nira ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

Satoru watches as you strut across the yard with your sorority sisters, throwing water balloons at each other with reckless abandon. Shirt drenched and clinging to your frame, you laugh ever so freely when a fratboy scoops you up, tossing you over his shoulder as you scream playfully.

“Yeesh,” Shoko grumbles. “They pay thousands of dollars just to party.”

The carefully crafted pre-med path Shoko treads on hardly gives her enough time to smile at the very least. Even Satoru himself didn’t have the time to relax, let alone party. With his Astrophysics and Aerospace Engineering double major, his tutoring job to pay the bills, and duties around his clubs, he had no time to so much as breath. Only time he spared anything to but his studies was when he’d stare at you around campus—because he knew he could not do it too much in your shared calculus class.

You dread that class. Each time you walk in, you feel your lungs giving out. You loathed math. English was way better! Who in their right mind would rather solve strenuous formulas than read a romantic story? Hell, clearly your degree advisor believes that you should prefer the former over the latter.

Just get through this required course for your core classes, then never again. Never will you touch math again.

The teacher does nothing but ramble in his monotonous voice about functional continuity and optimization. All you knew was the Pythagorean Theorem. Beyond that, was there truly a need to extend algebra into trigonometric fundamental theories?

“Your quizzes from last week have been graded as well,” your professor drawls. “They are up on your portal. I highly suggest that if you performed poorly, you reassess your study method. You don’t want to retake this course.”

Your heart sinks as you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping through to your portal. Drowned altogether, your heart has no way of returning to the surface, not now that you’ve seen your failing quiz grade. You were fucked for the final.

It took much molding of your dignity to stand at the bulletin board in the campus library and sign up for extra tutoring. If any of the other rival sororities learned of this news—that a member of your sisterhood had to fall from grace and take to being tutored for her failing course grade, it would end in a humiliation ritual. Speaking of, you scribble your name down along with your contact information.

Satoru downs a handful of colorful m&m’s, crunching boisterously due to his headphones blocking out the noise in the library. The dark frames of his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and he can’t be bothered to push them back up while entrenched in the notes and models he reviews for Aerodynamics. He’s trying to bang out another lecture of notes before his next tutoring session student arrived. He supposed he needed a refresher for the calc exam anyway.

He doesn’t even hear the door to the private study room open or look at the time again since he knows his tutee is running late. In his peripheral, he sees a pair of shoes, then a pair of legs, then a snug shirt, and then your pretty face.

“Hey, Satori, right?”

Satoru fumbles to take his headphones off, they dangle around his neck as he awkwardly stammers, “S-Satoru.”

“Oh—sorry,” you say, lightly patting the notebook in your hand. “So…”

“Oh—right,” he clears his throat, but the unknown force clogging his esophagus feels it might choke him to death. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” you pull out the chair by him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

Satoru nods, lowering his gaze and trying not to be insurmountably offended, “I know who you are. We’re in the same calculus class.”

Your brain freezes, and a chilling heat overcomes you. Satoru catches the way you cringe. Sure, you may not have paid attention in class—that’s why you’re here—but come on, you seriously could not have been that delusional to never have noticed the white-haired boy that sat only two rows behind you.

“Oh—yeah!” you light up, startling him. “You sit behind me—with that girl with the tired eyes.”

This earns a slightly shocked laugh from the boy, “Yeah, that would be Shoko.”

You nod, looking him up and down, logging the arguable fact that seems ridiculous to even be subject for debate—that he was quite cute for a nerd.

Satoru does his best to not stare too hard, averting your gaze as he suggests, “How about we start with chapter 3? How’d you do on the quiz last week?”

You oblige wordlessly, tearing open your textbook and notes. With thinly veiled shame, you slide your graded quiz to him, teeth gritting and lips pursing. Satoru takes the paper, brows raising at the dreadful grade.

You blink boorishly, rolling your eyes at the reaction on his behalf, “I know it’s bad. Just tell me how to fix it.”

Satoru makes another effort of clearing his throat. He still could not believe his luck—of all the people doing terrible at Calc 102, you had been the one fated to be his mentee. He spent months admiring you from afar, memorizing the way your brows quirked, and the sound of your laughter. He had a hard time not eyeing your figure, all the dips and curves, all the impossibly sexy things that came along with you. He’s wondered about the type of guys of you must be into, and how he could never be one of them.

Satoru’s recalcitrant heart does not heed his mind. It continues to patter and tremble and stay entrenched in the back of his throat, throbbing like it may jump from his very lips.

The little scrunch between your brow kickstarts his degenerating brain, forcing him to focus once more. He tugs your textbook toward him, setting it between the two of you. “We’ll start off from the beginning of this lesson. That sound good?”

You have no other choice but to say yes. It’s clear to you and you assume to him as well that you would rather be lounging around with your friends, but if you wanted to graduate on time, passing this course was imperative. So, all you do is dumbly nod.

“Feel free to stop me to ask questions, I’m going to solve this question for you step-by-step,” he glances at you to ensure you understood and were ready. Then, he dives in. He explains the beginning of the problem, what methodologies and key factors to keep note of, and how to ultimately solve the question. “And there you go.”

You blink, baffled at how effortlessly he navigated through the problem—like it was second nature—a language he was fluent in. You knew this was the very first principle of the chapter, the simplest form of the methods that you are to use. But this in all its entirety was so much more complex than you could even admit to.

“Um…” you trail off, pointing at a section of his work. “I don’t understand how you end up with negative 79x here—I mean, why is that the value being applied to this,” you point at another fragment of the problem, “part of the equation. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well because—” he uses his pen, a darker hue of blue than his eyes, to circle a portion of the paper, ringing the problem area you mentioned. “—you get the derivative from this part, then apply that right…there. Then, it’ll result in the final solution.”

Your eyes flit over the trace of his penwork, piecing together the numbers and algebraic alphabets as he watches the way your face twists—trying oh so hard to make sense of it all. He can’t even reprimand himself for watching so closely because it’s adorable how your expression softens then sparks aflame again when you seemingly have put it all together.

“Oh,” you breath out. “I’m so dumb—that makes complete sense now.” 

Satoru’s bottom lip awkwardly tucks into his top, pressing in a line as a response all on its own. He didn’t appear entirely comfortable, that you could surmise.

“Let’s try another one, yeah?” he proposes, jotting down a question on your notebook before sliding it over to you. His frosty blue gaze is on your work, wincing ever so slightly when he sees you messing the question up. “You’re doing it wrong again, look,” his voice is gentle. His pretty hands, you realize, are quite big—and all you can look at now as he points on your paper. “Try distributing this to the right values before moving to the next step.”

You bite your lip, zeroing in on the problem again and taking his advice. When you eventually reach the final product, you look at him expectantly, waiting for his approval.

“Yeah,” he smiles proudly. “Good job.”

You return to smile sweetly at him, feeling something strange stir in your core from the sheer fact that this boy was so incredibly intelligent—and so kindly teaching you. You’d had your fair share of men—each frat boy you’ve spoken to has been even more diabolical than the last. But watching Satoru—hearing him praise you rather than hearing another man degrade you—it felt nice.

“You’re pretty smart, Satoru,” you say, leaning your cheek in your palm as you look at him with an expression he can’t decipher at all.

His face flushes in heat akin to magma ready to erupt. He knew he was smart; it was an irrefutable fact. He did his work above and beyond how it was asked to be done and he had always been far ahead of the curve his entire life. But hearing the words fall from your pretty lips paired with his name, no other compliment has ever meant anything to him. It only feels like the fact carried truth when it came from your mouth and your mouth only.

“Thanks,” his lips twitch into a hesitant smile.

“No, I mean it,” you softly tell him, eyes reverting to the textbook. “I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to pay attention in class.”

“It takes practice—math isn’t about understanding it in one go,” Satoru chimes in—hoping to ease your doubt. “So don’t worry if you feel like you have to practice a hundred problems before you understand a concept. Sometimes I have to do that too. Ends up taking me days before I finally understand.”

“Really?” you raise your head, ears perking.

“Oh yeah,” he lies, nodding his head to sound as convincing as one can be. “I have to restart and redo the same problem over and over again most the time. It takes me a while too.”

You smile, reassured by his words, “So you don’t always get it right away either?”

He hums, shaking his head. Your smile wavers, remembering you have more work yet to be done.

“You ready for another problem?” he raises his brows encouragingly.

You nod, a soft curl in your lips.

The next session unfortunately for Satoru isn’t in the library. In order to cram for that quiz coming up, the two of you have to find some other quiet place. And studying was certainly no task to be done in a sorority house. So, to his dismay, Satoru has no other choice but to offer up his dorm. Luckily, Suguru would be out.

However, redecorating would be the feat of a century. Surely, something he could not do with only twenty minutes before you arrive. Maybe you won’t think too poorly of the Star Wars and Star Trek memorabilia plastered on every spare inch of the room.

Satoru slams a palm on his forehead. Why did he text you to come over without thinking about how dorky his room would look?

There’s suddenly a knock on his door, well, it’s looks like it’s too late to do anything about his room now.

Satoru musters up every morsel of strength his body can congregate and turns the knob, pulling the door open. And there you stand, all perky and cute in your short, frilly skirt and baby blue top—his favorite shade of blue—that put your chest on clear display. He’s left staring at you, gawking boyishly at your pouted lips and scrunched brows, clearly not registering the fact you are waiting for him to invite you in or say something at the very least.

“Hey,” your glossy lips purse in mild confusion. “We going to study out here in the hall or…?”

Satoru suddenly remembers that he is a real-life person and not sitting behind a screen looking at a picture of you. He jolts, “Ah—sorry! Come in.”

He moves aside and you step into the room with full dominion, not easing inside as you gawk at the décor. Meanwhile, Satoru is shutting and locking the door, making haste because of that creepy freshman down the hall that had been gaping at you, turning his head to catch more of a glimpse before Satoru could close that damn door.

Then—he wants to curl into a ball and die when he sees you stepping through the room, staring at the canvased walls. All the Luke and Anakin Skywalker, Princess Leia, Darth Vader, Obi-Wan (etc.) funkopops line shelves along with Spock, Captain Kirk, Bones special edition collectible figures that have not even been torn from their boxes. The giant Lego Death Star he and Suguru spent an entire week building is on top of his dresser and a tapestry hangs on the wall by his bed that truly puts the rest of this space-infested room to shame. One with Darth Maul’s face plastered on it, eating a chocolate chip cookie dunked in milk that reads Come to the Dark Side. We have Cookies.

Holy Fuck.

Saying you are overstimulated is an understatement. You have never been a room like this ever. Any boy’s room you have stepped into was far different. Characterless. Hardly any charm or personality. But here, Satoru had spared all his passion. Where there wasn’t anything related to his fictional universe fixation, there he would have books and other placards of Astronomy, Cosmos-related infographics. Formulas and formulas—chemical equations and chemical equations. Any scientific concept there was to know, there was some sort of print on it in this room.

“So, you like space a lot, huh?” you finally say, face blank and eyes wide as you continue spanning the room.

Satoru scratches the back of his neck self-consciously, “Yeah. Sorry. It’s a little much I know.”

“No, I think it’s cute,” you casually tell him, continuing to inspect the room far too closely. “It is pretty dorky though.”

Satoru stills, staring at you like you were an angel fluttering about his room. Nanami and Haiba would not believe him if he told them the hottest girl on campus was standing in his room right now—Wait a fucking minute.

“Cute?” he skittishly follows your gaze. “I haven’t heard anyone ever think that a Star Trek and Star Wars obsession was cute.”

That’s when you blink twice at him, mouth turning down, “Wait, what’s the difference? I thought this all was the same show.”

Satoru feels as though he’s been slapped across the face. Same? Show? God, maybe you were clueless.

“Have you never watched Star Wars or Trek?” he sounds awfully cocky when he speaks—a tone you had heard from him for the very first time. “Did you actually think they were the same thing?”

You chuckle, shrugging carelessly, “Well, I mean, stars, planets, wars, spaceships. Isn’t it practically the same thing?”

This stirs a strange fire in Satoru, he begins to run his hands through his hair, “It’s only the two largest and most successful space adventure franchises—not the same thing. Star Trek is driven by the scientific desire of exploration and adventure. While Star Wars is one of the greatest political space fantasies. I—I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Seeing Satoru get so worked up over something so silly was making a smile spread across your face that you could not contain.

“I know that,” you point at Darth Maul’s tapestry on the wall, “is one of the bad guys in Star Wars. And that—” you point at Princess Leia’s funkopop “—is the girl that got kidnapped by that ugly blob guy. And I know that because I wore her costume for Halloween last year.”

Satoru’s eyes widen to the point that they may leap from his very sockets. “You went as Princess Leia for Halloween? When she’s Jabba the Hutt’s prisoner?”

“Mhm,” you nod, plopping down on his bed. “The guys loved it. It was a ten-out-of-ten purchase. Thank you, Star Wars.”

Now all Satoru can do is picture you in that costume—how could he have missed that? You in a golden brass bralette and barely-there red skirt—He hardly can dwell much on that because now he’s focused on the fact you are in his bed.

“What’s the matter, Satoru?” you ask amiably, sliding a finger up your bare thigh. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I—no,” he stammers. “I’m fine. Let’s just—get started.”

You smirk, watching him stride over to sit at his desk. Fuck, he really is gorgeous. He’s even cuter when he’s so riled up.

“Don’t any of your girlfriends find it adorable how much you love this stuff?” you ask, laying on his bed and propping your head up with your elbow.

“No,” he says. “I never really bring anyone in here.”

Your sly smirk grows, “So I’m your first. I took your room virginity.”

Satoru’s ears go crimson red. He can’t even face you. He simply tries to relieve that scratching at his throat. “Don’t say it like that.”

You chuckle, batting your lashes at him, “Whatever you say, sir.”

His gaze shoots back to you as you slip off his bed, skirt hiking up as you do so. His breath catches in his throat at the sight, you in your sparse clothing, sliding off his bed and sauntering towards him at his desk. All just to study the ins and outs of calculus.

The sessions take place twice a week. You meet Satoru in the library, going over the lessons and lecture. That quiz comes to pass and after two weeks of being his pupil, you approach the white-haired boy in your Calculus class.

“Uh oh, here comes Polly Pocket,” Shoko mumbles to Satoru before you reach them.

“Hey, Satoru,” you smile at the boy.

“Hey,” Satoru’s heart thunders in his ears, mind afloat just by the fact he’s near you again.

