Fairy Tale

But for a reason that truly baffled everyone, you seemed to detest him. Cursing and turning your back on his kind of flirt whenever he tried to talk to you. Again and again, every single day, only to be met with a bucket of cold water you poured on him from your window or a dirty sponge you shot at him through the door of your classroom.

The kids giggled, seeing their beautiful teacher utterly furious at the handsome poet, who seemed bewitched by the gentle wrinkle that bent her forehead. But the way her eyes rolled and shot daggers as he waited and waited under her classroom, trying to take a single glance at the softness that bent her lips.

"He's just a silly poet. How could I ever take him seriously?" you muttered once during a conversation with your mother.

She glanced out the window of your cottage, seeing his dark locks glisten beneath the sizzling burns of the afternoon sun.

"But his heart seems kind." Her eyes turned back to look at your sweet yet tired face. "You deserve kindness."

"Kindness won't feed us," you muttered quietly, as you raised your gaze for a second.

Only to steal a glimpse of a man who didn't wish to leave you alone. Of his lavender eyes staring somewhere above the rolling hills of your village, fingers idling with a tall glass, bowing beneath the gentle, warm wind. His long hair, tied in a small bun at the top, shining like silk, as if threaded from the richest fabrics you've only read of in tales.

He's been haunting you for weeks now.

From the moment your paths crossed in the village next door, where you walked through the stalls and he sat leisurely in the local tavern, with papers and inks filling his bag. With lavender eyes that somehow caught your gaze, soft, with laughter from the past still twinkling behind your irises, before you quickly turned away.

He'd never packed up quicker, stuffing his bag without a care for his rather expensive things, before leaving the tavern in a hurry. To catch the last glimpse of an angel whose eyes had kissed his cheeks, before she would disappear forever.

He followed you all the way back to your village, eyeing the little footprints your feet left on the sand, the flowery scent clinging to your body and swirling in the air. As if showing him the way to the woman who seemed to bewitch his mind, body and soul with nothing but a single look into the poet's eyes.

And as he arrived beneath your cottage, a muffled, rather angry scoff escaped your lips. Seeing a strange man who seemed to walk behind you, in silence and holding his breath, all this time.

"What are you doing here?" Your brows furrowed, wild hair sticking softly to the warm cheeks. "How dare you follow me like a madman?"

But Suguru… Suguru couldn't even catch his breath.

Oh, how damned he already was, upon sensing his heart fall into the agonising clutches of a feeling so wicked!

"I–" The words could barely slip past his tightened throat. Almond-shaped eyes, oogling your face, twisted in wrath yet still looking utterly lovely. "I just thought you were beautiful."

You scoffed again, forcing another squeeze of his heart. "Leave. We're done here."

His fists clenched as he saw your body already turning towards the cottage. "Wait! Can you… do you wish to go out with me?"

Looking over your shoulder, you eyed his figure. Fingers painted black, a white shirt clinging neatly to his well-built back. Black trousers, rather simple, threaded here and there as if he had seen thread and needle too many times.

A poet.

A man of heavy words yet light pouch.

Someone you shouldn't even look at, even if you were an outcast yourself.

A witch, a weird lady who spent too much time in the woods, talking to trees, grasses, and animals, while teaching apothecary to local children.

Someone whom normal men avoided crossing paths with, as if in fear of even associating with a woman of your sort.

Utterly beautiful, yet of a wicked cheek.

"No," wasn't enough to force him away.

As it seemed, Suguru Geto was foolish enough to even beg and wait for a single glimpse of the softness that beamed from your eyes in the early mornings, just before your gaze caught his figure lingering beneath your windows.

He visited you every day, following you from sunrise until moonlight spilt its kisses on your lovely face. He sat beneath the window of your little classroom, a small house built on a hill, and scribbled his own poems. With a little ink he had brought from home, his forehead beading with sweat as he listened to your classes.

To the lovely voice that carried through the lush plains of the rolling hills, seeping into the creeks that ran past the scattered huts. The peaceful, almost idyllic view stretched before his eyes each day, yet he still seemed utterly lost in the softness of your hands on his skin.

After long weeks of tiresome begging, you've finally agreed.

Catching him once again asleep in the tall grasses by your classroom, a golden spill of sunshine casting a peaceful look on his handsome face.

And so, carried by an unknown, wicked feeling, you squatted next to him, with the edges of your dress brushing his body and your fingers reaching to push away a single raven lock stuck to his forehead.

Lavender eyes slowly opened, as if doubting whether the petal touch was real or just a projection of his lovestruck mind.

"I agree," you said, a soft sigh pushed past your lips. "One meeting."

He nodded, quickly, eagerly, already rising to his feet. "Just one."

"And if I still dislike you, that shall be it."

He didn't nod this time, and so you pinched his cheek gently. "Say it."

He chuckled, nuzzling into your softness. "And if you do not like me, I shall leave you alone."

Yet, as it soon would turn out – hating him was rather impossible.

After a year, you already gave birth to your first child.

Oh well, a woman in love can be quite wicked, but a man? Dear heavens. As soon as you agreed to his pleading to become his wife, Suguru Geto didn't hesitate to ensnare you with his deceitful feelings.

And you, utterly captivated by a foolish poet who sang of his beloved's sweetest smiles, couldn't deny the burning fire deep within you. The sensation of his skin against yours in the most intimate manner stirred your desire. To cherish him and be cherished in whispers, touches, and moans that escaped your lips as you hid atop your cottage roof while your parents were absent.

When he promised you forever, during the wedding vows, you knew he meant it.

Suguru Geto's life began only after meeting you. Everything that happened during the past twenty-five years of his life seemed to be nothing but a bleak, barren nothingness that filled his wretched soul.

Soon after the wedding, you moved to another cottage. Small and lovely, where your first child was born. A girl with the sweetest cheeks and rich, lavender eyes that mirrored the kindness your husband had shown.

His precious little daughter.

"And my precious, beautiful wife," he always added, while kissing both of your foreheads. "The lights of my life."

You would giggle before wrapping your arms around his back and drawing him into a longer kiss. You stood in the middle of your little, simple cottage, with candles scattered across the shelves and his ink-stained fingers smudged on your cheeks.

"Aren't you a flirt?" A sweet laugh spilt from his throat as he stole another kiss.

And another, another, another, which forced you to tumble onto the soft bed. The fog clung to the windows; the candles' warmth cast shadows over his handsome cheeks, hair spilling over his shoulders.

Your breath hitched as his lips wrapped around the sensitive point beneath your neck.

"You play a dangerous game," fell quietly, and he chuckled.

"And why is that, my dearest wife?"

His lavender eyes met yours. Love and fondness merged as he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead.

"Because I may ask you for another baby."

He raised his eyebrows before curving them into a soft scowl. "You don't have to ask me twice for anything, my love. And especially for this particular thing."

And so, oh well.

Another year had passed, and you gave birth once again.

This time, to the sweetest boy, with the cheekiness of yours bubbling in his eyes and a big heart always yearning for his mother.

The life you had was almost idyllic, as if brought straight from one of the tales you always read to your kids. A life of profound serenity, filled with overwhelming love that spilt past your husband's fingers.

He seemed to carry your whole family, and even though he soon started travelling a lot – for he wished to chase his playwright dreams – there was never a time when you felt anything but taken care of.

Suguru wished it stayed that way.

A picture of you, humming the loveliest melody to your two children, strolling through the long plains of wildflowers as the sun kissed your cheeks. The picture that seemed to be stuck in his mind, the one he repeated over and over again as he went off to the big cities to earn a few more pennies.

Whenever the horse took longer than it should, or the carriage rolled over the bumps and mounds, he thought of you. Of the view that would welcome him home.

Of his children growing up healthy and his wife staying the wicked witch she always had been. Filling their kitchen with herbs of sorts unknown to him, yet carrying a special healing might. He would think of the lavender fragrance filling the kitchen and the mint bubbling on the stove. Of the cinnamon, ginger and cloves that, during the winter, carried all four of you through the freezing bites.

Your hands had healing power, your mind stayed sharp and kind, always aware of what to do in case of a sudden crisis, be it your daughter's sudden cold or your son's scratched knee.

Sometimes it was Suguru himself, lying beneath the heavy pillows and blankets, as if already half on the other side. At times like this, he would, in a rather melodramatic way, recite poems about the approaching end and stretch his hand towards you, as if mimicking death.

The children would always laugh sweetly, seeing their father utterly lost in his need to catch a glimpse of their mother's attention. Because they knew, oh, of course they knew, that love was hidden in their mother's purest smile and in the way their father seemed to live solely to hear her sweet laughter.

They saw the way their father looked into their mother's kind eyes. With affection difficult to describe, they only began to understand its true heaviness after they reached the age of six.

They knew that no one loved their mother as much as he did. No matter how often Suguru kissed their plump cheeks, it was with only half the devotion he showed their mother. He loved them, of course he did! For it was simply impossible for any other child to be loved by their father as much as Suguru loved his.

And yet, both of them knew that whatever it was between their parents felt most sacred.

Thus, when their mother fell heavily sick, it seeped through every soul living beneath their warm roof.

It happened one day, as you collapsed in the garden. Suddenly, falling straight into your slowly growing herbs, before the panicked children called for their father with tears swirling in their eyes.

He brought you back home with trembling hands, quickly lying you down on your bed by the fireplace. To let the flame give a bit of warmth to your cheeks, as he saw the life slowly slipping away, with sweat beading on your forehead.

The doctors said it's a simple cold. Nothing serious.

But the days were passing, and it seemed you were getting worse. Barely able to eat even the lightest food, turning from side to side beneath the heavy covers.

The fever clung to your forehead no matter how many times Suguru tried to fight it. He placed cold compresses on your forehead and kissed your temple. As if it could heal whatever sickness was plaguing your poor body.

He saw you grow weaker day by day. Sometimes, the strength would return to your body, only to leave it completely before you could walk to the front door.

Sometimes you laughed with your children, only to start coughing blood a minute later.

Suguru was slowly losing his mind, spiralling into madness, as he called for every doctor available in the village. Yet no one knew what sickness was holding onto his wife's dearest life.

He would lie by your side every single night, just to listen to your whistling breath. Watch the way your lips fell open and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He would stay all night, just to make sure it wouldn't be the last.

Hand plastered to your cheek, though you could barely register his touch. His voice, soft, almost teary, sounded muffled within your sickness-spiked mind.

He prayed. Long and as never before, clinging to your body, just to feel the warmth of your breath on your skin.

He prayed for death to take him instead, to leave his dearest wife alone, as he was ready to bear all the pain she needed to endure.

He prayed in a pitiful voice that sliced his children's hearts as they saw their father in such a wretched state. And so they gave him time to grieve, alone, watching their mother's soul slowly wither away.

But then… then another night came.

Much worse than any other. As Suguru could barely feel your puffs on his fingers. A shallow, almost invisible breath slipped past your lips, and the smell of death swirled in the room. Fogging the windows, seeping with sickness and stealth, as Suguru felt the grim reaper's clutches slowly wrap around your body.

He could see it in the dim corner of the bedroom, staring at your sweat-beaded forehead.

"No," he mumbled, covering you both with a heavy blanket. "I won't let it take you away."

And so he did something foolish.

Beneath the veil of darkness, with material tightly covering your bodies, he changed your positions. Slowly, so death could not notice your body moving to the other side.

A soft cough escaped your throat, and your eyes opened for a moment, seeing your husband's gentle smile.

"Suguru," you muttered. "I–"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing your cheek. "It's okay, darling. It won't hurt any more. It's okay."

And because your husband he was – you believed him. Falling back into the light dream, where the world spun around nothing but the gentle, caring voice of your dearest one.

"I give you my life," Suguru whispered, yet it seemed you were long gone. "I give you my life, darling. For I cannot live in a world without your warmth." His thumb brushed the softness of your skin. "For I love our children so much, and yet my wretched heart forbids me to live without you by my side. You are much kinder than I am, darling, and shall take care of them for both of us."

As if losing you would damn him and nothing but the embrace of death itself would ever heal his woeful soul.

It was too dark to see anything, yet beneath the heavy blanket, Suguru could feel a slight warmth returning to your fallen lips. He smiled, sensing a fogginess creeping into his mind. The clutches cold and dreary, seeping through the marrow.

"I give you my life," he repeated, the heaviness pressing on his eyelids. "Be brave. Be kind. And please, don't ever stop laughing. For I'll be watching over you all and make sure none of you joins my side any time soon. I will love you, always, and I shall exist only in a world with two of us."

"For we are of one soul and one heart, thus no hills nor seas and mountains shall ever keep us apart."

And his children, listening to their father's crying whispers, knew that a man in love is truly of a wicked kind.

He was the one who deceived death to grant you a new life.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Just a little something before I leave for a trip <3

He chuckled at the chat before quickly leaning back in his chair, "can you guys see her now? isn't she pretty?" He smirked and nodded, pushing his glasses back up.

You glanced at him confused and tsked, "what are you on about? Just pick a game," you huffed before leaning over him and squinting at the bright screen, randomly choosing one of the games and pointing at it before sitting back in your chair normally. "Lets play that shawarma shop simulator thing," you nodded before taking up the mouse and messily typing up "shawarmaa sh op sim later"

He snorted, "nice typos," before making a kissy face at you when you glared back at him.

Blue eyes glanced over the second monitor, while you were hunched over and quickly clicking play on the screen, and making Gojo's barely put together avatar run over to the 1/1 player server. "Chatttt, help me convince Y/N to do a 24 hour kissing challenge, pleaseeee!" he pouted dramatically and clasped his hands together, trying not to laugh.

His attention was shifted when he felt you swat his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to the game. "Eh? are we seriously just running a food shop? How could this be scary?" He scoffed, pressing the keys down and walking into the shop, closing the door behind him and walking around, reading the notes.

"There's probably jump scares," you mumbled before groaning and sticking your tongue out, pointing at the meat slab in the corner of the game, "ewww, why does it look so… human?" you gulped.

"Probably from our last victims," Satoru shrugged, clicking the keys and opening up the shop for the morning.

You were glaring at him, upper lip curled up in mock disgust and shock, gasping before shaking your head. Glancing at him and bakc at the camera again, before humming and looking at him suspiciously, finally paying attention to the game again. "Maybe you're the real scary thing in this shawarma shop," you huffed. Only smiling when you received a small kiss on the cheek from him.

"Alright, alright, lock in, lock in," he nodded and repeated, before raising an incredulous eyebrow when the first customer walked up with a janky walking animation and a weird speech pattern on the subtitles. "This thing is obviously not human," he scoffed.

You chimed in soon enough, pointing towards the side, "wait, wait, check the notes," you muttered before skimming over the tutorial quickly and snapping your fingers when you read the part you needed. "Oh, oh! Okay so check the camera's and if it has like, a head at the back, ou have to close the shop and refuse service," you nodded, watching Gojo follow along with your directions.

When the subtitles read out, "seriously? You're refusing me service? Ugh, whatever!" you and the white haired man shared a high five before quickly paying attention to the next customer.

"I think this ones human," you hummed, before making a frozen expression when the customer asked "do you you want to taste my boogers for 1000 dollars?" Satoru snorted, before hovering his mouth over the "yes" option. A sharp tsk sound escaped your lips before you whined, "ewwww! nooo, what are you doing? just serve him," you scoffed, forcefully moving his hand to "no" and clicking the option.

He sighed and groaned playfully, "see chat? She's no fun!" he shook his head before reading some comments while you continued to play.

"she walks him like a dog omg" "is that man bothering u queen" "gojo we ain't watching your streams to see you eat e-booogers on roblox"

He tsked and rolled his eyes playfully, "you guys are just here for my girlfriend… understandable, but it's MY stream chat!" he huffed, before his gaze drifted back over to the screen.

You were holding down the E key to wrap up the shawarma and finish the order, before the customer asked for a soda. A whine left your lips, shoulders slugging, "damn, you couldn't say that before? Where's the sodas?" you huffed, as satoru leaned his head beside yours, also trying to search the screen for them. 

with a quick scroll of the mouse, you shrieked when suddenly seeing a peach, fleshy creature run down from the top of the fridge and disappear. "Is it in the—AH!" Satoru jumped and straightened up at the shriek, looking confused before clearing his throat and smirking at you.

"Ohhhh, look at you Y/N, screaming for me to save you. Saying you wouldn't get scared when we started this stream, and yet," he sighed and smirked at the camera playfully. 

Your heart was still beating fast before you whined and smacked his shoulder. "You jumped too! Plus, you would've freaked out even more if you had been paying attention to the game!" you scoffed, before whining again and looking around the small shop. "Can we get a gun? I need to kill that thinggggg…" you pouted while he was chuckling and snorting.

You two continued to serve customers and mess up some of the orders, with you even bursting into laughter and curling up on the ground from being unable to hold yourself together when you saw Satoru jump from just seeing another customer when opening up shop metal curtains. Wheezing on the ground, Satoru warnings viewers not to clip his embarrassing moments, before you two continued the game up until the ending.

"Dude, I told you, he's getting bigger when we make mistakes!" you whined at the corner of the shop, looking at the dark figure that had been getting bigger and bigger after every wrong customer you served.

"How many anomaliies did we serve? I swear I checked them!" Satoru scoffed and threw his hands up before shaking his head and taking control of the mouse and keyboard. "Let the pros take care of it, sweetheart," he smirked at you and checked the next customer before serving them. Only for the scene to cut into a cut scene of "the inspector" emerging from the growing dark hole in the corner of the room and grab Satoru's character.

You both froze up quickly and inhaled sharp breathes, before pouting and blaming each other for getting the bad ending.

you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”

“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.

suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”

“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”

geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”

you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.

“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”

you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.

“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”

you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.

“only if you score the winning goal.”

2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !

satoru comes back too late.

you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.

he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.

you take it as your cue.

you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.

you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”

his lip tugs. “hi,”

he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.

“how was the match?” you mumble.

“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”

“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.

“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”

his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”

you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.

“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.

“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.

“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”

you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.

you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”

he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”

“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”

you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”

he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.

“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”

you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.

3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !

satoru is driving too fast.

his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.

today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.

but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.

“you played good today.”

silence.

"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”

silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.

“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“

“can you stop?”

you freeze.

satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.

you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“

“do you ever get tired of talking?”

“what?”

but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”

you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.

“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”

but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?

your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.

he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”

he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.

“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”

you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”

satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.

he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?

footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.

SCORE, end

Your days, once filled with piano, language, and dancing lessons, were now consumed by ballrooms, drawing rooms, and the intricate art of conversation. It was a constant parade of oneself in hopes of catching a suitor’s eye.

It was a lot less… eventful than you had imagined in your girlish daydreams.

Instead of the engaging discussions you’d hoped for, it was boring, to say the least. Most men were not interested in what you were saying, but rather what was presented below your neckline. Their eyes would glaze over your opinions on poetry or the new symphony.

Soirees, at least, held a visual appeal. People dressed in the finest of fabrics and jewels, all freshly polished to a high sheen. In a room where everyone strived to glitter, it took a great deal for someone to truly shine. And shine he did.

The moment he caught your eye, it was like fireworks blooming behind your ribs; the carefully applied rouge on your cheeks did little to hide the sudden heat blossoming beneath your skin.

It seemed you weren't the only one with eyes, unfortunately. Mothers and eligible daughters flocked to the young bachelor in seconds, a murmuration of pastel silks and eager smiles, crowding him with their dance cards and aspirations. Just as you were tempted to join the flock, a voice at your elbow intervened.

"But the Lady prefers a dance, does she not?" Lord Zenin’s tone was smooth, his offer presented as the only logical conclusion. As a lady seeking a husband, it would be madness to reject.

He was handsome, in a severe way, with dark hair and sharper eyes. But as you took his hand, your gaze strayed back to the spectacle across the room. White hair—you had never seen someone with such pale and pristine hair. Would his children inherit such a striking feature?

"I am interested in having children myself," Lord Zenin spoke. You cringed internally, hitting your own shin. All those classes, and you couldn't keep your words to yourself. You hadn't even noticed him speaking, too distracted by the figure at least twenty paces ahead. You were sure Lord Zenin was a fascinating man, yet your eyes gazed behind him more times than you would ever admit aloud.

You bowed politely at the end of your second consecutive dance with Lord Zenin. It was so early in the season that you had not expected to attract such a remarkable suitor so swiftly. As flattering as it was to catch a Zenin’s eye, your mind did not leave the white-haired man alone. You found yourself constantly peeking over shoulders and through gaps in the crowd, seeking another glimpse of the awfully popular outsider. You were quite familiar with most of the attendees, their lineages, and prospects drilled into you. He, however, was a complete mystery.

"Gojo, I presume," a voice laced with irrefutable gossip spoke beside you. You knew them, matrons, mothers of girls your age. As they spoke, you listened, your fan held still.

"The Duke? I did not know he had returned from the continent."

"Why has he returned?"

"Did you not hear?" the third murmured, leaning in. "He is single." Those were the only words you needed to hear, though there was suspicion about whether they were correct. For what other bachelor would they be speaking of in such hushed tones if not the white-haired duke?

Where your formal knowledge of society was lacking, gossip was hot and ready to serve on a silver platter.

Your skills for gathering information were not few and far between, and you certainly understood that going about in the streets asking questions about this 'Gojo '—a duke nonetheless— would raise far too many eyebrows in your far too fresh debut. You would need to be stealthy in your pursuit.

This quest for knowledge, however, was not your own secret, it seemed. The entire ton was buzzing with the reappearance of the newly available bachelor. It made your obligatory teas with fellow debutants much more enjoyable than listening to them list the contents of their overflowing drawing rooms. Your own was not empty—Lord Zenin was a persistent caller—but none of them was the duke who had captured your eye with a single, distant glance. When one of the girls mentioned, with a sigh, that he was confirmed to attend the upcoming art gallery exhibition, you felt a surge of purpose. You were very assured of your own attendance.

Paintings lined the hushed halls of the prestigious gallery, many donated by those you knew, even a modest landscape from your own family’s collection. You had seen most of them before, but one, placed on a wall of its own, caught your eye. It was different from the rest. They were all pleasing, yes, but this one had a soul about it that appealed directly to yours.

"I am quite pleased with this one myself," a voice spoke beside you, his gaze also fixed upon the canvas.

"It is beautiful," you said, your voice barely above a whisper in the hallowed quiet.

"I am delighted to find us in accord." He chuckled lightly, a warm, pleasant sound. "My apologies, we have not introduced ourselves. His Grace, Satoru Gojo." He bowed politely, and you followed suit, burying the triumphant grin that threatened to form on your lips.

Looking at him up close was a revelation. His features were not just agreeable; they were arresting. Eyes of a blue so brilliant they seemed to hold their own light, framed by those impossible white lashes. His smile was easy, and you felt a pang of irrational jealousy for anyone who had gotten to see it before you. He was a great conversationalist, effortlessly keeping a dialogue flowing, revealing a depth of knowledge about the artists and their techniques that went beyond mere aristocratic patina.

"I see you have donated this painting yourself. You have excellent taste, Your Grace." Your fan pointed delicately towards the small golden nameplate inscribed with his title and name.

"You are correct indeed. I found this during my travels and could not help but bring such an exceptional piece back home. It reminds me of the scenery near my estate in the country," he said, his tone softening with genuine affection, eyes following the direction of your fan. It seems listening to the scandalous conversations of your ladies' maids finally came in handy.

The tinge in his voice, however, you could not help but pick up. It was as though he were speaking to someone distantly and not to you in front of him.

You traveled the gallery with the Duke, a step behind yet beside him, commenting on the plethora of art. The man was certainly a talker, but an enchanting one, his wit sharp and his observations kind. You giggled at a few of his jests, the sound escaping before you could temper it, remaining as reserved as possible while trying to secure his interest. You would need to make your intentions clear but not desperate. Suitors are fleeting; you must use your teachings to keep them waiting and wanting more, a delicate game.

Unfortunately, the game was interrupted when your mother’s voice called your name from across the room, whisking you away from the Duke’s side. "I must take my leave, Your Grace; it was a pleasure," you said, your curtsy perfectly measured.

"The pleasure was entirely mine," he replied, his bow equally precise.

In the swaying carriage home, your mother could not help but question you, her eyes alight with curiosity. It seemed almost everyone knew who he was except you. The burning question hung in the air between the rhythmic clatter of hooves. "Well? Is he as available as the gossipers tell?"

Your mother let out an elated, knowing giggle. "My dear, he came back to the ton for a reason. He is very, very available, dear."

That was all you needed to know to properly begin your mission; your mother would surely have more reliable information than matrons at a ball. You were not opposed to stepping on a few toes; an open target is better than a blocked one. Not just a debutante’s duty, but a true search for happiness.

—

With Gojo in attendance at the next ball, you hoped you would have the chance to dance with him at least once. Yet, since your walk in the gallery, your drawing room, and your dance card had remained stubbornly full. A great social triumph, but none of these men, the earnest younger sons, the pompous lords, came close to sparking the connection you had felt in that quiet gallery corner.

It was, you feared, love at first sight, a notion your practical training scorned but your heart clung to.

Lord Zenin, in particular, had set his intentions very clearly upon you. He visited no other ladies' drawing rooms, his attention as focused as it was oppressive. Although you had every chance to marry well this season, the Viscount was awfully strange. A possible over-exaggeration on your part, but the man was obsessed with talking about himself—his holdings, his horses, his opinions. Boastful, to say the least. Even with him monopolizing your time, you tried to keep your options open. Yet, Lord Zenin made it his duty to ensure no other suitor would get an extra dance from you. It would not have been such an issue if his dancing skills were up to par, but you did not know if your poor slippers could survive another of his heavy, misplaced steps.

You were only able to escape by feigning a sudden, desperate thirst. Like any gentleman, he left promptly to fetch you a drink. The moment he turned, your eyes scanned the room, hurriedly searching for the man who haunted your thoughts at every outing. There he was, standing alone by a marble column—a rare sight as he always seemed to be surrounded by a captured audience—just as you had hoped. Making your way across the ballroom, you squeezed past chattering groups with polite murmurs. You found him standing idle, watching the couples waltz with a faint, unreadable smile.

"Your Grace," you bowed, coming up ever so slyly beside him. "I hope you are finding the ball pleasurable." You greeted him, your fingers nervously fiddling with the dance card dangling from your wrist. It did not seem like he had been trying to find you, or even if he had noted your attendance with half the fervor you had for him.

He turned, and his eyes crinkled in recognition. "I am indeed. And yourself?"

"It is lovely. I only wish to experience the dance floor a little more," you confessed, a slight, deliberate dig at your repetitive partner.

"Is that so?" He laughed, a genuine sound that warmed you. "Would you care for a dance? That is, if your dance card is not entirely besieged?"

"I would be honored, Your Grace."

Leading you by the hand, his grip was confident but polite. He was an excellent dancer, as fluid in movement as he was in conversation, following the tempo with an innate grace Lord Zenin lacked entirely. Your feet were safe, and your spirit soared.

"My apologies, I have not taken to the floor in some time," he said with reminiscence, his hand squeezing your gloved one ever so slightly on a turn.

"You need not worry, I assure you your skills are perfectly fine," you replied, squeezing back. You hoped the pressure conveyed what words could not, that you were interested, that you were open. "I can only hope you take to the floor more often, Your Grace."

Must you make a move too obvious, you would become the unfortunate talk of the ton. Last season, a poor girl had been relegated to a wallflower following a nasty rumor. Simply because she appeared too eager.

"That should not be a problem," he said, his eyes flickering to a point behind you. "It seems someone is waiting to reclaim this spot as we speak." He tilted his head slightly toward the waiting Lord Zenin, whose irritation was not lost on his scowling face as he watched you.

"A gentleman should have patience," you snickered, almost enjoying the look on the other man's face.

"Some are not graced with such a quality."

"I presume Your Grace is?"

"Very much so," he murmured, leaning closer. "One must wait a long time to receive such a particularly green-eyed look from Lord Zenin." His comment, whispered low in your ear so it would not carry, was scandalously funny. You could not help but laugh, quickly lowering your volume into a whisper.

"My apologies, I forget myself," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You are quite all right, Your Grace. I appreciate such patience and honesty," you confessed, matching his hushed tone.

"And I, you, my lady." He smiled, and as the waltz ended, he bowed deeply. "It was a pleasure dancing with you."

"Until we meet again, Your Grace." You bowed, your eyes falling to the neat script of his name now inscribed on your card. Satoru Gojo.

Gossip does what gossip is, and it spreads.

Your dance with the duke circulated through the ton with the speed you had hoped for. It helped, bringing more varied men your way—thankfully, some younger, more amiable ones—which subtly deterred some of the older suitors.

At the horse races, the day was bright, the weather peculiarly agreeable for the time of year.

The ton milled about, watching the sleek horses prance in the paddock. Men gathered, placing loud bets. You, personally, had placed a small, secret wager on a horse named Simon, a purebred with an impressive lineage. Making your way through the crowd, you eyed the booths set up at the periphery. One held decorative hairpins; the quality was discernibly middling, but they were charming to look at.

"My lady," Lord Zenin greeted, materializing at your shoulder. "Do not concern yourself with such inferior trinkets. You ladies, cannot be expected to discern quality as a gentleman can. You are lucky to have one such as myself to guide you," he spoke, pride lacquering his voice like varnish.

"I was simply admiring the craftsmanship, my lord. I assure you I can tell the difference in quality from my own pins," you said, trying to hide your offence at his assertion. It did not stop him from launching into a lecture on materials and worth, which subtly and then not so subtly morphed into a rant about how a woman’s discernment was, by nature, secondary to a man’s. The implication was clear, and it curdled your stomach.

"I will accompany you to view the horses. I have a sizable bet on Andrew," he said, taking your arm with an air of possession as he guided you toward the viewing benches.

"That is not necessary, my lord. I came with my family."

"All the more reason for my escort," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.

