Atheni is Awesemi

"Listen, don't go crazy. But... is it true that Erwin... y'know," you let the phrase unfinished, hoping that Levi catches the rest.

He doesn't. His brows furrow, taking a drag of the almost finished cigarette. "Erwin what?"

You've known Erwin for a long time, when all of you were cadets, before Levi even joined the Corps. You've never had the guts to talk to anyone of your little crush on the Commander, and you really think that Levi is the perfect person to finally open.

Not with that, though.

"Y'know, I've heard... that he's, are you really gonna make me say it?" You run your hands through your face, trying to hide the embarrassment.

"Well, yes. I'm fucking curious now." Levi puts out the cigarette, pressing it against the glass of the ashtray.

You groan loudly, straightening your back against the wooden chair, shoulders brushing.

"That's he's big," you say, in a breath.

"He's obviously over 185 centimeters," Levi says, arching his eyebrows in confusion.

"No, Levi, I mean big." You make a vague gesture with your hand that tells him everything.

"Ah," he says, blinking slowly. "Where the fuck did you heard that?"

You lean in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper even though the mess hall is dead silent except for the faint creak of the wooden beams cooling overhead.

“I didn’t hear it from anyone reliable,” you admit, cheeks already burning. “It’s just… logic. Look at the man, Levi. He walks into a room and the fucking air changes. His shoulders are huge and his fingers are thick..."

"You look at his hands?"

"Lemme finish. And his stupid deep voice that makes everyone stand straighter whether they want to or not. You’re telling me someone built like that is walking around with anything less than proportional equipment?”

Levi snorts quiet, but genuine. He reaches for the half-empty bottle of cheap grain alcohol between you two and pours another finger into both tin cups without asking.

“You’re basing your entire theory on vibes and symmetry,” he deadpans, sliding your cup back toward you. His knee presses a little firmer against yours under the table. “Bold, even for you.”

“It’s not just vibes.” You take the cup, fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. “You’ve seen him shirtless after training. You’ve seen the way his pants fit when he’s giving orders in the yard and the wind catches the fabric just right. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

Levi doesn’t blush but the corner of his mouth twitches in that way that means you’ve landed a hit.

“I notice everything,” he mutters, which isn’t a denial.

You grin, emboldened by the liquor, the late hour and the fact that his pupils are a little blown in the low lamplight.

“So you’re telling me,” you continue, voice teasing now, “that in all the years you’ve been his right hand, all the times you’ve shared a tent on expeditions, all the mornings you’ve walked in on him half-dressed because he still thinks privacy is optional... You’re telling me you’ve never accidentally gotten an eyeful?”

Levi exhales through his nose, long and slow, like he’s deciding whether to throw you out the nearest window or keep playing.

“I don’t accidentally look,” he says finally. “But I’m not fucking blind.”

Your heart does something embarrassing inside your ribcage.

“So…?” you prompt, leaning so close your shoulder is fully pressed to his now.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, almost casually:

“It matches.”

You choke on air.

He doesn’t elaborate right away, just lets you suffer while he takes a slow sip from his cup, eyes half-lidded like he’s discussing supply requisitions instead of the Commander’s dick.

“Levi.”

“What.”

“You can’t just say ‘it matches’ and leave it there.”

“Why not? You already decided it had to, I’m just agreeing with you. Case closed.”

You shove his shoulder lightly. He doesn’t budge, but he does tilt his head toward you, silver eyes catching the lamplight.

“Details, you dumbass. Does it have a curve? Is it cut? Veiny? Does it hang heavy even soft? Give me something.”

He lets out the driest laugh you’ve ever heard from him.

“You’re worse than Hange when she finds a new titan.”

“C'mon, you love this,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

Another long silence. His gaze flicks down to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes.

“It’s thick,” he says at last, voice low enough that you have to strain to catch it. “Heavier than you’d expect even knowing his size. Long enough that it doesn’t look ridiculous on him, which is saying something, considering how tall he is. Thick at the base, tapers just enough. Veins that stand out when he’s hard. And yeah…” He pauses, lets the word hang. “…it hangs heavy when it’s soft. You can tell through the fabric if he’s not wearing anything underneath.”

Your mouth has gone dry. You swallow anyway.

“How do you know it’s thicker at the base?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Levi’s eyes darken.

“Because I’ve had to help him adjust his straps before a mission when the harness was pinching in the wrong place. Fabric doesn’t lie. Neither does gravity.”

You let out a shaky breath, you were getting wet only imaging it.

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

You both sit with that for a moment, the air between you suddenly thicker than the cigarette smoke still clinging to your clothes.

Then you nudge his knee with yours again. “Think he knows we talk about it?”

Levi’s mouth curves just barely.

“He knows everything. He just pretends he doesn’t.”

You groan and drop your forehead against his shoulder.

“We’re so fucked.”

“Probably,” Levi agrees, and this time when he shifts, it’s to rest the side of his head lightly against yours. “But if we’re going down, might as well go down speculating about exactly how much of him we could take before we’re ruined for anyone else.”

“Both of us?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: “Why do you think I keep telling you the details?”

Your pulse slams in your throat.

"Yeah, he's not the type of guy one person can handle," you mutter, looking down at how much your bodies are touching now.

"Hah," Levi breathes out. "You're aren't the type of woman that thinks one guy is enough, are you?"

You lift your head from his shoulder as you say: "Nope. I'm not."

Below you, Tokyo lies silent, the flicker of billboards and apartment lights twinkling in the velvet of night like columns of stars. The air is cool but crisp, and you are so high up that the chatter of civilians is lost to the wind. Even the rumble of cars and trains is soft, wispy. The sound is too heavy to pierce the atmosphere.

"Don't do it. There are people who love you."

You startle, whipping around. Satoru walks the ledge of the roof like it's a tightrope, arms stuck out for balance. The wind flutters in his white hair.

Your shoulders sag with relief. "Oh, it's just you."

"Hey there, handsome. Yanno, you could at least pretend to be happy to see me," he teases, skipping forward and jumping on your back. The toe of your shoe tips dangerously over the edge while he nuzzles into your neck, arms thrown around your shoulders. The tip of his nose is cold as ice, and you scrunch up your face as you wrap your hands under his thighs.

"Well, did you come with Suguru?"