Shoko’s eyes widen—appearing like she was struck across the face—which clearly would not be as shocking as you approaching Satoru or even knowing his name—

“Hey, Shojo,” you say to her, turning back to Satoru you politely ask, “You mind if I sit with you?”

“Oh—absolutely, here,” he moves his bag over to make more room for you, earning a grateful grin from you when you sink into the seat beside him.

You excitedly turn to him, “Guess what?”

He registers your elation, grinning at the very site, “What?”

You pull your portal out and show him the dazzling 97 percent quiz grade you received. Hardly able to contain your joy, you’re tapping your feet on the ground, watching his eyes twinkle as he eyes the score.

“Nice!” Satoru perks up in his seat, holding his hand up for you to high-five.

You laugh elatedly, high fiving him. Satoru doesn’t know how to react—because you just touched him. Sure, it was a millisecond celebratory slap on the palm of his hand, but he still feels his knees wobble at the very slight contact. But then, you do the most outlandish thing.

You peck a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Satoru,” you smile, sliding back into your seat like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Shoko’s jaw is on the floor, struggling to pick it back up. And Satoru…well he is a hot mess. His entirely body is tingling, every nerve in his wretched body is splitting open or short circuiting and his heart is hammering, a choir chanting across every expanse of his body. And when he feels his pants begin to tighten, he sinks lower into the seat, feeling absolutely embarrassed by how much he’s thinking about this little gesture. Just by his bodily reaction alone, he’s beating himself up. Now he knows this is the most virgin thing to happen to him. That’s not counting how he reacted to you saying you took his virginity while in his room the other night.

“Of course, anytime,” he clears his throat.

You turn to look at him, wiping your smirk and replacing it with an innocent smile that has layers of deviousness etched within. “My sorority’s throwing a party tonight at our house. If the two of you aren’t doing anything, you should come tonight—Oh! And you can bring your friend, Subaru.”

Shoko and Satoru sit in a stunned silence. Both at the fact you just invited them to a party—they’d never been invited to any party ever—and at the fact you just called Suguru by the complete wrong name.

“Yes,” Shoko blurts. “We’d love to.”

Satoru casts a baffled look at his usually cool and collected friend—clearly acting totally and completely uncool.

“Uh—yeah, count us in,” Satoru hesitantly says, looking at you.

To this, your smile widens all the way to your ears.

This was your usual weekend scene. Red plastic cups littered about and in the hand of each sweat-slicked, debauched college kid. Bass thundering in every last corner of the house. And hardly any space to so much as breathe.

You missed the last few parties, but alas, you find your way back to it one way or another. Not that you particularly felt as though you were missing much. Studying with Satoru was not half bad.

Speaking of, you roam the party, making several laps around the house to partake in the festivities—and see if your shy blue-eyed tutor decided to unwind too. So far, no sign of him. You frown to yourself. Why did you care if he came anyway? There are dozens of hot guys here that need tending to.

“Hey, what’s got you distracted, gorgeous?” a voice rumbles by your ear.

You look over your shoulder, a little caught off guard by the man. You are left face to face with Ryomen Sukuna, infamous man-whore frat boy. You’ve had a couple tangles with his friends, but nothing beyond a couple kisses between the two of you.

“Hey, Ryo,” you chuckle lightheartedly, bringing your drink to your lips. “Just people-watching.”

He leers at you, full of intent, “What do I have to do to get that attention of yours?”

You could smell the alcohol off his breath. And you are well aware of his little score to settle with his fraternity brothers: Sleep with every girl in your sorority. It just so happens that he decided it was your time, as morbid as that may sound. Why is chivalry and class dead amongst men?

“My attention must be earned. It takes a very special type of person to be able to achieve that,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” he grins greedily. “You and I have been friends a long time, is that not enough?”

You are about to answer, not particularly certain what it is you will say. However, a white-haired head bustling about the living room catches your eye. Satoru is quick to adjust his glasses that had been cast askew while navigating through the cluster of partygoers. His two friends are with him, mumbling something to one another.

Your eyes already lit, spread that same very light to the rest of your face. You straighten your posture, prepared to call them over when Sukuna says, “Who invited the band freaks?”

You roll your eyes, sparing him no response when you leave your pathetic excuse of a conversation with Sukuna to wave to the trio.

“Hey!” you call with a grin.

The sound of your lovely voice captures Satoru’s attention immediately. He looks lost, completely out of place. He feels it too. But it’s nice to see at least one familiar face. It doesn’t hurt that it happens to be so beautiful.

You rush over to the three of them, “Hey, Shoko. Hey, Suguru. Glad you guys made it.”

Shoko raises her brows, wondering if you hit your head or something for you said her name correctly. Could be the first time. Satoru lets out a shaky breath, eyes spanning the packed home.

“Happy to be here,” Suguru smiles kindly. He sees his best friend then turns his gaze to you, eyeing you like you are a fierce flame, with a warmth that already scorches his skin. “Shoko, let’s go get a drink from the kitchen.”

Satoru looks at Suguru, telepathically thanking him for leaving the two of you be. And so you face him—he does notice the way you glance at Sukuna however. It makes him want to cower away all the more.

“So,” you chime cheerily, “What do you think?”

“There’s… a lot of people. Pretty loud,” he swallows, peering around as he replies. He then looks down to you again, a slight twitch in his nervous smile. He tries to be respectful with where his eyes linger, trailing down your body adorned with such little yet shimmery clothing. No wonder there were so many eyes on you.

You chuckle lightly, “How about we go someplace quieter then?”

He doesn’t know what that gleam in your eye means, or that parted-lipped smile. But he obliges nonetheless, “Uh—sure.”

Your smile never falters as you take his hand, guiding him through the labyrinth of horny college kids and towards the stairs. There’s a little less foot traffic on the second story, only the kids that managed to find a room to fool around in or those waiting in line for the restroom.

But the two of you waltz past the bumbling students, reaching the end of the hall before you pull a key from where you tucked it in your bra. Then, you open a door. Satoru is half alarmed, half dazed as he glances between your door and the rest of the hall. But when you tug him in, who is he to question it?

Pictures of you and your friends hang on the wall. Of you in a cheerleader uniform in high school. Banners of your sorority dangle from the ceiling, your makeup littered across your vanity, bedazzled frames and cups, couple sparkly shirts spilling from your closet. And a sweatshirt of the most infamous fraternity on campus dangles off the back of your desk chair. And your name in glittery letters rests atop a shelf with vibrant flowers.

He is in your room. He is in your fucking room.

A click of the door lock mechanism kicking in place draws his attention and he spins around to face it. You have a mischievous expression that he confuses with playful innocence as you step away from the doorway.

His brows raise as you circle around him and take a seat on your bed. You pat the empty space on your side invitingly, “Well, don’t be shy. Come, sit.”

Satoru gulps nervously, listening to your command and taking a seat beside you. He can smell your fresh shampoo, the scent of your sweet buttery lotion, and notes floral perfume. Your scent is consuming him. He can hardly stand it. You’ve bewitched all his senses. Sight, smell, hearing—all he’s missing now is taste and feeling. It’s what he’s left craving.

“Well, I suppose I should start off by saying thank you again, Satoru,” you begin, leaning your weight on one arm and playing with your hair with your free hand. “You’ve done so much to help me. I don’t know what I’m going to do to repay you.”

Satoru feels like a lost puppy—unsure of what to even react with, “Oh, no need to thank me. I’m happy to help.”

“No, seriously, you dug me out of a deep hole,” you urge, practically invading his personal space with how close you lean in. You set your manicured hand on his thigh. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“A-anytime,” he shakily smiles, feeling his blood rush to and from ever crevice of his body.

You eye him, sighing out hopelessly. “You’re so smart, Satoru. Way too smart for me.”

“Thank you, but that’s not true,” he does his best to politely assure you. You can see how his skin is perspiring in cold sweat just by the compliment. “You’re a good student. It helps when you have a pupil that catches on quick.”

You chuckle, “You know, you are too smart for me. But sometimes I think you’re not smart at all.”

This causes Satoru to freeze. Not smart? He could easily make a game out of the periodic table and spell each element backwards in alphabetical order or sort according to proton power. That is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard—not smart.

“Why do you think that?” he asks, feeling bold.

You begin to trace your fingers up and down his thigh, causing him to shiver almost uncontrollably. Only then does your smile drop.

“There are certain things you can teach me, Toru, and certain things I can teach you,” you say, leaning closer to him, so much so that the heat of your body is melting him.

“L-like what?” he tries not to tremble.

You feign a dumb smile, shrugging as you look him up and down. Then you shake your head, “Nothing.”

Satoru furrows his brows, seeing the sudden shift in your playful demeanor. While all impish and teasing only a second prior, you now retract your hand from him while your head hangs low dejectedly.

He’s a nice boy. Not like Sukuna or any of the other fuckboys here.

“W-what’s the matter?” Satoru adjusts himself, lowering his head to enter your eyeline.

Even his voice is soft and gentle. It fills you with guilt and…makes your heart beat all the more.

“No, it’s nothing,” you shake your head again. You lift your gaze, looking at the scrunch between his brows and the puzzled look behind his frames in those piercing blue eyes. It makes your insides melt. “That guy,” you begin, knowing you were probably on the verge of rambling, “that Sukuna guy.”

Gojo blinks, a little disheartened, “Oh. You like him?”

“No!” you say quickly, sucking in a deep breath. “I just—I don’t know. I know what he’s after when he talks to me.”

“What’s that?” he asks, eyes wide like a child’s.

“Sex, Satoru,” you scoff lightheartedly at his innocence.

His eyes grow impossible wider. And he mouths an inaudible Oh.

“I mean—it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but with these party boys—there’s no…” you search for the correct word, slightly flailing your hands as if you were hoping it would appear out of thin air. “—Pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” Satoru frowns. “What do you mean?” he tilts his head, lip pouting as if he is trying to understand a concept of aerodynamical engineering. He gets comfortable on the bed, facing you a little more as he looks to be solving one of your long-winded calculus problems. “Like he can’t…make you finish?”

You feel embarrassment all of a sudden—your face grows hot and you see that he doesn’t seem like a shy nerdy kid at all right now, but a curious mind that wishes to figure out and understand a complex formula.

“Yeah,” you slowly bow your head. “It’s not enjoyable in general. They’re just after chasing their own high. Hardly remember they have to make me feel good too.”

“But—that’s supposed to be the best part,” Satoru squints, puzzling something together in his mind.

You stop mid-thought. “I know—guys are just—selfish. I don’t know.”

Satoru watches you very intently. The way he always has. “Not every guy. You just haven’t let the right guy give you want you want.”

You chuckle, “What? Like you?”

“Why not?” Satoru raises his brows, “I could make you feel amazing. Whatever you’d want me to do, I’d do it.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, looking him over. He is much bigger than you had thought before the first time you talked to him. Tall with a broad frame, long slender limbs alarmingly attractive. “Right. You’re cute.”

He narrows his eyes, a little offended that you believed his offer to please you was analogous to a silly joke. He scoffs.

“Hey,” you grab his hand, still laughing. “I’m sorry—you’re just such a sweet guy and—”

He is not listening to this. Besides, you had a habit of saying stupid things and rambling on and on about nonsense. He never minded. But this one instance was like nails on a chalkboard. He didn’t have to listen to this. Why should he?

So he leans in, cutting you off with a harsh kiss.

You gasp—eyes wide and pupils dancing alarmingly. He’s kissing you. Holy fuck he’s kissing you. It’s firm and confused and reckless and depraved and pining. Lovesick in every pathetic little aspect. He pulls back—shocked at his own profligate actions. He does not want to apologize, why the hell should he? He likes you, so he kissed you. The probability of being in this exact moment ever again were slim to none according to his analytical estimation. That aside, he’s preparing for you to tell him you never wanted to see him again.

Except you don’t. You stare, blinking like you’ve been met with a life altering revelation. Holier than anything you have ever considered. You are staring back at that doe-eyed look in his sparkling blue irises. Like a beautiful winter storm, warring with the earth and sea.

What the fuck? You think to yourself. He must be crazy.

Whatever it is you may be thinking seems so irrelevant compared to what your desires are thrashing and screaming at you to do. You give in without so much as another thought, and roughly take his face in your hands and press your searing lips against his.

He lets out a surprised yelp as you do so, a startled whimper against your lips, “Hmph.”

You swallow it down, body tingling just from the pathetic sexy sound spilling into your mouth. He tastes sweet. Like he spent his entire day on rock candy. And you—you taste heavenly. He can’t even believe his luck right now. He’s not kissed many girls, but this is by far the best kiss of his life.

Your hands remain on his face and you deepen the kiss, turning your head to the side to slip your needy tongue into his mouth. He’s not sure how to react anymore—his body’s gone stiff as a board, too fearful of fucking it up.

When you pull back, he’s out of breath just like you. You search his eyes, looking at his parted mouth and state, “Satoru.”

“Y-yeah?” he asks, staring quite keenly.

“You are a very bad kisser,” you tell him.

He stills, cheeks flushing as he childishly retorts, “I don’t kiss many people. I don’t know how to do it.”

You giggle softly, cradling his face as you bite your lip, “Let me teach you.”

He nods brokenly, hardly believing his luck right now. Maybe there really was something you could tutor him in.

You begin to lean in, moving your body to shift towards him. He’s left baffled and lost, watching like a lost pet as you push him down by his shoulder and climb on top of him. Straddling him, you push your hair back, gazing down. His heart is hammering against his chest, trembling at the sight of you on top on him. You bend down, nose grazing the tip of his.

“It’s nice when you take your time with it, and really focus on the intimacy factor,” you softly mumble, lips brushing his. “Tilt your head to the right—”

He tilts toward his right.

“My right,” you clarify. He heeds your command. “Good. Now, take my face in your hands, be gentle at first, then firm. Like you own me.”

Satoru feels like he’s a shivering hot mess. He gulps and nods like he totally can pretend he owns you, when in actuality, it was very much the other way around. He does as you say, but he takes it a step further. Satoru’s eyes are flicking between yours and your lips. Your heart clenches at the very gesture. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your face and pulling you down to meet his mouth gently.

The kiss is slow, not sloppy in the least. It’s soft, it’s full of tenderness, like he is vowing to take care of you for eternity. His lips are soft, sweet and calculative. It’s like he’s putting too much thought into the kiss blending it in with an air of confidence—like it comes easy to him.