Throughout the entire race, Lord Zenin talked, disregarding any opinions you voiced, even scoffing at your choice of Simon. Andrew dominated the first quarter, and Zenin’s chest puffed out. But as the race wore on, Andrew fell behind, and when Simon began his powerful surge from the middle of the pack, you couldn't help but lean forward, caught in the thrill. As Simon pulled ahead in a final, breathtaking sprint to finish first, you shouted with the crowd, a grin of pure victory spreading across your face.

"That was an excellent race, was it not, my lord?" you asked, the thrill still buzzing in your veins.

"It was a deception. The track was muddy on Andrew’s side. He should have won," he scowled, his tone souring immediately. You half-expected him to stamp his foot like a child in leading strings.

He guided you back through the booths, his mood fouling further, and he began to make loud, derogatory comments about the "common" vendors and their wares. You were praying for a glimpse of your father to effect an escape; you had more stimulating conversations with your embroidery hoop.

A flash of your father’s hat in the distance provided the excuse. You pretended he was summoning you and extracted your arm from Zenin’s. "You must excuse me, my lord."

Making your way through the press of people, your eyes caught not on your father, but on Gojo. He stood apart, seemingly oblivious to the crowd, staring intently at a small, silver locket cupped in his palm. His expression was soft, tender in a way that made your step falter. Sneaking past your actual father, you approached him.

He did not notice you, lost in the tiny portrait. It was of a beautiful woman, her name inscribed within. He looked at the locket the way you wished he would look at you—with a love that was profound and settled. Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

"Your Grace," you said softly, hoping it would hide the envy scratching at your skin. His eyes, when they lifted to yours, held a trace of sorrow he quickly masked. He hesitated for a second before snapping the locket shut with a soft click. "She is beautiful," you commented, the words ash in your mouth.

"Yes," he murmured, the single word heavy with memory. "Yes, she was."

"If you do not mind my asking… may I know who she is?" you asked cautiously, praying he would not say the words you suddenly, desperately did not want to hear.

"My late wife," he said, the words quiet but clear. "She passed away four years ago."

The world seemed to be still for a moment. "I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. You were a beautiful couple," you confessed, forcing the word ‘couple’ out even as your own heart ached. It was painfully obvious, even in that brief glimpse, that the man was still anchored by his love for her. His heart, it seemed, would not be yours to claim.

At subsequent outings, you tried valiantly not to think of Gojo and his wife, to set your sights logically elsewhere. Yet, conversations with other suitors left your heart inert, no elation, not even a genuine smile. No one could compare to the easy wit, the surprising depth, the sheer light of him.

You had, for a foolish moment, hoped to convince him. But how could you convince a man to love you when he was so faithfully in love with a ghost?

And yet, he sought you out. He would find you wherever you stood, even when you tried half-heartedly to hide, forging a friendship that was both a balm and a torture. He stole you away for dances, shared humor, and offered effortless companionship. All your scheming to find him had caught up to you, leaving you ensnared in your own trap. To save your thoughts, you equated it to his love for attention and not the sole desire for yours.

At the Bennets’ ball, you were truly amazed. Pyrotechnics and living statues, it was a spectacle unto itself. Even the punch had a spicy, intriguing taste, fitting the fiery theme. A definite step up from the previous year, where Lord Bennet had slipped and fallen into his own fountain. You stood sipping the exotic drink from an ornate glass, watching the dancers.

A soprano’s high Latin notes soared over the instruments. Your gaze, as always, found Gojo. His eyes caught yours across the room, widening in recognition, and he made his way to you with a determined grace.

"Trying to hide again?" he jested as he arrived, falling into step beside you as if you were old friends.

"Your Grace, you ought to teach Lord Bute your skills; his partner seems in dire need of rescue," you laughed, watching the woman wince with each of Bute’s clumsy steps.

"Satoru," he said simply.

You stared at him, confused.

"My name. We are past formalities, are we not?" he prompted, a challenge in his smile.

"Satoru," you repeated, letting the unfamiliar syllables roll off your tongue. It felt intimate, scandalous, a secret shared. You enjoyed the thrill of it, even if the logical part of your brain begged you to stop.

"Much better," he smiled, that sweet, tugging smile that unraveled your resolutions. He was a drug, and you were willingly addicted.

At a ladies’ luncheon soon after, the conversation turned to courtships and the swift engagement between Lady Howe and Lord Calhoun. "And you? You are being courted, are you not?" one of the ladies asked, her eyes sharp on you.

"I am sorry?"

The table tittered. "His Grace, Gojo?" she clarified. You nearly spat out your tea. You had been so wrapped in your own conflicted feelings that you’d forgotten the omnipresent audience. You could not deny the accusation without sparking worse rumors, and since he had spoken of his wife, you hadn’t truly dared to think of it as a courtship. It was merely him, entertaining your hopeless emotions.

"I would not be surprised if there was an engagement on the horizon!" another gushed. Previously, you would have been elated. No proper lady would pursue Gojo if they knew his eyes were set upon you, a courtship tangible in the air. Now, however, his name sat bitterly on the back of your tongue.

"Or perhaps it is Lord Zenin?" a third suggested slyly.

You demurred, letting the topic flow away from you, but their talk of ardent suitors and clear intentions highlighted what was missing. Lord Zenin made his intentions brutally clear. The Duke offered friendship, laughter, and a haunting sadness. He had not declared himself, nor could you reasonably expect him to.

The balls you once awaited with butterfly excitement now filled you with a nervous dread, afraid of seeing the man whose love was reserved for another. It was disheartening to talk to him, to push your own yearning aside to learn more about him, because every detail—his terrible jests, the way his eyes lit up when you volleyed one back—only made you want him more.

You could no longer afford to look at him as a potential partner; your future was at stake.

At the next ball, you sought solace on a deserted balcony, a glass of punch in hand, away from the crush and the music. The jewels on your gown felt like anchors. The garden below was a tapestry of shadow and moonlight, beautifully kept. The chill air was a relief.

Your ears could not withstand the rantings of Lord Collens regarding his mother. You knew more about her than you did about the man himself. Your solitude was shattered by a familiar presence. White hair gleamed in the ambient light as he leaned on the balustrade beside you.

"My lady, hiding again?" Satoru asked, his voice low. He leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing yours.

"It is quiet out here," you said. At least it had been.

"You have not danced with me once tonight. Yet I see you’ve endured two with Lord Zenin." He tried to sound light, joking, but a thread of seriousness ran beneath it.

You pushed off the railing, walking down the shallow steps into the garden proper, hoping he would not follow. He did, of course, his longer strides easily catching up.

"Must you walk so fast?" he called, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You sped up, gathering your skirts. "Why must you follow?"

"Why must you avoid me?" he countered, catching your arm gently but firmly, forcing you to stop.

You whipped around to face him. "It should not be of any concern to you," you spoke, holding your anger and hurt in check. "I have been promised to no one, least of all to you."

"Lord Zenin-" you began.

"Zenin?" he scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet garden. He had not shown a fraction of the direct interest Zenin had, but at least with Zenin, you would be married, settled, your duty done. "You cannot be serious."

"Yes, Zenin."

"Do you know that man? Truly? You will be miserable. More miserable than you could ever be with-" He paused, biting his lip hard, stopping the sentence. "The Zenin's see women as cattle, as breeding stock to improve their line."

"And what do you know about treating a woman?" The words flew out, sharp and bitter, before you could stop them. "You do not know Lord Zenin as I do. And above all, you have no right to monitor my potential nuptials."

You refused to let such an opportunity—the security, the position—be ruined by a man who offered nothing but confusing friendship. He would never understand the pressure, the cliff’s edge of choice that defined a woman’s life. If you were not to marry, your life would be regarded as a failure with no net to fall back on. Your cup is only half as full as man's; society would regard you no higher.

"I clearly know more than you if you are considering that basket for all your eggs. He is not an honorable man."

"And you are, Gojo?"

"Far more than he, I assure you. You mustn't marry him." His voice dipped, almost pleading. But why? Why did he care so much if his own heart was entombed? His mouth opened, those lips parting as if to speak a truth, but then they pressed into a resigned line. "I… care for you. Deeply. More than you could imagine. I could not live with myself knowing you would marry into that dreadful household." His eyes, wide and earnest in the moonlight, pulled you back into the spell. You wished, achingly, to marry for a mutual love, not to be merely cared for as a replacement for a ghost. His simple attention would not heal the tear his confession had rented in your heart.

"Would it be better to marry someone else, then? Shall I compile a list of suitors for your approval?" you shot back, offended even as a treacherous part of you trusted his warning.

"I am not your father."

"Precisely! So please, stay out of my business-"

"I cannot do that," he confessed, his gaze refusing to release yours. "I cannot simply stand aside."

"Do you hate me so much that you would deny me any marriage?" The frustration welled up as hot, stinging tears. You blinked them away furiously. Now you would need to find an excuse for the reddening of your eyes to any noisy person who asks, the truth is more shaming than your ruined appearance.

"It is not hate," he said, stepping closer. The scent of him—bergamot and night air—enveloped you. "What I feel for you is far from hate." You could not stand to listen to him dissect your prospects while offering none of his own. You would never be her.

"I apologize, Your Grace. I must take my leave." You hurriedly bowed, your voice cracking as you fought the rising tide of emotion. "Good night."

In your drawing room the following week, Lord Zenin sat sipping tea, the silence between you heavy. He had been monologuing about estate management for twenty minutes. You had been quiet, lost in thought.

"You would make an agreeable wife, do you not agree?" he said finally, a smug, knowing look in his eye. "I thought your… talkative nature might become an issue, but it seems you have learned better. I enjoy a quiet woman." It was not a compliment; it was a mandate. One you were sure would become more oppressive if his name were attached formally to yours.

"Women today forget what a man truly wants. All this talk of opinions and equality… I do hope you do not subscribe to such modern jests." It was not a question. He had made his view on women quite clear; perhaps you had been so busy with the duke that Lord Naoya Zenin's ideology was not as apparent.

You simply nodded, the disgust in your stomach turning to a hard, cold stone. Satoru’s words echoed: cattle. Naoya saw you as a decorative, quiet asset. When he left, the silence he prized felt like a suffocating corset. One that left worse wounds than the ones you wore on outings.

You could not imagine a life as Lady Zenin. Your mother, when you finally confessed you could not accept him, looked not disappointed, but profoundly relieved. "His reputation is not… kind," was all she said. Rumors of Toji Zenin's scandalous elopement only made the decision easier.

You entertained other suitors half-heartedly. Your prospects, once bright, felt dim and dwindling. After a brief, tedious promenade with Lord Phillip, you returned home. Your lady’s maid was helping you change when she appeared at the door of your sitting room.

"You have a visitor, my lady."

"At this hour? Who is it?"

"It is His Grace, Gojo."

You met him in your home's garden, the spring sun dappling through the new leaves. You walked in silence, your hand on his arm, hating how your pulse leapt at his mere presence. The quiet stretched, becoming unbearable.

"The weather is very agreeable, is it not, Your Grace?" you finally ventured.

"I did not come to discuss the weather," he said, stopping beside a camellia bush, its pink blossoms vibrant against the dark green. "I came to apologize. Properly, this time. For my conduct in the garden. It was unpardonable."

"If that is all, Your Grace, the apology is not needed. You may-"

"No," he said, his hand covering yours where it rested on his arm. "That is not my only reason. If you recall, I asked you then if your heart was with another."

The memory was repetitive. "I recall."

"And I told you I could not stand back if it was." He turned to face you fully, his expression unguarded, vulnerable in a way you had never seen. "I have spoken with your father."

"My father? What could you have possibly provoked you to speak with my father?"

"If you are truly smitten with Lord Zenin, if your heart is with him, please tell me now." He paused, taking one of your hands. "I misspoke then. I do care for you, but what I feel is far stronger; it is not that I hate the idea of you being married. I despise the idea of you marrying anyone else."

"What…what are you saying?"

"If it is Lord Zenin that you prefer over me, I will stand back, just tell me that what I feel for you is not to be reciprocated. And I will stand back," he spoke as though saying this pained him, cringing even at the word Zenin. "I should have said this then. Please allow me to make up for this."

You could only stare, your breath caught.

"Your grace, I do not have an engagement with Lord Zenin; it seems your criticisms were not unwarranted."

"Your hand is free, I presume?"

"It is," you managed.

"But is your heart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, laying his own soul bare. "For you have utterly captured mine."

The world narrowed to the feel of his gloves on your skin, the intensity of his gaze, the hammering of your own heart. "My heart," you said, the words firm and clear as crystal, "is free."

He let out a breath that was half-laugh. He knelt there on the garden path, heedless of the gravel. He took your hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to your gloved knuckles with a reverence that stole your breath.

"Then, if you are not opposed to a man who is flawed…would you do me the greatest honor of accepting my hand in marriage?"

—

Your marriage was steadfast, both families preparing for the union, dedicated. Satoru had not let you out of his sight, from events he was there to making sure he would be the only one you would dance with, declining anyone who came to you for a dance.

Some would come to you saying how they saw this happening, but you knew they would always say that, even if they never did.

Those who were indifferent to you before were now cozying up to the soon-to-be Duchess.

"You must set me up with one of his brothers!" you unfortunately had to give her the news that Satoru did not have any siblings.

At the modist, you tried on fine fabrics and watched as your wedding gown was constructed, the decorations prepared, and your family home got set up for the reception. You were happy, but you couldn't help but become afraid.

"Your grace?" Satoru called out to you, following behind with his own horse.

"I am not your grace yet, Satoru." You murmured.

The wedding was in only a few days, and you've done all the discussions with Satoru and your future, yet it seemed so blurry. It was not like you could not see yourself with Satoru, but now that you were betrothed and your future secure, you got everything you wanted, but something was missing. Satoru was right here, yet he seemed so far away.

"In a few days' time, you will be." He grinned, his horse next to yours. You smiled and nodded, satisfying his desire for your connection.

The days bled together in a flurry of silk and whispers until the morning dawned. You held up the jewels that Satoru had gifted, letting your lady's maid connect the pieces together. In a few hours, you would be a Duchess, a wife, and secure.

Tying the corsets and watching as they took your wardrobe into cases, packed it away, and took it to a new home, the Gojo estate.

You would not be staying in the city for your honeymoon, but rather at the estate in the country.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and the dress was beautiful, gorgeous even. The dress was as white as Satoru's hair, and the sapphires were as beautiful as his eyes. You felt a tear roll down your face, the excitement bubbling and building into the moment. Tears rolling down your face, you had done it. He was yours, Satoru was yours.

"My lady, it is time to depart."

The ceremony was a sublime blur of vows and vibrant stained-glass. You repeated after the officiant, your voice steadier than you felt. Satoru was more than happy, smiling at you with the same look he gave that locket that felt so long ago.

You stared into his eyes as he brought your face in for a kiss, cupping your head gently. His lips were so soft, pulling you in. It took everything in you not to dive for more; you were in a church after all.

At the reception, it was full of so many people, and Satoru followed you with his eyes wherever you went. You snacked and danced, his hand at the small of your back, until finally, it was time to change from the magnificent gown into your travelling dress.

The dread hit, a cold slickness beneath the joy. After this point, you did not know what to expect as a duchess, ruling a household.

Your mother taught you well, but it was different from experience. And the wedding night... a nebulous concept.

In the carriage, Satoru sat across from you, hand massaging yours. It felt strange touching his skin without a glove, to be away from the watching eyes of the ton; to finally be who they all wanted. A duchess.

"What does your, our estate look like?" you asked slightly, trying to get a view of what your life is looking like.

"It's beautiful, the sunrise is like a painting, and it is vast, and the staff are well prepared for you, my love," he reassured. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your pulse stutter. You nodded, massaging his hand in return.

You couldn't help but be drawn to his face. Caressing the sharp line of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbone-features you had dreamed of coming close to.

You had never thought you would get to touch him like this, so freely. He leaned into your touch, letting his cheek rest in your hand, his eyes closing for a moment.

He patted the seat next to him. "Come here, Your Grace." You moved, stumbling a bit in the lurching carriage, and he caught you, his hands firm on your waist as he settled you firmly beside him. Not an inch of space remained between you.

The close confines of the carriage, the dim lantern light, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels-it all felt suddenly illicit. He leaned in, not for a chaste kiss, but to press his lips to the sensitive skin of your neckline, just above the lace of your chemise.

A shocked gasp left you, and you instinctively pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in the snowy silk of his hair. "A different love, indeed," he murmured against your throat, his breath a hot caress.

His mouth was playful, nipping then soothing with his tongue, mapping a path to your collarbone. One of his hands slid from your waist to the back of your corset, fingers tracing the rigid lines of the stays. "So many barriers, even now," he groaned.

You could only whimper, arching into his touch, your own inexperience rendered mute by a wave of pure sensation. His other hand found its way beneath the hem of your skirt, his long fingers skating up your stockinged calf. The contact was electrifying. You were drowning in him, in the scent of his soap and something uniquely him.

"Toru-" you managed, the informal name slipping out in a breathy rush.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes holding a new type of joy, darkened by what you found only described as his previous words, a different type of love. One that consumes you in every breath, yet you want to fall deeper.

"Say it again."

"Toru."

He captured your mouth, nothing like the kiss in the church. It was deep, claiming, hungry. His tongue swept against yours, and you met it with clumsy, eager desperation. He tasted of sweet champagne.

His hand on your leg crept higher, past your garter, to the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerked against him, a bolt of startling pleasure-pain shooting through you.

"You're trembling," he observed, a playful smirk on his kiss-swollen lips. "Don't be afraid. This is all for you. For us."

Before you could formulate a thought, the carriage began to slow. Satoru let out a soft, frustrated groan against your lips. "The inn," he said, his voice steadying. "We break our journey here for the night."

The interruption was a physical shock. He straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly back to one of elegant composure, though his eyes still smoldered. He helped you adjust your dress, his fingers lingering for a moment too long on the fabric covering your breast.

The inn was a respectable coaching house, and the Duke and Duchess Gojo were ushered to the best suite with efficiency. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The door clicked shut behind the retreating servant, and you were truly, utterly alone with your now husband.

The public facade fell from Satoru instantly. He prowled towards you, loosening his cravat with one hand. "Now," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very air between you.

"Where were we?"

You stood frozen by the bed, your earlier courage faltering under the sheer weight of his focused attention. He saw it and his expression softened a fraction, though the intensity in his cerulean gaze never wavered. He came to you, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Let me see you," he whispered.

He turned you gently, your back to his front. His fingers, surprisingly deft for a man of his station and power, found the intricate closures of your travelling gown, working them with a patience that you once awarded to wanting him to hurry up. The gown loosened and pooled at your feet like a discarded sigh. Your petticoats soon followed.

His hands were on the laces of your corset. He worked slowly, kissing the nape of your neck, the shell of your ear, as each tug of the lace gave you more breath, more freedom.

"These contraptions are a crime," he muttered against your skin, his breath hot, finally pulling the stiff garment away and tossing it aside. You stood in your thin chemise and stockings, feeling more exposed than you ever had, the firelight painting your forms in gold.

He turned you to face him, his gaze a physical weight as it travelled over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

He lifted you then, placing you in the centre of the bed before stripping off his own clothes with an efficiency that left you breathless. His body was a revelation: long, lean, and built, all sculpted muscle and pale skin marred by the faintest silver lines of old battles. And between his legs, he was... considerable.

Your eyes widened.

The vague, clinical descriptions you'd heard had not prepared you for the reality of him, thick and heavy and very erect, the flushed tip beading with a promise.

He knelt on the bed, crawling over you like a predator claiming its territory. "The theory is one thing, my love," he said, as if reading your mind, a wicked curve to his mouth. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling his weight between them.

The rough hair of his thighs brushed against your sensitive inner skin. "Practice is something else entirely. And we are going to practice quite a lot."

“Practice?”

He kissed you again, swallowing your nervous gasp. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding the damp heat at your core through the thin linen of your chemise. You cried out into his mouth, bucking against his hand.

"So ready for me," he praised, his voice dripping with dark delight. He hooked his fingers in the waist of your drawers, pulling them down and off along with your stockings. The cooler air of the room kissed your skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his body on yours.

Skin to skin. The contact was electric.

He palmed your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple until it peaked into a tight, aching bud. Then his hand trailed down, over the quivering of your stomach.

"My sweet, brave wife," he whispered, his fingers parting your folds with a reverence that belied the hunger in his eyes.

He found your clit, slick and hot, and stroked a slow, circling pattern around the sensitive nub that made you arch off the bed with a broken cry. "Satoru!"

"I know, sweetheart. I know." He added a second finger, slipping inside you with a smooth, stretching pressure. The feeling was immense, foreign, but the glide of his fingers was aided by your own wanton wetness. He worked them in and out, curling them, seeking. When he brushed a particular spot deep inside, stars exploded behind your eyes. Your hips jerked of their own accord, seeking more of that shocking, delicious friction.

"There it is," he purred, watching your face with rapt attention as it contorted in pleasure. "That's it.

Make those pretty sounds for me." He continued his ruthless assault with his fingers, scissoring them, stretching you, preparing you even as he drove you to a trembling, gasping peak. You felt a coil tighten, unbearably so, before it snapped. Your climax washed over you, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that left you shuddering, your inner walls fluttering around his invading fingers.

No wonder you were never taught such pleasure existed. Or then such pleasure resided between your legs, waiting.

He withdrew his hand, and before you could mourn the loss, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips. His eyes held yours as he sucked them clean, a low hum of appreciation in his throat. "Divine," he murmured. Then he shifted, his body sliding down the bed with predatory grace. "But I have not yet properly tasted my bride."

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, his breath a hot brand against your inner thighs. "None of that modesty now," he chided softly, seeing your instinct to close. "Let me see." And then his mouth was on you.

“That is n-not a proper p-place, ‘Toru!” he only paused for a moment, looking up at you with his eyes.

“Oh, but it is very, very proper, my love.” he kissed the lips, his tongue licking in between experimentally. “It would be improper for a husband not to taste his wife,” he grinned, watching as you tried to keep your face calm and intact.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was devouring. His tongue, broad and insistent, laved a stripe through your soaked folds before circling that aching nub with focused precision. You cried out, your hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Very proper indeed.” He groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

He feasted on you as if starved, one hand splayed on your belly to hold you still while the other slid back inside you, two fingers now, pumping in time with the wicked flick of his tongue. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a riot of too-much and not-enough. You could feel the coil winding tight again, impossibly so, your hips moving of their own accord against his mouth.

"Toru, I cannot-I shall-" you babbled, a composure near shattering.

He lifted his head, his chin gleaming. "You shall," he commanded, his voice rough. "Come on, my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel you." He dove back in, his nose nudging your sensitive flesh, and that was all it took.

You shattered with a scream, your body bowing off the bed as the pleasure crested and broke, washing through you in relentless, pulsing waves. He drank you down, gentle now, lapping at you until the sensitivity bordered on pain, and you weakly pushed at his head.

He moved back up your body, his own arousal a hard, insistent heat against your thigh. He rubbed himself against your drenched cunt, the blunt head notching at your entrance, spreading the evidence of your pleasure.

His eyes locked on yours, brilliant and unblinking in the firelight.

"Look at me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You obeyed, eyes locking with his, you felt the intrusion as he pushed in.

The stretch was immense, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You choked on a sob, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders.

"Shhh, there it is," he cooed, though his own face was a mask of exquisite strain, a vein throbbing in his temple. He paused, letting your body adjust to his girth, dropping kisses on your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Just the first stretch, sweetheart. You will take me so beautifully." He began to move, shallow, rocking thrusts that gradually deepened. The burning began to melt, transforming into something else, a deep, internal friction that sparked a new, desperate heat in your belly.

Everything was new, exhilarating, and utterly addictive.

His rhythm became less controlled, more demanding. He braced himself on one arm, the other hand snaking down to where your bodies were joined. His thumb found your sensitive nub once more, circling it, just as he drove himself deeper, hitting that spot inside that made you see white.

The sensation was catastrophic. Your back arched off the bed, a broken string of moans and his name falling from your lips. "Toru-l-it is too much-"

"It is not enough," he gritted out, his own breathing ragged, his hips pistoning with a force that shook the bed. "I will be sure t-to make it enough." His words, his touch, the relentless, pounding fullness of him—it all crested and broke again. A wave of pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain, crashed through you. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his length, and you watched, dazed, as his almost aristocratic composure now matched yours.

His eyes screwed shut, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he plunged into you one last, beautiful time. You felt a hot, flooding pulse deep inside you as he spent himself, his body shuddering with the force of his release. For long moments, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and your combined, ragged breaths. He collapsed atop you, his weight a welcome anchor.

He nuzzled into your neck, pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses to your frantic pulse.

When he finally rolled to the side, he pulled you with him, keeping you firmly tucked atop of him, his member still nestled within you.

His fingers traced idle, possessive patterns on the slight, tender swell of your lower belly. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice hoarse with spent passion.

"That is me. Deep inside you. Marking you. Exactly where I belong." You could only hum, your body and mind buzzing with a languid, sated stupor.

He was not done. After a while, his hands began to wander again, playful and insistent. He took you twice more that night, each time with a shifting mood—once slow and worshipful, his mouth tasting every part of you until you were mindless with need, begging him in broken phrases; fast and rough, with you on your hands and knees, him driving into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave blooming fingerprints, his praises filthy and fervent against your ear.

As dawn threatened the horizon, he had you on your back once more, moving in you with a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that felt more like possession than passion. His forehead was pressed to yours, his breath mingling with your whimpers.

"I am going to fill you until you are dripping with me," he promised, his voice a dark velvet rasp. "Until the thought of anyone else is impossible. Until you carry my child here." He pressed his hand more firmly over your womb, and the thought, the sheer carnality of it, pushed you both over the edge together.

Later, as a grey light filtered through the curtains, you lay spent and boneless. Satoru propped himself on an elbow, looking down at you. His fingers, gentle now, traced the curve of your hip, then drifted through the sticky evidence of his spend that had seeped from between your thighs.

He brought his fingertips to his mouth, his eyes holding a possessive, satisfied glint as he tasted you both. "You must ride me, or I will die."

He was as much of an addict as you were becoming of his touch, of his love.

—

You sat in a chair, dressed in an elegant and ornate gown, Satoru beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Matching colors, a delicate blue. The painter took glances diligently, painting both of your features onto the canvas. You tried to stay as still as possible, but Satoru was making an effort to get a rise out of you.

It was your wedding portrait; thanks to Satoru's antics, you were late. It did not help that Satoru would continue poking, tickling, and even making crude jests; quietly enough for the painter not to hear but just low enough in your ear, you could make out every word.

"You forget yourself, Your Grace; we have duties to attend to." You sighed, resisting the urge to kick him in the knee.

"Well, Your Grace, I was simply remarking on the excellent skills of the painter before us." His calm face broke into a smile. He knew what he was doing and exactly what he had said. You even noticed the way he giggled when the thought formed in his mind. Each is worse than the one before it. The painter bowed, only hearing the compliment, unaware of Satoru's crude comment of 'painting your walls instead'.

"I will remember that, Your Grace," you warned, keeping your soft smile.

"Please do, we must be quiet now, the painter must do his work," he paused, tapping your shoulder lightly.

"I am sure you know-" you kicked him in the shin, stopping whatever was coming out of his mouth. It was low enough for the painter not to hear, but the wince on Satoru's face did bring you an inch of joy.

You would surely tip the painter well. Satoru did make haste with his comments immediately after the painter took his leave.

There would soon be a portrait of the Duke and Duchess Gojo, replacing the former one on the wall. Although you would never be her, you would be his, and he would be yours.

You worked hard to make that true.

♡ gojopied ©2026 do not copy, edit, plagiarize, put into AI, repost, or translate any of my work.

The lake shimmered beneath a setting sun behind your back, with a small beach and a volleyball net ready for children's play.

Your hand tightened on the suitcase that rolled behind you at a snail's pace, while you tensed your shoulders from the heavy backpack.

Cabin number three appeared on the horizon, its number elegantly bending and curving like the sweetest reward. You had been dreaming of nothing but jumping into the quick shower to wash away the sweat from your burnt skin.

After a minute, you took the first steps onto the little porch and opened the front door. Woody fragrance immediately hit your nostrils, seeping into your marrow with the heavy warmth. Stepping further in, you looked around at the walls and simple, creamy furniture. The small table in the living room, the soft rug, a rather large sofa…

The sofa…

Oh.

"Oh my god!" you screamed, immediately covering your eyes. "I'm, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to–" walk in on you having a make-out session?

Right on the sofa lay two women. Your roommates for the next month, most probably. One with her breasts fully spilling past the gently slipped top, legs wrapped around someone's head. Fluffy, white, nuzzled into the woman's pussy, pushing soft, crying moans from her throat.

Both of them quickly turned your way, yet none felt as mortified as you.

"Apologies, sweets. We forgot ourselves," one of them said, and you soon heard the quiet rustle of clothes. A few snickers and laughs, then she added, "You can open your eyes now."

With even more sizzling warmth, you looked shyly at the two women standing right in the middle of the living room.

Beautiful.

Yet even such a word was too simple to capture their true beauty. Something else needed to be said.

Something about one woman's long, raven hair, falling softly to curl below her breasts. Of the lavender, cat-like eyes that curled up, and her plush, cherry lips, gently smudged with lipstick. Of her threaded-gold skin, seemingly smooched by the sun's kisses.

Oh, she was utterly breathtaking. And when your eyes fell down her heavy breaths and thick thighs wrapped by nothing but flimsy shorts, something in your heart panged.

Moving your look at her friend, a soft "Oh" slipped in shyness.

She looked so much different. Taller, leaner, with muscles bulging under her pale arms. Smaller breasts wrapped by a simple top, long legs dressed in loose bermuda shorts, brushed her knees. Almost unnaturally white hair curled at the end of her neck, falling rather messily, shaggy, right over the soft forehead.

Crystal-pale eyes looked at you with a hint of cheekiness, lips curled into a rather sly smile.