He gasps, legs tightening around you. "Mou, that's so mean! I've known you for longer than he has. What makes him so good, huh?"

"He's sweet," you hum, shifting him on your back, "and kind. He makes good ramen and gives great hugs."

"I make good ramen." He tilts his head, gazing at the side of your face with those big baby blues. "Wait, when have you been hugging Suguru? Have you been seeing each other behind my back?" he accuses, eyes narrowing.

"No, stupid. We're friends, too, remember?" You set him down on the ledge beside you. He crosses his arms, pouting up a storm. "Besides, you have nothing to worry about. He's not you."

You tilt his chin up with your knuckle to make him look at you. He's still scowling, though it smooths out slightly when you remove his dark glasses and pop them on top of his head, using them like a headband to keep his windswept bangs back. You smile softly, one hand trailing down his cheek.

"You look like such a dork wearing sunglasses at night, you know that?" You chuckle, widening your arms just as Satoru huffs and steps closer, burying himself under your chin like a kitten. "Doesn't help that you act like a delinquent."

"Baby, stooop," Satoru whines, fingers curling in the front of your uniform. "Man, I come all the way out here to be alone with you, and you still bully me! Inconceivable. I accept apologies in the form of forehead kisses and cuddles."

"To be fair, you kind of deserve it," you snicker, only to cough when Satoru punches you in the chest hard enough to make you wheeze. It doesn't hurt – just knocks the wind out of you. "Uh, ow?"

"Too bad I like your face," Satoru says airily, cocking a hip and resting his hand on it. "I would've aimed at it otherwise. You could go and tell Suguru all about how you got a black eye in the shape of my fist."

"You're still on that? Never took you as the jealous type, Strongest Sorcerer," you tease. "Am I really that important to you?"

"Yes," he pouts, "and don't you forget it."

He leans up and kisses you – chaste at first, but when he pulls away to breathe and blinks slowly up at you, his eyes darken with need. He pulls you close, cupping the back of your head and running his tongue over your lower lip. You allow him entrance, and he moans softly at the cool, minty taste of your mouth.

Only when his lungs start to burn does he pull away reluctantly. He pants against your mouth, fingers curling in your hair, and you laugh softly, drawing his attention.

"What?"

"You've gotten better at kissing," you say, amused. "Where'd my innocent little Satoru go, hm? The one who'd cover his eyes when I changed and blush when we held hands? I miss him."

He attempts a glare, but his nose is adorably pink from the cold and his hair is a tousled mess. "You killed him. You and your stupid sexy body and pretty smile."

"Ah." You trail your hands lightly up his hips to his ribs, then back down. You spread your hands, measuring the size of his waist, and watch him stutter as your fingers touch. "I remember now. I think I prefer this Satoru – the other Satoru wouldn't hunt me down just for kisses."

He can't keep up the façade any longer and his face cracks with a grin. He throws his arms around you and buries his face in your shoulder, giggling. "It's not just kisses... I wanted to know what you were up to, sneaking off like that. You'll get in trouble."

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around him and swaying him lightly. "Really? When did you ever care about trouble?"

"When it involves you," he says, as if it's obvious. "You're, like, the goody-two-shoes of our group."

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh, shoving him aside. He staggers back, arms windmilling, and slips off the edge of the roof.

Your eyes widen and you rush to the edge, heart leaping into your throat. "'Toru!"

You scan the street below. There's nothing at the bottom. You close your eyes and sigh.

A mop of white pops up over your shoulder, staring down the side of the building.

"Pretty far down," Satoru observes.

"I hate you so much," you say half-heartedly, sitting down. He laughs brightly and launches himself into your side, making you catch him with an 'oof'. He presses his cheek against yours, squeezing your hand.

"I love youuu," he coos, eyes sparkling with the reflection of city lights. He plops himself down by your side. "But seriously. Why are you up here so late? Is today Sneak-Out Wednesday or something?"

You drape an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close. He hums contentedly, happy to share your warmth. Or steal it, more like. He's only wearing a hoodie. "Just getting mentally prepared for tomorrow. You ready?"

He groans. "Ugh, I'd totally forgotten about that. Which one of my cousins are you gonna choose?"

You smile and lift the hand across his shoulders to comb your fingers through his hair. "I haven't met them all, Satoru. How would I know?"

"I dunno, man. Wait – I'll help." He gets comfortable against you, half sprawled on your lap. "What's your type?"

You hum thoughtfully. "Tall, silly. Stronger than me? I like a person who can beat me up."

He giggles, rolling his eyes. His feet kick absently over the ledge, dirty white sneakers swinging over the city. "You won't get all three, you know."

"Aw, that sucks. Guess I'm stuck with you."

"Glued," he agrees, laying his head on your shoulder. He points somewhere in the distance – you follow his finger to a spot of light on the edge of the city, half-hidden amongst the trees. "The college looks so tiny from here. You ever wondered what it'd be like, going to a normie school? We'd be getting ready for a graduation party, maybe thinking about college entrance exams. Instead, I have to watch you marry someone other than me, then be forever resigned to exploring stinky mouldy buildings. My life is unimaginably sad."

His words are dramatic, his tone exaggeratedly defeated, but you know there's weight behind them. You lay your head on top of his, gazing out across the city, and hold him close.

"You could write a tearjerker movie out of it," you say softly. "Make a million dollars and never have to work again."

He nods, a small smile crossing his features. "Yeah. You could."

He turns towards you, pressing his lips feather-light against your jaw, then settles down again. You play with his soft white hair, edged in the moon's silver light, and sit in quiet contemplation. A crane on a nearby skyscraper blinks slowly with a red light, counting the minutes as they pass.

"Hey," you say suddenly, tapping his cheek. He sits up. "Is that a helicopter or a shooting star?"

You point up into the inky sky, and Satoru gasps. There, crossing the black velvet sea, is a bright spark of light arcing over the skyscrapers. "Shooting star," he laughs, eyes wide with delight. "I didn't know one was set to pass by tonight. The news didn't say anything about it."

"Then quick – make a wish, 'Toru," you whisper with a smile, your hand dropping to squeeze his. "If we're the only two to see it, maybe the magic is stronger."

He raises your hand, clasps it between both of his, and lifts them to his chest. Satoru closes his eyes and makes a wish.