“Satoru,” you murmur against his lips. “I like that you don’t know how to kiss”

He furrows his brows, watching you closely as your lips continue to gently brush against his, “Really?”

“Mhm,” you say softly, kissing him once more, slow and deep. You pull back again, hearing him groan as you suck and bite on his bottom lip. “Use your tongue now.”

One arm lowers down your mid back, draping around your waist to pull you closer. He parts his mouth, licking at your bottom lip experimentally. Ever so slightly, your jaw slackens, giving subtle yet enough access for his muscle to sneak in. He softly moans at the sensation, the novelty of it makes his heart flutter all the more beneath your fingertips. Just by the sound, you giggle, and he feels his pants grow even tighter.

Satoru’s cheeks flush in embarrassment—that you could look down and tease him and ridicule him about something he has hardly any understanding of. But all he mutters is a curious, “Like that?” between open-mouthed kisses.

He was terrible at kissing, only a few minutes of you on top of him, and he’s gotten only slightly better. Not bad at all. You try not to smirk. “Yes, Toru, just like that.”

He kisses you deeper, hands tangling in your hair as he breathes you in—and it’s the most passionate kiss anyone has ever landed you with. It makes a pit in your stomach pulse with something well beyond the strength of butterflies—something that travels further between your legs.

“Toru—” you mumble between kisses, “—you can touch me however you like, you know.” You shove him lightly at his chest to part your lips as your own breasts heaves. “I won’t bite,” you chide with a playful tilt of your head. Your grin spreads wider as you lean down with the most lascivious look in your eye. “Unless you want me to.”

He doesn’t understand what comes over him as he grabs your waist and flips you over on your bed, an animalistic glint in his eye. A gasp rips from your throat when your back bounces slightly against the mattress and he looms over you again. Where has this guy been all this time?

You’re about to open your mouth to say something—you had no idea what that would even be because he leans down and hungrily kisses you again. This time, it wholeheartedly feels as if he has full dominion over you.

Tongue meshing with yours, he groans into your mouth. The passion in the kiss blends with hallucinogenic sloppiness, putting you in a trance of some sort. Perhaps he was tearing through the spacetime continuum and forging a contrasting reality. One in which a hot popular sorority girl like you gets absolutely riddled to filth by a geeky four-eyed nerd like Satoru Gojo.

His glasses begin to fog from your conjoined breaths, fast and heavy—he can hardly even see anymore. Your back arches into him and the bulge grows in his pants when his hot kisses trail down your jaw, to your neck. Nope, not another galaxy. Not an alternate reality.

You throw your head back, sighing out much more than you could comprehend at the very moment. Your hands go to the back of his head, practically cradling him as he sucks on your delicate flesh. The edge of his mouth curls against your throat when your gasps get sharper, whinier.

He chuckles darkly, eyes sparkling behind his lenses, “Your neck is your weak spot.”

Your eyes crack open to look his way but he’s lifting his face to meet your lips again. You sigh into his mouth, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Fuck, his shoulders are big enough to drape over your entire frame.

“Satoru—” you breathe, feeling his tongue drag along the column of your throat. “Are you going to make well on your promise or not?”

He grunts out, a little huff of annoyance, “Shh.”

You watch as his lips begin to descend your body. How he experimentally presses pecks to your collarbone, your chest, then the mound of your tits. God, he can’t believe he’s never carved time out of his busy schedule for this.

He shakily watches as you, with hazy eyes, begin to slip the straps of your top off your shoulders. You have a look so lustful, it drives his highly-functional brain into a fritz when he gazes upon the dazed look of desire and urgency as you push the top of your shirt down to expose your tits completely. He might just lose his shit.

You nod encouragingly, cupping your breast with one hand and using your other to guide him closer, “Taste them, Toru.”

His breaths are uneven, shallow and teetering the tip of the deep end. Satoru dips his head, mouth wrapping around your pert nipple as you arch into him even more. You watch as he sucks—taking your nipple into his mouth and switching between each, licking the pebbling buds.

There is too much to register that you can’t pick what to focus on. You don’t know whether to fixate on how soft his snowy white hair feels as you card your fidgety fingers through it, his pretty pinks lips kissing and licking your tits, or how his glasses keep adorably sliding down the bridge of his nose. Your hands fumble to slide them up a second time but he’s trekking down your body once more, much further down.

You take his hands and place them on the hem of your skirt, “Take it off me, Satoru.”

Just the breathy plea in the way you say his name has sweat beading at his skin. How could he defy any command of yours?

He does as you ask, sliding your short skirt off your hips, then your legs all together. Then, he’s left staring at a barely clothed you, all that’s left is your top dangling around your waist and your lacy pink thong dampening between your legs. Thank god for his photographic memory. He could never forget this image—those metaphorical six eyes of his would not allow him to.

Your breath breaks as you take in the way he’s gaping, like he’s calculating the atomic mass of a brand-new element, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he does so.

“S-Satoru,” you shudder, hand reaching out for his. “Touch—touch me—” In that very moment, your hand grasps his wrist, tugging it forward and guiding it toward your waist. You murmur, “Focus on what’s between my thighs.”

His chest caves from the command intertwined with the fact you were urging his hand lower and lower, tracking between your legs. And so, with your guidance, his fingers finally glide over your drenched panties.

He shivers—no, moans—with you at the feeling. Then, with deliberate movements, he shifts your panties to the side. However shy he must be feeling right now, he certainly doesn’t look it. In fact, he gazes upon you with such fervent curiosity. A strange marriage of desire and concentration.

“You’re so gorgeous—God,” he shudders, chest rising and sinking with heavy breaths. Then he leans closer, face lowering to inspect closely. “I don’t get why any guy would ever not pay closer attention to—fuck.”

You feel like you could melt right this very second. You have hardly been touched by him, but you feel like your insides are broiling—needing a bucket of ice no less to calm down.

Satoru’s long pretty fingers swipe over your glistening folds, making a gasp tear from your mouth.

“When you understand the anatomical makeup of a woman,” he begins to say, his thumb swipes over your clit, causing you to practically jerk in place with a cry, “—you can make her feel all sorts of things.”

Your eyes pry wide open from that—a little alarmed, as you for some stupid reason, did not expect for Satoru to be able to find the clit at all.

“A-and how do you understand the anatomy of a woman, Satoru?” you try to remain calm as he places a doting kiss on your upper thigh.

He moves away, letting his fingers spread your folds apart, “Just basic experimentation.”

You furrow your brows, leaking by his every touch. And when he takes his middle and ring finger to your clit, moving in gentle circles, your shoulders tense and you fall back.

“For example, you like that,” he does not sound like he’s gloating, rather taking mental notes aloud. “You’re weak here—I’ve read this is a pleasure point for women.”

He was so casually obscene, not shying away like you had expected him to do so. In fact, he is leading a full case study on your body with full volition.

You sit up, trying to not crumble from him toying with your clit. Bracing yourself, you cup his face, kissing him desperately. A long whiny moan spills into his mouth from yours. And when you pull away, “Toru,” you rasp, “spit on it.”

He furrows his brows, “You don’t think that’s too dirty?”

You quietly whispered, “I like dirty.”

Entranced, he watches you lean back. Heeding your command, he gathers all the saliva pooling beneath his tongue, and spits on your pussy. The second you whine sharply when he plays with your cunt again, rubbing his spit along your folds and over your clit, he understands you even more.

He continues rubbing your pussy, the slippery, wet mess of your arousal mixes with his spit and beads down your cunt. The pad of his fingers deftly rolls your clit, all the while he watches you, catching an eyeful of the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“Fuck,” you cry, hands scrambling to bunch your sheets. “Don’t stop.”

He had read about this before. One of many points of pleasure in a woman. One was the clit, of course, but another was—

He lets a long finger sink into your entrance, past your opening and sliding against your gummy walls. Sucking in a gasp, your eyes clench shut, similar to how your legs clamp over his forearm too.

“Hey, you got to work with me a little,” he grunts, using his free hand to pry your legs apart.

That desire to master all avenues of science conspires with the prospect of steering you towards what other men could not give you. What only he wishes to give you.

Moaning a mess and slew of profanities, your back is arching and—this seems to be a good response, one that has Satoru dying for more.

“Feels good?” he asks, only slightly hesitant.

You nod vigorously, words failing you as he quickens his pace, fingers plunging into your wet cunt, eliciting the filthiest sounds of squelching. And then, he felt it. He felt that spongy mound deep inside your pussy. If that violent convulsion of your body and that convincing grip of your walls harbors any truth, then he found it. Your sweet spot.

If anyone at this party were to learn of this, learn of how Satoru Gojo the geeky boy who looked like he played Digimon in his spare time (and did), was playing it fast and loose with your g-spot instead, they’d ridicule you shamelessly. You did not care though. And how could you with the way he rolls his tongue out, drool trickling in a long clear line to spill over your pussy as he continues fingering you.

Then Satoru stills for a moment, unsure of how to tame the way his cock grows underneath his jeans when you buck your hips up in desperation.

“What are you waiting for?” you quiz exasperatedly.

He swallows harshly, inhibitions strung on a wire and hung up to dry. “I want to taste you. Show you how selfless a man’s tongue can be.”

Your expression softens, as does your heart when you nod smally, seeing the way he dips his head to your abdomen, kissing you wantonly. Wet lips plant against your stomach and he’s hooking his arms around your thighs, securing you in place in case you made plans to run off. Not that it was likely.

Satoru lowers his head, his cloudy strands of white fall over his eyes that are veiled behind his framed lenses. God, he is so pretty. Why did it take you so long to notice him? Whatever the circumstances may have been, you simply are grateful you are blessed with the sight of him between your legs, prepared to put that wistfully smart tongue of his to good use.

He presses a kiss atop your mound, focused so intently on what lies before him. His mouth lowers even further, planting a sloppy, tongue heavy kiss to your swollen clit.

“Ngh, fuck—do that again—” you plead pathetically.

He obliges, doing it again and so enamored by the taste. According to his research, and what he heard from other men and women, it was meant to taste somewhat decent. But he had no idea how those descriptions would have severely underscored the reality of it. You taste as perfect as you look. He’d always wondered how it would be like to be in this position, and how downright stupid any other man was to never give you what you wanted. To never have wanted this for himself, to taste every inch of your body.

Lolling his tongue out, he licks a long stripe from the middle of your slit all the way to the top of your mound, your body jolting beneath him.

“You taste…so fucking good,” his eyes grow misty, a strange tingle ripples over his entire body and he continues to eat you out. Not like a man with piqued interest anymore, but as a man starved.

He buries his face in your pussy, nose-diving straight into the dewy mess to create an even bigger one. A scream brandishes in your throat from the grotesquely beautiful intrusion of his tongue dipping back into you.

It was nasty. The licks along your sopping entrance, the spit dribbling down to your ass, the way he sucked your clit and slips his thumb to circle it. It was a culmination of vulgarity.

“Holy fuck,” your fingers card through his hair, switching between digging your nails into his silvery white locks for purchase, or indulgently guiding his jaw as to ride his mouth.

Your head drags against your pillow, nose turning up in the air as your slick coats his nose. His cunning tongue moves with greed, inconsistent calculation. Intent clear on making you feel good but also to devour you whole.

“Satoru—” you tremble, looking down at him as he flicks his muscle against your dripping folds, rubbing your sensitive bud. “I want to—I need to—”

“Do it,” he advises, voice almost whiny. “I want to feel it on my tongue. Need you to—in my mouth.”

You are far more pent up than you suspected, less than you’d been attended to prior to the boy knelt before you now. Your back lifts off the mattress altogether, seeking respite as your vision goes a fiery white as his hair and your entire body thumps with a bass that is similar to the one that shakes the walls of this very party. Then you do something you have never done in your life.

You cum so strongly, that you’re left quite literally squirting all over his tongue and face.

“Oh! Oh—S-shit!” you mewl mindlessly, stupidly. “Satoru.”

Oh, if his chest were filled with pride before, it was now swelling from it. Made his point, didn’t he?

He continues lapping at your cunt, letting your juices gush over his face and mouth. His feels it on his tongue, but it sprays his glasses, covering them in your essence and clouding his vision just as he has done yours.

You begin to settle from your high, senses blurred and still muddled. All you know now is him. And nothing else. What else is there room for in your mind anyway? There is nothing else that any form of tutelage that could reside in those confines.

Satoru gulps down whatever essence of yours rests on his tongue, whimpering softly at the taste. Your eyes don’t open slowly—they tear open with horror. He made you squirt. No other man had been able to come close to that.

“You…okay?” he tilts his head to the side, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand.

You gawk at him, and he just sits there. All pretty and half as spent as you like he’s torn down each wall of your psyche. Destroyed every brick you’d placed and expected you to be fine afterward.

He’d proved you wrong. What else do you have to lose now?

Your hands gravitate to the back of his neck, yanking him toward you and capturing his lips with yours. He whines at the sudden action, groaning as your tongue slips in and swallows each and every sound he makes.

“Do any other guys make you feel like that?” he asks, not teasing in the least. He genuinely wishes to know.

“No,” you shake your head as you make out with him. Then you shove him over, he breathes sharply when his back meets the mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling him with your thighs, “Let me return the favor now.”

He’d be a fool to object. He knows that, but when your lips trail down his jaw and neck, his heart tells him to stop you. When your fingers at the hem of his shirt begin to creep up against his hot skin, he grabs your forearm.

“W-wait!” he practically pipes, breath heavy.

“What’s the matter?” you tilt your head. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“No,” he shakes his head so violently, his mind goes spinning. “I want to. Trust me I want nothing more than that.”

“Then…what is it?” you furrow your brows. “Satoru, is it size? I assure you I don’t mind. I just want to make you feel good.”

“No,” he almost scoffs. “It definitely is not that.”

“Is it because you’re a virgin then?”

“Yes—but it’s not even that,” he quickly counters, unsure of what gave away he was a—okay maybe you figuring that out wasn’t so far-fetched.

“Then what?” you quiz, still so bizarrely unsure of what he is trying to tell you. Here he is, a hot naked girl on top of him, probably not getting an opportunity as golden as this soon enough, and answering questions like he has his thumb up his ass. “You’re scared you’ll… be quick…? Trust me, I do not mind at all.”

You lift his shirt, and he breathes, alarmed, “No.”