And then, there was… you. Sweating, panting, with a speeding heart and something else, something foreign, bubbling in your lower belly. Spreading a sort of eerie, yet unknown warmth all over your body, till you felt it dripping from the fingertips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were… here."

The slightly shorter girl giggled, pushing a lock of dark hair back behind her ear. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's our fault. We thought we would finish quicker."

"That you would finish quicker." Her friend added, with a sly smile dancing on her handsome face.

Because that was the most accurate way to describe her. Handsome.

Beautiful seemed too plain to describe someone as ethereal. Someone who rather reminded you of the modern goddess, with her thick thighs spilling from the tight–

"I'm Suguru, by the way," she brought your thoughts back, although noticed a warm face peeking at her legs. "And that's Satoru."

You mumbled your name with a slightly hoarse voice.

"That's pretty," Satoru said, tilting her head slightly. "So you're also a camp counsellor. First time?"

You nodded, feeling the hellish heat still dancing behind your eyelids. Your fingers curled tighter around the suitcase handle as you cleared your throat.

"Yeah. I have summer break at university and thought about earning a few pennies."

Suguru hummed, nodding her head. "It's so fun, truly! It's our third time here. Other camp counsellors are also super nice-"

"I wouldn't exactly call Sukuna nice," Satoru added, walking your way slowly and grabbing the suitcase. "Let me show you our room, hm?"

Our sounded almost threatening. You knew there was no chance of a separate room, yet seeing a little performance you accidentally walked into, you found sharing a room with two women at opposite ends of your exact type seemed dangerous.

With still heated cheeks, you nodded and allowed her to lead farther into the cozy cabin. Suguru followed you two, her bare feet softly peeling off the wooden floor.

"She is nice around pretty girls," Suguru laughed, seeing the cherry flush creeping up your neck. "But may also be quite harsh, that's true. Toji, on the other side-"

Satoru scoffed, pushing one of the doors. "Sweets you better stay away from Toji. Dumb as hell and yet all the camp counsellors always land in her sheets."

You bit down on lower lip, letting out a soft chuckle. Satoru's eyes glimmered as he looked over her shoulder before inviting you in with a smile.

The room was small yet rather cozy, with three single beds, a wardrobe, and a window looking directly out over the lake. You immediately noticed that their single beds were snuggled together, while yours stayed on the other side of the room.

Suguru followed your gaze before her soft fingers wrapped around your arm. "Oh, we usually like to cuddle. It's, hm, warmer, you know?"

An it's a fucking hell outside, and sweat drips through my butt cheeks; I almost slipped past your lips, yet you answered them with a simple nod.

Satoru hummed, her crystal eyes crashing with Suguru's lavender cheekiness. "I couldn't describe it better. Warm indeed. You can join us if you wish."

There was a moment of silence, stretching between the three of you like a silk thread. Almost invisible, thin, yet pulling your bodies towards each other, seeping into the thinness of your spines.

The world spun before your eyes, and bubbling warmth filled your belly. Your lips curled into a clumsy smile. Fingers tucked a lock of hair back behind a warm ear before you coughed shyly, "It's okay. I'm quite fine by myself."

Satoru hummed, eyeing your face.

The heaviness of her gaze settled on your chest, and Suguru's sweet, slightly musky sweat wrapped around your senses.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe as she clicked her tongue, then draped her arm over Suguru's shoulders. "The bathroom's over there. Take a quick shower and join us in ten minutes. The kids will be here soon, buzzing around like a swarm of ants, so get ready."

You nodded before seeing them out further into the house. After a few muffled giggles and Suguru's, "She's so pretty, isn't she?" followed by Satoru's hum, the cabin's door closed.

Leaving you sweating and panting, with a sticky mess seeping through the drenched panties.

Oh, the next month will be nothing but pure hell.

You sighed, grabbed fresh shorts from your suitcase, and snatched the red, tight, camp staff top from your bed before stepping into the cold shower. The icy water ran down your spine like the glacial waves of heavy snow. Only a freezing shower could truly reset your senses, washing away the scorching heat that coursed through your veins.

With still slightly wet hair, and sunglasses high in your nose, you left the house.

The main cabin for all the camp counsellors' meetings lay in the middle of the lush plain. Sunlight caressed your skin with gentle kisses, and birds chirped high in the forest trees, caging the campsite in their tight clutches.

As you approached the main cabin, faint laughter and shushing sounds surrounded you. The sense that most of the counsellors already knew each other felt like a prickling sensation on your skin, and so you took a deep breath.

The house was a bit bigger, with the door wide open as if inviting you in. Voices merged into a chaotic splash of cheer, making you even more nervous. Biting your lower lip, you lingered a few seconds in front of the low steps, fingers fiddling with the hem of your tight shirt, sweat beading at the back of your neck.

One step after another, you walked up the porch, stress already eating you alive, when-

"Auch," you hissed, bumping into someone's big body. "I'm sorry."

Yet when you raised your eyes, your voice suddenly got sucked into your throat.

A woman stood there. Another, utterly beautiful, yet with a sly smirk playing on her cut lips and her emerald eyes slightly squinted. She seemed oh-so-much more muscular than Satoru and Suguru, with heavy breasts hidden tightly beneath her counsellor's shirt and beefy arms slick with glistening sweat.

The heat again hit your cheeks as you coughed awkwardly and took a step to the side.

"Sorry for standing at the entrance."

She chuckled, her slightly raspy yet sweet voice kissing your ears.

"It's okay, sweetie." Her eyes fell to the camp staff sign printed in white on your red top, lingering a moment longer. To trace the skin of your breasts, shimmering with a gentle sheen of sweat beneath the feverish sun, before slowly drifting back to your eyes. "You're our new girl, right?"

Her voice dropped low on our part, sending a cold shiver down your spine. Though you longed for nothing more than to drown yourself in the nearby lake. 

"That must be me," you laughed awkwardly, pushing a hum past her lips. "Am I the only one who's new here?"

She looked over her shoulder, eyes falling on someone inside the cabin. "Well, it seems so. Not many students want to spend their holidays with a bunch of noisy kids. We've been hanging out together for the past few years. Getting our fun at night and keeping the brats clean during the day."

You laughed softly again, peeking inside the cabin too. You've caught a peek of Satoru's snowy hair and Suguru's hips straddling her thighs.

"I'm Toji, by the way," the woman said, stretching her hand.

Oh.

Toji.

The one Satoru told you to avoid at any cost.

Great.

You shook it, shyly stammering your name too. Her emerald eyes locked you in place; her slightly tilted head forced a few raven strands to fall loosely over her shoulder.

Although a few calluses coated her palm, it still felt smooth. Delicate, with long fingers brushing yours.

"I'm responsible for sports here," she said, pulling you a little closer. She leaned in to meet your gaze, then smiled cheekily. "Do you like sports, sweets?"

"Why?" fell softly, as you traced the beauty of her face. Your throat bobbed; fingers went slightly limp within her grasp. "Do you want to teach me?"

Only after the words fell from your lips did you realise how flirty they sounded. How silly yet cute you seemed, asking such a question – a clear and open invitation to sex.

"It depends on how good you are at cardio." Her giggle set your cheeks on fire, and, oh, she seemed to take so much pleasure in all your humiliating reactions. "Although I don't mind if you, hm, prefer to be on the more relaxed side. If you want, my cabin–"

Yet before she could finish, someone pulled you away from her grasp, hugging you to their soft side.

Soft, plush, slightly sticky, carrying a sweet, flowery fragrance, only then did you notice that your cheek was plastered against Suguru's soft breasts. With her boobs barely contained by the camp staff top, she held you in an almost protective, motherly hug, as if trying to guard you from danger. 

"You really have the audacity to go after the new girl," Satoru hissed, standing in front of you and Suguru. In a similarly protective manner, she crossed her muscular arms over her chest.

Toji rolled her eyes. "I don't see how that's your problem."

You felt dumbstruck, clammy, yet cosy, with your cheek pressed to Suguru's softness and her gentle hand brushing your hair.

"Are you okay, sweets?" She cooed, sweet breath hitting your cheeks.

You barely managed to nod, pulling yourself back slightly. Suguru was a little taller than you, so her lavender eyes looked down at your warm face with a tender gaze. Fingers tucked a few strands back behind your ear; thumbs brushed your cheeks.

"Oh, you're a bit warmish."

"No, i-it's okay," you gave her a weak smile, pulling yourself away from her touch. "I overheated myself a bit… I guess."

Satoru and Satoru and Toji were still bickering on the side, yet you gave them no mind. Not when Suguru was still watching your face so carefully, and a few other people were staring at your little performance from inside.

Only then did you notice that you were all standing in the small living room. Large doors led to the terrace, and a faint breeze from a weak fan barely cooled the faces of the other camp counsellors. They all sank onto brown sofas, sighing heavily as they watched Satoru and Toji.

A girl with long, blond hair muttered, "I hope they live on the other side of the camp."

"I hope they won't try to drown each other like last year." Added the only guy sitting in the living room.

With dark hair brushing his shoulders and tired, slightly purplish under-eyes.

"Well, Satoru sucks at swimming, so I don't know why she tried to challenge Toji."

Suguru shot her head towards the girl with a cigarette hanging off her lips, eyes throwing cold daggers. "She's not that bad."

The girl chuckled. Before she could light a cigarette, another woman snatched it from her lips and broke it in half.

"That's it. Can we please focus before the kids arrive?"

She stood in the middle of the living room, squinting at all the staff seated on the sofa. Blond locks fell down her spine, coiling into a long braid. Sunglasses rested on her head, a folder of documents waiting silently between her hands.

Her shirt was different from others, with a camp chief stretched on her breasts.

"Hi, I'm Nanami," she smiled, coming slowly towards you. "Sorry for all of this. Some of our camp counsellors still don't know how to behave."

Her blue eyes narrowed at Satoru and Toji, who were now entering the cabin. Toji sat on the sofa next to another muscular woman with pink hair, while Satoru wrapped her arms around your and Suguru's shoulders.

Nanami looked at the three of you with a smile dancing on her tired lips. "I see you already had a chance to meet your new roommates?"

You nodded, yet before any words could leave your lips, Satoru pulled you closer to her chest. Smaller than Suguru's, yet spreading a comforting mix of sweat and sweetness that made your mind go balmy.

"Of course, we're besties already, right?"

"Yeah," you murmured, feeling her blue eyes look down at your cheeks. Oogling the heat creeping up your cheeks and a shy nod that made her fingers dig deeper into your arm. "We a-are."

Oh, you were so fucked.

.༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖

You thought living with Satoru and Suguru would be manageable. That they would somehow control themselves around you.

That the camp you were working at for the past week wasn't just a yearly meeting made up of only hot women and one actually helpful guy, whose main devilish aim was to seduce you.

During the day, you all worked together with the children, organising a range of events, from swimming classes and archery to arts and crafts, even building bases in the woods, before the brats went off to rest, allowing all the staff to enjoy their time by the fireplace.

When you were taking the children to swimming class, Toji and Sukuna were already there. With muscular arms glistening in the sunlight, tight swimsuits barely covering their tits and nothing but cheeky shorts wrapped around their hips.

You couldn't keep track of how often they tried to pull you into the lake. You noticed their eyes linger on your body as you entered the water in a swimsuit. Fingers were gentle as Sukuna corrected your posture, softly saying, "good girl, like that, mhm, that's perfect." Her crimson eyes fixed on your slowly rising breasts, her hands beneath your back as you floated on the water, supported by her arms.

"You're a natural, baby. Doing so well for me."

And so, after the morning swimming classes – which were meant for children, not you – a cold shower was quite needed.

In the afternoon, when you joined archery with your assigned group of children, Satoru kept putting her hands on your hips. Pulling them toward her, with lips close to your ear, warm breath tingling across your skin like petal kisses, as she whispered instructions on how to draw a bow.

"You should feel it here," fingers pressing some spot on your back. "Mhm, that's good. Correct your stance. Push your hips a bit further back."

You took a deep breath, feeling her hips brushing against your ass.

"Shouldn't you look at childr–"

"They're fine. Let's focus on you, sweets."

Thus, after the archery class, a shower was needed too. Cold, like the glacier peaks of unfathomable mountains, as you tried to think about anything but Satoru's long fingers making circles on your hips.

During the arts and crafts with Suguru, oh dearest. She was always eager to sit behind you. With her heavy bust pressed against your back, cherry lips near your ear, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Press it a bit harder, sweets," she would mutter, wrapping your linked hands around the clay vase. "That's good. Now make gentle circles here. This way, we'll get a nice pattern, hm?"

But you couldn't focus on her words at all. Not when her sweetness heightened your fever, and gentle touch of skin made your mind whirl. Raven hair, always fragrant with the richest fruits, carried hints of peach, raspberry, and soft lavender, tumbling over your shoulder as she watched you from behind. Her lavender eyes followed your awkward effort to craft a vase from clay.

"You're doing great," she giggled, pushing a low chuckle past your lips.

"Am I? The ten-year-olds seem to be doing better than me."

Suguru shook her head, breast pressing to your back tighter. "Don't worry, I'll teach you. I'm quite good with my hands."

And as you might have guessed, the pottery class was also ending with a cold shower. The one that would finish with your soft moans echoing off the small bathroom, while one of your hands was pressed to your lips, another playing with your swollen clit. Smearing the stickiness all over your drenched pussy, thigh, feeling the desperate clenching of your walls as if in need to feel something longer, softer.

Something reminding you of Satoru's long, pale fingers and Suguru's strong pressure.

For the past week, you've felt as if the hormonal rush of our teenage years had hit you twice as hard. The horny sensation that seemed never to leave your body. The heat lingering in your cheeks and chest, constantly bubbling deep within your lower belly.

Living with Satoru and Suguru was a mix of a nightmare and every lesbian's dream. They fucked almost every night, with soft whispers and giggles filling your small bedroom, as if you weren't even there.

But they knew you were.

They knew because every night, Satoru whispered, "She looks so pretty when she sleeps," and your name, softly spoken by Suguru while she was climaxing, kept echoing in your ears.

Their pants and moans and cries, with the nasty squelch echoing off the wooden walls, when Suguru was eating Satoru's drenched pussy with wet smacks.

And as you lay with your back turned their way, facing the wall, you simply couldn't help but let your hand slowly fall between your thighs.

To push the muffled breaths into your pillow, while fingers rolled the plump clit. To allow yourself to get aroused, wretched, upon hearing their soft moans and cries. Suguru's fingers slipping deep inside Satoru's pussy. Satoru changing their positions, to press her drenched folds to Suguru's. Lips wrapping around her full breasts, tongue swirling around her nipple, as her hips moved.

The squelching friction of their cunts rolling against each other made your head spin. Your fingers rolled the clit harder, thighs clenched at the sheer thought of feeling their tongues, fingers, lips on your body.

Oh, you truly hoped they couldn't see your body writhing in the darkness of your shared room, with your bed neatly tucked into the dimmest corner. And thank fucking God.

Their climax always sounded lovely. Almost too sugary, with the softest moans slipping past their lips, when they both cummed in each other's wet, sweating embrace.

The room was filled with nothing but the smell of their arousal, pinching your spine as you let yourself cum too. Shyly, silently, as if you didn't want them to know how badly you wanted to join.

But your virgin mind was simply too… shy to ask. Horny? Oh, dearest, you've never felt as horny as you have over the past week. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to agree to Satoru's repeated offers to join your beds.

To allow Suguru wrap her arms around your waist, when she was slipping behind you in the kitchen.

Their touch set your body aflame, and most of the time you simply tried to wriggle yourself out of it.

And then, during one evening, you might have spilt a few intimate details about yourself, setting in motion a chain of consequences that would soon spin your whole world.

When all the camp counsellors met by the fireplace, with a light wine and food, simply enjoying spending your time together.

Yuki, Choso, Nanami, your two nasty swimming teachers, Shoko and even Utahime too. A sweet camp cook, who always left a few extra cookies for you on the side.

"Oh, you're a virgin?" Satoru was almost dumbfounded, and Suguru slightly smacked the back of her head.

"As if there's anything wrong with it!" She said, already a bit tipsy.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it," Satoru hummed. "You just don't look like the type."

Oh, truly, because from your perspective, it couldn't be clearer that all their soft touches and whispers were driving you absolutely mad.

"Well, I'll take it as a compliment then. I never had a, you know. A chance," your tongue was already overly loose, yet mind too tipsy to stop the blabbering.

You didn't mean to reveal this secret. Not with all the women who were forcing you to act like a horny teenage boy.

But the atmosphere was sweet, Suguru placed soft circles on your lower back, and Satoru sat on the grass, leaning against your legs, as you sat on the thick log.

"Never had a boyfriend?"

Fire kissed her pale cheeks gently, casting a soft glow on the side of her face. Crystal eyes looked up, gazing at your plush lips twisting into an awkward smile.

"No, I've never had… a girlfriend," your eyes fell down your slippers, fingers tugging on the soft end of your hoodie. "I come from a small town, so it was difficult to find anyone."

Because all the other lesbians lived in secret, just waiting for a chance to leave for their studies, just as you did. Even at university, finding love still seemed quite difficult.

You weren't sure if the issue was yourself or just that you hadn't met a woman who would truly set your heart aflame.

Well, at least until now.

An awkward silence stretched among you all, and you groaned, feeling utter embarrassment that those new people knew about your little secret. Dearest heavens, you shouldn't drink with them again.

With head hanging between your shoulders, you stared down at Satoru’s cheeky face. Slightly curled lips, eyes shining wickedly, as Suguru squeezed your thigh.

"At least you'll be the one who survives if the killer gets us," Yuki suddenly chuckled, pushing a soft marshmallow into her mouth.

You furrowed, looking between all the other people who groaned. Choso shook his head, while Toji only sighed, taking another can of beer.

“What killer?” you asked, looking at Nanami.

The only reliable one, always mostly polite, acting in an almost gentlemanly way. She sighed and shook her head.

"Well, there's a story going on. About the guy who drowned here as a child because of the counsellors' negligence. He supposedly lives somewhere in these woods, killing the staff and campers," she said softly, yet the fire smouldering her cheeks gave her an eerie aura. The one washing cold shivers down your spine. Seeing your twisted face, Nanami chuckled. "Don't worry, it's just a fable. As you can see, we're all alive."

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling Satoru wriggle by your legs. Her head fell back on your knees, hair scattering around the milky forehead as she winked.

"Don't worry, sweets, I'll protect you."

Your eyes rolled, yet fingers clenched tighter on the log's edge.

"No, he's alive. I know it. And you should be happy you're a virgin, because virgins always survive in slashers," Yuki stuck out her tongue, tipsy head falling onto Choso's shoulder as she posed as dead.

Utahime, sitting on the ground in a similar way to Satoru and allowing Shoko to brush her hair, pinched Yuki's calf.

"Stop blabbering! You're scaring the shit out of me."

You chuckled, yet a sudden thought slipped into your mind. Your forehead visibly wrinkled, fingers tapped on the log, as Satoru looked at you from below.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" She asked, while Suguru tucked a lock of your hair behind the ear.

"Well," you started, tilting your head. "Virgins survive, but gays always die first. So if the killers come, most of us will be their first target."

Another thread of silence stretched between a few people seated around the bonfire. The evening was deep, slipping slowly into night. Moonlight crept through the thick trees, and the lake settled into a peaceful slumber, allowing a few frogs to sit on the warm stones and chirp like crickets among the bushes. Crickets sang a soft melody, mingling with the fire's gentle crackle.

Yuki furrowed her forehead, clearly thinking about your words.

"Oh, you may be right. So even if you are a virgin, you'll die anyway," she giggled, her head falling drunkenly down Choso's thighs.

He sighed, brushing away the blond locks of her cheeky face and covering her tighter with a blanket.

Nanami shook her head, slowly rising. "Well, fortunately, there's no killer and no one has to die. It's just an old fable to scare the children," she shot you a smile. "Let's use it tomorrow on all the naughty brats trying to slip out of the cabins past curfew, hm?"

With that being said, the evening has ended. With Choso taking Yuki on his back, Shoko wrapping her arm around Utahime's shaking shoulder, Toji and Sukuna going back to their own cabin, while Satoru took her sweet time before slowly rising.

Suguru's cheek pressed softly against your shoulder, her gentle breath brushing you, creating a warm, soothing mist of her sweet aura around you.

"Don't worry, we won't let you die a virgin," she giggled, nuzzling herself closer against your arm.

And back then, while allowing Satoru to help you stand up from a log and wrap her arm around your and Suguru's shoulders, you had no idea how prophetic her words would turn out to be.

.༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖

Another week passed before all the camp counsellors gathered again. This time, inside the warm cabin, as the rain and storm danced over the towering trees, the midnight sky lit up here and there, with a deep, rumbling sound carried through the air.

This time, Satoru and Suguru stayed in your cabin, as if hoping to enjoy a bit of time alone. You left the house gladly, without even looking over your shoulder, shaking off the sticky warmth creeping up your neck with a tremble.

And up to your surprise, Sukuna and Toji also decided to skip the meeting.

"I think they caught a cold after morning swimming class," Nanami waved her hand. "They'll be fine, don't worry."

You nodded, plumping down on the brown sofa.

The gentle flicker of warm lamps lit the small room as you allowed yourself to relax and grow tipsy in the company of other staff. With Nanami, as usual, nodding with a smile and sipping wine; Yuki blabbering about all the embarrassments from previous years; Choso adding a few snippets of his own; and Shoko and Utahime busy with themselves.

Shoko wrapping the girl's hair around her finger, a grey smoke wrapping around Utahime's squirming nose.

A honeyed warmth filled your body, with the red wine trickling down your throat. Fogging your mind in an utterly pleasurable, almost balmy way, a feeling dangerously close to everything that pinched your body on those nights. When Satoru's tongue worked on Suguru's pussy more deliciously than usual, with the raven-haired girl's moans kissing your ears.

"Hm, I think it's time to do a quick round," Nanami sighed, looking outside into the heavy, rainy night.

Before she could stand, you pressed a palm to her thighs, sitting her back down. "You should rest. I'll go, don't worry."

Her chestnut eyes held yours for a moment before she nodded in thanks and let you slip into the warm storm. With an umbrella over your head and a flashlight in hand, you set out on the last evening walk.

Checking whether the kids didn't try to leave their cabins or spend the night with their friends. Whether the sixteen-year-old didn't have a foolish idea of slipping into the nearby woods to get drunk on cheap beers they managed to slip into their backpacks – you've been there and done that too, after all – or whether all the lights were off.

The crystal droplets bounced gently off the umbrella, sinking into the drenched, muddy earth. You walked slowly, humming softly, allowing yourself to breathe in the fresh, woody smell.

"Oh!" you gasped, slipping on something. Muggy, moist, sticking to your already wet shoes. "Ew, what is–"

But when the soft light fell to the ground – your throat tightened. Your heart throbbed, as if something heavy were hitting it with a hammer weighing a ton. The raspy breath was muffled by the heavy pattering rain as you stared at the crimson liquid pooling beneath your feet.

Carrying a metallic fragrance that tickled your nose in most unpleasing manner.

Your hand trembled, letting the umbrella slip into the muggy pool, light falling sharply on the bloody trail that led you deeper into the forest.

You shouldn't go.

Of course you shouldn't.

But what if one of the children was attacked? What if they needed your help? A weak, reckless child who came upon something, someone treacherous, hiding deep within the murky woods.

There's a story going on…

A wave of shivers ran down your spine, breath again slipped in a shudder.

"Fuck," you muttered, brushing droplets from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Rain drenched your skin, hair stuck to cheeks, as you slowly walked into the woods. Following the crimson trail that seeped deep into the mud, mingling with the rain and dirt, yet still letting you see the faint traces of the shining, burgundy droplets.

The trees seemed to draw closer, as if wishing to trap you inside. Lock you within the crooked branches, wrapping your hair around their petal leaves.

The faint traces of blood marked moist earth, before something else appeared.

Something black and silky, and soon you noticed it was the hair. Dark locks sticking to the pale skin, falling over the pale cheeks and slashed lips.

Toji.

And right next to her, a sprawled body with long, pink hair wrapping around the creamy skin, covering half of the crimson-stained face, so similar in colour to Sukuna's beautiful eyes.

A sharp cry fell past your lips. Your hand pressed to your lips as a thought of a murderer still being somewhere around quickly flashed through your mind.

How is it possible that no one heard the screams? Could the rain truly be that heavy, muffling the cries of your friends? After spending two weeks together in close company – friends, could they be?

You wished to touch them. To see where the blood was coming from. Whether it was still possible to save them.

But instead, with feet slipping on the sloppy mix of mud and blood, you ran back towards the camp. Specifically, your cabin, as you rumbled through the door and locked it tight behind you.

Drenched, terrified, with shaking hands and shuddered breath, you ran through the little hallway before storming into your bedroom.

"They're dead!" you cried, yet a second later a soft, "Oh" quickly joined.

You forgot why Satoru and Suguru stayed back. Why exactly you decided to leave the cabin.

As both of them were now sprawled naked on their connected beds, Suguru's thighs wide open, head slightly lolling to the side, fingers buried in Satoru's hair.

Satoru lying between Suguru's thick thighs, pushing them even wider, to lap through the drenched, swollen folds of her glistening pussy.

She looked over her shoulder with cheeks smeared in Suguru's cum, shooting you a sly smile. "Hi sweetie. What did you say?"

The familiar warmth started bubbling in your belly. Mixing with a dread, a shaken soul, a heart that wished to race out of the ribcage. The picture of Toji's and Sukuna's dead bodies merged with a full view of Suguru's sweet, dripping pussy.

Oh, you were a horrible person.

Horrible, horrible, horrible.

Egotistic and wicked and blinded by the horniness that was building up within your body for the past few weeks.

Both women stared at you with slightly tilted heads. The room was thick with their sweat and breath, a fog that clung to the windows, smooching them with creamy kisses.

"I want you to fuck me," slipped suddenly. "Both of you."

Satoru's lips fell open, crystal eyes slightly bulging. Suguru raised her eyebrows before she cleared her throat. "Sweetheart, did anything happen?"

But you didn't answer.

No, instead your shirt fell to the floor with a wet splash. Short followed soon after, before you finally took off the bra, allowing your soft breasts to spill past the lost cups.

You didn't know where the sudden confidence came from, yet the conversation from a week earlier hit you like a hammer. If you were meant to die anyway, there was no way in hell you would die a virgin.

So you joined them on the bed on all fours. Slowly drawing closer to Suguru's wicked, lavender eyes, before stopping right in front of her face.

The beauty unmatched, kissed by a thousand divine goddesses. With lips in a pout, bewitching gaze squinting into a kitty-like shape, as you placed a hand on her delicate cheek. Gliding your thumb over her lower lip, savouring the cosy warmth radiating from her sun-kissed skin.

"What are you waiting for?" She whispered, kissing your finger softly.

With a shuddering, deep breath, you pressed yourself against her. Her sweet lips and moaning puffs drew you closer. Her tongue met yours, teeth clashed, and saliva dripped down your chin from the messy kisses filling the foggy room.

Satoru hummed, and before you could turn her way, strong fingers wrapped around your ankles. Quickly pulling you away from Suguru's lips, turning you on your back, only to put you back into the same position. With thighs pressed to your chest, glistening pussy wide open for Satoru's beastly maw.

"Don't mind me," she giggled, lowering herself down to take a deep, groany smell of your cunt. "I'm going to make out with her."

Suguru sat beside you, looking down at your shocked, already dizzy face. With hair scattered across the pillow and slightly lidded eyes, she slipped her hand to brush your breasts.

"Hm, do you want to try too?" She asked, rolling your perked nipple between her fingers.

"Try wh–ah!" A cry fell past your lips when Satoru fully pressed her tongue to your pussy.

A feeling... impossible to describe. Nothing could ever match your poor attempt to pleasure yourself with those pitiful fingers of yours. The numerous toys you kept tightly hidden beneath your bed – vibrators that never satisfied, warming lubricants that yearned to mimic the true heat of Satoru's delicate tongue.

She hummed, sending trembles deep into your pussy and pushing another cry past your throat. Suguru giggled, drawing closer to peck your cheek.

"Do you want to eat me out?" she whispered, peppering your fallen lips with kisses. "I'm already so wet for you, sweetheart. Can I sit on your face?"

Oh, you dreamed only of feeling her thighs wrap around your cheeks. Feel her warmth close to your face, and you nodded. Her lips curled into a cheeky smile before she lowered herself over your face. Hands gripping the bed's wooden frame, cushy thighs brushing your cheeks.

"Stick out your tongue, sweetheart," she said, seeing you obediently do so. With sparkles of awe shining in your eyes as you looked at the woman hovering right over your face. "Mmm, such a good girl. Now, be gentle, ahh."

The moment her pussy met your tongue, something beneath your belly burst. She tasted simply like skin, with a slightly musky scent of sweat, yet your eyes rolled back at the sweetness spilling over your tongue. The sheer fact that you could finally taste her made your head spin, fingers clenching on her thighs to pull her closer.

Satoru chuckled, sucking on your clit softly. Licking, slurping, kissing the softness of your drenched pussy the same way you did it with Suguru's. One of her long, pale fingers poked your fluttering hole, pushing it gently through the tight walls.

"Sorry sweets, next time I'll use my strap," she hummed, feeling the plush clench around her fingers.

Suguru moaned softly as you sucked on her clit the same way Satoru sucked yours. In fact, you tried to mimic everything you felt. The slurps and smooches and nasty squelch, when her juices trickled down your tightened throat. Your moans hit her core whenever Satoru pressed her face closer to your pussy.

"Mhm, she's going to fuck both of us, one after another. What do you think, sweetheart?" Suguru brushed a few stray locks from your forehead, giggling at the deep furrow between your brows. "Oh my, so–ah–focused. Am I that good?"

So fucking good. So, so, so good, you wanted to say, but instead moaned loudly right into the plush of her pussy.