—

Sneaking back in is harder than going out. Probably because you're hand-in-hand with Satoru, who can't find the strength to stop giggling whenever you tug him out of sight of a hall monitor's torchlight. The grounds used to be empty until six A.M., but after Satoru smuggled a chicken into his room one night, the teachers began random patrols every so often.

"Shh," Satoru hushes, even though you're quieter than he is. He tugs your hand, darting across the hallway. "My room's closer. You can sleep with me. C'mon, c'mon."

He slaps his pockets for his keys and slips a silver key in – then swaps it for another silver one with a gold star sticker on it. You give him a look, glancing both ways down the shadowy hall, and he swallows his laughter, fiddling with the door. "Sorry, sorry – I'm trying my best, baby..."

At last, he pushes open the door. He tugs you inside immediately, hushing you again, and inches the door closed to be as quiet as possible. He flicks on the light, tossing his glasses and keys onto his messy desk. Then, safe in the warm yellow light of his dorm room, he turns to you and leaps into your arms for a kiss.

You catch him with ease. He's been doing it since you were children, and you've come to expect it, even in the strangest of times. Sort of like how a shark sleeps with half its brain alert at a time to make sure it keeps swimming; the instinct is always there.

"That was fun," Satoru whispers, smiling against your lips. "We should do it again. Tell me next time you wanna ditch, okay? Then I don't have to stalk you like a creep."

"You could have called my name or something," you huff. "I just wanted some fresh air. We could have gotten noodles or snacks together."

"But where's the fun in that? At least I've gotten better at going undetected while following someone. It might come in handy someday."

"You gonna become my crazy, obsessed boyfriend?"

He bites his lip to hide his smile as you carry him to his bed, placing him down with a bounce. "May-be," he laughs, kicking his feet above the floor. He leans forward, the picture of innocence. "You're way too attractive for your own good, so I have to protect you from all those evil phone numbers, yanno? Plus, I'm the only one who deserves you. Nobody else is good enough, and they should know that."

"Already halfway there, I see," you quip, amused. He nods with a grin, kicking his sneakers off, and tugs you down into bed with him. You steal a moment to neaten his shoes and place yours beside them.

Satoru lies down, shuffling over with a soft sigh to be as close as possible to you. He blinks up at you, his hands clasped gently near his cheek. You rest an arm over his waist.

"Feeling tired?" he asks in a low, soft voice.

You shrug one shoulder, your hand tracing random shapes into his back. "Not really. You?"

"Neither," he whispers. His eyes flicker with anticipation. "I actually... I planned to sneak into your room tonight. That's how I noticed you were gone. I thought you might want to..."

Shyly, he guides your wrist from his waist down to his ass. You squeeze and he jumps and blushes, his fist curling automatically into the front of your shirt.

"Yeah?" you murmur, hooking your finger under the waistband of his baggy joggers. You trace his warm skin and he shivers, blue eyes trained on you. "You missed me, did you?"

"Mmhm," he breathes, his heart rate picking up as you tug his hoodie up over his stomach and place your hand flat against his ribs. He lets out a soft moan as your thumb grazes his nipple, pebbling with exposure to air. When you move to go lower, he grabs your wrist and keeps your hand on his chest, his breathing already slightly ragged. "You just look so perfect all the time – so big and strong and pretty. And when you were sparring with Suguru this afternoon, he grabbed your shirt to flip you over, and because you resisted your shirt went way up... Do you know what the serratus anterior muscles are? 'Cause I do."

"Oh, poor thing – have you been needy the whole day?" Your thumb rolls over his nipple, making him gasp. "I've been a terrible boyfriend."

"Yeah," he breathes, slipping his hands beneath your shirt and exploring the planes of your stomach and sides. You are warm, and your muscles flex with the cold of his hands. You pull him closer, noses brushing. "You should apologise for that."

You smile as you move to hover over him, hand braced by his head. He widens his legs automatically, letting you slot between them, and you lay your front gently against him – not moving, just there. Constant. You cup his face and lean down to kiss him, sweet and slow. He moans quietly between them, his hands roaming your sides and back. You shift, and something pokes your thigh.

Pulling back slightly, you smirk down at his red cheeks. "Hard from a few kisses, Satoru?"

He whines, bucking against your leg. "Don't be mean... I touched myself earlier, okay? It's not all 'cause of you."

"So you admit to being a perv?"

He smacks your chest, brows furrowing cutely. "Hey...! Don't put words in my mouth. 'M not a perv."

"What a shame – 'cause I am," you say cheekily, kissing your way down his jaw and throat. "Can I eat you out, princess?"

He lets out a strangled noise as you kiss his exposed stomach, his hoodie tugged up over his chest. You gaze up at him between his thighs, eyes hungry and playful.

He glances at the clock on his desk. Two in the morning.

"Fine," he exhales, swallowing. "Fine, you can."

"Best thing I've heard all day," you reply with a canine smile, tugging his joggers down his hips. He huffs, letting you do as you like with his body. You tug him down to the foot of the bed, making him squeak, and settle on your knees with his thighs over your shoulders. His pink-flushed cock twitches, half-chubbed.

You engulf it in your fist and kiss the mushroom tip, lapping at it and grinning as he whines, fisting the pillow below his head.

"Something wrong?"

He nods, a pout on his lips as he props himself up on his elbows. "You said you'd eat me out. That's not it."

"I'm getting there, baby. Why? Do my oral skills leave something to be desired?"

Satoru almost corrects you – it's 'oration', silly – until he realises that no, you meant what you said.

"No," he mumbles, breath hitching as you spit on his cock and smear it down his shaft. "Ah – I just... I'll come too fast if you keep doing that."

Your expression turns thoughtful. As you slip your tongue beneath his foreskin, swirling around his tip, he trembles, thighs tightening around your head. He mewls. 

"Mm – I wasn't joking when I said I'd come!"

"It's cute that you want to be good for me," you say, stroking him lazily. "But tonight can be special. Wanna watch you melt."

He gulps at the hunger in your eyes.

The slick nubs of your teeth dig into his creamy thighs, slender and silky-smooth. He smells like his milk-honey bodywash, sweetly luxurious, and his scent is delectable. It makes your mouth water. You bury your face in the junction between his torso and his soft inner thigh with a low groan, caressing his hip and squeezing until your fingers sink into his supple thigh. He shivers, blushing yet undeniably aroused at the sight.