But it’s too late, the damage has been done. When you lift his shirt halfway up his torso, you are met with a sleeper build if there ever was any. His baggy t-shirts and hoodies always gave the impression of a lanky frame but he was built up with lean muscles, corded with a faint creamy pale pack of soft abs and a slim waist.

While his body is beautiful, that is not what takes your breath away. It’s what’s at the base of his abs. A line of silvery white hair smatters sparsely along his pelvis, trailing down to lead somewhere beneath his pants. But something impedes that trail. A tattoo at the base of his torso, where his v-line is, in a typewriter-style font, it reads, The dark side.

Your brows raise, intrigued and perplexed all at once. Your silence hangs in the air, it’s all that resides in it.

He feels its suffocation and with a reeling mind, he tries to frantically explain, “I know it’s dorky—Suguru, Haiba and I got a little crossed and we ended up in a tattoo parlor—I got this—and Suguru got a Prince Albert piercing—he didn’t feel it till the next day thankfully—and Haiba didn’t get anything because he started crying at the shop when the needle touched him—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, “Satoru, shhh.”

“I’m sorry,” he muffles from behind your hand and repeats, “I know it’s dorky.”

“It is—it very much is,” you acknowledge. But you can’t deny the heat pooling once again in your core. “But I think it’s really sexy.”

“You do?” he appears quite genuinely baffled when you lower your hand and continue to gawk at the tattoo with wonder.

“Fuck, yes,” you exhale, tugging his white t-shirt. “Take this off.”

He does as told, tearing his shirt from his body, leaving your eyes to feast upon his pretty frame. You kiss him again, mouth slotting against his as you mumble, “You are such a dork, Toru. You’re lucky I like that about you.”

He grumbles softly against your mouth, letting you suck on his bottom lip like you wish to tear it off as well. And when you grind your soaking cunt on his clothed dick, he practically jumps in your hold, “Y/n—fuck.”

And so you do it again, loving the feeling of him hard and throbbing beneath you.

“Please do that again,” he asks, lips feathering yours.

Your mouth curves up, tugging at the edge into a sly smirk before you slide off him, hands clasping his waistline and pulling at his jeans. You were riled up, waiting to be alone with him like this—why prolong what you’ve been wanting any longer?

He watches with tense twitches in his pretty face. Helping pathetically to drag his pants and his boxers off his legs in one go. And it might as well have slapped you in the face when it springs out. Long and leaking and flushed an angry red at the tip, his cock is oozing with precum and oh so painfully hard, it’s embarrassing.

You shudder in awe, hand reaching to wrap around the huge shaft, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. So big.”

He might have just creamed himself there. Suppressing it any longer would be a miracle. He doesn’t know how much longer he will last when you begin to experimentally tug at it, hand hardly able to wrap around the entire thing that you ponder just how in the fuck he managed to survive this long hiding a monstrous thing like that and not getting laid. It had to have been a choice at this point. It makes you all the more prideful.

“How’d you manage to keep such a big secret from me, Toru?” you ask innocently, pumping his cock, slapping the tip against your exposed nipple. “Hm?”

His voice cracks with a moan, “Oh fuck—I can’t—I—I’m gonna.”

“Please, Satoru,” you scoff. “I had expected you to be pathetic but not this badly.”

He shakes his head, as if refusing your insults. Satoru holds his breath, tries not to combust and fuse like a lightbox, but now that your head bends lower, he fears he may not stand much of a chance at all.

With your eyes closed, you drag your tongue along the side of his length, an insatiable moan swelters from you, voice sending vibrations to his dick and immediately sequestering his mind to mush.

You case your lips around his tip, sucking and licking at the head like a piece of candy. It isn’t like you’re being exceptionally harsh. In fact, you are being teasing, tantalizingly slow. To most, that is just as bad as being vigorous—fast paced.

He falls into that category it seems. You smile, most virgins do.

His hand grasps the back of your head, “God—you’re—so beautiful. I’m gonna—”

“’Gonna’ is not a word, Satoru,” you coo, kissing the tip of his cock—the brackish flavor of his precum rests atop your tongue. “Your perfect articulation is becoming a mess.”

His articulation is not the only ruined victim. His dick is coated with juices mixed with your saliva, to which you spit some more onto him. The sight is truly unbecoming for a man like him, one with his nose pressed between the pages of factual books and texts.

His hands rake through your hair, grip tightening, and you moan so shamelessly, that it makes his length twitch. Twitch so erratically and he’s left falling apart even further, and cumming all over your mouth. And hard.

“Fuck!” he bucks his hips in the air, further into your hand.

That pleasantly surprised laugh that rips from your throat graces his ears. Although, it is hard for him to blink through the tears in his eyes, he does so, all so he could see your face as you please him of all people.

“You do cum quick,” you giggle, licking off his cum from the crown of his flushed tip.

“Sorry,” he shivers, trembling and bashful.

You grin, climbing on top of him again, “It’s fine as long as you make me feel good too.” Leaning down to brush your lips against his, you whisper, “And you’ve made me feel the best I’ve ever felt in a long time.”

Satoru’s not sure whether to float off the bed séance style and alert all his bullies and cruel old classmates that a girl as perfect as you had said that he was the best—okay, he’s miswording it, but who the fuck cares?

He slots his mouth so perfectly against yours that it feels it’s meant to live there forevermore. You grind down on him, bare pussy rubbing salaciously against his bare dirty cock. You both gasp into each other’s mouths, positively thwarted by the sense of touch alone.

“Need you inside me, Toru,” you shiver, pecking the corner of his mouth.

Shit. He feels like his heart could explode in a million pieces, shattering into remains so tiny that the only explanation is the universal law of fragmentation.

So, you lift your hips up, your hand traveling down between each of your bodies and grabbing his—once again—hardened dick. With your free hand, you shove his chest down roughly, eliciting a sharp groan. His head hits your silk pillow, white hair fanning out beneath you.

No longer grinning or laughing, you slide his cock between your folds, bucking your hips to meet him. Finally, you do what he’s hoped you would. You lift your hips more, sliding his tip between your folds after slapping it against your clit.

“I’m going to be gentle, Toru, I know it’s your first time,” you say softly, coaxing him to reply with earnestness of his own.

“N-no, you can use me however you want—I—I want that,” he says.

You grin, “Is that so?”

He nods, and you chuckle, patting his cheek softly with your free hand, “Okay, pick one place to look: my face when I put it in, or your dick sliding in me.”

His eyes grow, electricity sparking in them with the potency of a thunderbolt striking down to split the land itself in two. He doesn’t know where to look—at that lingering half-lidded smirk on your face, or the way his tip was slipping against your clit.

Finally—fucking finally, he feels it. You pushing his cockhead past your slick hole, slowly sinking down on his length as your mouth falls open pornographically at the girthy stretch that comes along with it. And he truly has no idea where he should look. Or perhaps he should not look at all, with how his eyes were on the verge of clenching tautly shut.

No, he tells himself. Don’t close your eyes, Satoru. Do not miss a single moment.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he flicks them between the way his dick is slipping into you and how your jaw has gone slack and how your head tips back. It’s the sexiest thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

“Oh God,” you exhale shakily, peering down as you bottom out. “Fuck.”

He chokes on his own spit when he’s completely inside you. He can hardly believe his eyes. Or that sentiment that he is inside you. Pretty little you, with your hair a mess, lipstick and eyeliner smudged, and cheeks flushed all because of him.

At a pace so tortuous, you lift your hips, dragging yourself off as he whines wantonly. Oh, so pathetic.

“Oh—oh shit,” he shivers, hands trembling at your sides, digging into your waist as a means of seeking procurement. He whines, open-mouthed whimpers with the most diabolical cracks in his voice known to man. “Fuck—shit—a-ah!”

Your eyes drop to his abs, his milk toned skin a stark contrast to the dark tattoo pattered on his pelvis. Just staring at it makes you wetter, needing more than just friction. It’s all your body seems capable of at this very moment, just slowly grinding down on his cock, your clit dragging against that sexy tattoo of his.

Your moans grow needier, breathier, whinier. All the while, you are flicking your gaze between his pretty face contorting in pained pleasure and that fucking tattoo. The black lettering in a neat font that accentuates just how his waist narrowed out from his already lean build.

Hands curling around his shoulders, you ground your position even more. He’s a panting mess, like a dog in heat, unsure of how to act or carry himself. He’s mesmerized, completely and utterly taken by the sight before him: you riding the fuck out of him with reckless abandon.

Your jaw is slack with breathy gasps slipping from your pretty lips, a little scrunch in between your brows as your eyes remain locked on his dick. How you were sucking him in with and how at first, stretching your walls out beyond imagination.

Your hands scramble and rake at his chest while you lift your ass, only to slam it back down on him. It elicits a choked cry out of the white-haired boy.

“Ah! W-what happened to going easy?” Satoru’s face scrunches in agonizing desire.

“You were the one begging for more,” you say with a sly smirk. “Don’t tell me that pretty old head of yours is starting to clear up.”

And before he can respond to the challenge in your voice, a sudden combination of a stroke and grind of your body against his makes your little taunt come true.

His mind goes as blank as what he feels he’s about to shoot in you. He has dreamt of this moment. Not because of sheer will, but because his mind conspires against him much more often than anyone may expect. He is a perfect gentleman first and foremost of course.

“Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!” he cries, cracks in his voice one after the other like flimsy old farm eggs. “I’m going to—you’re sucking me in sooo good, I can’t take it.”

“Go on, Toru,” you urge, still riding him. “Do what your body is telling you it wants to do.”

He shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut and you let your hands slide up his torso and to his face. He nearly burns at the tender gesture all on its own.

“Yes, you can, Toru,” you murmur. “Smartest man I know. Can do anything. Does everything I ask him to do.”

Oh. Oh, you had him. Even if you did not say any of that. Satoru was yours without a shadow of a doubt. But when his cum spurts out, the warmth of it rushes into your snug cunt, it feels more like he had you.

You jerk in place, shuddering at the feel of his seed trickling into you. It’s alarming how fucking much there is, how he’s struggling through pants and groans as he releases into you. Like he’d been pent up and wound tight for so long, needing to empty every last morsel from his body.

“God—Holy shit,” Satoru shivers, trembling like a leaf, his hands begin to loosen their grip on your waist, afraid he may have been squeezing too tight.

You tilt your head, a mischievous grin as you brush his lips with your fingertip, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He nods, a docile pet, “So good.”

He then does something you are not expecting in the least; he flips you over. It draws a sharp breath from your lungs, eyes widening when he climbs on top of you, half-shivering, half staring you down.

“I proved you wrong, didn’t I?” he quietly mutters, a stitch of challenging taunt in his voice.

You feel… almost shy all of a sudden. Like he isn’t a dorky boy anymore but a full-fledged man—all classical literature reading, up and at ‘em bright and early in the morning, sipping black coffee while peering through his refined frames at the Sunday paper kind of man. A man.

In response, all you can muster is a wide-eyed—pathetic nod.

“Kiss me, Toru,” you murmur, almost timid as you say so.

He bends down, softly brushing his nose against yours as you lift your chin to meet his mouth. The small act of desperation pleases him, you almost would have missed it, if it had not been for the way his lips curl against yours.

“Mmm,” you hear him hum into the kiss, already growing wetter just by the sound.

He certainly is not like any of the jocks in the fraternities on campus. Star Wars tattoo and all. A recluse you did not know you were missing out so much on.

The kiss grows heated, sloppy, and messy. Your heads are turning this way and that, tongues and teeth clash, spit becomes one and all you can recognize is the taste of him. All he recognizes and desires is that taste of you.

“Y/n—” he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy. “Can I…”

He winces, eyes flicking to look between the two of you and that’s when you see it before you feel it. His cock growing erect again, hardening and pressing against your bare cunt.

Not in such a generous mood as you may have been prior, you innocently ask, “Can you—what, Satoru?”

He swallows his spit, trying not to flinch, but he does anyway, “Can I fuck you?”

You nod, beaming at him as you adjust yourself beneath him, spreading your legs so he can settle between them easier. Prepared to let him do whatever he wanted to you.

His hips draw close, and your hand reaches between you, wrapping around his hardened cock, beading and leaking at the tip from your arousal. Guiding his dick back into you, both of your mouths fall open, his moan stutters out, loud and unabashed.

“Fuck, you’re perfect—” his face scrunches adorably.

Your moans swirl into heedless breaths, whirling with his. Arms hooking under his, your back arches as he slips back in, making your back arch off the bed. Your head slides back against the sheets, mouth falling further open as your legs wrap around his waist.

“God, you’re sucking me in-” he shudders, tremors in his hands as he attempts to ground himself by gripping the sheets by your head. “Squeezing me—so tight.”

You shake your head, feeling him ever so subtly draw his hips back and rock them into you once more, “Satoru, you’re being s-so vulgar.”

He shakes his head, “Sorry, can’t help it. You’ve got me losing my mind.”

Oh, how your heart leaps at that. A man as put together and smart as Satoru, unraveling all because of you. Your eyes flick down every so often, watching that drag and pull of his hips, how his heavy balls slap against your ass with wet—sticky squelches from his cum mixed with yours, how that lettered tattoo of his looks as every muscle in his torso constricts.

His veins branch against the ink, and he pulls his body back and slams his cock back into you with much more force than before. At the new and harsher pace he has fostered, you find your own body reeling back further up the sheets, closer to the headboard of the bedframe.

“Can’t believe how stupid you are,” he shivers, another stammering thrust drives back into you, the tip of his veiny cock throbbing deep inside.

“W-what?” you dumbly furrow your brows, feeling the strenuous stretch of your walls just from his length, how it prods as far as brushing the entrance of your cervix, kissing it as heatedly as Satoru had kissed your mouth to prove a point to you. That being said, that’s all you can truly focus on, and not on the fact he insulted your intelligence.

“How dumb could someone possibly be?” he says again, not caring about the repercussions of his sentiment. It sounds to be something that had plagued his mind for quite some time. He continues fucking you, burying his face in your pretty neck as he bites into your shoulder. “Not even realizing how badly I’ve wanted you this entire time. Not noticing any look or any—anything. Fuck—so pretty but s-so stupid.”

Maybe you truly are stupid, or maybe he was just fucking you dumb. Because you lose all power and sense to argue back at him. To tell him you are smart and clever. But all you can fixate on is the way his cock molds your pussy, practically reshaping to fit and remember him and only him. Fuck, he felt so good, it’s actually quite embarrassing.