Your hands slipped up, tracing the smoothness of her thighs, hips, and belly, before finally cupping her heavy breasts. The flesh spilled between your fingers, with nipples just begging to be pinched, and you did so with genuine pleasure.

Nothing, really, brought you more pleasure than watching Suguru's body writhe in bliss on top of yours. Her hips moved against your tongue, head slightly tilted back, allowing raven locks to cascade down her back. Soft fingers gripped the bed frame as she began chasing the rising heat in her belly.

And you did it too, with tears swirling beneath your lids, as Satoru found your sweet spot. And, oh, she used this to her utmost wicked pleasure, massaging it with two long fingers, while licking your sweet, leaking cunt. With a cheeky smile of satisfaction tugging on her lips, seeing your belly rise and fall faster. Thighs clench around her head, hips rolling against her tongue.

"You're so close, sweets. Aren't you?"

You couldn't say anything. Not with Suguru's hips straddling your face, her warmth fully pressed to your starving mouth.

"Satoru, she's–ahh fuck–a bit busy," her velvety voice echoed somewhere from over your head, but you didn't notice.

In fact, you couldn't register anything, completely enwrapped by the pleasure coursing through your body. Your focus was solely on cumming and making Suguru climax, as you gently increased the pressure on her clit. Your tongue flicked inside her pussy, fingers rolling erect nipples, until she finally stilled on your face.

Her body shaking from pleasure, as you joined her with a pitiful moan. Letting yourself cum all over Satoru's face, as her strong arm pressed your belly to keep your wriggling hips in place. Giving your folds one last lick before slipping higher.

And higher, kissing the plush of your belly, the mound of your breasts, and when Suguru slipped herself off your drenched face, connecting her lips with yours.

"You did so well, sweets," she murmured, cupping your cheek. "Such a good girl."

She kissed you slowly, sweetly, much lighter than Suguru. With body pressed to yours, thigh between your wet legs. When she pulled away, a long stripe of crystal saliva connected your swollen lips.

Suguru cupped Satoru's cheeks and pulled her into a short kiss, swallowing each other's laughs and giggles.

You watched them with pure bliss and heavy breaths. Their naked bodies embraced one another with a passion you'd never had, yet you were ready to accept if only they wished to share it.

"How about we take care of Satoru together, hm?" Suguru asked, lavender eyes looking down at your dreamy face.

With a soft nod, you sat, letting Satoru fall down the plush pillows with a soft laugh.

"I'm fine, trust me," she said, yet watched you and Suguru slowly kiss down her body with a twinkle in her crystal eyes. "I'm–ah, fuck."

A low moan escaped her throat when your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, while Suguru took care of the other. Kissing, pinching, and sucking it gently before you started going down.

And down, through the lean, muscular belly and creamy hips, as you slowly spread her legs open. White pubes tickling your nose as you nuzzle your cheek into the mound of her pussy.

"How could I not return your kindness?" you giggled, watching a smile tug on Satoru's lips.

"Oh? And how do you plan to do that, hm?" She bit down on her lower lip, watching two beautiful, completely wet naked women nuzzle themselves between her spread thighs. "My sweet girls, next time remind me to bring a camera. Fuck, I would hang your photo over my–nghh."

Fluffy hair fell back as both you and Suguru started lapping through her folds. The saliva dripping from your tongue mixed with her creamy cum, as you both slurped on the wetness of her cunt.

Satoru looked down, another low, "Fucking hell," slipping past her lips.

As both you and Suguru started kissing right over her fluttering cunt. Licking her folds clear, before pressing your lips into one, as if wishing to taste Satoru's cum off your tongues. Sucking, drinking, moaning right into your throats, before going back to Satoru's pussy and lapping her with nasty squelch.

Your fingers pressing into her fluttering hole, brushing the soft, clenching walls till finally pressing something soft.

Something that forced a loud sigh past Satoru's lips and spread her thighs even wider. In a desperate need to feel her two beautiful girls get sugar high over her glistening cunt.

"Fuck, I'm close," she whispered, brushing away your and Suguru's locks from your faces. "So good, oh god, my sweet girls, you make me feel s-so good."

You sucked on her clit with a soft moan, hand already slipping down your body to press the swollen clit. Suguru thrusted her fingers in an almost brutal manner, yet still pressing onto Satoru's sweet spot with softness.

"Cum for us, baby," she whispered, her lavender eyes catching the crystal, blurring gaze. "Show us how good we make you feel. Our sweetheart has been working so hard to pleasure you, hm?"

Your eyes twinkled at seeing Satoru's face filled with pure pleasure. Small breasts heaving with rapid breaths, eyes half-closed, abdomen tightening to release the final droplets of creaminess, before a loud, sweet moan echoed in your ears.

Her cunt clenched on your and Suguru's fingers, a gush of liquid cum splashing all over your faces.

And together with Satoru's moans… something else crashed.

The door to your bedroom opened with a thud.

"Fuck, you already started?"

Something in your chest clenched. A sudden dread washed over you as you slowly looked over your shoulder to see no one but Toji and Sukuna. With a few traces of crimson still coating their faces, their hair fell wetly over their shoulders.

Seeing your bulging eyes, Sukuna chuckled. "Surprise, sweets."

You looked between her and Toji, your throat tight, before turning back to Satoru. An innocent, pouted smile twisted her lips, but it reminded you of a rather devilish creature.

"Listen, we just wanted to play a little prank."

Yet before you could say anything, someone's strong fingers settled on your hip. Perking them up, another hand pressed against your shoulders. With a slight turn, you noticed Sukuna taking off her wet top, while Toji was already looking down at your glistening cunt.

"Yeah, yeah, trick or treat, or whatever. I've been waiting too long for it, so how about you relax and let us take care of you, hm?"

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Part two of Fem!Toji and Fem!Sukuna fucking reader with TWO strap-ons....

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You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"

"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."

You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.

"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?

“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”

You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.

Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.

You go, girl.

“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”

Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”

You bit your lip.

There went those “quick” two years of your life.

You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it. Must have been.

And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.

He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.

But spoiler alert, because you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.

Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” like him were being overlooked by society.

After about a month, it clicked.

This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.

The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.

It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he kinda was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.

You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.

Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.

“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”

You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.

And he would just keep on going.

Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? And every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as an agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.

Not because you lacked the energy to argue. Though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive. Buut mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.

You were tolerating him, which is what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its default caveman settings.

Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened. Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail…The way the towel barely clung on his hips. Gaaawd.

Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry — or did you start to drool? You couldn’t remember anymore. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.

But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole! That's what's better. Be fucking for real. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.

You thought you had it handled. Juuust white-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.

"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. Like, what a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.

"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."

You froze in the hallway. Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.

Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.

What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord with his incel buddies. 

You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.

It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away. 

You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?

But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.

Good roommate, generally speaking. Fucking nightmare, every other way.

And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Trust. Everyone would have this problem! It would go away with time! His personality was ass. And soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.

It was totally fine. You were fine! He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.

And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.

Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.

And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently… Someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.

Goddamn.

It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.

But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse. 

The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.

It started with the food. Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.

“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world and not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.

Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables?

Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes too. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d shoved to the back of the fridge on purpose so he wouldn’t find them.

“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”

He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.

You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.

He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. It was waay too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.

You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation either and went straight to do the dishes.

When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again. Spooked, you looked away first.

And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.

You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.

You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.

“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.

Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.

"The architect guy?"

"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."

A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”

You gave him a warning look.

"I'm just asking."

"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.

He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.

“I just think,” he started.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.

"—that you're not being strategic about this."

You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.

“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”

He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.

You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.

“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”

He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.

"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.

"Where did you even hear that phrase?"

"It's a concept from—"

"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."

You picked up your coffee and looked him over. Standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this conversation had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.

You felt furious, tired and something else you weren’t going to name.

You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.

You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

You were so fucking tired. Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.

So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.

Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options and god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever the fuck podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.

And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.

You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.

Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!

Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves. Now you knew exactly why. It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill, some people chased storms. You were simply built different.

Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it, like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night, you simply weren’t going to let it slide.

You were already stretched thin. And he was on veeery thin ice. So you made a plan. You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.

Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point? You, apparently.

So you dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."

Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.

You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.

He was still on his phone. Andou were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw. Mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.

He reached past you. But the mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.

You went to put the spoon back in your mouth. But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.

Satoru’s eyes followed it the whooole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.

When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.

“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”

You stared at him, he stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.

“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.

He swallowed. A literally loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.

“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.

Then he fled, turning so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.

You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!

But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.

Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.

Wait.

What the fuck.

You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.

Why the hell were you horny?

You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.

You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! down to the floor.

You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows. 

The plan had worked perfectly. Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.

It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.

Take that, Satoru!

And oh, he took it.

Across the hallway, Satoru was literally melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was now burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.

He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees, all that jazz — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.

So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but way too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.

It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your flushed skin.

But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.

Because really, what did you think was going to happen? You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?

No. Of course not.

He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.

And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a scary amount of hope.

It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”

You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.

And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed, 4chan-backed, and whatever questionable forum-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.

And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.

Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week. 

He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.

And it was working. You hated that it was working.

Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.

You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.

Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down right next to you.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.

It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.

His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.

A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. Your skin burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.

Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.

"Satoru," you said slowly. 

He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his whatever “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles. 

“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”

You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."

“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, nice living environment.”

He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air. Here we go again.

“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours like a fucking hard target lock, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”

The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap. He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.

He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.

You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.

“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”

Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.

“I’m stating a statistical—”

“Shut up.”

The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore, one more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.

His mouth snapped shut and he looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — never like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.

“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”

“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”

“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”

“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”

“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”

Satoru flinched and all the color drained from his face. You stood over him, breathing hard, staring down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who looked up at you like you’d just insulted his favourite fellow alpha male incel entity — which, yeah, you probably had. He looked lost. So freaking stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his alpha manliness. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”

“Satoru.”

He stopped, his mouth snapped shut and the tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.

And the realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.Oh my fucking god. You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died but now it all clicked into place. He’d never gotten his dick wet.

Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly, sincerely even. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”

You shattered his ego completely. Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.

Objectively hot.

No one is going to want you.

What?

He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your female emotional outburst with cold data. He couldn’t find one, not for fucking days.

You were avoiding him completely now, icing him out, not talking to him, not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.

One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.

Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.

He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray. So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.

He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours. And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.

He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.

It worked too well. It scared him.

He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.

He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Rejuvenated? No.

Good? Not even close.

He just felt like absolute shit.

Get your shit together.

But how?

He picked up his phone, put it down, picked it up again. Again. And again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s probably what the current episode would’ve said.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.

And that was the problem.

For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.

If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.

He wanted you.

He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.

He needed validation. He needed to be right!

His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.

r/AmItheAsshole 

AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?

Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.

I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.

A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.

While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.

I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.

I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.

AITA?

He hit post. He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait, the logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.

Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in. So he opened them expecting vindication and instead he walked straight into a digital firing squad.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes

YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?

u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes

You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.

u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes

YTA.  She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order. 

u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes

This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.

u/yuji_8847362 · 124  upvotes

Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.

u/KingNaoya69 · 231  downvotes

NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?

Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief. He’d expected validation. Maybe just a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.

Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.

He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess. Something actually useful. It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.

He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had no idea.

The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable and let’s be honest, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence, slamming doors, giving short, pointed answers if any. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.

He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.

Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?

On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him, even if just for a second. You couldn’t help it, the silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.

Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.

Oh, he thought.

Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.

Oh.

That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.

And he was going to stop.

He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!

You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.

"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"

You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.

The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.

But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.

Well… almost.

He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing.  The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—

Around your boobs.

You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.

And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!

Huh.

You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.

He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the pretty blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.

You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.

His breath hitched and then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples. 

And oh my fucking god, you parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.

His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.

"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.

You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

Your heart was pounding soo hard it hurt, your skin was buzzing, and the ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.

I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.

…Do you?

Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?

You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.

Hinge.

Your ol’ friend.

You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.

You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties, because after everything that happened… you were still weirdly, persistently horny? Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.

Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.

"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.

You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average, and not-incely dick.

The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t even looking at your proud face. No. No. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up. No. No. NO.

He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.

You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.

"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.

The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.

But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.

This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.

But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.

Okay, NEVER MIND.

Which left him with only one option.

Today’s the day.

He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.

He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. The hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!

He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.

Fuck it.

He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.

Almost immediately, something felt off. It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way, just uncomfortable, constricting even. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.

Fuck this.

He stopped, tried to take it off but it didn’t budge. Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.

Oh fuck.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.

Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.

Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube like supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—

Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.

Still stuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!

So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil. 

This has to work.

It did not work.

Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily. 

Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.

It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency. 

He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Call an ambulance?

Absolutely not. 

The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.

Call his friends? 

Fuck no.

If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.

He stared at his contacts.

There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.

He hit Call.

You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.

You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.

Satoru.

You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.

“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”

"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."

"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"

“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”

You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread. But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.

You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong…

Like babies and an industrial air fryer?

"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"

A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.

Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Is this some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it! You just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”

You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.

"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."

Huh?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down. And then your stomach dropped with them.

Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.

But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually pop off.

And all the anger drained out of you in an instant because suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of. 

"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"

“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.

You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. 

“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, voice tight as your eyes dragged over his swollen cock in equal parts horror and fascination.

Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.

"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"

You squinted at the slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel and his bed. "Did you try lube?"

 "Yes!" 

"Baby oil?" 

"Yes!" 

"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"

 "YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.

"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.

“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”

“THE WHAT?!”

Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed back at you.

The cum tie.

You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.

"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"

“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed and sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”

Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out, burn it ritually, shave your head and then fucking murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.

But then you looked down again. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was simply no time.

You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.

You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."

Your mind started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.

Because there was only one way to get it off… And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.

You had to make him cum.

“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”

You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.

“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d stabbed him, slamming against the mattress.

"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"

“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”

You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.

“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs literally shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”

You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"

“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"

A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.

Wait—

Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?

Nothing. 

There was nothing else.

God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.

You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.

“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”

“What?” Satoru cried through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”

If your hands were completely off the table…

A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.

You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.

The taste was vile as hell.

Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.

Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.

“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?

His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.

You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.

Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.

You hated the taste.You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor. You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin. And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off. And what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.

Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.

Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.

His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.

Then his hazy eyes dropped to your chest.

His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first almost carefully. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.

A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.

“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop. 

The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.

The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.

But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.

Fuck this dress. And probably him too.

You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.

Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?

Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.

You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.

His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.

The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…

You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.

One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.

What a development. 

Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.

Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.

Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.

He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.

“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”

You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.

His other hand relocated to your shoulder. Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.

You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!

You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.

“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.

You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.

You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.

Satoru came hard.

The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.

And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits. It was him.

You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.

Holy fucking nirvana, right there.

You felt disgusting. You felt filthy. And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”

He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.

“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”

He froze for half a second, then looked down.

And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.

His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.

The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so fucking badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor somewhere.

For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.

Then he looked at you, at the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.

“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”

Satoru looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.

And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. Or maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.

Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.

So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.

At first he stayed completely frozen, too stunned to speak, or like… kiss you back that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.

But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.

He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.

His glasses got knocked even more crooked.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.

Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of manly control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.

“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.

The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.

But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.

Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.

“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely  got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!

You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”

He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.

The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?

Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something. 

His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.

A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.

It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.

“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”

So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.

With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.

You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.

If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.

“…Really?” you said flatly.

Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.

You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon. 

You shoved at his shoulder.

“Satoru.”

He made a small, satisfied noise.

“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”

His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.

You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch. You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and glared down at him.

“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”

He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.

You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”

He froze.

You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.

“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”

And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?

Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.

“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”

The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”

“Did I stutter?”

He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.

He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?

He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.

And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.

The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious. He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.

For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.

He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.

His eyes widened slightly. He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.

You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s my clit, Satoru.”

His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue. 

He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.

He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?

Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.

Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.

A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.

His hands gripped your thighs haaard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.

“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.

Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.

It was deranged. It was filthy. And it was fucking working.

Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.

You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built quickly after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.

“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct. Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?

He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.

Oh.

“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.

His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.

He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.

And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.

“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”

Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it, for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.

His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.

You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.

Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice sooo dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”

You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.

It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.

“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”

He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.

His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.

Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.

One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The wet slap of skin on skin loud, filling the room.

“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”

His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.

Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your stomach. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.

Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.

“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.

“WHAT?”

He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”

You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.

“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”

You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.

“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”

So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.

When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself again, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing just right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.

“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”

You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.

You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you so nicely until you completely slumped forward against his chest.

He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.

And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.

The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.

“Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin. 

You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”

Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. Dream fucking come true. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.

“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”

You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed one of his random t-shirts that smelled like him from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.

He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it. Which was fucking new and so so refreshing.

He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit. 

r/relationship_advice

I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible

Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me for real now.

I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.

Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship or whatever he had between each other beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.

I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Please help. And be nice this time, pls.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes

Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?

u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes

You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.

Satoru looked up the second you returned, now wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries again. Something in his chest went soft at the sight of you. You looked so prettily blissed-out, eyes cutely half-lidded, his t-shirt fitting you so so nicely, leaning against the doorframe and he couldn’t quite believe you were actually fucking real.

He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other, and having no fucking idea what he was doing. Which, to be fair, he kinda did because what the hell do you even do with a room soaked in oil?

You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look. 

“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”

He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. Did you just say sleep in your bed? Him in your bed?

You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. And that was all it took. He for sure didn’t need to be told twice. If you insist, m’lady and tips his fedora confused. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.

He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame and probably a layer or two of his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.

When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm, it was safe and it kinda made the anxiety in his chest go away for now.

You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck, planting a little kiss over his pulse point. You fell asleep almost instantly.

Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek still not believing this is the reality now. But an overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone one last time.

He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again. Some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.

Satoru smiled to himself. 

He typed out one final edit.

Update: Nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Mods, please flag this as SOLVED.

Sukuna freezes beneath your cheek, every muscle going rigid. After a moment, he drops his book onto the nightstand, tilting his head down, crimson eyes blown wide with pure, flat-out bewilderment. He stares at you, genuinely trying to figure out if he heard you right, like you’ve suddenly started speaking a completely foreign language.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" he asks, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, stunned rumble that cuts right through the quiet air. He shifts under you, eyebrow cocked, shooting you a look like you’ve just sprouted horns. "Where the hell is this coming from? Who put that stupid shit in your head?"

"Dunno," you mumble, heat creeping up your cheeks as the words hang in the air, sounding even more absurd now that they’re out. Your fingers fidget with a stray thread on the duvet, eyes glued to the fabric. "My brain’s just being an asshole tonight."

A deep, exasperated scoff rumbles out of your husband, but the tightness in his jaw softens almost immediately, replaced by a raw, unguarded fondness that settles over his face.

“Woman, have you been paying attention to me at all these past few years? Seriously, think for one fucking second, idiot." The command comes out rough, but there’s no bite to it, just a lot of tired fondness. He jerks his chin at the bed, making you actually look at the state of things. "Look at you. You’re basically glued to my side, I can’t even move my damn arm. You’re in my shirt, you stole my socks, and your freezing-ass hand is between my thighs. If I wanted space, trust me, you’d be on the floor."

A tiny, involuntary giggle slips out of you, but he’s not finished. His hand squeezes your waist as he shifts beneath you just enough to remind you how much bigger he is.

“I’m a grown-ass man. I’m stronger than you,” he goes on, his voice rumbling right through his chest and into your cheek. "If I wanted to move, I'd move. But you? You’re glued to me every fucking day, stealing my personal space since day one. You climb on me when I’m trying to read, treat me like a mattress—and I never stop you. Ever think that’s because I want you there?”

His hand comes up, large and rough, calloused fingers curling gently beneath your chin, tipping your face toward his. Shadows flicker across his features, but his eyes lock onto yours with a fierce, protective devotion that knocks the breath right out of you.

“I agreed to that stupid ‘hear me out’ cake just to hear you laugh,” he rumbles, shaking his head, and at last, a wide grin splits his face. “I drove across the city so you could look at ducks. Does that sound like a man who wants less of you? Your brain’s being a dick. Tell it to shut up.”

“…fair,” you admit quietly, and the heavy, tangled knot of overthinking in your chest finally starts to unravel under the weight of his logic.

“Actually, hold the fuck on,” Sukuna growls, moving from underneath you to lean over you, completely wrapping you in his bulk. “You think you’re the clingy one?”

Caught completely off guard by the sudden intensity in his voice, you blink up at him.

“I call you every fucking day, or you’d forget to eat,” he starts, not giving you a chance to interrupt, his eyes locking onto yours. "Started doing that stupid skincare with you. Hid roses around the apartment just so you’d smile all day. Crawled under a fucking car because you wanted a cat. I panic if you’re not in bed, can’t fall back asleep till you’re back in my arms. Let you tank my fucking CS rank ‘cause apparently you gotta touch my arm every six seconds. And you think I want more space? You think I’d still be here doing all that shit if you were too much for me?”

You stay completely silent, your mouth parting slightly as you stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs from the weight of everything he’s just said. He, on the other hand, is looking at you like you’re absolutely hopeless.

“Use your goddamn brain, woman,” Sukuna murmurs with a crooked grin, his deep voice thick with fondness. “Who’s actually clingy in this relationship? I’ve been chasing after you for years…” He trails off, clicks his tongue, then reluctantly admits, “…like a fucking idiot.”

Whatever heavy, stupid fog was clouding your mind finally lifts, swept away by a rush of pure warmth. A bright smile breaks across your face as your hands slide up his bare chest, arms winding tight around his neck to pull him down into a deep, lingering kiss.

Sukuna lets out a satisfied chuckle against your lips as he pulls back just slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. "Understood?"

A breathless laugh escapes you, your chest still fluttery with relief. "Yeah. Thanks, Kuna." You kiss him again, softer this time, lips lingering on his. When you pull away, you can’t help but smile, teasing, "And it’s definitely you."

He groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "Don’t start, brat."

a/n: okay, so this happened because someone asked me to write about insecurities, and that ask somehow sent me down a completely different rabbit hole. i started thinking about the difference between insecurities and your brain just deciding to be an absolute asshole for one evening and… well, this happened.

dunno, maybe it's because my previous adhd meds used to make me overthink once they wore off, and it'd always be the most ridiculous stuff i'd never question in a million years otherwise.

“Fine,” Suguru hissed, hesitantly pulling out of you but not before throwing Satoru a heated glare. 

“I can keep your concubine company,” she smiled, blue eyes sparkling with satisfaction as Suguru unceremoniously shoved his cock back inside his pants, storming past her to go off and search for an advisor who was likely already tucked into his bed. 

He would just come back for you once he figured it out. 

But by then, Satoru was sure she could kill the mood enough that he wouldn’t get to have you tonight. 

Not without her in the room. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly apologized once he was gone, hastily pulling your dress down, embarrassed that she’d seen you so exposed. 

As if it wasn’t the first time. 

She was well aware of her husband’s preference for you to not wear any undergarments when he was planning on seeing you. Had walked in on the two of you in their marital bed more times than she could count. 

At first, she thought it was better you than her. 

Held no interest in having sex with him herself or making any heirs, no matter how much the court tried to convince her that it was necessary. 

Why would she ruin her body for a man she could barely stand? Who she was forced into a political marriage with? 

Lately? 

She was growing tempted to just take her clothes off and offer herself up if it meant Suguru would go a single day without insisting on having sex with you. Even if she’d be resisting the urge to gag and roll her eyes at every one of his groans.

“I’ll return to my chambers, Your Majesty,” you respectfully murmured, averting your gaze with faint shame creeping into your fair features. You were trying to not make this strange or strained, smoothing out your dress as you pushed your palms off the blanket. 

“How many times must I ask you to call me Toru, hm?” She teased, breaking the tension with an easy laugh. 

It used to be breezy to be around you. 

Before he snatched you from her grip. 

Back when you were both girls growing up together, as a princess and her maid. Your delicate hands brushing her hair and working all the knots out with nimble fingers at the end of every day, chatting about the scullery gossip before Satoru would pull you into the blankets and demand that you sleep next to her. 

To keep the nightmares away. 

Everyone always let Satoru do what she wanted. 

Except for having you. 

Sure, she could drag you around, take you everywhere she went, but instead of simply being hers, you were more of an accessory. 

The most you could be was a maid. A servant. 

Not a lover. 

Satoru tried to be content with that. Truly. 

Accepted it from an early age that you weren’t going to be hers when she was destined for a political relationship and your stare often lingered a little too long on knights instead of ladies.

She told herself that at least she got to bring you along to this palace to be by her side for this marriage, but the moment Suguru saw you standing next to her, he stole you. 

Made you his concubine within the week, put you in your own room and dolled you up in gowns and gems. Satoru had been sneaking blue dresses in your new closet, replacing the jewel tones and purples with the shades of the sky, of the ocean rather than the rich hues he had such a proclivity for. 

But it didn’t make much of a difference when you were tending to him now instead of her. 

“Toru,” you said her name so sweetly, chewing the inside of your cheek now as you reluctantly met her stare. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“You are not the one who should apologize,” she exhaled, shrugging her shoulders as she walked over to where you were sheepishly staring at the blooming flowers. 

Skimming a delicate hand over your arm, appreciating the warmth of your skin as she stopped just shy of your shoulder, tracing a little heart with the edge of her thumb as she soothed you. 

“Come with me,” she murmured. 

Your head snapped up, your eyes wavering and wide. Unsure. “Where?” 

“My room,” Satoru hummed. “Like old times.” 

Back when the only hands that ever had the fortune to brush over your body were hers. When you belonged solely to Satoru. 

Funnily enough, you were still sleeping in her bed. Just with her husband. 

What would she have to do to keep his calloused palms off her prize? 

“Are you sure Suguru will be-” 

“No man would complain about two beautiful women in his sheets,” she rolled her eyes, interlocking arms with you and pulling you forward. 

It wasn’t exactly true. 

Suguru would have plenty to grit his teeth and groan about when he wouldn’t get the chance to put his dick inside of you. 

But you were naive enough to not realize that, smiling back at Satoru the way you used to, leaning against her arm and sighing with relief, relaxing once it struck you that she wasn’t upset with you. 

“I’m not nearly as beautiful as you,” you wistfully mumbled under your breath, and Satoru’s heart soared. Pale cheeks heating up at your compliment, squeezing you reflexively as she laughed. 

She knew she was beautiful. Blessed by the gods in nearly every aspect from the moment she was born. 

But even when they had given her a face any male would love, they had cursed her with a heart that could only belong to a female. 

To you. 

Had been stamped with your name and sealed to be yours from the first day she found you. 

It wasn’t fucking fair that Suguru got to just reap everything she sowed. 

Got to be the one inside you, on top of you, beside you. Who could just openly want you with no repercussions. 

If his smug smirks and sly remarks weren’t enough for her to loathe him, Satoru still would have hated him for that fact alone. 

“I think you are far lovelier than any of these lousy flowers,” Satoru spoke softly, tilting her head around the garden she’d grown to only feel disgust for too. 

It had been beautiful at first. A work of art she’d taken to walking the winding paths through in the evenings to calm her chaotic mind when the two of you first came here. 

But all it had taken was to walk in on Suguru mounting you on a patio table the third week in for every last petal and blossom of this place to become tainted.  

He was making a fucking fool of her. 

Freely flaunting how much he adored fucking you wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

No doubt she wasn’t the first to catch the two of you. 

“You flatter me,” you blushed, turning away from her as you picked up the pace. 

You already knew the way back to her marital room.

Even if she wasn’t the one you usually came there for. 

Satoru had separate chambers, of course, ones that were made solely for her, but she knew that Suguru would retaliate in some petty fashion if she brought you there instead. 

“I am merely being honest,” Satoru hummed, lips curling up in an easy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

She knew you well enough to know you were too embarrassed to respond. That you weren’t truly taking her seriously. 

Shouldn’t you know by now that the only person she saved her sincerity for was you? 

“I find myself missing you more and more,” Satoru slowly added, heart thumping so hard she was sure it would somehow end up lodged in her throat as you looked back at her with those big, apologetic eyes. 

Guilt-ridden. 

Weighed down by the obvious worry you carried for fucking her husband. 

“I miss you too,” you murmured quietly, lip curling up in your best attempt at a smile before it immediately fell again. 

“You seem tired,” Satoru observed, reaching over with her free hand to brush the hair away from your face. Treasuring the few seconds her fingertips skimmed across your soft cheeks. “Let’s get some rest.” 

“But Suguru-” 

“Do me a favor,” she purred, offering her most reassuring grin. “Do not worry about him.” 

She could deal with it. 

It was worth whatever trouble would come to watch you trade your dress for one of her silky blue nightslips, staring at the bare expanse of your exposed back as you bent over to shimmy it on, holding her breath as you turned around, looking absolutely delectable. 

The sweetest dessert she could ever dream of. 

And the only one she wasn’t allowed to taste. 

“Do you want me to do your hair?” You asked, fiddling with your fingers as you nervously looked around the room. 

Satoru wished she could wipe your anxieties away. 

“I would never say no to that,” she said instead, putting up a far more carefree front than she truly felt. 

Perching on the edge of the stool of her vanity, passing you her hairbrush as you slowly pulled all of her long, silky white strands back over her shoulder. You took your time brushing it out, carefully separating it as you went and making sure there were no tangles before you slowly began to braid it, nimble fingers working to twist the parted hair. 

She could see your reflection in the mirror, the way you bit your kiss-swollen bottom lip, brows pinched together tightly in focus as your practiced hands made an easy job of it. 

“There you go,” you hummed once you finished, tying a white ribbon at the end as you looked in the mirror back at her. “Do you like it?” 

“I like everything you do,” Satoru replied on instinct. 

Except for Suguru. 

Your face flushed, smiling as you stepped back away from her, glancing over to the bed. 

“Good night then,” you muttered. 