He gulps. You wink up at him and take his cock into your mouth, washing away any protests. He moans sharply as you take him to the base, throwing his head back as your throat convulses around him, tighter and hotter than any toy. His bruise-bitten thighs close around your head and his ankles cross behind you. You let out a rumbling hum and his hips jerk up. You pin him down.

"I – ah—! Hah – baby," he whimpers, hands shooting down to your head between his thighs, bobbing steadily as your hot tongue curls around his length. "Ah, wait, stop... Hn...!"

His legs lock around your head as you swallow him whole, his throbbing cock twitching in the wet heat of your mouth. Your lips are soft yet firm, a tight vacuum around his base, and you groan lowly at the taste of his precome spurting onto your tongue.

Pleasure strikes his nerves, burning up his spine. He moans your name, voice pitching higher, and his back arches as you pull away with a wet pop, swiping a thread of precome from the corner of your lips and licking it from your thumb. Your lips curve up into a taunting smirk as Satoru thrusts his hips up towards you, burying the heels of his hands into his eyelids with a wobbly whine.

"Please," he whimpers, and his thighs tremble with his aborted orgasm. You chuckle and shift to lie beside him, propping your head on your palm.

"Please what?"

He stares at you unseeingly with wet blue eyes. "H-Huh...?"

"Please what?" you repeat, smile turning smug. "You told me to stop. So I did."

His breath catches in his throat.

"Oh my god, you're s-such a dick," Satoru sniffles, head rolling in your direction. He grips the sheets and tucks his knees up, subconsciously trying to peak the high you'd dropped

so unceremoniously. He clenches his eyes shut and braces himself. "Eat me out, please! I want you to eat my ass, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Verbatim," you purr, deftly grabbing him and pulling him on top of you. The mattress creaks with the shift in weight, and Satoru swallows hard, panting softly. He blinks down at you, tilting his head in that dream-hazy way.

"Baby?" he mumbles, voice soft and confused.

"Sit on my face."

His mouth falls open.

Then his eyes go big and sad, like a kicked puppy. "W-What? Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"Never, baby. I just can't always do all the work for you. You have to learn at some point – you know that, yeah?"

"But I don't... know how." His words are quiet with shame. He's always been perfectly happy being a pillow princess and giving up all control to you. 

What if he did something wrong? What if you didn't feel good? Giving you control of his body meant you could do as you liked with it and take your pleasure. What if he couldn't make you come?

"I know. I'll guide you." Seeing his hesitation, your voice softens. "Do you trust me, 'Toru?"

He nods immediately, hands curling into sweater paws on your chest. He glances over his shoulder at the far wall. He shares that wall with Suguru, and if he concentrates, he can hear the steady beat of his heart, slow with sleep. He gulps, gnawing on his lower lip.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay. For you."

Something about it makes his heart hammer harder than usual. He shuffles up to your chest, then halts. He hovers there unsurely. He glances up at you for help.

"Turn around and kneel over me, sweet thing. Good – just like that."

He blushes as he braces against your stomach, back arching. He's overtly aware of his stiff cock, bobbing over your mouth. "Like this...?"

"Mmhm. Fuck, you look so damn good like this, 'Toru. Got such a perfect little cock and ass." You reach up, guiding his cock to your lips, and you kiss his leaky tip, making him shiver and swallow a whimper. You reach around him and grab two handfuls of his ass, spreading him open. His pink hole, slightly gaped from his earlier prep, winks at you. You lick your lips and tug him down towards you, making him gasp as your lips make contact with his body.

He shivers, thick white lashes fluttering as you kiss his puffy rim, your tongue laving over it every so often. "Mm—!"

Sometimes he wishes you'd be rough with him for once. Even now, with your teeth scraping against his sensitive inner thighs and making him moan as you dig your thumbs into the ruddy bite marks blooming across his pale skin, it's more pleasure than pain. It'd be less embarrassing to moan and cry at that sort of treatment than when you're practically making out with his asshole, being tender and loving even when you pull his ass close to your face.

But you know him better than you know yourself. His desires are imbued in every movement, and you're a good boyfriend. Maybe rather too indulgent, but Satoru wouldn't be himself if he weren't a little spoilt.

He's afraid to put more weight on you, that much you can tell. Satoru's not even that heavy – he's all lanky long limbs right now, much to his annoyance – but he's clearly unwilling to smother you. Which is a right shame – his preference for sweets extends to his choice of flavoured lube, and you're more than happy to sample it.

You tug him away to spit on his hole, and he whines shakily as you rub it into his skin and lick up the glob of saliva dribbling down his taint. His back arches. "O-Oh, fuck, you're so gross...!"

"I'll stop, if you want."

"Don't stop," he says immediately, then blushes as if he didn't mean to say anything at all. His knuckles whiten. "I-I wanna come."

"As you wish," you hum, more than a little gleefully. You can just make out his voice calling you a pervert before you bury your tongue inside him again. After that, everything that comes out of his mouth is a whiny moan.

Your own cock strains uncomfortably in your pants, and since Satoru's ridiculously spoilt, you have to take it into your own hands. You lower one hand to palm yourself as your tongue flicks over his puffy rim, circling it and kissing it like you can't get enough.

Satoru wiggles his hips with a whimper as you drag your tongue over his sensitive hole, blush-pink and twitching. Abruptly, you pin his thighs down with both hands and stuff your tongue inside him, making him squeal and throw his head back, his expression warm and dazed. You press open-mouthed kisses to his hole as your long tongue flits against the spot inside him that makes him see stars.

"Hnngh, fuck—th-that's good..." Satoru's soft thighs tighten around your head and you groan, muffled. He watches, panting, enraptured, as you blindly fish your cock out from the confines of your underwear and start to stroke yourself, a sight that makes saliva build up in Satoru's mouth. He licks his lips, pupils dilating.

A tight ball of jealousy burns in his chest as he remembers how insistent your clan is on your legacy and bloodline. As the only male heir, you were expected to produce many children – a duty which reminded Satoru uncomfortably of cows and horses, bred for certain favourable characteristics until out pops a baby they like. You rolled your eyes whenever it was brought up at clan meetings, and if Satoru sat in on them – because who was going to say no to him? – you were always quick to reassure him that he'd be the only one in your heart, regardless of whichever pretty cousin of his they chose for you.