His strokes aren’t shallow in the least, not quick and hurried and slight as most boys are at times. He is precise, someone who tends to something with such delicacy as one does with a craft. Or art.

Satoru’s teeth sink into your flesh, drawing a high-pitched whine from you and you anchor your own nails into his back. His lean, pretty back. A back that isn’t bulging with years of football, but sinewy and sculpted ever so delicately from years of bookkeeping and academics. A feat in it of itself.

He lifts his head up and catches you off guard with a forceful kiss. All his kisses thus far have been reticent, coy. This one heralds governance, a desire to be the one taking and not politely asking to be doing so.

His hips don’t stop pile driving into you. There’s a hunger, a thirst to learn what may come about from each and every single deliberate thrust. He opts to watch you this time, study each little twitch in your face, tug of your lips, sigh to flee your throat. How you are becoming a mess, one babbling hot mess.

“Toru. Ah! Fuck! Fuck me just like—that!” you practically squeal, beginning to rock your own hips up to meet his thrusts, flushed in embarrassing heat.

His breaths grow wearisome, tired and heavy. Shoulder blades contract when he shifts to kiss you passionately again, muffling his moans into your mouth, and yours into his. The lens of his glasses fog with the condensation of a cold windshield, slowly slipping off the sweaty bridge of his narrow nose. To which you draw your hand up, taking the frames off altogether.

He blinks a little at you when you part your lips to do you, seeing the way you graze his cheek tenderly.

“So pretty,” you mumble, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling his chest flush against yours.

Satoru’s brain short circuits at the compliment. So much so that he feels he is about to lose his wits about him. Hardly had any left with the way you’re clenching around him, pulling and sucking his cock for all its worth. He watches how your mouth falls open and a cute crinkle forms between your brows, a shocked yet longing look that he understands immediately, you’re about to cum again.

Music to his ears, he takes in everything, how your moans mingle with his, how you gaze back at him, eyes watery with an expression so debauched he can’t believe he’s gone this long without it. Maybe he was the stupid one.

And when you let out a choked cry and clench down on him so hard he feels you may cut all the blood flow in his cock, he witnesses you cum. Wrapped around, fluttering around him and absolutely gorgeous, he can’t help but cum too. With your back bowing off the bed, chest carving against him, your fingers tighten their grip on his snowy locks at the back of his neck. So devastatingly handsome, Satoru lets out a strained whine of his own, cock twitching, and painting your walls white.

Settling from your high only seconds before him, you watch that dazed, inebriated look in his eyes. You still feel trapped in that moment of ecstasy, much like him. Not in your wildest dreams would you have expected to feel the best you’ve ever felt with Satoru Gojo, certified campus dork. You wouldn’t shy away from this temptation again.

“That was…” he breathes in disorientation, unsure of what words in the English language even exist that could describe this.

You grin sheepishly, “I know.” Your nails gently rake against his nape, cajoling him into relaxation.

“Are you…okay?” he asks, his blue eyes piercing through you in worry.

“I’m the best I’ve ever been,” you say with a lazy smile, hands dipping down his arm. “Or who knows? I’m too stupid to understand.”

Satoru’s eyes widen and he blurts in childlike fear, “You’re not stupid.”

You chuckle, “I’m kidding, Satoru.”

Gently, you bring your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him towards your mouth. Beguiled by this trance akin to a sailor falling for a siren, Satoru lets you guide him where you want him.

Then the Star Wars theme song begins to play.

Satoru jolts up, scrambling for his ringing phone through his discarded clothes piled on the ground. He slides his glasses back on his nose as he apologizes, gripping his phone in the process, “I’m sorry—Suguru is calling.”

“Call him later,” you say. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But I’m his ride,” Satoru, clueless as ever says. You cock a brow at him, and he lets his phone fall to the ground, “But I’m sure he can catch a ride with Shoko.”

Your grin begins to widen as you move over on the bed, making room for him to get back in with you. And when he does, he kisses you softly, an air of admiration in it. Your hand that isn’t on his face, lowers to his pelvis, tracing his tattoo there.

“This was a pleasant surprise,” you tell him, fingers grazing the ink.

“You like it?” his voice is soft.

“Mhm,” you hum, meeting his lips once more. “So much.”

He can hardly believe this. The prettiest girl in the world, sprawled out beneath him after inviting him into her bed. Touching him dotingly, biting his lip like a delicacy, attention—for once—completely and totally on him. Satoru could die in this very spot.

Suddenly, the doorknob to your room jangles—and the door pushes open. You both were under the impression you locked that. He hopes it’s someone who has the courtesy of realizing this room is very much occupied, that they will avert their gaze and shut the door again to avoid further embarrassment.

But that seems a poor thing to hope for when Ryomen Sukuna stands there, face twisted in riled confusion as he stares between you and the bumbling boy your limbs are tangled with.

Satoru could die in this very spot.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His eyes snap open and his smile falters into a puzzled frown. He's staring blankly at the wall in pure disbelief.

Sukuna looks at you and blinks. "Me?"

He can’t believe it.

You, the soft and timid girlfriend who avoids conflict at all costs, are sleep talking your pent up frustration. The same girlfriend who has never sworn around him just cursed him the hell out like you've been holding it in for years.

Beside him, you sigh in your sleep and keep going.

“Can’t even… pick up after yourself,” you mumble while your brows twitch faintly. “Always expectin’… me to do unpaid labor.”

His mouth parts. “Baby, that’s—”

“Never had a messy house,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “Until you. Feels like… a thankless job.”

His lips press into a thin line. That heavy, unfamiliar feeling settles in his chest. Sukuna slowly rolls onto his back, one arm tucked under his head, and blankly stares up at the dark ceiling.

He doesn’t sleep after that. Not even a minute. Instead, he lies there wide awake, replaying every habit, every mess, and every time he said: "I’ll clean it later."

When you wake up the next morning, the house is spotless, and a warm cup of coffee waits for you on the table. Your gaze shifts to your boyfriend, who is busy doom scrolling on his phone, while his other hand's wrapped around his own mug.

When he notices you, he glances up and mutters a short greeting, “Hey.”

His tone makes you frown. “Uh… hi?”

You walk up behind him, arms slipping around his neck as you kiss the top of his head. “You don’t sound okay.”

He exhales slowly, then sets his phone down. After a pause, he asks quietly, “You’d tell me if things weren’t okay with us, right?”

You blink. “Of course..?”

He turns fully toward you, resting his forehead against your stomach. "And we promise we'd sort things out right away."

Sukuna's hands slide gently up and down your bare thighs, almost unsure if it's the right thing to do in the moment.

“So... I'll start by saying I'm sorry, and I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he says softly.

You gently smooth his hair, utterly confused with what he meant. “Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“…You called me a fucking—” your eyes slowly grow wide. “Piece of—” you swallow hard, already guessing the next word in your head. “Shit.” Your mouth falls open in shock.

When he looks up, you notice the dark circles under his eyes.

“Creative swear combo, I’ll give you that,” he says with a bitter laugh. "But holy fuck did that sting.”

You stare at him intently with furrowed brows. “I would never say that to you.”

“You did,” he replies quietly. “In your sleep.”

Your jaw drops in shock that you immediately crouch down in front of him, meeting his eye level as you cup his face and start apologizing over and over.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I don’t even know why I said that. I swear I never meant—”

He studies you for a moment, then grabs your hands and press soft kisses into them.

“You weren’t wrong though,” he admits. “I was being a slob.”

You blink, then glance around the spotless house. “…Did I say something about the house?”

“Mhm,” he hums while absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t do my part with the chores.” Then he hesitates with a frowning. “I understand if you wanna leave m–"

“Leave you?!” you gasp in shock. “I would never leave you!”

Sukuna’s head snaps up, just as stunned. “But you said living with me feels like a thankless job.”

“I said that?!” Horror flashes across your face. "No way... did I grow balls overnight?"

You both pause, staring at each other in silence. After a moment, you start chuckling together.

“You got me fucked up,” he mutters as he pulls you in closer. “Got me losing sleep and shit.”

You giggle as you plant kisses all over his face. "I'm sorry my sleep talking kept you up."

Sukuna even clicks his tongue as he shakes his head with a grin, "You like that, don't you? Having me wrapped around your little finger."

Days and weeks passed, and the house stays clean. Sukuna did stay true to his word: the house is always spotless, he picks up after himself, and most of all, he keeps you stress-free and well-fucked.

And sometimes, when he watches you sleep, he smirks a little because apparently, even your subconscious knows how to keep him in line.

Apollo, no, wait, Gojo, his name was, played softly on his lyre in the background, and muses hummed softly. He smirked once, and a moment later, white locks were touched by an ocean breeze and golden rays of the setting sun. His hand went towards one of the nymphs, cupping her reddened cheeks gently, already drunk on sweet wine. Such a womaniser he was, and although most of the Gods slept with one another as they wished, Gojo was truly one and only, a troublemaker and a genuine gentleman at the same time, even fumbling through your bed more than once.

You looked behind, seeing gentle waves glistening under a golden sky, with darkness slowly setting in, before the only thing you could see was a white foam lightened by the pale moonlight. God of the Sea sat happily and relaxed, talking Zeus's ear off. It was a good dinner, indeed, while most of the Gods and demigods feasted in the embrace of the warm summer evening.

You turned back, seeing Gojo looking at you, smile sly and gaze slightly dimmed, as if drunk on constantly flowing wine. You heard Zeus bickering with the God of Wine over his attempts to alcoholise everyone, but his voice alone wasn't quite clear either, with golden hair already slightly messy and white robes sliding down muscular shoulders.

"Aren't you just a womaniser?" You hummed, already seeing the glimmering bottom of your cup and Gojo pacing towards you. "Leave my nymphs alone, or I'll be the one listening to their cries about your mischievous promises."

He scoffed, sitting down next to you and clinking your cups together. "I've never promised them anything aside from having fun. None of them ever complained." He settled comfortably, a hand behind your back and a lone finger caressing your bare shoulders slowly, slowly. "Who are you taking home today, hm? You know I'm free if–"

This time, you scoffed. "Forget it," you took a sip, never asking him to keep his hands off you. It was nice. He was nice, but there indeed wasn't much chemistry between you two when it came to sex life. "We're not good lovers. Besides, a little dove whispered to my ear that you've been having an affair with a mortal," You stopped, glancing at him with a smile dancing in the corner of your lips. "A male mortal. Prince of Sparta Geto Suguru, from what I've heard. Such a beauty, isn't he?"

Gojo laughed quietly, his eyes following your cunning smile. "Isn't your birdie quite well-informed, hm?"

He seemed taken aback, almost wanting to hide his secret affair from the prying eyes of the Gods. But he didn't know that nothing could have been hidden from you, and little, white doves flying above the skies of the mortal world, maybe following him here and there if you were bored and amused enough to watch his secret romance with a Spartan prince bloom like a pristine flower.

"What? Getting jealous? I thought God was above it."

He snorted, eyes glued to something, someone, over your shoulder.

A dark figure, sitting quietly among the most powerful Gods, one of the three brothers ruling the three dimensions of this world. The "Unseen One", a grim and ghastly figure, as if mute and solemn, always in the dark corners or ones barely flustered by candles' gentle tongues. Everyone knew he was there, but barely glanced towards him, as if ignorance was the only way to handle one of the three most powerful Gods in all of Greece. The one having power over the domain so dark and eerie, mortals prayed to never meet him directly, as if bathing in Tartarus was more pleasant than standing face to face with him.

Hades.

"You also have an admirer, I see," Gojo murmured, while you looked back.

Your eyes met with panic.

Not yours, his.

He looked absolutely terrified, with a glance so flustered and lost, as if your attention alone was the absurdest and scariest thing he could experience. His stare escaped quickly towards his two younger brothers, before, just for a second, it slipped back to you again – your lips and breasts, wrapped tightly in pinkish robes and soft hair caressing your cheeks, reddened like a wine and flushed in a smile.

You indeed had an admirer. For a long time now.

"The oldest one, but also the most peculiar, don't you think? He looks a bit miserable." Gojo hummed to your ear, sitting so close you could feel his sweet breath on your ear. The man in the corner moved slightly, looking between you and the other God with a little frown and eyes so anxious, a small chuckle escaped your lips. "And so jealous!"

"You know, that you've just insulted one of the strongest Gods, right? Also, he has quite good relations with three sisters." Gojo shrugged his shoulders, as if a vision of his thread of life being cut didn't scare him in the slightest. But you, he, and every other God in this feast knew that if there’s anyone Gods and mortals should be the most polite and thankful to, it should be Hades.

Because what could be better than being on good terms with God of the Underworld himself?

"So that's why you haven't slept with anyone recently?"

You hummed softly but didn't answer.

And it was true that as a Goddess of Love, Beauty and Fertility, quite... a few lovers have stumbled through your sheets. All of them just for one night, with both mortals, heroes and demigods always wanting more, but never having a chance with a Goddess herself.

You also never wanted anything more from either of them. Never needed, but just a few gentle touches and charming words whispered to your ear, maybe a thrust one or two and a spasmic tremble of their body, while you were left quite satisfied but never fully.

Gojo was a fine lover, good even, but he was too, well, overpowering, you would say. Too confident, always in control, such a tease, with nymphs hanging off his shoulders and sheets dirtier than you could imagine. He was a fun person to be around and sleep from time to time if you were extremely bored, but… well. 

He didn't know how to handle you as a Goddess. Worship, like a plain mortal, so pathetically and desperately down on his knees, creaming all over his pants just from your one glance.

But you knew a man who could do it.

Because he was always there, in the night sky and quiet wind, within a soft flickering of the candle and moonlight coming to your chamber through a window. In the seeds of the pomegranates that were left in your temple – your attribute, a symbol of desire and fertility, almost as if he wanted to be noticed, let you know that he’s here and has been for a long time.

Hades, no, Choso, a God of the Underworld, barely showed himself up here in Olympus, almost always down in his realm of death. He wasn’t very social, if it was the correct way to describe his rare appearance during all the Gods' gatherings, be it a feast or holiday celebrations. 

He avoided every meeting as much as he could, but somehow appeared every time he knew you also would be there. And during the feasts, he would sit at the table for the highest and mightiest, but always keep himself in the dark, even if the sun shining upon Olympus couldn’t be any brighter.

You glanced at him once again, noticing little nods he gave Zeus and lips curling in a barely visible, timid smile, before he chuckled. And you could swear that softness of his voice was the reason your throat tightened around the swallowed wine.