“Good night,” Satoru replied, shoving down the lump in her throat as she tried to discreetly dry her clammy palms on her own nightdress as she stood up. Snuffing out a few of the candles so that the only light was from the flickering fire, crawling into bed after you, pretending to be unaffected by your proximity as she got under the sheets next to your body.

But she wasn’t quite as good at it as she used to be. 

Unable to slow her breathing, chest rising and falling far too fast as you tossed and turned, the short hem of the slip riding up on your thighs under the covers as Satoru desperately stared at the ceiling of her four-poster bed and ignored the heat ignited in her core. 

A steady pulse, an irritating throb straight to the center of her, speeding up each time your leg brushed against hers, or your hand accidentally grazed along her arm. 

“Sweet dreams,” she belatedly whispered, but you had already fallen asleep, soon snoring on one of her pillows like you once did so long ago, hair sprawling out that Satoru couldn’t stop herself from softly stroking. 

Her pretty maid, right where she belonged once more. 

But for how long? 

When would Suguru do something that would fully free you of her? 

God, what the fuck was she going to do if he knocked you up? Forced you to bear his heir? Make you raise a whole brood of miniature hims? 

That asshole would surely move you to a separate palace, maybe claim that Satoru made threats or something equally absurd to justify giving you a title or some security. 

Satoru refused to let any of that happen. 

You were more than just a breeding mare. 

More than just a pawn to be played with – no matter what her husband attempted to turn you into. 

Like she summoned a demon, the door swung open, and Satoru immediately removed her hand from by your head, sitting up in bed to stare at the intruder.

The real interloper here. 

Suguru scowled at the sight of her next to you, his lips pressing in a thin line as he peeled off his expensive robe. 

“Return to your private chambers,” he dismissed, irritation heavy in his voice. 

“This marital bed is mine too,” Satoru retorted, patting the spot next to her to gesture for him to join. 

She’d prefer not to spend the night suffering the masculine scent of his cologne, but she supposed she could just roll closer to you to inhale your much sweeter smell. It was always light, flowery, like some intoxicating summer bloom she wanted to pluck and preserve.

He laughed at the idea of sleeping together too, a low and cruel one. 

Satoru wanted to snarl back that if she were a man, if they were both vying for your hand, you would have chosen her without a blink. 

But she just had to bite her tongue and stare at the one person who had everything she wanted. 

“Funny that I only find you in here when it’s with her,” he knowingly scoffed. 

“Is it?” Satoru feigned ignorance. “I was the one who brought her here.”

Her husband didn’t care though. 

No, he just walked over as if she had no place in this room, no right to her spot in the bed beside you, stripping his shirt off before removing his pants, as if a little bit of nudity would scare Satoru off. 

“What do you think our love would do if she knew you lusted after her even more than I do?” Suguru mocked, barely making an effort to disguise his thinly-veiled threat. One corner of that irritating mouth of his curling up in a crude smirk, casually dismissing the weight of her affection for you to a simple sin. 

His love? 

Satoru almost laughed back at him. 

You were hers. Had always been. 

And would be once again. 

“Shall I tell her?” He asked, tilting his head towards your sleeping figure as he pulled back the blankets to get in too.

“She would think it’s just a jest,” Satoru rolled her eyes, her nose scrunching up as he actually got in next to her. 

It didn’t matter how obvious she made it to you. 

You were blissfully unaware. 

Clueless to the hunger she harbored in her heart to chain you to her. 

“I suppose we’ll find out soon,” he muttered under his breath, and despite the shield she’d prepared, it splintered with sheer panic at the thought of you taking his word. 

At the risk of you being repulsed by the realization, rejecting her and refusing to exist in the same space for the rest of her life. 

That wouldn’t do. 

Suguru was already a persistent problem. 

But now it appeared she had no choice but to solve it before he could screw her over. Before he could wreck what she’d spent so long building. 

She’d prefer to prepare a guillotine for his cock, to punish him for the crime of being inside you, but she refused to be the one put in prison for it. 

No, Satoru needed a plan. A foolproof way for this to end with you in her arms. 

Perhaps some poison to put His Royal Majesty in a grave while she was at it.  

ε✿з

“Morning, beautiful.” 

You wondered who your king’s groggy morning voice was meant for. You? 

Or his wife? 

Your true master. 

“Good morning, husband,” Satoru replied, her usually sweet voice cold and clipped. 

Of course.

You weren’t exactly surprised. 

But what did throw you off was the two very different arms strewn across your waist, one thick and muscled slung low towards your hips while the other far daintier one was delicately tangled just below your breasts. 

Somehow, you had ended up in between them. 

Rather fitting, wasn’t it? 

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Suguru scolded her, and your stomach just curdled at the annoyance in his tone. 

The weight on your midsection disappeared, and you tried to roll on your side, to pretend you were still asleep, but then he was pulling you against him, and you could only bite the inside of your cheek and focus on the taste of blood on your tongue to hold it together as something hefty and hard pressed into your spine. 

It was just wrong to do this in front of Satoru. 

You didn’t understand what Suguru saw in you anyway. 

It wasn’t like you truly were stunning. Not compared to her. 

You weren’t blind. 

You’d always been rather plain put next to Satoru’s perfect face.

She was the one people stopped to stare at when she walked in a room, the subject of whispers and wishes and fools willing fate to just give them a single chance for the pleasure of one conversation in her presence. 

And beneath her beauty was the sort of one-of-a-kind soul someone could spend the rest of their life searching for. 

Even now, when you were sleeping with her husband, she was still being sweet to you. 

Swearing that she knew you couldn’t do anything about being his concubine, bringing you back to her bed for a sleepover like she hadn’t caught you having sex with him. 

You didn’t deserve her. And you really couldn’t comprehend why Suguru wouldn’t want her. 

Yet, she always tried to spare your feelings. 

Sent away any maid who mocked you and scolded any staff member that attempted to tease you ever since you were children. 

Going from dismissing any knight that tried to flirt or feel you up as teenagers to stripping some lower noble of her rank simply for speaking ill of you two weeks ago over suggesting that she should punish you for trying to steal her husband. 

You hadn’t asked for any of it. 

All you wanted was to watch her fall in love. To stand by her side and see her find her happily ever after. 

Instead, you were embroiled in an affair with the man she married. 

And now the guilt was gnawing through your bones, shame shattering you every time she saw you with him. 

You sort of felt like your life could be divided in two groups. 

Before Satoru. After Satoru. 

She saved you. You were born into servitude, to parents who worked in the worst kind of noble homes. The ones where the money was passed down with generations, belonging to spoiled gamblers and drunks who didn’t know how to do anything other than spend it — and couldn’t care less about their staff members. 

You learned how to scrub baseboards and sweep instead of how to read and write. To never speak unless spoken to. To make yourself smaller than a speck of dust just to survive. 

It didn’t matter. 

They had a son a year older than you. 

One that was particularly fond of pulling your hair and ripping up your uniforms every time you hung them out to dry. 

Who found a passion in pushing you down and pretending to his family that you had committed every variety of petty crimes against him. 

Your life was a living hell. 

Until your angel showed up. 

In a pretty white dress that matched her soft hair, the sun shining on her pale face as she blinked down at you with big, blue eyes. She was visiting with her parents, supposed to be attending a play date with your personal tormentor, only to walk in on him attempting to cut off a chunk of your hair with a knife he’d stolen from the chef. 

He had accidentally cut you with it, a thin streak of blood trickling down your throat as you sobbed hysterically, unable to stop yourself as you curled up against the tree he cornered you against. 

“Drop that,” she commanded, an air of authority to her even when she was still a child. 

He did, even though his obedience seemed to surprise him. 

“You’re not the boss of-”

She was already stepping forward though, kicking the knife away before graciously approaching you, unbothered by the sniffing mess you’d become, just squatting down and drying your tears with her sleeve. 

“You’re coming home with me.”

And you did. 

She had half-dragged you inside, forcing herself to fake tears of her own before crying to her parents that he had attacked her, and that you’d gotten hurt defending her. 

They believed her lie. 

And she bought you from the hellhole you were born into. 

You would probably be dead without her. 

Starved or beaten for not performing your duties well enough, discarded like some cheap possession instead of a person. 

The boy was punished, his family’s status revoked — although you never learned what happened to them after that. 

At least with Satoru, you could be her doll. 

Someone she dressed up and dragged around to tea parties and meals, forcing everyone to have a chair for you like it was normal for a mere maid to dine with royalty. 

She grew out of it when she got a little older, when people began to look down on you for her behavior instead of her. 

But when they announced her marriage, she still refused to go unless she brought you with her, insisting that she wouldn’t adapt without a familiar face before whispering to you in private that she’d never leave her favorite friend behind. 

Did she regret that now? Wish she never took you in to begin with?

You felt like a nuisance.

It was impossible to ignore the whispers of the court here, the constant discussion of the heir that didn’t currently exist. All of it felt like your fault.

Surely, if you weren’t here, if you weren’t imposing, then Satoru might have already gotten pregnant, or perhaps have even had a child already. 

As far as you knew, they had yet to even consummate their marriage. 

You used to whisper about what it would be like to have sex. So sure that she would be the one to experience it first. Giggling under the covers about how the whole thing seemed sorta gross. To let a guy stick it inside of you and listen to him grunt and groan?

Honestly, you never thought it would be you giving up your virtue before her. 

Sugugu hadn’t been shy about the fact you were the only one he was intimate with. 

Turning his nose up and scoffing when you inquired about the status of their relationship, the same way Satoru did, as if it was simply absurd that they could ever have a baby together. 

And now his royal advisors had started whispering suggestions that he should plant his seed in you instead, murmuring that if Satoru was too stubborn, he must secure his line another way as if you weren’t in the same room when they said it. 

As if your loyalty hadn’t always lied with her. 

But she wouldn’t listen to your warnings. 

How were you supposed to convince two people who acted like they couldn’t stand each other to not only have sex, but create a child? 

You knew you were a fool. Naive to still presume that there must be some way to make this work without making Satoru suffer. But you couldn’t stop trying. 

“I would like you to leave,” Suguru snapped at her, and years of experience had engrained the instant impulse to protect her in you. 

To interrupt and insist that she had every right to be here too. 

Even if Satoru had never once needed you to defend her. Not the same way you needed her. 

“Will you drag me out if I do not?” She cheekily returned, and you finally forced yourself to start to stir, to stop the argument already in progress as they both immediately fell silent. Satoru’s soft hand skimmed over your forearm, delicately dragging her fingertips up to your shoulder before yawning, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” 

“Morning,” you muttered, slowly cracking your eyes open and beginning to sit up just for a second hand to shift to the small of your back. 

“Did she bother you with all her tossing and turning?” Your king asked, concern veiling his contempt for his wife as he peered down at you with those dark purple eyes. Devoid of the light you were used to seeking, swirling with something you weren’t quite comfortable enough to name. 

Sometimes, you wondered how much he wanted you, and how much he wanted to piss her off. Equally unhappy at the situation he’d been thrusted in, forced to marry a stranger he didn’t know or want and finding refuge in pissing off the one person that was also innocent in this. Taking it out on her instead when he had no way to punish the system he was stuck in. 

“Satoru never bothers me,” you answered honestly, still doing your best to mend the bridge between them as you peered up at him with an expression you hoped would earn some empathy from him. 

Or at the very least, get him to not toss her out before she even stepped foot out of the bed. 

“You’re too sweet,” he muttered, sitting up straighter to let the blankets fall down around his bare waist. Tenderly caressing your cheek as you stilled, thinking of what he seemed to leave unsaid. Too sweet for whom? Him? Or her? 

You supposed you were just overthinking it, blinking nervously before he leaned down to kiss you on the lips right there in front of her, pushing his tongue in as you tried not to scrunch your nose up at the thought that he had yet to brush his teeth before slipping his tongue in your mouth. 

But you returned it, accustomed to going with the tides instead of swimming against them, allowing him to possessively splay his fingers across your back as if Satoru’s fingers weren’t still sinking into your shoulder. 

And by the time he pulled away, you had collected yourself enough to smile sincerely back at him when he rested his forehead against yours. 

It wasn’t that you disliked him, or harbored any hatred for him. 

The feeling swirling in your stomach was closer to pity. You felt bad for him. 

He felt like a flip side to Satoru. Reminded you of her in his own strange way when he spoke to you like you were more than just a maid. Even if he only saw you as his own accessory instead of hers.

“Meet me in the gardens at noon,” he instructed, slipping out of his bed as you both stared. His back muscles flexed as he bent over, only throwing a look back to wink at you while Satoru made a quiet gagging noise next to you. 

You nearly giggled, only holding it in when his dark brows pinched together in a glare back at her. 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” you murmured, nodding dutifully as his chest puffed back out with pride. Finishing redressing quickly, his mouth twitching down at the two of you in his bed, but he didn’t say anything to disprove Satoru’s theory about men and beautiful women. 

“Alone,” Suguru added, starting towards the door before Satoru could add something snarky. 

The moment he was out the door, you could hear his voice calling through it for a servant, and you already pictured the way a few were likely stationed at the end of the hall, ready to accompany him and do whatever he wanted.

“Meet me in the gardens,” Satoru mimicked him, rolling her bright blue eyes as her long lashes fluttered dramatically as she twisted you back around to face her. “He’s so insufferable.” 

“Satoru,” you said her name, face heating up at the way the syllables felt rolling off your tongue, still strange to address her so intimately when she was so far above you. “It worries me-” 

“No,” she interrupted you sternly, your shoulders slumping at her unexpected scolding. “There is nothing for you to worry about.” 

“But the two of you-” 

“I know,” she sympathized, knowing what you were about to protest before you had to say it. Seeing through all of you the way no one else ever did, or probably ever would. “But you should just keep doing what he asks.” 

Like you couldn’t see how much it hurt her to even suggest that. 

Satoru was more sensitive than she’d ever show. Feelings hidden under her carefully crafted shield, always pretending to be the perfect princess on her towering pedestal, protected by some impenetrable glass that never let you touch her. 

She could say she couldn’t stand Suguru. But who wouldn’t be hurt at the man they married so blatantly disrespecting them?

“I just want you to be happy,” you softly said. 

“I will be. Eventually,” Satoru stiffly said, dragging her thumb over your bottom lip like she was wiping off his kiss. “We just have to grin and bear it for now.” 

“And things will get better?” You hopefully asked, reaching up to clasp her hand. Feeling a little bit like a child again, looking up to her with blind trust, faith that she could fix problems that seemed far too big for you. Imagining all three of you a few months from now, getting along and grinning over lunch in the garden, sitting underneath the shade of an umbrella and snacking with Satoru on one side and Suguru on the other. 

“I promise they will.” 

There was nothing you craved more than for her to be correct.

But your blind belief in her started to fizzle and fade when the days refused to stop dragging on while you rarely got to see her. Only catching glimpses of her from across the room, usually when one of you was being flaunted on Suguru’s arm and the other was left to stand on the side and stare. Barely getting a chance to speak to her when the king you were both supposed to obey had decided you were better kept in your bed chambers or his private office, away from the wife he pretended didn’t exist around you. 

You tried to tell yourself what she had. 

To just bear it. 

Comforting yourself with the handful of smiles she snuck you, reassuring yourself that you didn’t have to be wracked with guilt every second you spent with Suguru. That you shouldn’t hate yourself for the moments with him where you found yourself actually enjoying his company, or genuinely giggling at a joke he made. 

It didn’t make it easier to stop loathing the parts of you that liked the attention. Being doted on and deemed deserving of more than just the monotony of being a maid. 

Underneath it all, you still knew what was coming. 

A girl like you was only measured by what uses she was good for. 

Could taste his expectation in the air long before Suguru delivered the curdling news over tea, sitting there like a brainless doll as he informed you that he had the maids brew the kind that helped fertility. 

Casually suggesting that you make a fine mother as you feigned agreement, running off to a bush to throw it up the moment he left to attend to other business. 

You couldn’t do that to her. 

No, you wouldn’t. 

You refused. 

It wasn’t like you had any idea how you would refuse, not when you were sure he would be back in your bedroom tonight. Stripping off his robes with that easy smirk of his, placing his crown on your head as he buried his cock in you, probably already planning on no longer pulling out but plunging himself deep enough to make sure the seed he planted was sowed. 

That it would sprout into an heir he could use as an excuse to remove any power his wife politically held. 

You puked again. 

Bile rising that you couldn’t push down, getting sick until you finally managed to suck in enough deep breaths to pull yourself together, wiping the corner of your mouth and standing back up on trembling legs, looking around to make sure no one had seen you. 

But a few maids were standing nearby, wide-eyed and whispering to each other before scampering off in a hurry once your stare caught theirs, surely off to spread rumors about what they’d seen. 

You were stumbling away too, walking back inside the cobbled halls and hurrying through the twists and turns, ignoring the pointed looks you received from staff members and guards passing by. You weren’t sure where you were going until you were there, nervously tapping your knuckles against the door to Satoru’s office, hardly able to keep your breathing steady until you heard her call out in an annoyed tone, “Come in.”

You pushed it open, holding your breath as you peeked inside to see her head hanging down behind her desk. Her cheek resting on her hand, silky hair falling around her shoulders as she sighed and scribbled something into a thick book. 

“What is it-” 

“I’m sorry,” you half-whispered, your voice coming out as a croak from your sore throat. 

She immediately stopped what she was writing as her head snapped up at the realization it was you, shutting the book and placing her palm over it. Her blue eyes were razor sharp, freezing over in a flash under furrowed brows. 

“What happened?” She demanded to know without a pause. Ready to go to war with just two words. 

“He wants me to have his heir,” you blurted out, still panicking as you looked to her like there was something she could do about it. 

In all the years you’d known her, the only other time you’d seen the expression that was on her face now was the day you first met her. 

Focused and flat at the same time, not betraying anything as she just blinked at you once more. 

“Tell me you don’t want it,” she requested, completely serious as you struggled to tear your stare away. 

“Of course I don’t,” you answered, shaking your head as your fingers nervously clutched at the skirt of your dress, fiddling with some of the fine embroidery as you struggled to catch your breath, the taste of vomit lingering in your mouth as you thought about what your life would look like a year from now if you did. A black-haired baby on your hip and a hole punctured straight through your heart. 

You almost added that you had only come here for her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to when all that had resulted in was you warming her husband’s bed. 

What would her life have been like had you stayed behind? Would you have been kicked out of the palace you’d spent years by her side in? Left to start over in some quaint village, maybe starting a small farm or working in a local shop instead? 

You would choose any of it over being the reason she was suffering. Even if it meant struggling and scraping by all alone. 

“I will take care of it,” she stiffly said, her nose upturned in the air as she pushed a plate of cookies someone had left on her desk away from her. “You should go now.” 

A piece of you shattered. 

Some deep internal wound ripping open at her quick dismissal, despite your instinct to believe that her words were more binding than any oath. 

“But-”

“Trust me, princess,” she softened her tone, smiling now, like you couldn’t see how tight of a line her mouth made. Using a nickname she hadn’t called you in years, back when she tried to make you feel better about the difference in your status, late night promises that you could be her princess and she could be yours. 

“Toru,” you murmured back, watching her eyes crinkle for a second before she shook her hair and pointed a delicate finger towards the door. 

“Please leave,” she asked, and you had never been good at disobeying her. 

Feeling like a mutt that had been thrown out in the rain, tail tucked between your legs as you walked all the way across the palace to your own chambers. Pacing the floor there in a panic, wringing your hands and wearing out the carpet as you tried to think of some solution. 

Stupid nobles and their moronic obsession with bloodlines. 

Why couldn’t they just adopt a child and raise it correctly? 

You would have his child if Satoru asked you to. If she said she didn’t want to do it herself. 

But you were scared for her. Terrified that she would somehow end up thrown out if you had an heir and she refused to. 

Maybe it would be easier if one of them were less stubborn. If Satoru was less prideful and Suguru more agreeable. 

Was that asking for the impossible? 

Just an idiot jammed between a rock and a hard place and wondering why you couldn’t squeeze out? 

You prepared yourself that evening anyway, going through the motions of putting on the thin style nightdress Suguru preferred, but picking one in a soft shade of blue that reminded you more of Satoru. Carefully applying a thin layer of makeup, exhaling at your reflection as you wondered to yourself where the girl from a few years ago had gone. 

She probably would have strangled you for suggesting sleeping with Satoru’s king, no matter the circumstance. 

And right now, you would give just about anything to go back to those days. Where the most important thing you had to worry about was how to style Satoru’s hair the next day, or what would be served for breakfast in the morning. 

“You’re wearing blue.” 

Your head turned to find Suguru standing there in the doorway, his lips turned down as his hazy stare slid over your body. You hurried to stand, forgoing spritzing the fancy perfume he gifted you across your skin as he strode over to you. Ready to fake moans and feign devotion. 

“Is this not one you gave me?” You innocently asked, tilting your head to the side. 

It wasn’t like you could purchase your own dresses. 

Truthfully, you had no idea what even happened to the funds you saved up before Satoru brought you here. She had said she would take care of the transfer, but within days of coming here, you were being whisked off your feet and away from her by the man in front of you now.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his fingers plucking one of the straps off your shoulder and pulling it down with a sigh as he ignored your inquiry. “I’m taking it off of you anyway.” 

His hands shook while he removed it, his fingers unsteady for once as he tried to shimmy your panties down your thighs next. He kissed you, but the sour taste of wine was still on his lips, and you ached to pull away. 

To ask him to reconsider what he wanted from you. 

Even if you knew that wasn’t your place. 

To your surprise though, he retreated first, your mouth still hanging open as he let out a low groan. You knew something was wrong at the sound of it. How guttural it came out when you hadn’t even touched his cock yet. 

You blinked up at him only to see red. 

Blood dripped down his lips as he stared at you without really seeing you, fear glittering his dark eyes empty in the candlelight as your own fingers reached out to wipe it away. Had you bitten him without realizing it? Was he hurt? 

Before you could even touch it, he coughed hard, and your face was suddenly wet.

Your hand was still outstretching towards him the moment he collapsed. 

Someone screamed, but it wasn’t until servants began running into the room that you realized the horrible sound was coming from you, ripped from the back of your throat as the scene immediately morphed into a mess. Maids shouting for doctors and rushing around to try and stop the bleeding that was still pouring from his mouth, propping him up. But even if his eyes were open, they weren’t blinking. 

Had his soul already separated from the still shell he left behind? 

Something damp hit your palm, your fuzzy vision struggling to focus as it belatedly struck you that you were still dripping with the red, your palms shaking, refusing to stop twitching at the unnerving sight of it. 

Steady drops begging to drop down to your bare breasts, staining your skin as you stumbled back, running from the inevitable as your shattered gasps wouldn’t allow enough air into your lungs. 

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be.

This must be a nightmare. Some awful dream you’d gotten dragged into as you tried to wake yourself back up, desperately wiping your face as you struggled to get it clean, but nothing was working. Nothing was changing. 

Hyperventilating as a maid shouted, calling in guards while your back hit the wall, your fingers trembling as you buried your face in your hands, as if you could hide from what was happening. 

“Is he still alive?” 

No. No no no. 

If he was gone, what the hell would happen to you? 

There were too many people in the room, too much going on for you to focus on what was happening in front of you. Your ears filling you in no matter how much you desperately wanted to shut it all out. 

To rewind the clock, even if it was just for a few minutes. Bring it back to where everything was still normal. 

The palace doctor arrived out of breath as you peeked back up at your world unraveling only to find him shaking his head as he checked the limp body on the floor’s pulse. 

You knew it before he said it though. Had from the moment he coughed and collapsed. 

“The king is dead.” 

The only person in power now was his wife. 

Someone was probably on their way to get Satoru now, to shake her awake from her bed and notify her that her husband was no longer among the living. 

Even if you didn’t want to have his baby, you still never would have chosen this. 

Curling up with your bare knees to your chest, staring at your blood-splattered blue nightdress left in a crumpled pile on the floor, eyes wild as you watched people rush in and out. 

Guards filing in, one of them ripping you up from off the ground with a rough grip on your arm, barking some question you didn’t understand as you tried to shake your head, dragging you out of the room as you got one last glimpse at Suguru’s still form staring up at the ceiling. 

“Did you do this?” 

“What?” You blinked, turning back with disgust as you rebuffed it. “I-I wouldn’t-” 

The guard wasn’t listening, pulling you out only for you to nearly run into someone else. 

Your pounding heart stopped the second you realized it was Satoru. 

Her pretty face pinched up with disdain, long hair loose and cascading down her back, an intricate amethyst-colored gown draping over the cobbled hall as she looked down at you, her mouth twitching as her gaze drifted across your exposed skin. 

You were about to beg her to tell them that it couldn’t have been you, bottom lip trembling as you tried to get the words out, but she cut you off, looking to the knight by her side as she solemnly shook her head. 

“Lock her up.” 

She couldn’t mean it. 

It honestly felt more far-fetched than Suguru’s sudden death. Unable to understand those three sharp words that left her lips until another man was yanking you away, pulling you down corridors. 

Humiliation burned through you as the initial shock started to fade and the reality of your situation began to sit in. Being dragged naked across the palace until you were led up a long spiralling staircase to a tower you’d never stepped foot inside before. 

Spared the cruelty of the cold dungeons only to be shoved inside a tiny room at the top, a heavy door slammed shut as your eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness surrounding you. A barren space with only a small bed pushed against the wall, a small window that was only big enough for you to peek out of, the bitter night breeze blowing in through it as you stood there, waiting for, well, you weren’t sure what. 

Satoru to show up and swear this was all some awful joke? To tell you that she didn’t mean to scare you and that everything was fine? That this was all a part of some plan of hers? 

Wishful thinking, wasn’t it? 

If they thought you were responsible, that you somehow killed him, you would be executed within a month. 

Maybe not even offered a trial, just dragged out to be hanged or beheaded without a chance to defend yourself. 

Who would have sympathy for a traitor? 

A poor maid masquerading as a concubine, one who truly should have never had a place beneath the king to begin with. 

All you were was an ignorant idiot that was born to take the blame. No matter your innocence. 

And yet, when you finally heard footsteps approaching your lonely room, you were still rushing towards it, ready to plead your case to whoever showed up. 

When you heard Satoru’s voice, you nearly sobbed. 

She must be coming to let you out. To explain everything away and bring you back to her room the way she once had. Whisk you away and remind you with that charming smile that she had told you not to worry. 

Satoru wasn’t your knight in shining armor. She was better. 

A hero with her white-haired halo, your blue-eyed angel in a gossamer gown. 

“Toru, please,” you called out, peeking up to discover a rectangle carved out of the thick wood of the door, wide enough for you to look back out into the barely-lit hallway. 

“Make sure no one comes up here,” Satoru coldly instructed the knights outside, your heart stalling as you stared at her through that thin slat. The heavy click of several additional locks followed while her sharp eyes watched you back, your heart shattering into even tinier bits with each one. 

And then Satoru did something that stomped on all the remaining shards of it. 

She left. 

You broke down, sobbing on the floor until there wasn’t anything left in you to cry out. Curling up on the frigid ground instead of the bed, unable to even summon the strength to get up and crawl towards it. 

At some point, you supposed you fell asleep like that, because when you woke up to a fraction of the sun slipping in through your tiny window, there were clothes and food delivered, along with a cold bucket of water and a washrag. 

Too numb to feel thankful, as if someone had scooped every part of you out as you ignored the food in front of you, about to cup a handful of water and drink it before you looked down at your hands and saw all the dried blood still staining them, your stomach shifting once again as the memory of Suguru’s face before he died floated up in your brain. 

You scrubbed your skin, washing Suguru off of you until the bucket had run red, staring at the liquid sloshing around. Refusing to stop until you were certain there were no traces of him left, your hands raw and trembling when you dropped the rag back down. 

Putting clothes back on didn’t make you feel any better. 

Not when you had traded the fancy dresses you had just begun to get used to for a plain one, the material scratching your skin as you finally managed to get yourself up into the bed. 

But even just trying to go back to sleep didn’t work when a knight came barging in to conduct an interrogation. 

Which essentially just meant hours of him asking the same questions and getting angry when you kept giving him the same answers? 

“Did you conspire to kill the king?” No. 

“Did you poison him?” No. 

“Did you have any reason to want him dead?” Yes. No. 

It didn’t matter what you said though. 

As long as it didn’t align with what he was hoping to hear, he wouldn’t give any of your words credence. 

And by the end of it, you were being dragged back to your cell, waiting for a fate far worse than simply being the mother of the future heir to the kingdom. 

Even if you used to think there was nothing worse than betraying Satoru. 

Being abandoned by her was the cruelest sentence of all. 

A raw throbbing ache taking up residence in your chest, reminding you of her absence with every short breath you sucked in, no blankets to curl up and hide under as you waited for the inevitable. 

You knew what the cold felt like. How brittle it could be when it settled into your bones. Knew how starvation felt when your body started to break down bits of yourself for sustenance. 

But knowing her warmth, how full she could make you feel, only ate at you more. Shoved off the pretty pedestal she placed you on, no longer sparkling or polished as you stared at your bitten-down nails and numbly craved pieces of her you knew would never be yours. 

Perhaps this was punishment for dreaming too big. 

For ever thinking that you could have her while you were still catering to Suguru. 

A day passed. 

And another. 

The hours slipping past you in a dull daze, food delivered that you refused to take a bite of. A little voice in your head that was quickly growing delirious suggested that it could be poisoned, and it was the only thing that tempted you into taking a small bite. 

But then you thought of the fear in Suguru’s eyes when he died, and you dropped it again, returning to your uncomfortable bed, curling up to stare at the same wall you’d been studying the cracks in since you first crawled into it. 

You were losing it. 

About to start speaking to yourself just to stop the silence from driving you crazy, only your thoughts to keep you company as you tossed and turned, no energy left in your exhausted limbs as you tried to think of all the ways this could end. 

Unable to come up with a way out of this when the only person you ever found worth living for had decided you weren’t worth it anymore. 

Satoru had told you to trust her. 

But you never had anything to offer her other than loyalty. 