He's had some really wild ideas before, like sneaking into the selection of girls and dressing up in the bridal garb. He's sure he could get away with wearing a veil. It's not like his cousins would care, either – none of them seemed too enthused about being shackled to a stranger for the rest of their lives.

He wishes he didn't care so much. That his amused comments didn't ring so hollow. You always promised you'd love him forever, that you'd continue to see him irrespective of your marriage, but Satoru didn't know how to say he didn't want to be your secret. He wanted a ring, and a shared bed, and a hyphenated last name.

It didn't seem like a lot, but to Satoru, it meant the world.

Your tongue slides deep inside him and he lets out a sharp moan as you pin him down, forcing him still. His ass is soft and pretty, and you lament the fact that he doesn't allow you to do this very often. You would eat him out every night if you could.

Lost in the pleasure, he doesn't notice when he starts to rock his hips, pushing them down on top of you. He's adorably clumsy, movements jerky and uneven, and he nearly slips and gets a faceful of your dick when your tongue meets his prostate halfway through a bounce. He scrambles to sit up again, cheeks pink and chest heaving as he reaches behind you to grab your hair. He whines shakily, wiggling his hips, and you groan into him, pulling him down when he tries to lift himself up.

You asked him to sit on your face. You did not ask him to hover half an inch above your face.

Satoru trembles, gasping as you spread him wider with your thumbs and lick the inside of his rim. It doesn't help his state to have your cock filling his vision, every twitch and throb noticed in supernatural clarity. His Six Eyes are, for once, making him shy.

"Feels good," he whispers shakily, rocking his hips. "Feels really, really good..."

You hum, pleased, and he stutters out a gasp as his back arches. He tugs his hoodie up, his dick jolting towards his stomach, and he wraps a hand around it with a trembling lower lip.

The relief is instantaneous. He moans, soft and shy, as he squeezes his shaft every time your tongue thrusts in. His head tips back with a shaky exhale.

He whimpers as you practically force him to ride your face, your firm hands pushing and pulling. His cheeks burn hot, and he throws an arm over his eyes as he braces against your chest, hips moving messy and desperate on their own.

Breath hitching, Satoru presses his hips down, and the rapid flicks of your tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him is too much. His muscles flex, body stiffening, and he jerks as his cock spurts thick white ropes of come onto your chest and stomach. Every stroke of your tongue against him pulls forth another pulsing shot, and Satoru whines, half-pained, as you drag out his high as long as you can.

He gasps, sucking in shallow breaths, as you finally let him up. He falls forward, thighs trembling, and his back arches as he relaxes, a natural thing of beauty. His hole winks, puffy, pink, and slick with saliva and lube.

"F-Fuck," he whispers as he feels you sit up behind him, wrapping your arms around him and peppering kisses along the nape of his neck. "You – You're dangerous..."

"You don't know the half of it," you chuckle, caressing his sides and his little waist. "Ready, pretty thing?"

He gulps but nods, and he's pliant as you manoeuvre him onto his back. You slip between his twitching thighs and he thinks he knows where it's going – until you grab his calves and throw them over your shoulders. He yelps, suddenly far more exposed.

His cock twitches, and you notice with a smirk. "Excited, are we?"

He nods fervently, reaching down and spreading his ass with his hands. The lube smeared across his skin makes it harder, and he has to dig his nails in to properly show off his eager hole. "Yes, yes – put it in, don't go easy. Please."

That's all you need to hear. Your smirk turns savage.

"Oh, shit—! Fuck!"

Satoru gawps up at you with wide, teary azure eyes, pale thighs pressed up to his chest and marked with bruises in the shape of your teeth. The slap of your hips against his ass, quick and rough, yanks strings of whiny moans from his throat. With one hand he grabs the back of his knee and with the other he clamps a hand over his mouth, and his eyes squeeze shut as your cock slams into his swollen p-spot.

"Fuck," you hiss, gaze trained on the join between your bodies. The excessive amount of lube squelches with each thrust and drips down his taint, smearing against the firm curve of his ass. Your dick glistens with it. "So fucking good f'me, aren't you, 'Toru? You take my cock like you were born for it."

He whimpers behind his fingers, his toes curling as you lean down and fold him even further in half. A ruined cry slips through, loud and sharp, and he clenches tight around you in fear. Your nails dig into his thigh with a low groan.

He can't speak. If he opens his mouth, he can't predict what noises might come out.

"My baby has a perfect little hole," you say, voice deep and raspy. Satoru shudders, his ignored cock bouncing against his stomach and leaking copious amounts of pre into the neat white curls between his thighs. Carpet matches the drapes. You tug him closer on your lap and he gasps as you lean down to kiss him, pinning his hands to the bedsheets and interlacing your fingers.

"Such a perfect little pussy..." you continue in a mindless murmur, and Satoru whimpers against your lips, eyes rolling back as he nods feebly. His slick walls ripple around you and his grip tightens on your hands. "C'mon, princess. Wanna hear you say it."

He swallows, panting hard like he's run a marathon. With red cheeks and dark, lust-blown pupils, Satoru hiccups, halfway to tears. His kiss-swollen lips are plump and parted.

"I caaan't," he whines, flushed chest heaving as your cock drills his tender hole. His feet bounce in the air over the breadth of your shoulders. "Ah, ah—! 'S embarrassing..."

"Say it. Tell me how you were born to be my needy little slut. I'll leave you right here if you don't."

Satoru's jaw drops in pleasure and his eyes flutter as you fuck him deeper – but you move so slowly on each pass that it feels like an eternity. He lets out a pained sob, baring his hickey-covered neck to you. "You're s-so mean, oh, god...! 'M your needy slut!" he squeals, voice pitching high to that bratty, whiny tone that annoys almost everybody. You like it because it belongs to Satoru, though, and you like Satoru. "'M gonna come, oh fuck—I'm a cock-slut, 'm your bitch, 'm your dumb pretty pussy! Please jus' fuck me hard already—!"

You grin, dark and predatory. "You asked for it."

He seizes up, svelte limbs trembling as you bury your cock hilt-deep inside him, stretching him out like nothing else can. Your balls slap against his ass until his skin turns red. His hot, gummy walls stroke your dick with every clench.