You coughed, bringing his attention, a worried gaze, and a hand, almost, slightly reaching out to you, before he hid it once again in the wide sleeve of his dark robes.

“Isn't our beauty already drunk?” Gojo cooed, patting your back. 

Wine spilt all over your robes, leaving a dark stain on your half-bare breasts. Gojo chortled, his hand too touchy and too close to your lower back, while Zeus sighed deeply, almost disappointingly. It was hard to see him not disappointed in Gojo and all the troubles, orgies and affairs he was always getting himself into. 

Gojo was still patting your back before something stopped him. 

Someone. 

Choso stood up at some point and came closer so quietly, you didn’t even notice him leaving the table. Just a hint of greaminess filled the atmosphere, with hushed voices and faint whispers of the demigods and nymphs, glancing upon a looming figure bathed in darkness.

Your coughing stopped, but warm tongues of flames scratching your skin were suddenly dimmed by a tall man with dark hair touching his shoulders and cupping pinkish cheeks softly. Dark eyes, filled with so much concern it made your stomach turn, looked down at you, with surrounding them purplish circles, giving his handsome face even more earrines. Your gaze slipped to his long earrings swinging lightly with every step, one of delicate shell and the other of snake, so opposite to one another but harmonising so beautifully, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart.

But. Wait a second. 

Wasn’t a shell an attribute of–

“Here,” you heard a low voice, and the next second, a black handkerchief was extended towards you. “You can use it to, um, to clean yourself. It’s black, so i-it won’t leave a–“

Oh dear god. 

How pitiful he looked, with eyes running between your face and breasts, cheeks flushed in a cherry, such a contrast with his deadly-pale skin, and long fingers holding on to a handkerchief with a slight tremor.  

You were terrified to even think of the face you did at that moment, but Gojo's elbow brushing yours and his silent cough told you that your eyes may or may not have changed into two small hearts, beating furiously at the sight of the pathetic God standing right in front.

Gojo wanted to take black material himself, but Choso's gaze was so strongly fixated on your trembling figure (not with dreadfulness, but a desire you've never felt before!), he quite literally was afraid to break such a precious moment.

So he coughed again and stuck his elbow even harder, before you finally noticed a fair palm extended to you.

"Oh," you muttered, taking a handkerchief and wiping your dirty clothes immediately. "Thank you so much, my Lord."

He shrugged visibly, nodding his head and looking at your plush breasts, soaked in reddish wine and coated in your pink, almost transparent robes.

And you, as a Goddess of so many beautiful and fertile things, were mostly known for one thing – your sexual appeal. Greeks loved to sculpt your body almost naked, rarely dressed, but even if, always in skimpy robes and translucent garments. Some presented you wrapped in a golden girdle, a myth and a gossip going on around the mortal world, of the belt whose wearer could make anyone fall in love with them.

It was funny at first to even think that the most beautiful Goddess needed a mere accessory to seduce her admirers. But the gossip turned out to be so appealing, you decided to create such a belt and give it to Hera, for... well, seducing the highest and mightiest of all, of course.

But you've never used it yourself, keeping it only for your friends and demigods, maybe sometimes water nymphs, who used your accessories to play with mortals and some heroes. It was fun, safe and without any commitment.

But you?

Choso gulped, a droplet of sweat forming around his temple as his eyes couldn't leave your drenched skin, too bare and too soft under flushed material, to have every other God around see you in such an harmless state.

Maybe he was hallucinating or maybe not, but you stood up, slowly, confidently, with breasts almost falling from your already too skimpy robes. Knowing his eyes followed your body, you glanced at him with such a stunning smile and a hint of foxy craftiness in your glimmering gaze, he almost passed out.

Literally, because his knees gave out, and the long scepter was the only thing that saved him from complete humiliation in front of the whole of Olympus.

"I'll clean it and return, my Lord. Maybe you could give me a hint or two regarding navigating the Underworld, hm?" You said so quietly, he may have been the only person who had heard your honeyed voice.

He could swear it was as sweet as your body, which turned out to be definitely too close to his, spreading a fragrance of fresh roses and an ocean breeze, stuck to your flowing hair and velvety skin.

But how could a Goddess like you even think of going down to his grim and mournful domain, filled with nothing but eeariness and cries of descendent souls, left at his mercy. "No, my G-Goddess, you shouldn't–"

"I insist." Your voice was firm and touch even firmer, almost burning his creamy skin, when your fingers brushed his bicep and gripped it lightly.

Only now you've noticed a delicate, black stripe spread on his nose and rosy cheeks, almost hidden under the muted candle's light, but visible enough the moment you closed the distance, suffocating him with your–ah, too close, too close, too close.

"My Goddess, I'm afraid you're too–"

But how could he push you away when his body betrayed him so clearly? Your hand on his bicep, plump breasts almost grazing his dark robes and flushed cheeks raised to meet his furrowed brows, oh so lost in your sweetness and a soft giggle, which already sounded like the most graceful melody.

Saying he was tall would be an overstatement, but stating he was well–built would be a pure untruth – his muscles trembled under your small hand, but you could feel their sturdiness. You caught how tight the dark robe was around his shoulders and the way it perfectly fit his muscular back and veiny forearms, peeking from wide sleeves.

He clenched snowish fingers on a long scepter, looking anywhere just not at you.

And when you touched your wine-wet breasts with his handkerchief, it was over.

He couldn't handle it anymore, so he did what every other wise and powerful God would do in the presence of a lustful and most beautiful woman walking on this Earth – turned on his heels and ran away.

"I'm sorry, my Goddess, I need to–um, I truly need to g-go–"

And he went indeed.

With such a hurry and a shade of delicious apple you've never seen spread on his face before, the only thing you could do was stand still and stare at his broad back slowly going down from Olympus's peak.

"My, my," you've heard a whistle and a second later, Gojo stood next to you, with a face not much different from yours. Flushed, stupefied, maybe a bit more amused. "He really is a lost cause, hm? Maybe calling him miserable was an overstatement. He's the most pathetic God in this Pantheon."

You inhaled heavily, feeling a warmth coiling in your belly, so familiar but at the same time intense, you've tried to remember the last time it felt as pleasant as now.

Hm, never?

"You're wrong," Gojo glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. And his amusement was even higher when he saw this weird look in your eye. Delight? Lust? No, lo– "He's pathetic for me only."

Days were passing by, filled with responsibilities mostly.

You've spent your time on listetning to worshippers – young girls, future mothers, women praying to bestow them with fertility, couples wishing for productive sexual life – and devoted sunny afternoons to bathing in the warm sun dancing on Olympus.

It was your favourite time of the day, so the moment your feet dipped into the crystal water, a blissful shiver ran through your spine, soothing both mind and body with a delicate touch of the waves. Nymphs surrounded you like ducks, dipping their heads in the pool and chirping among themselves like little birdies.

Your open bathhouse sat at the top of Olympus, built encircled by creamy columns, growing tall as trees, scratching cotton clouds with a serene feeling of quietness.

Small stairs led directly to fresh water, warmed by gentle rays of sunlight and glimmering on the velvety skin of playing nymphs.

Your statue stood right next to the open pool, tall and proud, almost naked too, representing which God this place belonged to.

When your body finally dipped fully, and eyes closed in ease, a faint sight escaped your lips. Sun rubbed your skin as you slumped against the pool’s wall and took a deep breath of the air dripping with an ocean breeze.

One of the nymphs slouched next to your naked body, her eyes looking at you with awe and curiosity, before she asked softly. "My Lady, my Lady, wasn’t Lord Hades quite rude to you last time?"

Another one swam closer, peaking at your body like a gem, something so beautiful and precious, no one deserved to touch— no, maybe even look at it. "That’s right, my Lady, doesn’t Lord Hades lack in manners? He’s never gonna find a wife with such a temper!"

You chuckled first, but the second sentence seemed to pique your curiosity. Your eye opened, glancing at a few nymphs floating peacefully around.

Such silly and adorable creatures they were, quite coquettish if they wanted to, and you understood why Gojo seemed to have a soft spot for them.

"And why would he need a wife?" You murmured, a strange feeling coiling in your belly.

One girl hummed, as if wondering, long hair flowing on the water, golden like wheat.

"My Lady, I’ve heard Lord Zeus talking to him about this. It seems like there’s a woman called Persephone and quite interested in Lord Hades she seems to be."

Your lips immediately fell flat in line.

Persephone? Isn’t she just a small sprat living under her mother's wings? What in the world could she want from Hades himself?

"Zeus said that, hm?" You mumbled, but didn’t listen to the rest of what Nymphs had to say.

Wife. Wife. Wife.

Why the hell he needed a wife?

You juggled this question like a mantra, like a woman obsessed, although there was truly nothing to be obsessed with.

That night was still vivid in your mind when Choso left the feast in a hurry – speechless and with ears burning like fire. The picture of his face was stuck in your memory, so lovely and pathetic, haunting you every night till the first sun rays hit your chamber.

You’ve seemed to lose your mind over him, how touch-starved he seemed to be, wanting, needing your attention desperately.

So why couldn’t you feel him anymore?

You wondered.

Why did any trace of his presence suddenly disappear, slip through the corners of your temples, together with pomegranates and shells scattered around your altars?

Why your chamber seemed to be lighter in the night, and what happened to the ragged, shortened breath you swear could hear during the deepest sleep.

Why has he left you?

Why—

A shriek brought your thoughts back, with a crystal water suddenly flowing in streams over the edge of the swimming pool. Nymphs were running away, as if scared – no, terrified, pointing with their fingers at something behind you.

"M-my Lady, look out! There’s a creature!"

A creature?

You turned head slowly, glancing over your shoulder. And suddenly, shock crossed your face, but only for a moment, before you raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Oh?" A hum escaped your lips, bringing your attention entirely to the so-called creature, being nothing more than a black snake.

For your nymphs' justification, some of them were quite… uneducated, you would say. Maybe a bit stupid, never seeing a world outside Olympus. Although snakes belonged to various Gods living on the Mountain, many usually associated them with the earth.

And the underworld.

"What brought you here, my dear? Are you lost?" You cooed, looking at his long body, slowly moving towards you, with yellowish eyes focused on nothing but your small, white dove, sitting calmly near your dipped body.

The snake was big, truly looking quite monstrous, but the dove didn't seem to mind his presence, as if her curiosity was piqued by the creature. Its black skin glimmered under the scorching sun, pinkish tongue sliding in and out of a closed mouth, checking the surroundings.

Nymphs left the pool, still warning you with faint screams and pleadings to leave it alone.

But how could you leave it alone if it was the first sign the God of the Underworld has sent you since that feast?

How could you ignore his weak and unsatisfying presence, sending your way such a creature instead of himself?

You stretched out your hand, brushing its hard skin. The scales were warm under your touch, but the snake completly ignored you, instead grazing with its big head the snowy feathers of the dove. "Where's your master, hm? Did he send you?"

Your birdie glanced at it, for a second only, before she lowered her head and touched the snake's raven skin with her soft feathers.

And then–

Snap!

Dove cried, one of the white feathers falling from her delicate body. You almost saw a furrow between her small eyes and stare shooting daggers at her bully.

She flew up, sitting on your arm, as you lifted your fingers to gently caress her.

"My poor baby," you whispered, as she cooed softly to your ear. "Isn't he just a mean bully? Quite different from his master, hm?"

Her small head pushed against your fingers, starved for your delicate touch, soothing her snowy feathers with slow brushes.

And when you looked at the snake, with a feather in his mouth, he sent you one last glance, before hiding back in the forest.

It seemed like you needed to fulfil your promise and pay the God of the Underworld a visit.

So a few days later, you finally found the only person who could help you get down to Hades's domain.

"Sorry, what?" Hermes looked at you with a furrow, scanning your body covered in pink, flowy robes, full of beauty and charm, definitely not accustomed to and made for a journey to the underworld. "Are you bored? Why in the world would you like to go down there?"

Your lips pressed in a line, hands clasped on your chest, with gold bracelets hugging your bare arms. It was always weird to hear other Gods – men – question your choices, and aside from Gojo who indeed had this privilege solely because of being your friend, it was always quite irritating to see others not giving you what you asked them for.

And if going to the underworld was that easy, you would do it yourself.

But it wasn't.

In fact, only one God was responsible for taking souls to the gates of hell, and it was he – this charming man, but just a dick to be honest, with wings on his feet and a golden helmet sitting tight on his raven hair.

Toji.

Your once-lover and Gojo's nemesis.

"Lord Hades invited me over," you said, but the only reaction you've got was a soft scoff.

"I doubt it." He murmured, broad back still turned away.

You took a deep breath, placing fingers on your temple. "Okay, what do you want in exchange?"

"Nothing." He stood back to you, focused on repairing something in his winged sandals, ignoring your boiling figure completly.

You really hoped that this pink dress, hugging your hips gently, with skin smelling like rose oil and a golden necklace sitting calmly right on your plump breasts, would convince him to grant you a pass.

You blinked.

"Nothing?" you repeated slowly, not quite believing your ears.

Toji finally turned to face you. The movement was lazy, unhurried, like a lion stretching only because it felt like it. Sunlight caught on the metal of his winged sandals, and the golden helmet resting carelessly on his head tilted as he studied you with dark, amused eyes.

“Did I stutter, doll?”

Your eye twitched.

Men like him were always like this – acting as if they were above bargains, above temptation, above you. As if the Goddess of Love herself standing in front of them asking for help was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"I don’t believe you," you said flatly.

He smirked. "Smart."

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leaned against the marble pillar behind him, muscles shifting beneath his tunic. Even relaxed, he looked built for war – dangerous in a way that made other gods nervous and foolish mortals worshipful. He was cunning, smart, a God of Travellers and thieves, mostly, somehow having responsibility over guiding poor souls to the underworld.

You had fun back in the days, but he, like any other God, was too overpowering. Too pushy, brutal, with his fast and heavy thrusts, indeed giving you pleasure, but never satisfying some deep need coiling in your belly. He wouldn't drop down to his knees. Worship you like a Goddess, a pathetic man eager to lose his Godly status just to have you exclusively.

"You don’t want gold," you continued, ticking possibilities off in your mind. "You don’t care for favors. You’ve never been one for politics. So what is it, Toji? What do you want?"

For a moment he only watched you, gaze dragging slowly over your face as if he were trying to decide something.

Then he laughed.

Low. Rough. Infuriatingly confident.

"What I want," he said, stepping closer, "is to see something interesting."