And what good was that when you would’ve had her husband’s baby if he hadn’t died? 

She must hate you. 

“Oh, princess.” 

Great. 

You had lost it. 

Were you hearing things now? Sanity slipping away with every day you decided not to eat? 

“Won’t you at least look at me?” Satoru’s sweet voice called out to you. 

You weren't going to, stubbornly keeping your head forward until you heard the locks actually unlatching. Sitting up on the thin mattress and turning just in time to see the door opening, and your angel returning to you. 

An easy smile curling up on her glossy lips, her ethereal eyes sparkling in the fading light of the day drifting in from outside, a white dress softly fluttering around her frame as she leaned against the wall like she was waiting for you to get down on your knees and thank her. 

“I didn’t do it,” you breathed, almost automatically. 

You needed her to believe-

“Sweetheart,” she softly shook her head as she sighed. “I know.” 

Then why did she throw you in a tower and lock you up like this? Leave you a broken mess, laid bare and bloody? 

“I just had to take care of a few things,” Satoru cooed. 

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. 

Unable to speak when you stared at her, feeling like a stranger in your own skin as you studied her back. 

“Did you think I would just let you rot?” She teased, as if you weren’t still a prisoner while she tilted her head to the side, appraising you like you were some fruit she had finally decided to pluck. 

It hurt. 

A small wound ripping open beneath the surface, one you were quick to bandage up and come up with excuses for. 

Almost immediately telling yourself that surely, she came to you as soon as she could, relief washing over the fresh sting at the realization she truly didn’t think you were behind Suguru’s death. That she hadn’t abandoned you after all. 

“Don’t just sit there and stare at me,” she huffed, sick of your silence, folding her arms across her chest and frowning at you. 

“Toru?” You croaked out her name, wanting to trust that it still had a place on your lips as you waited for her to disappear. Standing up on unsteady legs, muscles sore from how little you’d used them lately as you took unsure steps forward. A piece of you still convinced that you might be imagining this, or drifted off to some pretty dream where she played the same role she always did. 

Your savior. 

But when you got to her, hesitantly reaching out to touch her face, your fingertips trembling as you touched her cheek to discover it was solid. 

Soft. 

“I missed you too,” she murmured affectionately, reaching up to hold your hand there. Relaxing into your touch as you felt something inside you instantly crumble at the tiniest show of regard. 

And before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around her neck, tears welling up as you inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume, burying your face in her throat as a rough sob escaped you. 

She let you. 

Didn’t push you off or give you that look like you had overstepped some boundary. 

No, she just slid a hand over your back, holding you closer and letting you cry into her collarbone. Stroking your hair, slowly picking out the tangles and knots in it as your body shuddered with the force of your tears. 

You didn’t think you had anything left in you to cry. 

But apparently there you weren’t dried out yet, and she held you through all of it. Murmuring soft words into your ear, coaxing you to calm down as you struggled to piece yourself back together after you let it all fall apart. 

“I swear, I would never do anything that could put you at risk,” you added, anxiety still swirling around your thoughts as you shook your head. 

“Don’t worry,” Satoru purred, squeezing you as another shudder wracked through your body. “The right person will be imprisoned soon.” 

As terrible as it sounded, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care who had done it, or even why, as long as it meant you and Satoru would be safe. 

The rest was just noise. 

You could go back to being her maid. Waiting on her hand and foot if it meant you wouldn’t have to be away from her side again. 

And if the court tried to take her crown, or shipped her back to her own palace after the rightful king had been killed, well, you both could get through it together, couldn’t you? 

“I thought you left me,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as she tenderly hummed your name.

“I would never,” she swore, petting your head as she pulled you into her chest, your shoulders slumping at how tightly she held you.  

“Promise?” You hopefully asked, needing to know. Needing her to say she wasn’t going anywhere. 

Simply needing her. 

“I promise.” 

You believed her with just two words. 

Under her spell in a handful of moments, your heart pounding in your chest when she eventually pulled away, cupping your face and wiping away your tears like it hurt for her to see you crying. 

“Come with me,” she spoke slowly, her thumb skimming lightly over your cheekbone.

You would follow her anywhere. 

Across the kingdom. To another, or even over the sea to some small countryside village. Any place was fine. 

As long as she wanted you there. 

Skipping down the long stairs after her, your pulse thrumming in your eardrums as you waited to get stopped by some guard, for a knight to pop up and point a sword at you for absconding with their queen. 

No one else was around however, the halls barren and silent as her soft fingers interlaced through yours, tugging you ahead as she navigated through them with ease.

“Were you starving yourself for my attention?” She half-whispered, her voice hushed and husky as she threw you a look you didn’t understand. 

Was she disappointed in you? 

“I haven’t been hungry,” you mumbled, shaking your head. You never thought she’d come check on you. Or even be keeping tabs through whoever came to drop off the food for you. 

“That’s no excuse,” she softly scolded you. 

“I’m sorry,” you automatically apologized, hanging your head lower as she opened a door and ushered you into a room you’d never been in before. 

It looked like it was actually fit for a princess. 

Ornately designed and filled with expensive furniture you couldn’t fathom the cost of, your body freezing just two short steps inside as she shut the door behind you. Quickly making herself comfortable, slipping off her short heels and walking over to the massive bed against one wall, looking back at you with barely concealed excitement, searching your face to see if you shared

“You can stay here for now,” she whispered, winking at you as she ran her palm over the soft fabric of the blankets adorning the bed. “It’ll be our secret.” 

Your secret. 

The words echoed in your head, unable to shut your open mouth as you struggled to take your eyes off of her. 

“Much better than that dingy tower, hm?” Satoru goaded, pride glittering in her brilliant stare. 

“What is this?” You asked, looking around at the intricate tapestries hung on the walls, the plush carpets laid over the floor, the carvings into the wooden dressers and the canopy of the bed. 

“Your room,” she happily hummed. 

“My-” You couldn’t even say it out loud. 

It had to be a joke. 

“There’s a warm bath waiting for you,” she murmured, nodding towards an adjoining door you’d been too overwhelmed to notice before. “And some fresh fruit on a platter by the tub. Your favorites.” 

What were you meant to make of this? 

Her belated apology for locking you up for days? For leaving you behind to handle affairs far bigger than you? 

Something itched at the back of your conscience, telling you to second guess this gift. 

But how were you supposed to listen to your better judgement when everything left of your sensibility had been broken? 

“Please eat something,” she added, and all you could do was nod your head like a moron. 

“I will,” you dutifully answered. 

Who were you to disobey your queen? 

“Do you need help getting out of that?” She asked, glancing towards your dress, nose wrinkling at the dirt on it before she dusted herself off like perhaps you’d gotten her filthy too. 

“No, I can do it,” you insisted, slipping into the bathroom before you could somehow end up even more self-conscious. 

But your muscles were already aching for relief, a throbbing pain beginning in your shoulder when you lifted your dress up and over your head. 

One that was thankfully soothed by the still warm water in the tub, a welcome relief to the frigid water buckets you’d been sticking using the last few days. Flower petals floating on the surface, bath salts mixed in as you sank yourself in neck-deep. 

True to her word, there was a platter of food set up by the tub, and you forced yourself to take a few bites, nibbling on just enough to satisfy her request. 

Satoru was trying to take care of you. 

Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Offering your shoulder for her to cry or cling to after her husband died horrifically? Of course, you knew she didn’t like him. Or well, more accurately, she loathed him. But his passing put her in a precarious position, her own life most likely hanging in the balance when she had no heir to guarantee her safety or status here. 

You didn’t know what she was going to do. 

Which also meant you had no idea what you were going to do. 

A piece of you wished you were born a man. That you’d been given the chance or opportunity to learn swordsmanship, or got to train with the knights. That you would be able to protect Satoru, shield her from these petty and cruel court politics instead of getting caught in the crossfire. 

Washing yourself of the last few days did not help quell your feelings of inadequacy, or solve a single one of your problems, no matter how soothing it was to soak and scrub yourself clean properly this time. 

You didn’t linger in the tub. 

No matter how much you might have liked to, a far greater part of you longed to be around Satoru. Craving her company after you’d been deprived of her presence for so long. You wanted to curl up in her lap like you used to, back when you were children and she’d be the one to comfort you over every skinned knee and scraped elbow. 

Stepping out of the tub with a heavy sigh, squinting when you discovered something wasn’t quite right. 

“Toru?” You called out, glancing around the small room searching for something that was evidently forgotten. “There’s no towel.” 

Or change of clothes. 

Nothing but your discarded dress from before to cover up, although you weren’t exactly inclined to pick it back up. 

You thought she’d just open the door and toss something to put on. 

Not just swing the door open and saunter in a second later, not even blinking as her eyes swept over your bare form. Lingering on the swell of your breasts and the way the water droplets were still rolling down between them. 

“The maid must have forgotten,” she hummed, dragging her stare off of you to do a courtesy sweep of the room. “Give me a moment.” 

You were overthinking it. 

Nodding obediently as you glanced down at your legs, shuffling on your feet as heat rose to your cheeks, thankful for the soft thud of the door shutting. She returned a couple minutes later, a towel in one arm and a white gown that looked an awful lot like a short version of her own in the other, passing both to you with that practiced smile of hers she usually saved for when she was up to something. 

“There you go,” Satoru chirped. “I’ll wait for you.” 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen you naked before. 

But this felt decidedly different.  

And you didn’t know what to do about the strange fluttering in your stomach at the idea of her watching you dress, at the way her eyes had drifted so dangerously slowly over the shape of you. 

Was this a dream? 

Were you still asleep? Still stuck in that tower? 

Wishing for something you had never once been able to admit to yourself that you wanted? 

You took an extra few minutes to dry off, adjusting the way the dress hung over you five times too many before you paused to brush your teeth in the mirror, avoiding your reflection as you spit in the sink, watching the tinged pink drool disappear with a soft exhale. 

Satoru was pristine. Pure. 

And what were you? 

You opened the door, fiddling with the hem of the dress she’d given you as you nearly ran straight into where she was waiting right outside of it. 

“I was getting worried,” she lightly joked, and you were brushing past her, a painful surge of panic bubbling back up. 

“Why are you doing this for me?” You asked, hyper aware of how undeserving you were as you padded barefoot back into the overwhelmingly lovely room. “It’s too much, I-” 

“You should know by now that nothing is too much for me when it comes to you,” Satoru chided with a soft chuckle. Refusing to let you step away from her, grabbing your wrist before you could slip away. 

She was so close. 

That familiar scent of her lulling you back in, daring you to breathe her in again. 

And god, you wanted to. 

Satoru said your name, and before you knew what you were doing, you were leaning up on your tip toes and pressing your lips to hers, impulsively planting a kiss to her strawberry-flavored mouth. 

You knew within half a second that you shouldn’t have done it, but you couldn’t stop yourself, deepening it as your fingertips tenderly grazed her impossibly perfect skin. It took every ounce of self restraint for you to pull away from her, shaking your head as you tried not to cry at the thought you would never get to do that again. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, immediately wishing you could take it back, sure that she would throw you back in the tower for the crime of presuming you could possibly deserve anything as sweet as her lips. “I shouldn’t have-” 

But before you could so much as finish your sentence, Satoru was cupping your face and pulling you back in, her nose nestling against yours as her blue eyes sparkled with something you’d never seen in them before. 

“Do it again.” 

ε✿з

You were kissing her. 

For a moment, Satoru was sure she had died and this was heaven. 

How often had she scrawled into diaries her deepest dreams of getting to experience the taste of you on her tongue? 

Your gentle hands on her face and your heaving chest pressed against hers, lips slipping between her own with desperate affection. 

You. Desperate. For her. 

Her brain only conjuring her small words and short sentences, too overwhelmed by the sensation of your soft mouth to think straight. 

God, you tasted so good. 

Fruity and sweet at the same time, your delicate fingers sifting through her hair as you let out the quietest squeak Satoru immediately wanted to hear over and over, sure she’d never get sick of the sound. 

And behind the lovestruck haze, a jealous voice scoffed that she should’ve killed Suguru far sooner for getting to taste you like this first. 

Slipped the poison in his cup the moment he set his sights on you and made his intent to steal you clear. 

Of course, cleaning it up would’ve been much messier, but red hot jealousy coiled and cut through all her cold logic when she thought of his massive mitts manhandling you instead of treating you like the rare flower you really were. 

Satoru was the one who spent her life watering you, taking care to tend to the soil and fertilize it, making sure you’d bloom so beautifully for her, and he tried to rip your roots out like you wouldn’t just wither away without her. 

“Satoru,” you whispered her name, sucking in a sharp breath as you pulled back, eyes shining with surprise. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you,” she swallowed hard, spit pooling in the back of her mouth. 

From the day you looked up at her like some wounded lamb, you had been hers. 

Perhaps it had just taken a little separation for you to see that too. 

“You were waiting for me?” You repeated, that dazed, dreamy look in your eyes as you looked up at her, as if you thought she was going to change her mind. 

“My heart has always been yours,” she proclaimed, although the confession she used to imagine came out far more shaky than it had in her head. Not nearly as cool or collected or calm as she pictured when your cheek was so warm beneath her palm. 

Praying that you wouldn’t change your mind now that she had no way to take back the words. 

“But I’m-” You were about to put yourself down. To diminish the light inside you that she loved so much. 

“You’re mine.” 

And no one else’s now. 

Before you could protest, claim something silly about the difference in your status, she was pulling you back onto the bed, your form landing on top of hers as the feathered mattress cushioned the fall. You tried to wiggle back, but Satoru simply gripped your waist, refusing to let you budge as she pushed her bottom lip out in a pout you immediately softened for. 

“Say it for me,” she requested. 

“I have always belonged to you,” you acquiesced, and Satoru wanted to bury herself inside of your heart to make sure there really was no space for anyone else inside of it. 

That it was wholly hers the way you already occupied every nook and crevice of her body and brain. 

She was craning her neck up to kiss you again, your mouth meeting hers a little slower, more hesitation creeping in as your body began to melt against her. A possessive hand sliding up your spine, already annoyed at the fabric separating your skin from hers. 

Needing to feel you properly, for your soft flesh to dimple beneath her fingers, to leave lovebites scattered across every inch of you that you offered. 

“It killed me to see you with him,” she muttered, chest seizing at how vulnerable the confession came out. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, shaking your head before she abruptly flipped you over, pinning you beneath her and pushing your dress up to expose-

Oh fuck. 

Was every part of you so pretty? 

Your pussy glistening as she nudged your thighs further apart, her pulse pounding in her ears as she finally got to see all of you up close. Presented perfectly for her, your nose scrunched up like you might be scared she could possibly find something wrong with you instead of being awestruck by the simple sight of you splayed out for her. 

She might not have a cock, but Satoru was sure she could make you cum hard enough to forget about any petty insecurities that might be plaguing you. 

“Take your gown off,” Satoru instructed, only realizing how stern it came out when you faltered, hesitating as you bit your bottom lip. “Please.” 

Before she had to break down and beg for you to strip. 

Satoru sat up and started lifting off her own dress as well, watching the way your eyes hung onto the heave of her breasts, how they kept shyly flickering back up to her face as your fingers slowly moved to remove the fabric. 

You weren’t girls anymore. 

Not kids playing husband and wife, or king and queen. 

Exploring each other for keeps, hands tepidly traveling across hips and thighs and breasts at first, although it didn’t take much time for the touches to turn needy. 

Hungry for something you’d both been starving yourselves of for years. 

Could you really blame Satoru for not being able to stop herself? 

For hooking one of those soft thighs of yours over her shoulder and dragging her tongue along the inside of it before the last little tendril of self-control she possessed snapped? 

She had to have you. 

Slipping two fingers inside you slowly, feeling the way you squeezed around her digits, your mouth forming a delicious little ‘o’ she wanted to kiss again. Already shaking before she even began to swirl her fingers around inside of you, barely able to contain the heat rolling through her core just watching your reactions as she pushed in deeper. 

You whimpered, and every single thing that led up to this in Satoru’s life was suddenly worth it. 

The mocking, the marriage, every mistake she made on this meandering path, she’d do all of it again if you were waiting for her at the end of it. 

Your lips swollen and kiss-bruised as you let out soft sounds of pleasure that were because of her. Your naked form shivering in the same bed as you reached down to run your fingers through her hair, holding it back as she found herself half-delirious with lust she couldn’t hold back. 

Slotting in a third finger the second she thought you could take it, watching your eyes widen and start to water as they rolled back, your hips bucking up to drive her fingers as deep as possible. 

“My princess can take more,” she purred, spreading you further apart, greedy eyes gazing on your stripped bare body, the thin sheen of sweat sticking to your skin as you moaned her name. 

“S-S’toru,” you cried out, and she was a little tempted to just do this for hours and count how many times she could make you say it precisely like that. 

Satoru must have imagined this moment a million times. What your face would look like all scrunched up, how you would shiver and shake as she swirled her fingers in, feeling for all those sensitive spots that had you immediately trying to squirm and wiggle away. 

Pushing and pressing into them while she pleaded for you to stay put in her sultriest voice. 

“Be a good girl for me,” she hummed, and you nodded, loyal as ever. Itching to please her as badly as she wanted to please you. “Let me love you.” 

Let her hold you. 

Fuck you. 

Make you cum as many times as you could in a single night and then give her the rest of them. All your nights. All your days. Everything. 

Satoru had always been greedy. 

And you satiated her sweet tooth more than anything else ever did. 

Sinking her teeth into the inside of your thighs just because she could, feeling your muscles twitch and spasm as you gasped, caught off guard. 

You didn’t stop her. 

No, you let her bite and lick and kiss, her mouth latching onto your swollen clit, swirling the tip of her tongue over it as you let out a raw noise. As if someone had just ripped it from your stomach, pulled it out of you too fast for you to soften it. 

Her fingers continued to thrust in while she nipped at your clit, just for your body to confirm what she suspected by clenching around her hand like you wanted to trap it in there. You were cumming for her already. 

She’d seen you do it with Suguru. 

But this one was so much more visceral, no dramatic or drawn-out moan, just your body melting into a puddle for her to mold as you fell apart for her. 

You were shuddering, limbs trembling, as you tried to pull her back by her hair. 

But you had never been good at telling her no. 

Even when she was driving you right to the brink of overstimulation, and then pushing you well past it, greedily sucking on that sensitive bud, pressing her tongue flat against it as she pumped her fingers in-and-out, finding a steady rhythm to ruin you too. 

Satoru had never had sex before. Her purity protected well into the marriage she was supposed to save it for. No experience of her own to truly compare this too. But she’d touched herself and pretended it was you enough times to have an idea of what would make you unravel just right. 

Operating on instinct, on need, peering up at you from her position between your thighs as pretty tears welled up in your eyes. Satoru wanted to soothe your ache, to kiss them away and drag her tongue over the streaks they left on your cheeks. 

Perhaps she should’ve planned a little better, found something bigger to stick in you, to make you moan and murmur for mercy with, watching you fall apart while she teased and toyed with your body now that you had finally given yourself fully to her. 

You were so beautiful like this. 

Being brought to the heights of pleasure, worshipped the way you should’ve been from the start, her tongue and fingers working together as she clumsily made out with you, only pulling off to drag the thick muscle over your slick folds for a better taste.

“I-I-” You hiccuped, your voice half an octave too high as your thighs clamped down around her head, your own thrown back as you wiggled your hips, chasing a second climax. “I c-can’t-” 

“You can,” Satoru hummed, rubbing her own thighs together to soothe the aching need between them. “Want you to cum for me again, princess.” 

You wouldn’t deny her. 

You never did. 

Desperately groaning as you gave in, sweat making both your bodies sticky as you tried to not to tug too hard at her hair, still holding back to not hurt her as you crumbled into a crying mess. Tears slipping out that she was quick to climb back on top of you and wipe away, kissing your lips to swallow your whines, enjoying the way you fit so nicely beneath her until you started to come back down. “You look so pretty like this,” she softly complimented, tracing her thumb over your lip, already missing your kiss the moment your mouths were apart. 

“Toru,” you whispered her name, and she was sure that she would never get sick of hearing it. Far fucking better than the way you used to say Suguru. 

“Mhm?” She hummed, chewing on the inside of her cheek as you stared straight through her. That fuzzy look in your eyes fading as understanding replaced the daze. 

Like you’d suddenly gained some clarity.

“It was you, was it?” You asked, and you didn’t need to say what when you were both well aware of what you were accusing her of. 

Were you really just now considering it? 

Was your judgement clouded from your unconditional love? So devoted that you were deluding yourself into ignoring the obvious? 

“No,” Satoru lied, still in the habit of hiding the truth if it meant sparing your feelings. Refusing to lose you after she just got you. “It wasn’t me.” 

ε✿з

You were flying far too close to the sun. 

You knew that somewhere deep inside of you as Satoru snuggled against your collarbone, her warmth wrapped around you as she burned you up. Her scorching touch seared into your skin as she refused to let even an inch separate the two of you. 

Sooner or later, your wings were going to fail you, and send you tumbling out of the sky back to the ground. 

Would she catch you when you crashed?

Or would you be left to stare up at her until she was just a beautiful bird flying high out of your reach? 

All you were doing was damning yourself by dreaming of a happy ending with her. 

You guessed you should just be grateful for what you had while you had it. 

That she hadn’t cut your tongue out for daring to slip it between her lips.

It hadn’t been the first time you had thought about it. 

But even entertaining the idea of her choosing you had always been so preposterous you pushed your budding feelings down deep, refusing to let them devour you no matter how often she occupied your dreams. 

Your life had been built around the pristine pedestal you placed her on.  

Your world revolved around her smile, her laugh, hearing your twinkling voice in your ear and feeling her soft fingers brushing over your skin. 

Everything you’d ever done had been for her. 

So why did it feel like you’d just gone from warming one ruler’s sheets to another? 

As if you were just in her bed for the comfort she brought, the security of her position. 

You hoped she wouldn’t think that. That she understood that if she asked you to run away with her today, you would accept without hesitation. 

Next to her now, her sleepy eyes fluttering open as she hummed your name, it just made you think of how stupid you were not to have been doing this all along. For not seeing this for what it was sooner. 

“You’ll be safe here,” Satoru murmured, snuggling against you as you rolled onto your side. Keeping herself glued to you, her lips lingering on your skin with a content sigh. 

“What happens next?” You murmured, watching the morning sun beginning to rise through the stained glass window, slowly chasing the dark away as your personal sunshine faltered for a moment. 

“They’re still investigating his passing,” she mumbled, refusing to say Suguru’s name. Or call it for what it must have been. An assassination someone wanted to make you the scapegoat for. “You haven’t been officially cleared yet.” 

And still, she’d showed up for you, hadn’t she? “But I will be?” You hopefully asked, your heart thrumming at the thought of this being ripped from you too. 

“Nothing will happen to you,” she swore. 

You had given her your heart. Your soul. Your body. 

Those were all you really had to offer. 

But handing her your trust? 

That was…tricky. 

Especially when she wouldn’t offer any more details about your detainment as the minutes melted into hours and the hours twisted into days that just kept passing. 

In the dark moments, a cold voice suggested that you should at least consider the chance she could have done it. Orchestrated it from the shadows. But she had told you she hadn’t. 

She would’ve confessed it if she had. 

Suguru had his fair share of enemies. Disgruntled rulers from other kingdoms, angry nobles and dukes who wanted more power than he allowed. 

It wasn’t like it was outrageous that one of them had grown sick of his antics and took matters into their own hands.  

So you tried to be content too, Satoru trading your tower for more comfortable quarters, her trusted knights stationed outside the room you caught glimpses at when she slipped in-and-out, leaving you to attend to her duties most days. 

She brought you meals, insisting on hand feeding you half the time, murmuring under her breath that you couldn’t be trusted to do it yourself before she had you for dessert. Hands spreading your thighs apart as she lapped and licked you up, refusing to pull off until you had cum on her tongue or come undone with her fingers, falling apart for her to mend back together. 

Still, it had started to feel like you were becoming more a part of her schedule than like her partner. 

Perhaps that was wishing too much though. 

Wanting more than you had any right to ask for. 

At the end of the day, you would still always be a maid in everyone’s eyes. 

Her pet. 

Her people wouldn’t exactly be pleased to know that their queen was more interested in women than securing another king or providing them an heir? 

Were you a price she was willing to pay for political control? Would there come a day where she would remarry another man? 

Was it already being arranged while you wasted weeks lounging around in her bed and longing for her to join you, smelling her scent on the pillow and aching for her return? 

The worst part was how Satoru was so hesitant to let you hold her, doing everything on her terms as she came up with excuse after excuse to keep your hands either bound behind your back or tethered in her hair instead of tracing over her soft skin. 

Did she think you were too dirty? 

That you would stain her supple flesh if you so much as squeezed her close? 

No matter how much it stung, you still shoved down your discomfort. Told yourself that you should be grateful for what she was giving you and ignore how much she withheld. 

You had to plead with her just to be allowed to visit her office during the days to keep yourself from going insane. A trusted knight always had to accompany you there, a shawl hiding your face as they carefully took you there when no one else would be around. She stocked extra books for you, a basket left next to one of the armchairs with embroidery supplies, sometimes making you write letters for her that she couldn’t care to do herself to foreign kingdoms and nobles to settle their unrest. 

And after a month, you began to settle. 

Setting aside old foolish hopes and accepting your new routine. 

Waiting for her to join you in her office, curling up in one of the other chairs as you tried to tell yourself that she’d come back soon. She had run off to attend some important meeting, patting your head and telling you that it was nothing when you tried to ask what it was about.  

So what if it made you feel a little pathetic for waiting around like a poor puppy dog abandoned by her owner? 

Satoru would return to you. 

And she made all of it worth it. 

Your body was beginning to fall asleep though, pins and needles pricking your limbs when you stood to shake it off, walking around in a circle and wondering if you were just destined to be on her leash before you decided to slump yourself in her chair instead. 

It smelled like her. 

Your body relaxing at the scent, already trained as your eyes skimmed over her cluttered desk space, papers strewn around from the hurry she left in before. 

Curiosity pricking at you as you found yourself slowly opening up drawers and peeking inside to see if there was anything interesting hiding from you. And slipped underneath thick ledgers and blank papers was a plain black leather-bound notebook you’d seen her writing in before. 

You pulled it out, a not-at-all small piece of you hoping that maybe it was a secret diary as you started flipping through it, that you’d find your own name scribbled down with hearts drawn next to it. 

It turned out your name was there. 

But it was the words that were with it that sent your stomach through the floor. 

The contents of it were cold. 

Sharp. Each word punctuated so deeply that the ink bled between the pages. 

The confirmation that she loved you was there. Just sandwiched between white hot anger that someone else had gotten to touch you first. To fuck you in the bed you belonged in with her. 

Queasiness slowly building in your core, something thick and slimy coiling around your heart as you skipped from the earlier entries to the more recent ones, knowing what was coming before you found the entry for the day Suguru died. 

And there in between the lines, the truth stared back at you. 

She had dinner with Suguru. 

Shared a meal together right before he went to join you that she never once mentioned to you. 

No.

This couldn’t be right. 

Satoru couldn’t have-

Or well, if she did, she wouldn’t have framed you for it. 

She loved you.

Swore that you were hers and that she’d never let anything awful happen to you again. The idea that she’d put you through hell just to have you all to herself was crippling. 

Maybe she didn’t outright admit that she’d done it, maybe you still didn’t know precisely how, but you knew it was her with a scary sort of certainty. 

Your body freezing as you read and reread the five short lines in front of you detailing her evening, forcing yourself to turn the page and read ahead, to see her absolutely unaffected as she offered just a single line about Suguru dying. Images of his face, that awful look in his eyes before he collapsed floating back up as you choked on the stomach-churning memory of him. 

An awful thought crept in that she left it here for you to find. That some part of her hoped you’d be nosey enough to snoop and come across it. 

For you to see all of her. 

Was it a test? 

Her attempt to see if your devotion to her was strong enough to stay despite what she’d done. 

You closed the book, shoving it back where you found it and standing up as the knowledge started to sink in, to seep through and cast a darker shade on your days together as you rushed to return to your chair. 

What if it had all been designed to keep you firmly in your place beneath her? Confined to her chambers and chained to her heart? 

Didn’t she already know she didn’t need to do any of it for you to stay? 

The door opened with a creak, and you were reopening the forgotten book you’d been reading before you found the forbidden one. 

“Hi, beautiful,” Satoru greeted as she walked over, bending over to press a soft kiss on your cheek before breezing past to her desk. 

“Hi, Toru,” you echoed, pretending to be absorbed in the book in your hands, hoping she wouldn’t notice you were holding it upside down. 

You closed it, placing it in your lap as you looked up at her with easy obedience, praying she wouldn’t pay any mind to the suspicion now lingering underneath it. 

“Was I gone long?” She earnestly asked as she slid into her seat, scooting it up close to her desk and leaning across it as her blue eyes focused solely on your face. 

“It felt like it,” you confessed, swallowing hard. 

“I must make it up to you tonight then,” your Toru teased, her perfectly cruel mouth curling up as she delivered a cute wink. 

She did make it up to you. 

But it didn’t make you forget what you found. 

What were you meant to do about it? 

Pretend you hadn’t? Pray that no one else would ever discover what you had? 

You wished she would abandon this. Abdicate the throne and take you away somewhere warm. 

But it was Satoru. 

Hadn’t you learned already she refused to give up anything once it was hers? 

The privilege, the power, the promise of a gold gilded future with you waiting on her. 

She would never let it go. 

It was you that didn’t know how to move forward. That could figure out where to go from here when she didn’t seem to notice your indiscretion. 

You spent two days torn over it. Treading softly with her, feigning that you were fine overnight until she left you again and you unraveled in her absence. 

Opening the bedroom door an hour after she left, already knowing who’d you find on the other side. A brute of a man standing guard, his back to the opposite wall as his ruby red eyes narrowed at you with pure annoyance. 

“No.”

You hadn’t even spoken yet. 

