i feel like he would degrade you a little, calling you such a stupid girl for needing to think of him just to even get close to cumming <333 and you'll whine and get embarrassed, trying to hide yourself with the covers, but deep down you know he's right so you peek at him from behind your lashes, batting them and begging him to help you as sweetly as you can. and how can he deny you when you're just so sweet and submissive for him? he'll be quick to take out his cock, slipping the head through your folds, letting it catch as it skims past your needy hole, letting the tip slap against your sensitive clit just to watch your whole body twitch as he chuckles to himself before bullying his cock into you. even after fucking yourself it's still a stretch, especially cos he has you in a mating press, his strong hands keeping your thighs pinned as he puts hisbweight behind his thrusts, really slamming into you until you're bouncing back against the mattress <33 a good hard fuck that hits all the right spots he needs to in order for you to cum HARD. but if he's feeling mean, he won't even oblige your request, instead being all smug and settling back on his haunches, goading you to keep going and make yourself cum without him because you're just so close, you can do it. watches your pathetic attempts to do so as you huff and beg him because you just can't without him <//3 and maybe if you beg hard enough he'll consider helping you out... even though it's just so entertaining to watch you keep trying. ironically enough, it's the way he calls you his sweet girl as he finally pushes into you that sends you over the edge more than any of your own touches did. and once you ride out that high, body no longer convulsing on his dick, he'll pull out of you just to flip you onto your stomach, then pull your hips up to meet his before fucking into you to make you really cum because of him this time <33

SAMPO .ᐟ୨୧ this man is MOST DEFINITELY an experimentalist!!! 1000% down for literally anything. you use toys on each other el oh el. the epitome of a switch. he'll top or bottom too, it's always a good time with him. definitely a freak. tbh i headcanon him as having a crazy oral fixation... if he's not sucking on your tits already then put your fingers in his mouth!! he'll have hearts swimming in his eyes, especially if you let them slide to the back of his throat until he gags and his eyes get all teary!!! definitely a sight to behold if u start fingerfucking his throat. or maybe just gag him with your panties, letting urself hear his muffled whines and moans as you finally free his cock and deepthroat him <33 oh god his whines and moans... get this man on twitter NEEOOOWWW. as a top he's definitely more goofy about it, not super strict. sex is about making sure you both feel good and just having a good time im his eyes.

GALLAGHER .ᐟ୨୧ ... this man... a certified freak. me personally im not into it but IF U LIKE ANAL THIS IS UR GUY 1000%%%. he def loves ur ass more than anything. the type to stick a finger in as he makes out with you or just let his finger tease the ring of muscle, circling it ever so slowly to feel u squirm while sat naked in his lap. when he eats you out he'll let his tongue drop a little lower to tease both of your holes. if u let him he'll eat your ass with GUSTO. and YES he's using toys on you you're not safe... buttplugs with the cute jewel on them and when you're in public he'll give your ass a slap or squeeze just to see your face change as you feel it press a little deeper into you... he'll have a vibrator fucking into your pussy as he's all up in your guts, laughing at the way you can't even form words right now. yeahhh he's a FREAK. oh and did i mention that he's an ass guy??

SUNDAY .ᐟ୨୧ ohohoho. this man has actual YEARS of pent up sexual frustration under his belt. his wings. whatever. he's a man who thrives off of control, and this is no exception in the bedroom. massive dom. both soft and hard. but more hard <3. really gets off on u calling him sir LAWLLL. lowkey i see him being into some real freaky bdsm stuff... cos hes got the whole sexually repressed catholic thing going on n all yknow. likes seeing u kneeled w your hands tied behind your back. you stripped naked while hes fully clothed and smiling so sweetly as he watches you try and get yourself off by humping his shoe. anything for that power imbalance with him hrrrrng. and if youre feeling a bit more bratty, touch his wings. preen them, blow air on them, even grip onto them HARD with your fingers and it'll get him all riled up. and then that sweet smiling facade will drop and youll see his eyes change into something a touch more feral as he pins u down and fucks u hard and properly. just to remind u who's really in control <3. the aftercare goes crazy, naturally. but then i also saw this post talking abt how hes a PEOPLE PLEASER and i agree 10000% so when he's feeling more soft, your pleasure is his greatest reward. a headrush mix of sweet praise and filthy degradation. telling you how you're a nasty bitch who's just so good for him... how you take him so well like the filthy slut you are.... and he's just so so composed during it all like an ANGEL EHFHWJFJE it makes ur head spin istg. yeah he's a freak in the sheets LOLL

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ...... eat it 'til your teeth rot!

[ SMUT ] how the hsr men eat pussy!

Sprawled out on the bed, you were scrolling through your phone before letting it go with a dramatic sigh. It was a Saturday evening and you had absolutely nothing to do. Bored was not even the word you would use to describe how you felt, you were absolutely disinterested in everything around you. You could always cam tonight, but that was the last thing you wanted to do.