Your brows knitted together. "Interesting?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You, of all people, marching into the Underworld for the brooding King of the Dead? That’s entertainment money can’t buy."

So that was it.

Curiosity.

Amusement.

Typical Hermes.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered.

"So I’ve been told." His grin widened. "Alright, doll. I’ll take you."

Relief loosened the knot in your chest, though you hid it well to not give him satisfaction.

"But," he added, holding up a finger, "you follow my lead. No wandering off. No charming the shades. And absolutely no crying if you get scared."

"I don’t get scared," you said coolly.

"We’ll see."

Without another word, he extended a hand to you. Rough, warm, steady.

Hesitating only a second, you placed your fingers in his.

The world shifted.

Air folded in on itself. The brightness of Olympus faded like a curtain being drawn, colors draining away into something colder, heavier. The scent of flowers and honey dissolved into ash and stone.

When your feet touched solid ground again, it wasn’t marble beneath you.

It was black sand.

The sky above was no longer sky at all – just a vast, endless ceiling of shadow. Rivers of dark water cut through the land like veins, and distant wails echoed from places you couldn’t see.

Toji released your hand.

"Welcome to the Underworld," he said casually, as if he’d just shown you a new café instead of the realm of the dead.

You barely heard him.

Because ahead of you, towering higher than any palace of Olympus, stood the gates.

Massive iron doors carved with ancient symbols, wrapped in chains that seemed to breathe, guarded by looming statues with hollow eyes. Beyond them stretched a kingdom of eternal night.

Hades’s domain.

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

"So," Toji drawled beside you, watching your expression with open amusement, "still sure about this?"

You lifted your chin.

"Open the gates."

The underworld turned out to be... quiet.

The shriek of massive gates filled the stifled air, but when you entered through, there was nothing once again.

No, maybe there was.

Soft whispers coming from the long river stretching in front of you, with a small, wooden pier lightened by a single candle. Its flame whizzed in the darkness, inviting you as if offering a bit of warmth.

Black sand sank beneath your sandals, your pink dress grazing the ground as you followed Toji’s broad, confident back toward the pier.

"My company ends here," he stated, walking slowly. "But Charon will take you straight to Hades’s temple."

You frowned slightly, glancing around the boundless land. No sun. No moon. Only endless twilight, air shifting between cold and warmth, sticky and hollow, sending uneasy shivers down your spine.

"He’ll be there. Don’t worry," Toji added, noticing the tension in your shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”

You noticed shades hovering nearby – dim, almost transparent figures gliding aimlessly, faces pale and empty, hands reaching out as though searching for something they had long forgotten. "Who are they?"

"Dead who weren’t buried with coins," Toji replied, casually swatting away one shade that drifted too close to you with cupped, pleading hands. "Charon can’t take them across the Styx without payment."

"And what happens to them?"

Your feet touched the wooden pier. The boat was already waiting – long and narrow, with a single lamp hanging from its curved prow. A small figure sat at the back, cloaked in black, nothing visible but pale, bony hands protruding from wide sleeves, one extended expectantly, the other gripping a worn paddle.

"They wander," Toji said with a shrug, snapping his fingers towards the boatman. "Hey, grandpa, she's a Goddess, no need for payment. Take her right to Hades. She's a guest."

Charon slowly withdrew his outstretched hand and placed it back on the paddle, waiting in silent invitation.

You inhaled slowly, gathering the folds of your dress, and stepped into the boat.

The wood creaked beneath your weight, and the small vessel rocked gently as Charon pushed away from the pier with a single, practiced motion. The candlelight swayed, throwing trembling reflections across the dark water.

Toji remained on the shore, arms crossed.

"Try not to die down there," he called after you with a lazy grin.

"I’m a Goddess," you glanced back, lifting your chin. "I can't die."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already turning away. "Tell that Sisyphus."

You wanted to snap back that he, in fact, wasn't a God, but the boat already moved, sliding over the dark waters of the Styx with gentle waves woven by a wooden paddle.

The River Styx stretched endlessly in both directions, black as polished obsidian, its surface smooth and unmoving. No wind touched it. No ripple dared disturb it. The only sound was the slow dip of Charon’s paddle cutting through the water.

Around you, shades hovered in the mist, faint faces pressed together like memories too worn to remember themselves. Some reached toward the boat with hollow eyes, others merely watched, envy etched into their pale, fading forms.

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

For the first time in centuries, you felt small.

“Don’t listen to them,” Toji had warned before you left.

But how could you not?

One shade drifted close to the boat, its hollow eyes meeting yours, and for a heartbeat, you felt a wave of sorrow so deep it nearly stole your breath.

You looked away quickly.

The further you travelled, the heavier the air became, until at last the boat scraped softly against another shore.

And there it was.

The entrance to the Underworld.

You looked over your shoulder at Charon, wishing to hear his voice, but he only stretched his skeletal hand, pointing at something.

You left the boat, feet once again touching soft, black sand.

The closer you got to Hades's temple, the warmer it became, with a gentle wind moving folds of your dress. As Toji said, it wasn't a place for you.

Dark, isolated, gloomy, hugging your shivering body covered in the sweetest, most beautiful shimmering gown worn only on the sunny land of Olympus.

But here? You looked truly like a clown, with gold jewellery looking almost bleak under the darkness looming over your figure.

Another gate appeared in front of you, once again massive in its heaviness, but this time with no chain in sight.

Actually, it looked as if... slightly opened?

Impossible.

You moved closer, step by step, white sandals sinking in sand, black grains moving between your soft fingers. The gate was right there, so close, with a mere few steps and–

Your body froze.

Because there, from the darkness emerged a creature so massive it seemed carved from nightmares themselves.

Enormous, monstrous even, with three heads moving towards you, teeth wet with saliva and eyes burning like coal.

A guard of the underworld, you've heard.

Hades's pet.

But you didn't see any assembly to a pet, rather a monster talked about only in tales, one usually killed bravely by heroes or spreading annihilation over mortals.

Your heart skipped.

"Oh," you breathed. "You must be the Cerberus."

The beast stepped closer, paws heavier than thunder, breath warm and smoky against your skin. Each head watched you with suspicion, nostrils flaring at your unfamiliar scent.

You straightened your shoulders.

"I am Aphrodite," you said softly, holding out a hand. "Goddess of Love and Beauty. I mean no harm."

For a tense moment, nothing happened.

But then, one of the massive heads tilted. In curiosity, playfulness, maybe, with this glint in his eye, you knew animals had every time they saw you.

Another gave a curious sniff, as if your rosy oil scratched his nostrils in pleasure.

The third promptly leaned forward, and before you could fully process it, a rough, warm tongue dragged across your cheek.

"Oh–!" You gasped, stumbling back in surprise.

The second head followed, then the third, each nuzzling you with embarrassing enthusiasm. The fear melted instantly, replaced by startled laughter.

The great hound wagged its monstrous tail, the ground trembling with each happy thump.

"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You're just like your Master." Faint giggle bubbled in your throat, fingers scratching one of the enormous heads under its chin, the other one behind its ear, while the third licked your skin once again, leaving you with another gasp and its saliva dripping down your robe.

"Such good puppies, aren't you? Can you take me to your Master? We have stuff to discuss."

Cerberus escorted you the rest of the way, walking proudly at your side as if you were already expected.

And beyond the heavy gate and rocky path, rising higher than any structure you had ever seen, stood the temple of Hades. Stone steps rose upward toward a structure carved into the cliffs themselves – dark marble pillars wrapped in shadow, torches burning with pale fire.

Cold.

Majestic.

Eternal.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"So this is where he lives," you whispered, feeling Cerberus' nose pushing you towards the temple. "Yes, yes, thank you, my dear. Such a good dog you are. The best, maybe."

You gave him one last scratch before going towards Hades's domain.

Did he expect you? You thought.

Will he be surprised?

Did Toji tell him you're here?

But if he did, wouldn't the God of the Underworld wait for you already?

And as you stepped closer to the looming entrance, licked by the cold fire of the hanging lanterns, something in your gut told you that he, in fact, didn't know that you were here.

And when you entered, looking around the cold stones, your heart suddenly skipped a beat.

You expected the inside to be quite cold, sheathed in gloom, a feeling of sadness, weird eariness that would send a chill through your bones. No one actually knew what Hades lived like. No one ever cared. And it seemed like he didn't care too – about making an appearance, trying to change the way people see him, particularly about other Gods.

But, oh, how wrong you were.

Because on the tall walls and high ceilings, an altar quietly put in the middle and columns wrapped in paintings – was you.

You, bathing in a pool, painted with a steady hand on one of the walls.

Your body wrapped around the column, one of the flowy dresses slipped on it casually, hair fluttering in the wind, and a smile spread on plump lips.

The sculpture of your body, naked, but covered with a transparent robe, presenting only a part of your full breasts and hips, ending just in the middle of thick thighs, standing just in the middle of the entrance. It looked dampened, with the robe sticking to your skin, barely covering perked nipples and fat gathering around your hips.

Your gaze moved to the altar.

Shells scattered around its flat surface, together with roses, apples, seeds of pomegranate, a white feather, a piece of your– wait a minute-

"M-my Goddess?"

A low voice brought your thoughts back.

Choso suddenly emerged from one of the chambers, his tall figure covered in black robes and face – oh, his face – twisted in emotion closest to pure agony. He looked at you with furrowed brows, biting lower lip and deciding whether he should come to you or, maybe, once again, run away.

"My Goddess, what are you doing here?" He asked, staying in place.

You glanced last time at the piece of clothing lying on the altar and grinned. It was weird to see it here, from all places, but something coiling in your lower belly told you that perhaps it was the only reasonable place to see your undergarments stolen a while ago.

"I promised to give it back," a black handkerchief appeared in your hand, clean and fresh, smelling exactly like your favourite body oil. "Last time you ran away so quickly, my Lord, we didn't have a chance to properly talk."

His throat moved and eyes followed you nervously as you slowly walked towards him.

You didn't fit here, he thought, to this disgusting place.

Because he had seen beauty before.

Choso was old as bone and shadow, older than kingdoms, older than grief. He had watched empires crumble into dust and souls pass through his gates like autumn leaves. Nothing startled him anymore. Nothing truly moved him.

But then, oh, then he saw you.

Aphrodite.

A name whispered among Gods and mortals, and yet no story, no hymn, no jealous prayer had ever done you justice.

He watched you approach with a steady pace, swaying hips, and long robes dragged behind your feet. His mouth was dry, heart beating too fast, pale skin sweating with dread, nervousness, terror. Because every time he saw you, smelled your skin damped in the sweetness of flowery oils, heard a laugh always caused by Gojo or another God he absolutely despised – his body was in flames.

Your gown flowed like liquid dawn – soft folds of pink and gold clinging to a body sculpted by the heavens themselves. Each step you took was unhurried, graceful, unaware of the havoc it caused in his heart.

Your hair caught the dim torchlight and turned it into silk. Skin held a glow that did not belong to this realm, smooth and untouched, as if the moment he would sink his teeth into the curve of your ass, pure ambrosia would drip down his chin.

And your face–

Gods had waged wars over less.

There was something unbearably gentle in your expression, something kind, a beauty truly worthy of the Goddess of Love. And the smirk on your lips, a cunning smile, words slipping so casually, constantly with a drop of lewdness as if you knew the effect you had on him.

Choso knew it was over for him.

He had always wondered, distantly, what it would feel like to have your hand in his. To feel that warmth against his eternally cold skin. To have you say his name the way only lovers did, low and familiar, as if he was something precious instead of something feared by Gods and mortals.

His fist clenched, when you walked closer – body mere centimetres from his, breast almost touching his burning skin, and he prayed, truly prayed, for your gaze not to go down any further, because he couldn't stand your lustrous eyes on his cock leaking through black robes.

"My Lord, won't you invite me to a cup of wine, at least?" You asked carefully, quietly, noticing his dark eyes running around your face. His hand trembled, and throat cleared when he showed you a way inside the temple.

To his inner chambers, you guessed.

You walked past him, fingers slightly brushing the bulging part of his robes, and he, well, he almost fell down to his knees in an utterly embarrassing and completly failed position he found himself at.

The inside of the temple was cosier than you thought it would be, with the next room filled with warmth and red carpets, candles fighting the darkness with their reddish tongues. There was a long table too and a balcony, with a view of – oh.

"That is Tartatus, my Goddess," Choso said, when he saw your shocked gaze looking down at the deep abyss filled with faint moans and shrieks, as if souls were cooked alive there, tortured in the most terrifying ways. A dungeon for the most wicked ones, true monsters and creatures that should never see daylight. "I don't use it unless I have to. Some of them deserve to be there."

A hint of nervousness still lingered in his voice when he stood behind you. Heat radiated from his body as he stood close enough to cage you with his muscular forearms. How lovely it would be!

You moved your head away from the painful screams, turning your body back towards him.

Gentle eyes looked at you from under the purplish circles, black stripes moving together with his knitted eyebrows and tightened lips.

"Aren't you lonely here? It doesn't seem like the happiest place in the world," you asked with actual curiosity, but he frowned even harder, as if thinking about the proper answer.

Some servant in the back put two glasses of wine on the table and melted away in the darkness of the temple.

"I never had a choice," Choso finally whispered, inviting you with a gesture back to the room. He moved away a chair and let you sit first, before taking a seat right next to you. "That's how I was raised and born. That's the only place I know."

You watched him carefully as he spoke.

There was something painfully honest in his voice, something raw and unpolished, as if no one had ever truly asked him such a simple question before.

You lifted a glass to your lips, taking a sip of red wine, melting sweetly on your tongue.

“So no visitors?” you asked lightly. “No celebrations? No festivals in your honour? Is there truly no one who worships the God of the Underworld? There must be some benefits to it.”

He huffed softly at that, something almost like embarrassment flickering across his face.

“The dead do not celebrate,” he replied. “And the living fear me too much to bother.”

“Yet you welcomed me,” you pointed out.

At that, his fingers tightened slightly around his own glass. Face slightly flushed, red like a cherry, with its juice going through his cheeks up to hair-covered ears.

"B-but you're not like them," he mumbled so quietly, you needed to use all of your might to hear those words.

Not like them.

Your head tilted, letting a small smile play at the corner of your mouth.

“And how am I different, my Lord?" you asked, voice gentle and confident, nevertheless pinning him down to his seat in nervousness. "Oh, and the paintings at the entrance? Truly wonderful! I've never thought I'll have devotees among the Gods."