Eying him with the same irritation he showed for you, nose scrunching up as you stopped yourself from huffing. 

Most of the guards she had stationed outside your room changed, unaware of who they were even protecting, a rotating roster of men ready to keep you from breaking free. But not him. 

He was always the one posted directly by your door.

Dark pink hair falling down in his face, scarred and marked skin always creased in a stern scowl when he caught you staring at him, one foot about to fall forward before he shook his head.

“Stop,” he grunted as you peeked out of the door, and you feigned innocence, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I just want to go to her office,” you pleaded, and he glared at you, refusing to even entertain your request.

“No,” he deadpanned. 

But there was something underneath his rude facade that you didn’t like. Your brows pinching together as you tried to pout at him, to come up with something persuasive enough to change his answer. 

Before you could, there was the click of heels, and you glanced back to see Satoru returning, a platter prepared with desserts. Her pretty face was pinched up with obvious displeasure though, her mouth twitching down as you hurried to step back inside your room. 

She was slamming the door shut after you a few seconds later, half-shoving the tray into your hands as she turned to you with a disgruntled hiss. 

“Why were you speaking to him?” Satoru snapped, and the only thing you could properly think about was how pretty she looked when she was jealous. 

The downturn of her lips, the way her blue eyes glinted with unfettered annoyance, blowing air out of her nose as she tilted her head to the side all dramatically. 

“I wanted to see you,” you murmured, cupping her face just for her jaw to clench. 

Torn between taking you at your word and questioning it. 

“You know I would be here with you all the time if I could,” she softly said, despite how cold her stare still was. Her hands still held warmth for you though. Delicately picking up a slice of a cake she must’ve requested the chef make, bringing it up to your lips. 

You opened up for her. Holding her stare as she pushed it through, taking a small bite as she watched you swallow it. 

“I worry about you,” you confessed as she wiped the icing from the corner of your mouth. 

“Don’t.” 

You never thought Satoru could possibly ask too much of you. 

But that was simply impossible. 

And the longer you went without any answers, the more you found yourself starting to spiral. To unravel as you waited and waited for something to change. 

What could you do? 

It wasn’t like the court you’d never found any friends in would support what the two of you shared. Satoru had kept you completely clueless to what was happening outside of the two rooms you could be in, ignorant to how much trouble she might be in with no husband to wear the crown. 

Truthfully, you had no plan. 

No magical solution that struck you in the middle of the night. 

But you wanted to help. 

Peeking back out into the hallway a week after you first found her book, ready to prod and press her knight for more information on what you’d been missing, but to your surprise, the hallway was empty. 

No sign of anyone as you slipped out, your heart thrumming loudly in your chest as you started down the familiar path to her office. 

It was a short walk, but every step made your chest constrict, pulse pounding so loud you were sure someone had to hear until you were finally there, her office door cracked open just enough for you to steal a glimpse inside. 

The knight was there, his brows knitted together tight as he looked through all the books lining the shelves, walking over to her desk and carefully looking through the documents on it with that permanent scowl of his. 

Searching for something.

Oh no. 

You had a feeling you knew exactly what he was hoping to find. 

He was going to betray her, wasn’t he? Looking for proof of what she’d done 

His hand reached for the drawer her notebook was in, and you were pushing the door open before he could discover it. 

Your suspicions were confirmed with how straight he abruptly stood, acting as if he hadn’t just been snooping. 

“What are you doing out of your room?” He snarled at you, his voice hoarse and harsh as you refused to tremble or back down. 

“What are you doing in here?” You returned the question, throat constricting at the intensity of his glare.

You weren’t brave. Not nearly as strong or stubborn as Satoru.  

It wasn’t like anyone would ever be intimidated by you. 

But you would try for her.

He didn’t answer your question, just grinding his back molars as he stepped out from around the desk, starting to stomp over as if he planned to drag you out and toss you back into your room. 

If he did that though, he might just come back and find precisely what he was looking for. 

So while he started towards you, you walked the opposite way around to where he’d been, a lie slipping off your tongue like you were used to telling them, “I just wanted to grab some books I left in here.” 

“Hurry up then,” he scoffed, biting his tongue, probably not pushing it so you wouldn’t go and tattle to Toru about him being in here. 

He thought you were stupid. 

Just a brainless fool who was only good for getting fingered and fucked. 

Not batting an eye when you grabbed a couple books you’d set aside on Satoru’s desk before pulling open the drawer and grabbing her diary, sliding it in the middle of the pile as her knight impatiently looked outside the door. 

She would notice it was gone. 

And you would have to fess up, admit that you’d read it enough to know to take it. 

You’d rather her be mad at you than to get caught for her crime. 

Stoking the flames in the fireplace the second your guard half-pushed you back into the room you were supposed to be in, ripping out the incriminating pages first and using them for tender before tossing the rest of the book in. Watching it go up in flames, ashes sputtering out as it turned to dust in front of your eyes while you paced the floor and planned out the speech you would give her. 

Or would have given her had she actually returned for dinner.

The sun setting and the moon replacing it through your window as you waited and waited for her to come for you. Debating and drowning in your anxieties over what could be taking her so long, your eyes compelled back to the burning papers, using the fire poker to keep the flames going before you were finally forced to face the reality that Satoru might not be showing up tonight. 

Climbing back under the freezing covers, the bed so much bigger without her there to curl up against. 

It didn’t matter how silky the sheets were or how comfortable the mattress was. 

You couldn’t sleep anymore when there wasn’t the scent of her perfume and the softness of her skin to comfort you.

Was she upset with you?

Had something awful happened to her? 

To make everything worse, you started to hear a…commotion on the floor below you. Voices and the sound of things moving around, shouts and scuffles that only served to heighten your nerves. 

You almost opened the door to go find out what was going on. Sneak out again to search for the truth, but every time your hand settled on the knob, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn it. 

Ignorance could be bliss. 

But the truth would come out sooner or later. 

Curled up on the edge of your bed, hands clasped together as your eyes stuck to the door, shadows dancing across the floor as the sun rose once again. 

When it opened again, you were immediately standing, wiping sweaty palms on your nightdress as your breath got stuck in your throat, a hot lump forming the moment Satoru actually walked through. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” she softly greeted, exhaustion obvious in the dark circles betraying her beautiful face. 

“What happened?” You asked, studying her features for some clue, heart slamming into your chest as you tried to figure out what the chaos beneath you could possibly be. What could’ve taken her so long to come to you. 

“They discovered who killed our dearly departed king,” she said, a faint hint of amusement shimmering before she turned away to lock the door behind her. 

“What?” Your throat closed up, the word coming out as a stunned squeak as your brain tried to add together everything you knew. 

The person who killed Suguru was standing in front of you. 

If they knew that, she would be on her way to the gallows. 

Not turning around so you could undo her corset. 

You automatically stepped forward, fingers trembling as you undid her dress out of habit. 

“One of the knights slipped poison into his wine,” Satoru apathetically huffed, as if it was a waste of time to even talk about it. 

“One of the knights?” You echoed, reaching for something you didn’t know if you were confident enough to confront her about right as you unlaced the final part. Satoru stepped out of it with ease, her perfect body on display as she twisted back around to look over her shoulder at you. “Which one?” 

“Does it matter?” She scoffed, arching up an eyebrow, clearly unhappy with your question. 

But you still had one more left. 

“Why?” 

Her hesitation to answer gave you a different one. 

“You know as well as I do what he was like,” she said, a little too snappy as she squinted at you. 

But the moment the words were out there, you could see she regretted her response, her fingers skimming over your waist and squeezing you tenderly. “It’s all over now.” 

You stared at her. 

Satoru was lying to you. 

You didn’t know why it surprised you. Couldn’t explain why it left you so shocked, staring at her in silence as you struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t give away what you knew. 

“The knight was executed over night,” she added, your heart stilling as you realized the toll had risen to two. 

But could you be upset when the other option was one, or maybe both of you taking their place? 

“How did-” 

“He stole something of mine,” Satoru muttered, and you knew what must’ve happened without her offering anything else. 

She must have returned to her office first and realized her journal was gone.

And there were only two people she trusted enough to have access to the office it was kept in. 

So she pinned the blame on her knight and beheaded him before he could speak about any of its contents or piece together what she’d done for you. 

“He didn’t,” you breathed, your lungs shrinking as you struggled to get any more air in. 

One of you had to be honest here.

She blinked at you, not comprehending what you were saying. 

“What?” “It was me,” you admitted, stiffly shrugging your shoulders. “I saw him searching your office. And, I, um, took it and threw it in the hearth.” 

“You burned my-?” 

“I read it,” you swallowed hard, that hard lump still there, still choking you up as you avoided her stare. “Before. I know-” 

“No,” she cut you off, grabbing your chin and forcing you to tilt your face up to meet hers. “You, you were supposed to stay out of this.” 

You knew in an instant all she wanted was to protect you. To shield you from the nasty politics and petty games these awful people liked to play. 

But you couldn’t stand the idea of her doing anything at the expense of herself. 

“You should have told me from the start,” you insisted. “I-I would’ve-” 

“Your hands were supposed to be clean.” And your head empty. 

Did she think you wouldn’t have loved her if you knew what she had done? 

And now you had helped her conceal it. 

“We could have-” You started, about to tell her that as long as you were together, you could work out the rest. 

“If I told you before, you would have said there was another way,” Satoru solemnly said, her eyes narrowing as her fingers tightened around your wrist. 

You couldn’t really argue that. You would have said precisely that. Told her it was too risky. Tried to dissuade her from taking drastic measures and attempting to convince her to run away with you. 

You used to wish that the two of them would find a way to work it out. That you could find a happily ever after where everyone would get along. 

What would your reaction have been if she touched your face and told you that she was going to murder her husband? 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” She pressed when you took too long to reply, her fingers pinching your chin to draw your attention back to right now. “I was not about to let you carry his child.” 

It wasn’t like you could have hers. 

Even if you’d do that in a heartbeat.

“He would have just kept putting babies in you and pushing me away from you” Satoru hissed, jealousy and anger rolling into her raw voice. “I couldn’t-” 

“I know,” you interrupted her this time, softening as you leaned into her.

“Now it’s just us again,” she whispered conspiratorially, pressing a clipped-short nail against the tip of your nose. 

How were you supposed to be mad about that? 

You held your breath though, still searching for anything that could stand in the way.

“These people, they are not going to just let you rule forever,” you whispered, thinking about what could befall both of you if her treason was ever discovered. Sure, she’d found someone to blame, but there must be other loose ends. Whoever she obtained the poison from. The subjects who never supported her as queen to start with. “If they find out or-” 

Satoru pressed her finger against your mouth, stopping you while you spiralled. 

“Princess,” she murmured, clicking her tongue as her initial emotions swirled into that cocky confidence of hers. Pride returning as she realized that you weren’t going to condemn or curse her, but that you were concerned for her. “Don’t you know me?” 

You hoped that meant she had already considered every side of your fear and took care of every conceivable problem. 

“I love you,” you offered instead, your voice trembling as you put your trust in her hands. 

“His throne is mine,” she smiled softly. And his concubine. 

“What if someone else challenges it?” You pressed. 

“There’s going to be a baby born with dark hair and purple eyes in a few months. His child. The mother doesn’t want the child, so I made a deal. She gets her own estate. We will get our heir,” She explained, speaking in short sentences like it would make the revelation easier to swallow. 

“Someone else was pregnant with his child?” You breathed, taken aback. 

When the fuck did he have the time to plow someone else’s field when he pretended to be so preoccupied with you? 

It was wrong, especially when it wasn’t like your heart had ever wanted him, but it wounded your own pride a little bit at the idea you hadn’t been enough for him.

You supposed you should’ve suspected it, if Satoru wasn’t enough for him either. 

“You weren’t his only-”

“Whore,” you finished for her, the word coming out a little strangled as you saw the situation for what it was. 

All you’d been was a warm body to Suguru. 

You were both disposable, to be used and discarded when his interests drifted. 

“We’ll tell everyone the baby is yours,” she added, as if she had already planned every last detail out. “And until the child is old enough, I can still rule as a regent.” 

Was that why she’d been hiding you away? 

Faking a pregnancy instead of keeping you prisoner? 

“Do you think they’ll accept a child they think is a bastard?” You asked, needing her to say yes. 

To assure you that your fears were unfounded. 

That she’d take care of you the same way she always had. 

“I will give them no other option.” 

When she spoke like that, that cold look icing over her eyes as she steeled her resolve, you knew she would. That she would do anything necessary to make sure of it.

“And what? We live happily ever after?” 

Say yes.

You needed it. Craved her confirmation. 

Looking up at her as your trembling fingers reached out to trace her waist, holding your breath as she nodded slowly. 

“Forever.” 

Your angel was standing in front of you promising you everything you ever wanted.

How were you ever meant to say no? 

Even if she would lead you straight to Hell. 

“You can be my queen,” Satoru murmured, giving you that pretty puppy dog pout you always fell for, placated as she leaned down to leave a soft kiss to your forehead like it was all settled.

Regret still lingering in your body as you ached to actually be that for her. Wishing your circumstances had been different from the beginning. 

That you were never cursed to be so far below her, and in the body of a woman that could never wear a matching ring or recite wedding vows to her. 

“I wish I was a-”  

“Do not,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You are perfect precisely the way you are.” 

“Then why don’t you let me love you like you love me?” You asked, almost immediately annoyed at yourself for sounding a little whiney. 

But you wanted to be inside of her. 

To feel her squeeze and squirm around you, to hear her dissolve into messy whimpers and whines because of you. 

“W-what do you mean?” She stuttered, her white brows arching up high as her lips got stuck in the sort of ‘o’ that made you itch to slip your tongue inside of her. 

“I want to make you feel good,” you simply said, cheeks heating up as you swallowed the spit pooling in your mouth. 

You had never seen Satoru nervous before. 

Her mouth opened and clamped shut a few times before she started trying to ramble off reasons that she was better at giving, but you were sick of them. Sick of all the stupid things that had kept you apart. 

All the years you could’ve spent in her warmth that you missed out on. Mourning what both of your lives could’ve been if you were born as other people. 

But she had sworn you were enough for her. 

Was it wrong to want to show her how she was far more than enough for you? 

“I-I just like the way you taste and-” 

You kissed her mid-sentence, shutting her up before she could stall this any longer. 

Grabbing her this time, guiding her back to the bed one step at a time, tangling your fingers in her soft, silky hair as your tongue slipped past her lips, tracing the sharp tips of her canines until her back hit the mattress. 

And god, the moment you climbed on top of her, straddling her soft waist and pausing to peel your nightdress over your head, you hated yourself for not doing it sooner. 

For missing out on the view you were currently taking in, eyes slowly drifting over the swell of her breasts, the pink peaked buds of her nipples as she sucked in uneven breaths, staring up at you with those dazzling blue eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, the words ripped from you as you struggled to keep yourself steady. 

It felt like you were defiling something holy. 

Her sacred body below you, your fingertips skimming over her pale stomach, swirling slowly across her nipple as you bit your bottom lip. 

If she was an altar, a god, you’d pray to her every day. 

Swear your faith and undying devotion, shower her with offerings and pray for just a sliver of her favor. 

You couldn't believe she was yours. 

“I’m a virgin,” Satoru suddenly blurted out, your fingers freezing as you drifted them back down below her belly button. 

“Oh,” you blinked. 

You suppose it should’ve been obvious. 

But you had never really thought too hard about it. 

You never exactly prized your virtue. But hers was different. 

Special. 

“Do you want me to stop?” You tentatively asked, about to climb back off of her before her hand gripped onto your hip to hold you there. 

“No,” she answered a little too quickly. 

So you came up with another solution to, ah, quell her nerves. 

The ribbons you used to tie her hair with now strewn all over the bed, a long one in your hands as you adjusted her head forward. 

“I’ll be gentle,” you promised. 

Even though she practically jumped at every tiny touch you delivered to her skin, shivering at just a brush of your thumb over her nipple and when you leaned close enough for your breath to ghost across her throat. 

You wrapped the ribbon around her eyes, excitement tingling between your fingers as you fixed the silk ribbon into its proper place, tying a pretty bow around the back, careful not to get her hair caught in it. 

“Can you see?” You asked, humming softly with satisfaction as you lifted her wrists up next, positioning them above her hair as she writhed in the sheets. 

“No,” she echoed, her voice shaking a little no matter how cocky she still tried to sound. 

“Good.” 

You tied her wrists next, watching the way she tested how strong the knot was by flexing them as you smiled to yourself. 

“You know, you’re so mean,” you murmured, tracing your fingertip across her sharp features, brushing your thumb over her defined cheekbones before drifting down to her soft lips. “It’s only fair I get to play with you too.” 

“I’m never mean to you,” Satoru huffed, and you were a little tempted to grab another ribbon and gag her with it for playing dumb. 

“I hate it when you hide things from me,” you muttered, shaking your head with a soft tut of your tongue. 

“I do it because-” 

“You love me?” You asked, slowly shuffling down her body, pressing kiss after kiss across her heaving breasts down her slender abdomen.

Hoisting one of her thighs over your shoulder, sucking in a breath before you leaned in to leave on the most sensitive spot on her body. 

“S-so much,” her cute voice cracked, nearly crumbling at the soft contact.

All her strength quickly melted into a puddle of pure need, her hips bucking up when you shifted down to start sucking on it, a gorgeous whimper escaping her – and immediately making you greedy for more. 

You never thought Satoru would be at your mercy. 

Her pretty pale body shivering, perfect skin glistening with sweat as she shuddered for you, her soft thighs trying to close around your head as you dragged your tongue down across her soaked cunt. 

You didn’t think anything could ever taste so goddamn good. 

No better than a man, wiggling your own hips down into the mattress to chase friction you couldn’t find, pushing your tongue in-and-out as her muscles twitched and tensed beneath your fingertips. 

Suguru had never gotten you half as wet as her. 

Never worked you up like this, left you soaked and squirming without even being touched. Your thighs pressing together to push down the heat stirring in your core, your pulse pounding so hard you nearly couldn’t hear her whining over it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I-I-” 

You knew Satoru loved to chatter. 

But once you were inside her it was like she physically couldn’t shut up, stammering and stuttering out curses, straining against the binds on her wrists and whining about not being able to see you. 

“P-please, wanna see you, want to, oh god,” she begged, the beautiful arch of her back nearly breaking your resolve as heat soared straight up to cloud your head. 

And before you could stop yourself, you were twisting around, angling your hips down to put your own pussy perfectly above her mouth, shutting her up by giving her something to lick and suck instead. 

“Oh, fuck, ngh-”

Her words traded in for another heated moan as she shoved her tongue inside you, swirling it in with a desperation you found yourself quick to succumb to. 

It really wasn’t fair that she was so good at everything you tried. 

But you still refused to completely lose yourself, working harder to make her cum first, slipping your thumb up to her clit, only pulling off to start cooing and condescendingly coaxing her into coming undone, copying the same methods she so expertly pulled on you. 

“C-come on,” you murmured, dragging your thumb in a slow circle as she shifted to suck on your clit just right, driving you right to the brink with her eagerness to give you everything she had. “Show me how much you love me.” 

Preferably by falling to pieces on your tongue. 

Sweat practically dripping off her, her moans reverberating through you as her body began to shake. On the very brink of breaking, pushed closer and closer as she started to cry out your name. 

Her soft voice was music to your ears, a soft purr that made all the knots in your stomach pull tight instead of making them curdle like Suguru’s sometimes had. 

You slipped your fingers inside her, feeling the way her walls squeezed down on them, trying to keep you in as you worked her oversensitive bud. She made a cute little squeak, her tongue lolling out as she began to babble again, “S’too much, I-I-” 

“Shhh,” you murmured, pressing your tongue down as she spasmed and whimpered desperately at the sensation. “Can’t you cum for me?” 

You glanced back over your shoulder to see the sight of her nodding hard and fast, the blindfold slightly crooked and her hands clawing at the pillow as she chased her climax. 

“Put that pretty tongue of yours to better use,” you softly suggested, ignoring the initial discomfort at your reversed roles as you grinded your hips down on her face. 

Apparently, your Toru could be a good listener too when she tried. 

Doing her best to devote her tongue to you right up until the moment she couldn’t hold herself together anymore, cumming with a cry into your clit as your fingers found a sweet spot right below her cervix, pressing on it as you teased her swollen bud with the tip of your own pink muscle.  

She was trembling, her legs twitching and toes curling as she let out devastated little whines that it wasn’t fair, squirming as you cleaned her up, enjoying the way she whimpered every single time your tongue dragged over her skin. 

You could spend eternity buried between her thighs. 

Or with hers between yours. 

So what if it might be too much to ask?

She would make the universe give it to you anyway. 

ε✿з

“My pretty princess.” 

And her not terribly ugly son. 

Satoru traced your face with her fingers, sighing to herself as the morning sun kissed your face, bathed you in beautiful warmth – oh, and the baby in your arms. Both of you snoozing softly, drool leaking out on your nightdress as you slept on your side, blissfully unaware of the outside world. 

You made a pretty mother. Loved the little bastard Satoru did her best to tolerate. 

Cradling an infant that neither of you had to carry, kissing his forehead and proudly showing him off to the other members of the court after he was born. 

He’d never know he wasn’t yours. No one would. 

Satoru would make sure of it. 

His mother had been more than happy to take the estate. Especially when she knew the alternative would be Satoru taking her tongue to ensure she’d never talk. 

She was still keeping tabs though. Just to be safe. 

To make sure that this happy little family of hers would stay that way. 

The nobles had protested. Insisted that she had no place as queen with Suguru dead. But his son, with his soft purple eyes and dark hair, well, that was enough to buy her eighteen more years. 

Of course, there were still whispers. 

Rumors swirled that she quickly snuffed out, either with quiet compensation or cold force. So what if a few more people had to be poisoned to protect your life together?

Rewriting history hadn’t been that hard. 

No one needed to remember how much she hated Suguru. Or how rocky the marriage had been. 

She got to be the mourning widow. The gracious wife still honoring her deceased husband by letting his bastard child be the heir. Raising him with a concubine instead of throwing both of them out. 

That was how she’d be remembered.

“Good morning,” you yawned, slowly cracking your eyes open as you smiled at her. 

“Sleep well?” She inquired, tempted to pick up the baby and place him back in his cradle so she could be cuddled instead. 

You still had nightmares sometimes. Ones where you’d thrash around and she’d have to scoop him up and call for a wet nurse to take him until morning. 

Waking you up to soothe you, stroking your hair and pretending not to know she was the reason for them. 

And yet, you looked at her like she hung the sun in the sky and shined bright enough to chase away all the shadows. To bury the skeletons somewhere you’d never see them. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, affectionately glancing between his chubby cheeks up to Satoru’s persistent pout as she puffed air into them. 

“Have any attention left for me?” She pleaded, craning her neck over them to dramatically wait for you to press a gentle kiss to her nose. 

“Always.” 

You loved Sukuna so much it hurt your heart at times, unable to properly show how much poured from your fingertips after touching his skin. Just a hug or a small kiss would have you flooded with love. All for him.

He was the same, you never knew any hardships when he was around, there to be a strong arm, a word that made you laugh, brightening your day. Never upset you, sure, he might be a bit rough around the edges, but you weren't perfect, either.

The purest kind of love and adoration, care.

Mutual obsession.

So when did it start going wrong?

Truthfully, you hadn't even noticed it. Nothing was amiss. Your mind about him is as spotless as your bow, your husband could do no wrong.

Nothing was wrong in your marriage, nothing had changed in your relationship.

But your surroundings were shifting.

Missing knives, but they were replaced with new, better ones a day or two after you began asking where they had gone. A safe tucked away in the closet, no clue what was inside.

"For our safety, sweetheart, you know how wild animals are."

Having to do more loads of laundry than usual. But Sukuna himself would do it, not letting you glance at his dirty clothes thrown into a pile in the middle of the hamper, reassuring you to leave it to him.

"Go rest, my flower. I'll handle it."

No questions about this odd tint of red around his fingernails that never went away.

Why was the shed locked shut?

The shed.

Just a regular tool shed, your husband kept his power tools and lawnmower there, nothing unusual for the house.

So why was it bolted shut day after day unless Sukuna strolled inside of it?

"Just working on some things in there, don't worry your pretty little head about it, alright, my doll?"

"You should be worrying more about watering the flowers instead of some junk in a rotting shed, my love."

Sweet words, easing your curious heart. He was a good man.

But you couldn't help yourself, could you?

Off at work, at least that's what your husband told you he was up to, not around to fill your ears with light whispers and reassurance of your growing paranoia.

It was starting to get cloudy outside, a storm rolling in from past the canopy of nearby trees. Your first sign not to step outside.

The second one was the lock on the wooden door.

You had the key, right?

Of course you did.

While searching for your slippers in the morning, you had peeked under the bed.

Taped on the underside of your husband's side was… something.

Now it was in your hands, your anxious, shaky hands.

Don't be nervous now, all you have to do is turn the lock.

Click.

You didn't reach for the handle yet, taking a shaky breath and shutting your eyes.

Sukuna wouldn't be mad, right?

No, no, he wouldn't.

The only way he spoke to you was through patience and gentle guidance. He'd just chuckle and show you what's inside himself, yes.

Manipulation and lies, sugarcoated to sound as tender as your flesh.

You didn't know, using that same feeling of safety to calm your nerves, peering at the door once again, your hand on the handle already, key in the lock.

Nothing to be uneasy about, it's just a shed with gardening tools and maybe some car parts. Stop feeling like you might get your neck snapped just by having a little look.

The door creaked open, louder than you would have liked. The treeline went silent after the uncomfortable noise. A third warning.

What you saw wasn't all that odd… the lawnmower in the corner, a grass trimmer, and a few shovels in a dark corner.

You stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.

The lamp in the middle of the shabby thing flicked awake after tugging on the string dangling down.

There was this faint smell of dread hiding behind the organization.

Your eyes flicked around, landing on the workbench at the far side. Your feet carrying you there before your brain.

A small jar of pulled teeth fell into your gaze.

Teeth?

The more you looked around, the items didn't seem so innocent anymore.

Thick rope and a few rusty saws tucked under the table.

Not rust.

Maybe the worst thing was a splotch of thick blood on the edge of a bucket filled with that same stench of impending doom.

It wasn't blood… just paint.

Your fingers reached out, you had to prove to yourself that it was nothing.

But the deep crimson stained your hand, the smell of iron hit your nose, and you couldn't keep the fantasy stable anymore.

Thunderclouds had hidden the sky completely outside, making the space darker than before.

The loud thuds of heavy raindrops hitting the tin roof of the shed rang through your ears, overwhelming your senses, hands trembling while looking at the glossy blood seeping into your nail beds.

You should not have left the door open.

"My flower, what are you doing in here?"

Sukuna had returned.

You snapped out of your trance, blinking and looking in his direction, hand reaching up to your head in search of the comfort of your lace bow, fiddling with it while watching your husband approach.

Rough hands cradled your face, gently checking if you had hurt yourself. Red irises did a horrible job of hiding his displeasure with you.

"You didn't harm yourself, did you? Oh my sweet girl… come here."

A hug, face smushed into the comfort of his chest. A steady heartbeat against your ear.

So he wasn't mad… good.

Your trembling hands clung to his back.

You couldn't see the way Sukuna's jaw clenched, nails itching to claw into your sides and squeeze you tight enough to have you pop.

"You shouldn't be in here. How about we go back inside and have dinner, hm?"

No questions about the key or your findings.

False safety.

Sukuna had taken you back in the house, sat you down, and helped heat up some food. It was silent while you ate, your fork barely able to cut through a soft vegetable, as the thought of the odd findings popped back into your mind.

"Sweetheart, why is your bow filthy? Messy girl."

Your fingers had stained a corner of it with the Incarnadine shade.

Scrubbing. Scratching, desperately washing both your hands and the lace, couldn't get rid of it.

You cried in his arms that night, gathered up in his chest, head lying against his.

Sukuna caressed your back, caressed your hair, and shushed you to sleep.

It was just a bow.

The truth was cracking from the seams everywhere you looked now. The house was lacking color, the dullness and real darkness creeping in from unlit corners. The ingredients in the pantry and the shelves in the fridge seemed to be rotten, tasteless.

Sukuna's face looked different, touching it made your skin tingle- as if it refused to connect with his.

Maybe it was because the romanticized image of him was losing its shape.

And maybe the fact that he refused to let you go outside.

No more garden work, too harsh for your puzzled mind.

The sun was too hot, even on a cloudy day.

You needed to relax, even after sleeping all day.

It was getting unbearable.

The front door was locked, the back door too. Sukuna was working in the study.

Trapped in your own safe haven, you needed to do something, so why not go down to the basement?

Your husband never said anything about the cold concrete box below the floorboards, knowing you were too scared to go there.

With nothing better to do, his logic was being proved false with every step you took down the squeaky stairs.

You found the light switch, getting a yellow, old hue illuminating the space.

Oh yeah, the freezers were down here.

Two, to be exact. Sukuna liked smoking meat and fish on sunny days, so you knew he used them to keep them frozen.

A little peek wouldn't do you any harm.

So what if your last gander took away your freedom to leave these walls? This was different.

As if.

The sound of the creaking steps had alerted him, no matter how slow you had gone.

Your tainted hands lifted the large hinged lid of the chest.

Just some plastic bags of red meat, parts of a pig, and venison. A large salmon head stared up at you from the side.

The eyes of the dead fish were gouged out.

The lid went back down, now wanting to see if the same contents were in the second one.

You should have stopped with the first one.

At first the same plastic bags stared up at you, what looked like minced meat and animal body parts.

Not that human hand though.

Sawed off from the bicep, a fleshy limb wrapped in the same plastic bag, but oozing crimson from the palm made eye contact with you.

The color drained from your face, doubling over and pulling the dismembered part out, your own arms shaking while looking at the frozen appendage.

Bile churned around in your stomach, a sour, watery taste taking over your mouth.