With a cry, he comes, toes curling and spine arching as far as he can. His hands clutch yours as he gasps and moans, unable to silence himself even as his voice echoes off the walls – but it feels too good to ask you to stop.

His cute cock jerks. Pulses of thick white come spray his toned stomach and chest. You slam into him and tauntingly drag your cock out, forcing the full length of your cock into his slick hole over and over again. Tears glitter along his lashes, clumping them together, and he mewls and hiccups, each thrust of your hips forcing out another spurt of his come.

"O-Oh—!" he yelps, voice rising at the end in a whiny pornographic moan. "Oh, ooh, fuck, f-feels really g-good! Your cock feels really good! Don't stop, don't ever stop, please—"

It strokes your ego unimaginably hard to have Gojo 'The Strongest' Satoru begging for your dick. Worshipped, revered, deemed untouchable, yet surrendering to something as vulgar and animal as lust... The thought alone gets your pulse racing.

"It'd be so cute if everyone could see you like this." Your hot breath fans his ear as you cup his ass, keeping him still even as he squirms. "They'd all know what a slutty little crybaby you really are. Who woulda thunk it?"

Thought it, Satoru thinks desperately. It's 'thought it'. You're playing with him, teasing his irrational need to correct people. What a nerd. All he manages to let out is a cry of pleasure as your dick scrapes along his walls, the sheer size of you making it so that rubbing his prostate is a given. His mouth falls open and he comes with a sob, fingers twisting in the sheets by his head.

"Ah! Ah, fuck," he sobs thickly, voice caught in his throat. His back arches, body flexing and jolting. Tears well up in his eyes. "Fuckfuckfuck, 'm not a crybaby, ohh – 's too much, pluh-please, please, baby, I c-can't think...!"

He wails as his eyes roll back, a second orgasm crashing into him as your thick tip grinds into his prostate, so rough and sudden that it feels like you're squeezing his balls. It feels so good it hurts.

He goes limp in your hands, moaning and babbling drunkenly as his body flexes and twitches, his slick hole squelching and fluttering around you. Soft, warm, soaking wet – it really does feel like a pussy now.

"You're a good boy, ain'tcha? Then you'll take it. You'll beg for it. Go on, pretty thing. Beg me to come inside you. Beg me to fill you up." You grunt, pinning Satoru's knees to his flushed chest, and fuck him so hard the bed threatens to smack the wall.

He flails slightly, one hand reaching up to press against the headboard. He's uncoordinated, drooling, and blushing so hard he looks like a tomato, and he's the most gorgeous thing you've seen in your life. He blinks up at you with half-lidded eyes, his plump pink lips parting even as he tries to bite back his cries.

"Please, baby," he slurs, groping around for your hand. He finds one and drags it to his chest, cradling it against him – it's a little uncomfortable with the angle, but he looks so protective that you can't bring yourself to care. His white hair is a few shades darker at the tips, stuck to his damp temples, with the rest spread like a bright halo across the rumpled bedsheets. Glittering tears trail down his warm cheeks.

"Please come inside," he continues in a sweet whisper, voice broken and raspy from the volume of his moans. He tries his best to maintain eye contact despite his glossy eyes. "R-Ruin me for everyone else. Come in me – in my tummy. Come inside as muh – hah – much as you want. I love it." His trembling fingers tighten around yours, not as strong as they usually are. Poor thing's exhausted, but he still puts on a wobbly, glassy-eyed smile for you. "I love you."

"Fuck, 'Toru—!" The mattress creaks as you slam your throbbing cock into him – once, twice, thrice – before you bite down into his shoulder and paint his insides white, your balls pulsing hot and heavy against his clenching ass. He mewls, weak spurts of creamy warmth glazing his already-messy stomach, and one of his legs slips from your shoulder. Quickly, he wraps it around your waist, his hips jolting up to meet yours. You caress the thigh hooked over your elbow, keeping your pace slow and gentle as you ride out your highs together, foreheads pressed against one another and breaths mingling.

Yours lasts longer than his, on account of all the prior ones he's had. Regardless, he takes it all without complaint, whimpering sweetly as you fuck thick come back into his hypersensitive hole. The pleasurable burn almost tingles.

At last, when you pull out, you take your time, and Satoru mews in soft protest as your spend leaks out of his puffy, gaping rim. He reaches down through his own sticky mess and gathers it on his fingers, pushing it back in, and only stops once you carefully let down his other leg. He places his hands on your sides with a shuddering sigh, sinking into the kisses and bruises you suck into his neck. A possessive part of his heart swells in pride when he swipes his come-wet fingers along your side.

There. You're marked with the mixture of his come and yours – like animals, you are his territory.

When you roll over onto the bed with a soft exhale, Satoru wastes no time in splaying out over you, wrapping you up in his long limbs like a koala. He entwines your legs with his, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, and snuggles into your arms with a dreamy sigh, his eyelids already dragging down.

He can feel your heartbeat under his palm, gradually slowing after all the excitement. His neck aches pleasantly, sharper where you bit him hard, and he lifts his head, eyes still closed, to nibble his own lazy hickeys into your shoulder. You cup the back of his head, holding him against your neck. He hums. He feels warm and fuzzy.

When he settles back down, too sleepy to wash up and in no way ready to let go of you, he faintly hears you murmur something, sounding faraway and blurry. You hold him close and he smiles to himself, already fading into dreams. It sounded a lot like I love you, too.

—

Satoru is trying really hard to stay awake. Every time he blinks, the darkness attempts to consume him. It's growing difficult to resist – especially because his clan's matchmaker is reading a speech from paper, and some people are terrible at reading aloud. No inflection, bad pauses, that sort of thing. Every sentence sounds like she's rattling off a list.

She's old, so Satoru can't bully her too much for being bad at public speaking. Instead, he plays with the bow on a little girl's headband.

The girl's probably around three years old – the age where they can escape surprisingly fast after being stuck crawling for most of their lives. He'd spotted her peeking around the edge of a cracked-open shoji door, so he doesn't think she's supposed to be here, but Satoru always encourages curiosity and disobeying orders. Now, she sits across his lap, quietly watching the goings-on with a thumb in her mouth.

You look dashing in your formal attire, glossy silks embroidered with your clan emblem and pooling elegantly around your kneeling figure. Your expression is calm and polite, but Satoru sees the way you run your thumb obsessively over the back of your other hand. You're thinking some pretty heavy thoughts. He can't blame you.