You had been a cam girl for a few months now as a way to make some extra money to support your frivolous lifestyle outside of your job at a local cafe. A typical stream consisted of you talking about your day, your interests, or whatever was bothering you recently, and in return your viewers would send money for showing a little something… extra. Some of the women who watched your streams even sent you lingerie sets to wear for them, they were all too kind when it came to spoiling you rotten. You were their princess, a doll that they could dress up for their pleasure, and you enjoyed every minute of it.

Pink frilly panties hug your hips, but remain hidden under a sheer babydoll slip dress. You had always taken a liking to more dainty and girly things and camming was one of the ways you got to express it for others to see as well.

Two cheeks softly dusted with pink blush, one pair of soft glossy lips, and a set of lashes to accentuate your doll-like eyes later, you set up your webcam across from your bed and started the stream. The website you used was completely safe, all of your information was kept secret, and you had even stayed entirely anonymous when you first became a cam girl. You usually had a set schedule so it took a while for your usual audience to start rolling in, but once they did the comments began flooding with comments, all confused as to why you were streaming tonight, but enthusiastic about it nonetheless.

Anonymous29721: Baby, you look absolutely ravishing tonight. ♡

darlingmommy: There’s my doll.

leslithefingers: She’s not your doll, she’s all of ours.

Anon1212: Doesn’t matter who’s she is, she’s hot.

You let a soft giggle slip past your lips as you watch the comments unfold, “There’s enough of me to go around for everyone…” 

A soft bunny plushie, gifted to you by one of your viewers, made its way into your arms as you rambled on about your day. You detailed how your shift at the cafe went, especially talking about the customers who were less than nice to you. Your viewers showered you in praise for handling all of the situations so well and blush heated your cheeks uncontrollably. No matter how much praise you got from them it always felt like the first time. “You guys are too sweet…” a pout plays on your lips as you continue reading the comments. A moment passes and you let out a quiet gasp and your lips form a small “o” shape as you remember you wanted to show off the new lingerie you were wearing. You angle the webcam slowly down your body, letting the camera soak up every last bit of your body. From your full breasts, to your soft tummy, everything was being accentuated perfectly in the set.

You plop back down onto the bed and tuck your legs beneath you as you read the comments rolling in. Some were telling you how cute you looked, or how they wanted to just spoil you endlessly, but others were more vulgar as expected with a hobby like this. You usually rolled your eyes at these because the accounts who wrote them tried so hard to sound dominant in nature, and they came across sounding empty and just for show. But this one… this one came from a viewer you hadn’t seen before.

Doctorsorders: I’d like to part those sweet thighs of yours and see what type of nectar you drip… I’m sure you taste nothing short of divine my sweet doll.

Doctorsorders: These other women do not deserve to see you grace their screens if they do not know how to speak to you properly.

DONATION OF $500 RECEIVED. FROM DOCTORSORDERS.

Nothing could have prepared you for a donation that large from a first time viewer, usually they started with smaller tips or just simple compliments, but she had led with the money. “Thank you for such a large donation… Doctorsorders.” You read out her username, your tone dripping with honey. “Is there something I can call you?” You tilted your head slightly to the side, waiting for her answer.

Doctorsorders: I’d be happy to discuss that in private with you, my doll. I wouldn’t want to give up too much so soon…

Doctorsorders: Message me any time, I’d be happy to chat with a woman like you. I bet you’re so soft… and pliant… so easy to please. I’d like to find out.

She was beginning to become more intriguing by the second, there was no way you could pass up an offer like hers. “I’ll take you up on that offer then.” Your mind was on the mysterious woman the whole rest of the stream. Focusing on anything other than her was proving to be a harder task than you thought, so you wrapped everything up swiftly and said goodbye to the rest of your viewers, claiming the fatigue of the day was getting to you, and that you’d talk to them again next week. 

You sigh quietly, tossing and turning in your bed as you contemplate messaging the woman in your comments who gave you butterflies from the moment she typed in chat. It was safe to say you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself when messaging her, she sounded so… elegant, sultry even. She was clearly attracted to your demeanor though, so you weren’t quite sure what was stopping you from just sending a quick message.

urdoll: Hi! That was a pretty large sum-

No… you thought to yourself. You couldn’t start talking about the money right away, she would think that was all you cared about. You deleted the message quickly.

urdoll: Hello…

A whine of frustration escapes your throat and you fall back onto the bed with your phone held to your chest. You type and delete at least 15 messages before giving up and ending the last one you had drafted.

urdoll: Hi…you really have a knack for charming girls just like me, huh? I’d like to get to know you some more, so what can I call you Miss Doctorsorders? ♡

You hit send and instantly throw your phone onto the bed awaiting her answer. It was late into the night, the moon and stars already hung high in the sky, so you didn’t expect an answer right away. A few minutes later and many thoughts pondering if you had come across as too forward later, your phone buzzes and you scramble to pick it up. Your heart races out of your chest as you open up the message.

Doctorsorders: Moira, but you can call me whatever you please, my dear. What might be the name of the lovely little rabbit who captured my attention tonight?

You know you shouldn’t tell her your real name, but something was telling you to share it with her. After all, you wanted to get to know her in every last way.