The stairs were still squeaky, making sound as heavy footsteps rushed down.

"Flower, what are you up to now?"

Once Sukuna's head went low enough from the upper floor, seeing the sight of you holding something you never were supposed to see.

Your hands dropped the bag immediately, clattering to the basement floor, a part of the bag opening, the smell of decayed flesh hit your nose once again.

"My angel, are you trying to get yourself in trouble again. It hurts me to keep you locked away, but if you keep fooling around, i might just keep you in one room and tend to you."

His voice was gruff, trying to sound smooth and caring, but it was clearly impossible to do so.

He tried to reach out to you, blunt nails touching your hair, easing you to step into his embrace. Just like any other time to have you calm down and trap you in his arms till he felt you'd deserve freedom.

His palm crushed your skull into his chest, Sukuna acting like he wanted to infuse you inside of his ribcage.

"Silly thing, must you keep poking your nose in my things?" He cooed into your hair, but you swore you could feel his canines trying to bite into the top of your head.

"We will go upstairs, watch a movie, and forget all about this-"

"No!"

You never spoke against him, so the sudden outburst had Sukuna's grip faltering, you shoved yourself off of him, looking more panicked than ever, not letting him worm his way into your logical thinking.

"Come back, you little…!"

You stumbled back, tripping over the same arm, trying to grab onto the freezer but it did nothing, crashing backwards with a thud.

Thankfully it only gave you a faint dizziness, scrambling up right after.

A tattooed arm wrapped around you, holding you tighter than before. He wouldn't let go now.

"You hit your head, my dear. It's bleeding. Maybe you shook your little brain back into place. I told you, we are forgetting about this and watching a fucking movie."

He dragged you back up the stair by your middle, not caring about you tripping over your own feet, not caring that you were looking at the melting limb on the ground and the image of pooling blood and peeling skin underneath a plastic sheen was the last thing engraved in your mind before the lights got switched off.

He sat you down, giving you a stern glare before disappearing into the bathroom to grab a first aid kit for your bleeding scalp.

The gash was above your bow, it still neatly wrapped into your hair, the thick red seeped into the middle of the ivory lace. Stained worse than before, just a few spots keeping the previous ivory color safe.

His fingers were gentle, parting your hair and cleaning the wound with stinging spirit. Your eyes blankly watched the subtitles flow as some old western movie played on the television.

You didn't dare look up, not wanting to see the cold glaze in his irises, knowing Sukuna wanted nothing but to take away your air and put you to sleep.

You weren't the one slumbering.

The only way you could end this nightmare was to snuff out the source.

It was past midnight, a large, full moon shining trough the tightly shut windows. Your bow hanging on by a few messy locks of hair, a bandaged wrapped around your skull with a red splotch on the back.

A knife, your favourite one to cut up fruit. The one with a pretty handle, engraved with both you and your sleeping husbands initials.

You stood over him, eyes almost bleary while watching Sukuna's peaceful expression. Like the day he asked for your hand, for the day he said he wanted to be yours. The day you bought a house together in the middle of nowhere.

If only you were strong enough, your breathing had turned shaky and bordering on gasping as your hand shook, unable to even process what you were about to do.

The last thing to give away your actions was a droplet, a salty and large teardrop rolling down your cheek and right on to Sukuna's lips.

His eyes shot open as if his senses were on high alert, an arm already reaching out to grab at you.

You didn't know what else to do besides listen to your mind- stumbling back and running as fast as you could.

Almost falling out of the bedroom after shoving the door open.

Sukuna didn't yell for you to get back. He was already chasing after you.

You couldn't hear a single thing, heart too loud in your ears- wanting to leap out of your mouth.

Glass shattered, sharp pain in your palms and legs while climbing trough the kitchen window.

Damp grass padding against your bare soles as you ran for the treeline, unable to breathe.

You don't know how far you ran.

Didn't know how long.

He caught up, he always did.

Why would such a silly girl like you think he had just let you go?

"My petal, where have you gone now? I can hear you."

It felt like he was right behind the tree you had hid, blunt nails digging into the handle of the knife you thankfully hadn't dropped.

You shut your eyes, holding your breath. But that was no use.

"My angel, come out."

Heavy footsteps approached, with no care stepping right past the thick bark of the tree.

A stab to the chest, your hands weak from fear but driven enough to push the blade right to his beating heart, ripping trough muscle.

Too shocked by your own action, the pain from the same type of sharpness slicing trough the side of your throat.

Maybe it was a bit romantic, the last time spent together, in each others arms, spluttering and struggling to breathe, buried in moss with a pale moon not even giving you the ability to see one another bleed out.

Sukuna had never kissed the top of your head as tenderly as right before his last breath.

"I love you."

Not like you could reply, blood filling your lungs and vocal chords sliced.

Already fading out together with the last beat of his heart.

The bow, the lacy thing no longer white, barely even recognizable by how much blood had been spilt.

Yoon's notes: hi guys sorry for the lame ass horror fic

masterlist

art: innaillus on ig

tags: from @yoonchokes

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©yoonsucks

all work belongs to @yoonsucks , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

Okay so, there's a dead body in your freezer, a vigilante at your door, and a very real possibility that your future involves forever-turned-on lights, communal toilets, and a prison guard with suspicious interests. School does not prepare you for situations like these.

You don't quite remember much of school, only that you passed enough classes to secure a nine-to-five and afford an apartment with electricity. Electricity keeps the freezer running. The freezer keeps the body cold. Until tonight, that has been enough to prevent situations like this.

The vigilante seems far more concerned about your well-being than whatever crimes might be waiting inside your apartment. He keeps trying to peer past you, tilting his pretty face toward the narrow gap you have left between the door and its rotting frame.

Your fingers blanch on the knob.

“Is anyone else home?” the vigilante asks. His tone is easy, almost careless, but his gaze keeps moving over your face. The way his eyes move makes you uneasy. Does he know? Is he going to take you to prison? Are you going to end up on death row?

“I was expecting somebody else.” He laughs softly, then adds on quickly, “Not that finding you instead is a bad thing. It’s just…” His eyes flick past your shoulder toward the apartment. “Could I come inside for a minute? I need to check something.”

The door is open exactly six inches. Any narrower is rude; any wider, he’ll see the kitchen. Then he might ask about the deep freezer.

You certainly don't care about a man dressed like a bum with a hero suit underneath: joggers, an unzipped jacket, and the dark blue bird stretched across his chest. He does seem familiar.

But everyone does when you lose your memory.

“It’s too late to let strangers in,” you say rather flatly. You wouldn’t want a bum like him in your apartment anyway. Dead body or not.

His brows pinch, disappointment sliding across that perfect face.

Wrong answer.

Adjust.

A practical thought clicks into place: if he sees the freezer, punishment follows. A pre-emptive correction would be simply killing him. But there is no physical room beside the meal prep. Shifting him to the fridge would evict five days of carefully portioned meals, and the power bill is already stripping your bank account. Spoiled food means no food. No food means starving.

You can’t afford to get stupid.

A gentle tap-tap on the doorframe pulls your eyes back up. He smiles, soft and warm, igniting an unwelcome heat in your cheeks. To your surprise, his cheeks are pink as well.

“I’ll just… call her,” he murmurs, fingers drifting toward his pocket.

“She’s on vacation,” you blurt, too loud and way too quick to be considered normal. Another wrong answer, if the brief, puzzled tilt of his brow means anything.

But then he smiles, thinner this time, as though he is masking a bruise of disappointment. Either he is already suspicious and plans to alert the authorities, or he will try again on some quieter night. For the moment, you survive the encounter.

Still, a problem remains: there’s no freezer space for a second corpse, not unless you ditch the meal prep.

You watch him retreat down the dim hallway, one hand lifted in a genial wave before he disappears into the rattling elevator cage at the far end. Only when the doors slide shut do you slam the deadbolt, shove the chain back in place, and glance at the freezer.

Preparations will have to begin tonight.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The week passes without sirens, arrests, or freezer re-arrangements. You almost believe the vigilante was a fever dream - until a new voice slides through the paper-thin wall.

The building has been hollow for two years; anyone with sense either fled or wrapped themselves in the same caretaker-cocoon that once shielded you. Six months ago that cocoon tore, and routine became sedative: clock-in, clock-out, corpse check, reheated meal prep. The caregiver’s old tablet still pings PAID each month, money shrinking in an account you can’t access. Don’t think about investigations. Investigations ask questions.

The scrape-and-thud of furniture next door means fresh eyes. You crouch on cracked linoleum, snapping dry ramen into crooked shapes beside the chained freezer, and listen to a mid-twenties male voice on speaker: boxes, deliveries, parking permits - ordinary words that grate because ordinary people notice smells and knock on management’s door when your apartment is too loud. You swallow brittle noodles and run tonight’s checklist: finish the last stir-fry, rewrap the feet - frostburn is creeping, drain the drip tray, and smile if the newcomer says hello.

Caregiver’s Rule #12: smiles disarm.

Across the wall, you hear a door close. His front door. Footsteps echo down the hall, unless it’s only your heartbeat. It’s difficult to tell. The sound seems to move through the floorboards instead of over them, each step pressing closer, until the apartment feels too small to hold you, the freezer, and all the terrible inside it.

Is he going to introduce himself now?

You click the lock shut on the freezer. The faint sound of safekeeping does nothing to stop the dread that fills you with every step outside your door. Then comes a light tap against the wood, just like before.

You slowly ease yourself up, trying to seem neither too willing to open the door nor too afraid of what waits behind it.

Afraid people invite questions.

You force a smile onto your face. Do you look normal? Does the body smell, and have you simply gotten used to it?

The math is getting ugly: one freezer, one body, two possible problems.

Play smart.

Unlocking the door proves to be more difficult than it was a week ago. Your hands shake as they slide the lock out of place, and you do your best attempt at a cheerful smile. “You must be the new neighbor,” you force out.

Unease settles low in your stomach as you glance up at him. Same height as the vigilante who came by last week. Less of a bum, however. He wears a cardigan over a white shirt, with nice-looking pants that seem dry-cleaned, which is odd for a resident in this slum of a building. Same blue eyes that pin you in place and the same familiar dimpled smile that reminds you of your nightmares from the other night.

It would be easier if they were the same person. Then you would only have one body to worry about, but the chances of them being the same are awfully slim, and you are not one to take chances. Especially when there’s a cell waiting for you.

“I am,” he says, voice coated in honey. “Thin walls, huh?”

He’s friendlier than the vigilante from last week, though that does nothing to comfort you. His voice is nothing but warm, neighborly, and harmless. Suspicion builds in your stomach. Or maybe you’re just hungry. However, you don’t quite enjoy the caged-animal feeling that licks up your spine when his arm comes to rest against the wall, blocking your view of the hallway and any possible exits.

Nice guys - those are the ones you worry about.

“Dick Grayson,” he offers, extending a hand you refuse. Too risky to exchange DNA when there’s a felony cooling five feet away. “Blüdhaven PD. Anything you need…”

Shit. Sirens begin to scream inside your skull. The freezer rattles awake behind you. Your sins are already mocking you.

You manage that it must be “nice” - wrong adjective.

His smile slices: “Nice isn’t the word.”

You scramble for “safe,” tack on “for you” as if that helps. Since cops get wrist-slaps for killing, your brain mutters - you choke the thought down.

He softens, coaxing: “It’s not always safe.” Bait. Your gaze returns to his hands - broad, sure, the sort that could pry a freezer lid or close over a throat. Your stomach tightens. He keeps the patter light, claims he didn’t want to be rude, asks if you’re always like this.

“Yes,” you say, which somehow amuses him. You don’t really get the social cue behind it all. Then the real kicker, delivered with a wink: “Have a good night - and don’t forget your medication.”

Your smile turns to ice. You never mentioned the pills.

You should really kill him.

First plan: poison - too slow. Second: ceramic vase - probably shatters. Third: push him down the stairs - lobby cameras.

Should’ve checked the cameras.

Sirens howl in your head; even the freezer seems to vibrate with them. He knows you’re unmedicated. Worse - he knows you’re alone.

This is still normal, you insist, bolting the door a second time now. The padlock’s click echoes louder than his footsteps retreating down the hall.

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You’ve been hiding ever since Dick Grayson moved in two weeks ago. Since then, he has learned your schedule like the back of his own hand. He knows when you leave, hears the tardy shuffle in your step, counts the key fumbles when you chase the bus. He even indulges himself by stopping at the same coffee shop every morning, just to say hello before you scamper off to your pitiful nine-to-five. On Fridays, you return late with plastic bags full of discount groceries, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of marked-down items.

You used to leave the apartment more. Not much, but enough. A trip to the mailbox before work. A stop at the corner store after. Sometimes you would linger outside the laundromat with your tote bag pressed to your side, watching people through the glass like you were trying to remember how normal worked. But now that he has moved in beside you, your schedule has changed, and so have the dark circles under your eyes. You avoid him more often than not. You keep your curtains drawn shut, the cheap fabric pulled tight even in the middle of the afternoon. You only access the mailbox when he leaves for work, even if the morning paper you are so insistent on grabbing is already a day behind.

A sigh escapes him as he lies on his bed, shoulder pressed against the shared wall, listening for any sound from your apartment.

Nothing.

That bothers him more than noise would. The breaker tripped a few hours ago. He heard the electricity die through the wall, that low mechanical hum in your apartment cutting out all at once, leaving behind a flat, ugly quiet. It would be easy to climb onto your patio, pick the lock, and flip the switch back on for you. An easier option would be to check whether the caregiver he hired took the money and left you all alone.

His jaw tightens. You shouldn’t be working in your condition.

He groans into the hands resting over his face, dragging his palms down until the heels press against his eyes. Then he turns, burying his face into your old pillow. It barely smells like you anymore, but he still keeps it tucked beneath his head every night like a comfort plush.

How long have you been alone? It has to be at least six months. Maybe seven. You were fine when he left for Gotham. Or fine enough. The accident had left you different, sure. More numb. A little damaged in a way even the best doctors could not fully smooth over. But you had been alive and mostly manageable.

It has been two years now since the accident. Two years since the ring box sat heavy on the car’s center console, black velvet catching the passing streetlights every time the vehicle moved beneath them. He had asked you too soon. He knows that. You knew that. The two of you had been fighting more. He had been getting rougher with you, quicker to grab, to corner, to tell himself it was only because you scared him when you talked about leaving. You had threatened to leave. He had started acting too much like Bruce, all paranoia.

He has always been too hasty. Asking for your hand in marriage was never the mistake. Just the timing of it. You had stared at him with tears in your eyes as you tried to set boundaries, your face losing color as he promised he would keep you safe. No matter how badly you misunderstood him. Your fingers had curled around the seat belt, pressed hard against the buckle.

He had thought you were overwhelmed. Even tried the calming techniques first, using a low voice that typically worked with your outbursts. His hand open. Breathe with me, princess. You’re okay. But you kept shaking your head and reaching for the door, so he had started reaching for the tranquilizer dart in the back seat, just to get you quiet until he could bring you home and keep you safe until the wedding.

You were probably just afraid of happiness. Maybe that’s why you did it.

You were quick to unlock the car door. Quicker than his hand as he lunged across the console. Even faster than the desperate grip of his fingers against your sleeve before you slipped through them and threw yourself out of the vehicle.

Did you have to jump?

The question is as familiar as the guilt that ate him alive when he saw you in the hospital, your head wrapped in white, tubes taped to your skin and down your throat, machines clicking and breathing around you. Severe brain damage, they said. A long recovery. But money fixed enough of it. Bruce’s money. The best doctors the area could offer, even some who flew in. Bruce’s hand clamped heavy on his shoulder as the old man told him, “Don’t let it get to you. There are plenty of fish out there.”

But you were the only one he wanted to catch.

Did you have to throw yourself out of a moving car to get away from him? Was life with him that hellish?

He hates that word. Hellish. It doesn’t belong in his memories with you. Not in the kitchen, where he cooked meals and set bowls in front of you even when you glared at him as if he had poisoned them. Sure, you threw one at his face once. Called him a pervert. A fake hero. But you were simply cranky some days. Overwhelmed. Easy to brush off, the same way you brushed away the blankets he laid over your shoulders when you pretended not to be cold.

It doesn’t belong with the little doodles and notes he left on the fridge either, even if some of them came back shredded into death notes. Or with the scissors he had to pry from your hands while you threatened to slit your throat if he didn’t let you leave.

Of course, there were nights when you slow-danced with him in the living room to old love songs, your cheek resting against his chest as you finally got tired of fighting. Or even the mornings when you woke soft and quiet, blinking up at him like you forgot why you were angry. The afternoons when you asked so prettily for fresh air after he had kept you locked in the bedroom for too long, voice hoarse, fingers curled into his shirt.

Sure, spanking worked when you got too difficult, but so did a good timeout from time to time. You always melted against him after being alone long enough.

You could be sweet when you wanted to be. That was love. It had to be love.

He had loved you enough to try to move on with Barbara back in Gotham. It worked for a couple of weeks. Better than sitting at your bedside, loving you through recovery while you could barely remember who he was, watching your confused, frightened eyes fill with fear when he leaned too close. The times when he needed to remind you with a hand pinching your air tube that he was still the person you were supposed to kiss back.

His hand curls against the bedsheet where you would have slept.

If the Joker had not been loose for six months, Dick would have come back to you sooner. He would have continued his weekly checkups while you were drugged and less observant. Your caregiver was always good at giving you more than you needed to help with the nightmares she claimed were about him.

They’re just dreams. He’s not your monster.

You slept deeply enough then that he could sit beside your bed, brush the hair from your face, adjust your blanket, and pretend the quiet between you was peace instead of punishment. You never flinched in your sleep.

He cut things off with Barbara when he came back here. Watched her cry as he held her, her face tucked against his shoulder, her fingers twisting in the back of his shirt. He felt bad. Of course he felt bad. But her tears didn’t make him want to choke sense into her. They didn’t make him want to kiss her until she stopped making that awful, broken sound.

Yours did, however.

You’re not the same as before. He expected that. Certainly much healthier than you were in the hospital, at least. Your social skills are lacking, but that is expected when a lamb first learns how to walk again. If anything, it works out for the best. You’re more relaxed around him now. You don’t keep the lock in place like you used to when the two of you were first seeing each other. You don’t insult him. You stopped crying. The list could go on and on about how oddly perfect things would be between you two.

Finally, he hears your footsteps down the hall. Should he greet you? No. That would be too eager. He shouldn’t frighten such a delicate creature after work.

Your front door unlocks. He listens to the stumble of your shoes against the floor, the rustle of a plastic bag, the small irritated sound you make when something bumps into the wall. After a handful of minutes, the breaker clicks back on. The apartment gives a faint electric shudder through the wall, and the hum returns. You must have noticed by now that it has been off for a couple of hours. It’s a heatwave, after all. You probably have too many appliances plugged in.

Maybe he could offer to cook for you tonight. Something simple. Pasta, maybe. Open that fresh bottle of wine he got from a buddy. He can show up at your door with a friendly neighbor smile, pretend he hasn’t spent the last few hours listening for proof you are still breathing. You might let him in if he plays his cards right. He can pour you a glass, make you laugh, kiss you before walking you back to your door like the old days.

Then he hears it.

Your door opens again.

Are you leaving?

Dick pushes himself upright, head tilting toward the wall. Your footsteps are quick this time. Frantic. You mutter under your breath, the same word over and over.

Ice.

You must be going to the convenience store. All your food must have spoiled, or at least enough of it to scare you. That refrigerator was never the greatest. It was never his idea to keep you here for two years. You were supposed to move in with him after one, but work got busy. Gotham got loud. People kept needing him, and you had been safe enough. Or he thought you were.

He’s already moving before he finishes the thought, tugging his work uniform back into place, smoothing a hand over his glossy dark hair in the mirror by the door. The uniform helps. A good excuse for running into you at the convenience store down the road.

A friendly neighbor coming home after a long night of police work.

Not a man following you into the night.

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If Dick had known you could make such a horrified expression and still look so painfully cute, he might have pulled a stunt like this sooner. The convenience store is nearly empty at this hour. Outside, the heatwave fogs the beer-ad glass; inside, you stand in front of the ice chest with both arms full, eight plastic bags stacked awkwardly against your chest, as if you’re trying to carry a body instead of save one. He taps your shoulder; you nearly drop everything.

“Throwing a party?” he teases, bright and harmless, as though meeting here were a coincidence either of you should believe. His gaze flicks from the bags to your face - eight is a lot of ice for someone with no friends in any file he’s pulled, no emergency contacts who call more than once, no coworkers who walk you home. You’re usually alone.

That has always made things easier.

Your eyes jump to his uniform, then his badge, before Dick lifts a hand in an open-palm wave.

“Easy,” he says. “Just me.” Your grip only tightens; water runs from a corner of one bag and slides down your wrist. You don’t seem to notice. You're so much stranger and more calculated - so unlike the version of you who once snapped at him for thrills and shoved him away after too many kisses. Different isn’t ruined; it’s just leverage.

Your reply is lost to the freezer hum and the cashier’s squeaking stool.

“What was that?” he prompts. You glance at the bored clerk, then back at him, and repeat too loudly: “It’s for coffee meal prep.” He nearly laughs. Eight bags for morning coffee? Adorable. He props a shoulder against the glass, frost blooming behind him. “You need eight for one cup?” A beat. “Tired of seeing me in the mornings?”

You look away, try to brush past. “It’s melting - I won’t have any to practice with if it melts.”

Practice? Before you can retreat, he lifts six bags off your pile. You jerk for them, a small startled sound, but he’s always been stronger. For an instant he sees the old fury in your eyes, enough to make his heart kick before he reins in the teasing.

“How about I help?” he offers gently.

You huff and push toward the register while meltwater stipples the floor. Dick follows, shifts the bags against his hip, and - before you can fish out your wallet - taps his card: beep. You freeze mid-reach.

“I had it,” you mutter.

“I know,” he smiles. “And now you still have it.”

Tension moves between you, louder than the compressor rattle; the cashier pretends not to listen.

Why eight bags? Maybe the breaker scare sent you spiraling, food spoiling after the caregiver vanished. No reason for you to budget groceries or lug ice through Blüdhaven at night when he’s right here. He’ll audit the caregiver’s spending, see where the money went.

The bell jingles as you step into wet heat. Sidewalk puddles shine under streetlights; a distant siren wails and fades. You walk too fast - shoes slapping pavement in a nervous tempo - bags swinging hard against your legs. Each time you edge toward the curb, Dick glides between you and traffic. “Careful,” he says. You flinch. “I’m careful.” Twice you reach for the ice he’s carrying; twice he shifts it easily away.

“They’ll melt faster if we stop to argue,” he reminds you. That quiets you, though your eyes keep darting: his hands, the street, the apartment looming ahead. Plastic crackles whenever your grip flexes, leaving a thin trail of meltwater. When you veer to the curb again, he blocks you.

“Walking on the outside,” he explains - seat-belt muscle memory, sleeve slipping from his grasp.

“That’s not necessary,” you protest.

“Humor me,” he smiles, and you swallow the argument.

The lobby smells of old mail and cherry-lemon cleaner that never makes the place look clean. But it does take the smell of mold out. Elevator’s Under Construction - crooked sign over the button - so you climb the stairs. Halfway up, you freeze, alarmed to find him behind you.

“Go on. I’m not in a rush.” He motions ahead.

You don’t like his eyes on your back; good to know. He takes the next flight first, listening to your uneven breathing and the ice shifting in your arms.

Hallway air is thicker than outside, trapped under flickering bulbs. Your door waits - paint chipped, peephole cloudy, chain probably dangling because you left in a hurry. His door is beside it, close enough to hear everything. You whirl, blocking your knob.

“I can take them now.” Your smile appears a beat late - the wrong mask worn the wrong way. Dick’s chest warms.

“Should I help you get these inside?” he asks, voice honey-soft. Helping is love; love lets him in.

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You have gotten yourself into a spectacular pickle.

Bargaining at the threshold proves useless: your arms are full of melting ice, his arms are full of melting ice, and technically all of it belongs to you. You assure him - politely, firmly, repeatedly - that he doesn’t need to come inside, the bags aren’t heavy, it’s late, he must be tired, you’d hate to be a bother. Normal words for normal people. Dick Grayson only smiles and hoists the bags higher as they start to sink again.

Nice people are harder to shake; your caregiver warned you about that. They treat no like an invitation to try harder. Eight bags were a mistake. Four would have meant coffee prep or a broken fridge - anything ordinary. Eight screams emergency. Eight screams hidden freezer. Eight screams a smell you’re praying belongs to yesterday’s trash.

Behind the door, the apartment waits. So does the smell.

Sweet, damp, wrong - probably already leaking from the freezer seams after hours without power in a heatwave. Please be trash, please be trash. Maybe it isn’t bad yet. Maybe the chain kept the lid sealed. Maybe the trash under the sink reeks worse. You have never hoped for trash before, but there’s a first time for everything when a corpse is thawing in your kitchen.

Open the door and risk the odor. Refuse and risk the neighbor’s suspicions. Stand here and the ice keeps melting, the body keeps warming, the officer eventually calls someone. The officer is someone.

Slower disaster is better than fast. Keys slip in your wet fingers; metal clinks too loudly. Laugh. Harmless people laugh. You laugh like a woman you’ve seen in movies over misplaced keys, not like a woman calculating whether she can drop a policeman before he draws his gun. Dick doesn’t laugh back - he only watches.

Finally the lock turns. You step in first; he follows, gently shuts the door - then locks it. Fine, be creepy. Warm, stale air greets you, carrying a faint, rotting sweetness. Trash. Just trash. You clutch the ice, march past the chained chest freezer, swear you won’t look - then look anyway. Chain still tight. Good. Bad.

“Should I put these in the freezer?” he asks, kindness itself. For one absurd beat, you almost answer yes, right beside the dead woman. Then you see where he’s staring: not at you, but at the chain around the lid.

“Do you have a key?”

Words jam in your throat. A lock for sleep-eating? A safety latch? All terrible.

Your gaze darts to the ceramic vase by the door- heavy, blue-flowered, dusty. It has held receipts, dead pens, a spare button. It could hold blood. You edge one bag against your hip, freeing a hand. His head is turned. His hands are full. You might have a second. Handle’s chipped - won’t slip. Good.

Aim for his perfect face. If he falls, the entry rug is dark, good for soaking. Ice buys time. Boxes in his apartment for the body parts. One problem at a time.

He starts to turn.

You grip the vase and swing with all your might.

Sorry, officer.

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Dick should have expected it. Your fire never truly burned away - no amount of medication or brain damage could smother that stubborn spark. Of course you fought him: manic smile at the door, polite excuses stacking. Of course you lunged for the vase. You were a frightened animal that didn’t know what was good for you.

He whistles low as he crouches by the chest freezer, one knee sinking into damp flooring, bobby pin clamped between his teeth. Picking the padlock feels crude but easier than ripping off the chain or searching for a key. The apartment smells off - wrong, even by your standards. Beside him, the ice bags sweat into widening puddles. He glances over.

You glare from the floor - cheek pressed to the fake tile, hair pasted to your face, both wrists cuffed to the radiator pipe because you refused to sit, to stop kicking, practically refused every warning he gave you. Pride props your hips at an uncomfortable angle; muffled sobs stutter as you try to swallow them. Stubborn thing. Makes him nostalgic for every time you mistook courage for good odds.

“You’re in trouble!” you shout, yanking the cuff. Metal rattles; skin scrapes raw, a thin red line blooming toward your palm. His smile fades. “Careful,” he murmurs.

You ignore him. “There’s a vigilante around here.”

Bobby pin pauses. He meets your eyes, smiles. “I know, baby. If only he were here.” Fury and panic twist your features - here you are. Not healed, but flickering under fear: sharp mouth, wounded pride, fight that proves you need someone stronger.

Click. Chain slithers to the wet floor like a dropped leash. You go still. Breath hitches in tiny bursts; his palm rests on the lid, not lifting yet, enjoying the desperate set of your face. Beg me not to.

“What’s in here?” he asks, voice low. Your lips tremble. Silence. “Baby, what did you do?” Thumb stroking the lip, he waits.

“A body.” The words leak out - tiny, broken.

He studies your face first: eyes wet, cheek glued to tile, wrist bleeding. Embarrassed, not remorseful - cornered, not guilty. Pulse steadies.

“A body,” he repeats, then lifts the lid. Cold sighs out, followed by sweetness gone sour. Plastic-wrapped limbs, frost-blurred features - the caregiver, tucked in with practical care. His gaze traces corpse, chain, puddled ice, then you: still glaring, still calculating whether biting helps. Optimistic.

“Well,” he breathes. Lid stays open; smell dulls. A cop should radio this in. Nightwing should. Instead he thinks: six months alone, one corpse, no help until now.

“You’re going to need someone, aren’t you, princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” Sharp even now.

He smiles with a fond look in his eyes. “I can make this disappear - body, payments, reports.” You stop struggling to listen. Good. “But you’ll do something for me.” He crouches close. Hard not to kiss your tears away.

“You’ll stop hiding. Take meds when I say. Eat real food.” His thumb grazes your torn wrist, voice softening, while his other hand trails down your spine. “And you’ll quit hurting yourself trying to escape the only man trying to help.”

A strangled sound escapes as his palm settles over your heat, giving you two soft, almost patronizing pats. His smile widens as you look over at him, cheeks warmed and dewy. His fingers find their way between your legs and glide along your slit, earning such pretty sounds from your lips. You probably haven't been touched for months. Years, even. So loyal, aren't you? Willing to do anything to cover up your little mistake, huh?

“If you’re lucky,” he whispers, “maybe I’ll marry a cruel thing like you.” He kisses the tear-damp cheek, tasting salt, watching your lips purse back. Pulling his hand away just to watch the frustration on your face. Maybe he'll save such things for marriage. Shouldn't get too hasty. Especially not after last time.

Odd, how neatly things work out - for everyone.