Across from you is a line of girls around your age – some a couple of years younger, some older. All of them bear the Gojo clan's famous white-blonde hair, though their eyes vary in shades of dark obsidian to titanium steel.

His clan doesn't churn out special-grade sorcerers every time. Most range from middling to above-average, hindered by their lack of the Six Eyes. Your family, however, has strong sorcerers in every generation, and something about your technique makes sure that it is always expressed, even if mixed with another clan's or altered in some way. Like a dominant gene, Satoru supposes.

Anyway, Satoru has a lot more girl cousins his age than he thought. Probably since he's always been separated from the rest of the clan in an attempt to keep him on track. He sees a lot of himself in them: the sharp features, the slender builds... Honestly, if he grew his hair out, he'd look quite similar to them. He has really pretty eyelashes, after all.

He sighs quietly, dropping his gaze to the pink headband and playing with it. The ribbon bow is glued to one side. The kid is quiet and doesn't wriggle, so he's alright with holding her for a little while longer.

Earlier, he promised you that he'd stay for the matchmaking. Maybe it's a good thing that he has a toddler weighing him down because a big part of him wants to get up and stomp out.

It's not fair. It's just not fair.

The matchmaker's doing all sorts of magic mumbo jumbo now, comparing your palm to the girls' and making each of them pour tea to see which pot pours most auspiciously or whatever. Satoru watches dully, unable to hide his disinterest. Tradition is so overrated.

But it's the way the world works, and nothing he can do will change everything right this second. If he were born a girl, he'd probably be in that line-up, and then you'd be free to eeny-meeny-miny-moe your way to him.

He looks up. Everyone's standing now. Automatically, he stands too, shifting the girl onto his hip. The time has come for you to choose, and you reveal an intricate kanzashi from the depths of your sleeve. The glass hairpin's flowers are icy blue, and the stick is uneven to mimic nature – the whole effect is that it was made in one piece, and that you'd frozen a flowering branch in its most beautiful moment. Several chains of jewels hang from the flowers, like dewdrops dripping off the leaves, and the precious gems catch the light, sending sprays of prismatic colour across the room.

It's a stunning piece. Anyone would be proud to wear it.

You step forward, surveying the girls before you. You've met some of them before – fleetingly, as Satoru dragged you down the halls by the hand. They know you well enough to know you're not cruel, and that your family would welcome them kindly. Still, who wants their life decided for them?

The act of giving the hairpin initiates a binding vow. You must protect and care for the recipient for the rest of your life, giving your life if need be. It's a heavy vow, unique to your clan. Whatever makes you a stronger sorcerer, you suppose with a slow rise and fall of your shoulders.

You catch Satoru's eye. He's off to the side next to the girls, and he offers a small, encouraging smile, his eyes uncovered and brilliantly blue.

He'll love you regardless of what decision you make. He doesn't think he could stop loving you.

Glancing down at the hairpin in your hands, you quickly drag the pointed tip against your palm, drawing blood. The deep red soaks into the hairpin like the twisting ink of a glass dip pen. It shimmers with cursed energy, the binding vow coming into effect. Whoever's blood touches it next will be bound to you... forever.

You swallow hard. The blood on your palm is already congealing, but the blood in the hairpin is as vivid red as ever. It'll stay that way until the vow is fulfilled. It's rather macabre to imagine someone walking around with a decoration carrying your blood in their hair, but at least it's aesthetically quite pretty. Blue and red go together nicely. Satoru would know.

Satoru.

He's still there, watching silently. He's not looking at you this time, his gaze downcast, and his expression is a perfectly crafted mask of porcelain serenity.

You twirl the artisanal hairpin in your hands gently. Making it was a real lesson in patience. Patience... and independence.

The silks of your kimono whisper against your skin as you come to a stop in front of Satoru. Murmurs of confusion ripple across the room.

He lifts his eyes, blinking warily at the mischief dancing in your eyes. Quickly, he sets the girl on the ground, and she scampers to the back of the crowd to not be caught. His lips part, his next words barely an exhale. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Something terrible," you whisper, and it's less of an explanation and more like a promise. Your eyes are bright, your heart thudding against your ribs, as you lift the kanzashi, the glittering jewels draped elegantly over your fingers. You pay no mind to the clan elders stepping forward in warning. "Do you love me?"

"More than anything. I just don't—"

"Would you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" you say urgently.

"Obviously. I've been dreaming about it forever. But—"

Your gaze softens and you lower your voice to something private, intimate. "Satoru. Satoru... Do you trust me?"

It's as if the rest of the voices fall away. All he can see is you – your smile, the glimmer in your eyes. Your cursed energy tingles against his skin, as if waiting with bated breath for the vow to complete – for the chain links to fold end-to-end and become inseparable.

He nods, not trusting his voice. You take his hand – someone from his clan darts forward, alarm sharp in their voice – and you slash a pretty red line across his pale, unblemished skin. He sucks in a breath, eyes wide, as the glassy flowers soak in the mixing blood, creating petals with stunning gradients. The hollow inside fills with red, twisting and curling with the glass like vines on a branch, and potent cursed energy swirls around your hands, clasped in his.

He can feel it. It tugs at his soul, warms him, and settles deep in his chest like a hot tea going down.

Someone yanks you away by the shoulder and Satoru's soul spikes with pain as your hand escapes his. Mindlessly, he steps forward, arm outstretched, before he catches himself and pulls his hand to his chest. He's gripping the hairpin in a white-knuckled fist.

"What," the man says, his deep frown darkening the furrows of his brow, "have you just done?"

"I chose my partner," you say with a wide, astonished grin, unable to help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of you. "Didn't you see? The vow's complete. I belong to Satoru now."

"That wasn't the plan. That wasn't what we agreed to!" The man whirls around, glaring at a group of similarly-aged sorcerers. Two are from your clan, and they stare at the scene before them with wide eyes. "Can it be reversed? You. Answer me."

"No," you pipe up behind him, and you flash your usual charismatic smile. It doesn't seem to work on him, though. He's wound too tight. "A vow's a vow. Technically, my death breaks it, but Satoru could die, too. You lot have been working him to the bone to become stronger, haven't you? I've just boosted his potential, so surely you don't want to kill him. You should be thanking me."

The man reaches for you, jaw tight, as if he wants to drag you outside and give you a piece of his mind. Understandable, of course. You've just stolen their golden boy off the market, their pride and joy – and worse? Satoru doesn't even seem to mind.

Satoru steps in front of you, his usual smile absent. He stares at the older man, blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't even think about touching him."

"He broke the agreement. Please step aside."

"Nah. I don't feel like it," he says, as easy as anything. "Besides, what rules did he break? He came here, unarmed, and chose a Gojo child to take as his spouse. Well, I wouldn't say I'm a child, but in that case, neither is Hanako." He gestures to her. "She's older than both of us."

A muscle in his jaw tenses. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, turning away and rubbing his temple. "Goodness. What am I supposed to tell your mother?"

"That I want to reintroduce YN to her as my boyfriend." He pauses, grabbing your non-bleeding hand. "Husband now, I guess." He laughs brightly as he turns to you. "Doesn't that sound so cute? We're husbands!"

Your heart hammers as you stare at him, his beaming smile and bright eyes making your chest ache with affection. You glance down at your entwined hands. He squeezes your fingers. "Yeah. Yeah, it does sound pretty cute."

He giggles, waving the hairpin like a flag to watch the strings of jewels sway and flutter. He tugs you out of the room, and that sends everyone into a flurry. Nobody stops him. All around you, clan members trip over themselves to spread the news. The girls chatter amongst themselves, all the tension bleeding from their shoulders as they share complaints about heavy makeup and how their kimono sleeves almost dipped into the tea they poured.

Carefully, Satoru tucks the hairpin into his obi, brushing his hand over the glass flowers in reverence. He lets you take his cut hand in yours, and you wrap a length of white cloth around his hand. His smile widens as you offer another strip. He mirrors your actions, gently staunching the bleeding before folding the cloth firmly in place.

"We should see a healer," you murmur, tucking his hair behind his ear. He grins shyly at the action, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "It'll scar otherwise."

He shakes his head, and his voice is soft – soft enough that you have to lean in to hear him over the rapid conversation around you. It feels intentional – that he desires the closeness. "I don't mind. I think I'd prefer it heals naturally."

"Why? You'd be ruining that precious, perfect skin you always brag about."

"Because it's from you," he says honestly. "Also... we'd match. And every time I look at it, it'll remind me of how stupid your proposal was."

"Hey," you say, faking offence. "You accepted my stupid proposal."

He rolls his eyes, laughing as he buries his face in your shoulder. "Yeah, yeah... I know. I just never thought you'd do something so... weird. You're normally such a doormat."

"Hey."

Satoru hums, leaning up to kiss your forehead. He lets it linger, and when he draws back, his cornflower-blue eyes glimmer. "I'm such a good influence, aren't I? You finally decided to do the thing you want to do, expectations be damned. Tell me how good I am, baby. Go on."

You laugh. "You're good," you whisper fondly, making him beam. "You're so good that I did something I've never done before: disobey my family. They're probably going to be upset. I'm still shaking from it – look."

He cups your hand, steadying it. "I, for one, am very proud of your character development. If anyone insults you about it, you tell me, okay, and I'll fuck 'em up for you. Nobody talks shit about my husband and gets away with it." A giddy grin crosses his face. "Oh, man. I don't think I'll ever get tired of that!"

"Of course." You lift a hand to his cheek and he leans into it, closing his eyes. "I can't hide anything from your Six Eyes."

"Damn right," he replies smugly. "So, how'd you come up with this whole idea?" He swirls a finger in the air, glancing around. People walk around you, as if a bubble keeps them away. "You've always followed orders. What changed?"

"I'm not really sure," you muse. "It... came to me suddenly. The courage, I mean. Or recklessness. Last night, when we were in bed together, I couldn't stop looking at you – you were beautiful, at peace. I had to protect that peace, and I couldn't do that unless I was by your side. Then I remembered how you used to talk about planning a whole week for our wedding and matching your bouquet to your eyes. So, I just... made a decision."

"Well," he says, at a loss for words, "what a decision that was! Pretty big for your first act of rebellion, huh?"

"Go big or go home, I always say."

He scoffs and grins. "You don't say that. I say that."

"Oh, right." You lift your entwined hands, shaking them slightly. "Now that we're bound together, we represent each other. Your words are mine, and mine are yours. Don't embarrass me, okay?"

"Can't promise it. Shoulda thought about that before jumping the gun on proposing." He grins, a cheeky little thing that makes your heart race. He stops walking on the engawa, turning to you fully. "Husband! I want mochi to celebrate. Buy me some?"

"Now? Dressed like this?"

"Obviously. I'll even share the mochi," he adds, pouting to sweeten the deal. "Besides, you look very handsome. I wanna hang off your arm for a bit for bragging rights."

You sigh, rolling your eyes with a smile. You take his hand and lead him off the estate, slipping through the heavy gates and moving towards the city. "Fine, fine... Jeez, married for two minutes and you're already making me open my wallet. How do I put up with you?"

"Because you looove me," Satoru says, voice lilting prettily. He loops his arm through yours, a skip in his step. "Oooh, YN likes me...!"

You smile softly as he beams up at you, teasing you for your supposed crush on him. He hops over the cracks in the concrete, his silk kimono and traditional sandals providing no obstacle as he climbs up on the old retaining wall next to the footpath and skips along above you, arms spread out as he steps over the bushes flowing over the wall.

"Don't fall," you warn as he gets farther and farther up, the footpath sloping downwards.

"I won't," he calls back, eyes bright and grin blinding. "Believe in me, baby!"

You chuckle but continue to watch him, keeping pace with him. As the retaining wall lowers closer to the path, he turns to you – and jumps.

He giggles as you catch him in your arms, eyes crinkling. "Oops," he laughs. "Guess I did fall – for you."

"That's alright." You smile, kissing the corner of his soft pink mouth. "I'll always be there to catch you, 'Toru. I promise."

His lips curve up and he snuggles into your shoulder as you set him down, your hands linking together as you stroll into the lively city. You don't think he'll ever let go now that he doesn't have to hide it. The kanzashi gleams and glitters in his belt, the jewels sparkling under the sun with every step.

Maybe stars really are lucky.