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Dark eyes traced your face again, as if committing every detail to memory. The plumpness of your lips. The shine of your skin. The soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath. This rosy dress, too tight and too transparent, allowing him to see the curve of your breast and the pinkish aureola of your soft nipples.

He gulped.

"I-if you're bothered by them–"

"I'm not. I love them, truly," Choso shifted in his place, when you slightly loosened on your chair, legs spread a bit wider than they were, fiery gaze stuck at him. "But the altar, dear Lord. How did you even get such stuff? The feather, I believe, is a treasure captured by one of your small servants, although he indeed was a bit brutal with my birdie," His face was burning, air almost knocked out from lungs in embarrassment and desire he felt under your heavy gaze, with his eyes focused on your parted thighs, hugged by a robe, opened for him as if in invitation. "Though the undergarment? Aren't you–" But before you could finish, he dropped down to his knees, head heavy on your thighs, muscular arms wrapped around your legs as you felt something hard and leaking under your foot. "Just a pervert?"

"M-my Goddes, I'm so s-sorry," he murmured, looking at you from below, with dark eyes filled with pathetic pleading, beefy arms tightening their embrace around your legs as he rubbed his cheek against your warm thigh. "I am, I am a pervert, I-I am nothing more than a pervert, j-just please let me–"

Your hand gently caressed his cheek as he nuzzled into it with a heavy breath.

Dear God, he was truly perfect, with those trembling lips and eyes gazing at you so lovingly, so desperately, something warm coiled in your belly.

His hands touched your ankles, slowly, slowly, going up, catching the hem of your dress, rolling it up to your knees, while he still looked at you with begging eyes.

"Let you do what?" you hummed, foot pushing against his throbbing dick with gentleness, "What are you willing to do to have me, my Lord?"

His fingers clenched on your skin before pulling the dress up to the middle of your slick thighs with one swift motion. "Whatever you want, my Goddess. Just ask me, p-please just ask me. I'll give you sun and moon if you'll ask me to."

He put your legs on his shoulders, hands roaming on your bare skin, feeling the heat radiating from your core, bare but not quite visible for his hungry, despairing eye.

Your head tilted, fingers combing his hair. "Anything? Would you die for me, my Lord?"

"Yes."

No hesitation.

"Would you degrade yourself as a God, my Lord?"

"Yes."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Would you kill your brothers, my Lord?"

You knew this one was completly inappropriate, something others could kill you for, but–

"Yes."

And you didn't have time to react, before Choso spread your thighs even wider and took a looong lick of your creamy pussy. Your breath hitched, he moaned, a grumble going straight to your pulsing core, fingers squeezing his hair stronger.

"My Lord!"

But he was completly lost, with his mouth drenched in your leaking pussy, tasting, as he anticipated, like the purest form of ambrosia, the plum wine going sweetly down his throat until he moaned, no, cried right into your spread folds.

You involuntarily bucked your hips towards his open lips as he sucked on your clit.

"S-so good, my Goddess, s-so mmm–"

But the hard chair was brushing your velvety skin, and a quiet groan escaped your throat when he folded you even harder.

"My Lord, please let's move to–"

You didn't have to say it twice, before he slumped you over his shoulder, like a sack of grain, with bare ass and leaking cunt, kept in place by his beefy arm.

"Call me Choso, my Goddess," he mumbled, not able to keep his lips from your skin, kissing, biting, licking the bare curve of your ass, fingers slightly parting your pussylips as he drenched them in your juices.

And although you couldn't see him, a moment later, you heard him licking something, moaning so loudly you felt another wave of warmth flowing in your belly.

Your back hit a soft surface, and soon you found yourself spread on a bed. Lightless sky peeked through the windows, faint flames kissing Choso's fully dressed body, panting heavily as he looked down at your glistening folds. A second later, his black robe landed on the floor, with absolutely nothing on his tall body aside from heavy mountains of muscles, with muscular thighs dropping down to plush carpet and toned arms again parting your legs.

"M-my Goddess, can I?" He glanced at you pleadingly, looking like a child ready to cry if his mama won't give him his favourite sweet.

You bit lower lip, eyes sparkling with excitement at seeing him in such a hopeless state.

"Only if you'll eat me out like a good boy, Cho. Can you do it?"

Oh! And if it didn't fire him up, with a frown on his handsome face, nodding quickly, obediently, truly like a small puppy. Just maybe ten times bigger and much heavier than you, with enough strength to pin you down against his bed and fuck you senseless like an animal.

You've kept your weight on your elbows, seeing Choso going down once again, giving you a looong drag of his tongue against your glistering folds, as he parted them with his two fingers. His hot breath on your clit, as he sucked on it gently, needily, moaning and crying every time a fresh batch of creamy cum went down his throat. When your walls clenched around his tongue, rummaging inside you, and a sharp breath escaped your throat.

His hands roamed around your ass, hips, pulling you even closer, before going up up up to your breasts. Oh, Goddess of Love and Fertility, you truly were, because the thought of milk dripping from your pinkish nipples, of him sucking your tits and pushing his cock deep down your cunt at the same time made him almost cum on the spot.

He thought about whether you would allow him to cum inside.

Whether you would want his babies, to walk heavily pregnant and let him worship you day and night, by keeping your pussy always warm and pleased.

Would you–

"Yes yes yes, to all of them," you moaned with head lulled back and eyes crossed, as Choso, accidentally or not, murmured all his wishes riiiiight into your pussy, squeezing around his two fingers. "You better keep your promise and fuck me pregnant then."

He licked your pussy unhingeldy, like a starved dog, with a frown between his brows and black stripes moving every time the tip of his tongue dragged down your puffy clit, slick folds, not allowing even a single drop of your honey slick dto rip down the sheets.

His face was so beautiful and truly Godly, with pale skin drenched with your juices and contrasting red lips wrapped around your sweet bud. You looked down on him, mouth parted and breath heavy, as he pressed you closer to his open lips and stuck out tongue. "M-my Goddess, I-I promise–ngh–your pussy tastes so delicious, I can't stop ahhh–p-please tell me it feels good."

A giggle escaped your throat, but was soon strangled by a moan, when his fingers curled riiiight into that spongy spot, sending shivers down till your cervix, making your belly clench and head throw back. And seeing your reaction, he curled them again and again again again, pairing it with his tongue licking your soaked pussy and lips sucking on sweet bud, pushing his face even deeper into your folds, almost wishing to get inhaled by them.

"Mhmmm so good Cho, you're eating me s-so fucking good ahhh–"

But gone he was, eyes closed in pleasure, lips puffy, and head nodding faintly when you moved your hips and rubbed them against his tongue.

"S-so good, mhmm feels so good, this pussy," he mumbled, not quite sure whether to you or your cunt, gasping and wailing with a mouth full of your sweet juice. "Feels so mhm so good, m-my Goddess, my baby mhm, so pretty pretty–"

A pressure coiled in your belly – feeling, that with another thrust of his fingers and looong stripe of his tongue against your cunt, you will completly, pathetically break under his muscular arms pinning you down to bed.

"Choso, I'm gonna–" You gasped, fingers clasping his hair, to take him away from your pussy just for a second. "I wanna cum on your cock."

He looked up. Gaze lost, hair messy, chin drenched, a pearl of sweat running down his pale temple.

"Don't underestimate me. I'll make you cum on both my tongue and cock," His fingers stretched every corner of your cunt, thrusting against the tight muscles, drawing even more of your sweet juices from your tight hole as you moaned at the pressure building in your stomach. "What, my Goddess, your lovers never made you cum twice?"

You shook your head, gaze blurred by the heavy feeling in your belly. Choso smiled, curling his fingers against your sweet spot brutally, sucking on your clit with the lovliest cries, looking sooo satisfied and confident, with this precious knowledge of having the honour to make his Goddess go stupid on both his face and his dick.

"Even Gojo?" He continued, looking completly drunk on your slick juices, nevertheless still making sure that he indeed would be your best, the first, the only lover that will ever make you cum countless times, till your clit is sore and womb plump from his seed.

"I never had a good lover," you mewled, feeling him groan against your cunt.

"Mhmm, m-my Goddess allow me to–"

And you indeed allowed him, because not a second later, your back rose in an arch, fingers curled and thighs clenched on his head, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds, with your body trembling under his toned arms, keeping you pinned to bed.

You weren't quite sure who had an orgasm, because while a heavy whine ripped from your throat, and a shock waved through your body, Choso seemed to go through his own pleasure, crying, whining, moaning, muttering under his nose, hiccuping on your gushing slick – completly, utterly lost in the taste of your pussy.

Pretty pretty pretty pussy.

Seconds later, your positions changed, with you straddling his hips and his back slumped against soft pillows. Two hands landed on your ass, pushing it against his throbbing cock, sticking so obediently to his lower abs, with precum dripping down his shaft and smeared all over his happy trail. With hips on top, your folds hugged in wetly, last traces of creamy cum gushing over his aching shaft, with head so reddish you thought no one ever needed you that desperately.

"My Goddess, r-ride me, please?" And for a God of Underworld himself, one of the most powerful creatures in the whole Pantheon, Choso truly couldn’t stand giving you orders.

It was always please and would you, and I’m sorry, with this absurdly massive body and his eyes filled with so much gentleness, you instantly felt your cunt twitch once again.

"Oh, where did you see that position, Cho?" A smile danced in the corners of your eyes, and your hips moved slightly with your warm folds sliding up and down his cock.

It’s veiny shaft, looking so deliciously wet, fat around your pussylips and so so so pretty, you moaned faintly and put palms on Choso’s chest.

This question seemed to strike him dumb, because you saw the answer bubbling somewhere in his throat, too extreme to see the dawn.

"Tell me, baby, where have you seen it? Aren’t you a virgin, after all?" Your syrupy voice and wet pussy, fluttering hole slightly catching on the head of his cock made him whine and shudder under your weight.

He nodded, clenching his palms on your hips. "I-I am, I s-stayed for you."

For you.

And with these words, you slid his cock inside you a bit, truly barely, with the feverish tip hugged warmly by your pinkish walls. But you didn’t go further, waiting for his filthy confession.

"Such a good boy you are, right? I’ve never met better," you leaned over, lips mere millimetres from his, caressing them gently in a soft kiss. Your tongue slipped and licked his lower lip, trembling with mere inches of his cock sank inside you. "So tell me now, where did you see it?"

There was something pervy within him. Great Lord Hades, fearsome Choso, a dreadful figure living in darkness, always there but never caught by anyone. Everyone thought of him as a ghost, a demon almost, so powerful in his might yet somehow always unreachable.

But you knew.

You saw it, felt it, his presence, your disappearing panties, the rosy smell on his neck, this look when his eyes traced your body, smooth skin, a giggle escaping your lips, and single glances shot towards him, enough to give him false hope and obsess over you within the dark chambers of his temple.

A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead; his voice clearly dipped in utter embarrassment and yearning. "I-I saw you with Gojo."

You raised a brow, lips curved in an o, when you tried to remember the last time you and Gojo had sex.

Dear God, wasn't it like–

"Two years ago, you mean?"

He nodded his head, biting lower lip. Cock still only catching on your entrance, and as much as he wished to sink deep into your soaking cunt, with insanity hanging by a thread, he squeezed fingers on your hips and took a deep breath.

"Y-you rode him them, I-I saw it–"

"What do you mean, saw it?"

Oh, you loved it.

Loved loved loved it.

This blush spreading over his cheeks, a pathetic gaze he bestowed you, paired together with soft whimpers every time you squeezed slightly around his aching head, precum drenching your walls in salty droplets.

"I watched you f-from the c-corner of your chamber," admitting his perversity was a true nightmare, but you couldn't stop this pleasure coiling in your belly.

"You watched me, baby?" You sank lower, just a bit, giving him a prize for being such a good and obedient boy. "Did you touch yourself too? Hm? My cunt riding Gojo's cock excited you that much?"

His head nodded again, fast, a whimper escaping his throat when his huge cock went deeper inside your fluttering walls. The stretch was delicious, absolutely devastating, with a soft moan escaping your lips right into his parted lips.

"M-my Goddess, p-please can you move? Just a b-bit, please, please," He gasped, restraining the urge to buck his hips and push his cock into your drenched pussy till his pumping head will hit your cervix.

"How many times have you watched me?" Your questions were coming one by one, next more difficult than the other, giving Choso almost a cardiac arrest, with his heart beating so fast and his eyes almost glossy, he could not stand another embarrassing answer.

"E-every time, my Goddess, please–"

"Every time?" The last time you satisfied yourself was just after the feast. Did it mean that...?

Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, lips wobbly when you finally, finally, sat on him with your full weight, heavy cock deep inside your cunt. You deflected, back arched, hands resting on his thighs, legs parted, allowing him to watch a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock.

"S-so good, dear Goddess, oh it feels so fucking good, y-your pussy–" He cried, whimpered, hips finally bucking up to meet yours, cock thrusting deep inside you, squeezed, kissed by your muscles and cervix, sucked every time he tried to pull out.

His eyes met yours – cunning, glistering, with this lovable hint of gentleness and desire he never ever saw with your previous lovers. And he observed you every time another God fucked your tight cunt.

Every time with your panties around his leaking cock, every time noticing what brought you the most pleasure.

So that's how he knew that if he put his hand on your lower belly, bulging with his fat cock, and pushed it slightly, your pussy would clutch him ever harder.

He knew that if his thumb would circle your sweet clit, a sharp whine would bubble in your throat, and your eyes would cross in pleasure.

So he watched your face twist in delight, hips riding him even faster, stronger, wilder, with tits moving together with your sharp back-and-forth moves. He sat up and leaned over to suck your perked nipple, cupping another one with his big palm.

Oh, how he wanted to taste the sweetness of your milk, feeling the heaviness of your breast sitting tightly in his palm, so soft and squishy, he whimpered heavily with his cock sinking in even more. "M-my Goddness, you're squeezing me so hard, feels so good mhmmm. D-do you feel g-good?"

You nodded your head, sweat dripping down your temple, but not for long, because Chose leaned and licked it from your honeyed skin.

Oh, how fucking delicious you were.

"Let me take over? I-I promise I'll be good," His hands on your hips helped you move, fucking himself back into you harder with every thrust, but it was clear that you were getting tired. "I'll be good, good, so so so good for you my Goddess–"

Although he absolutely loved this view, needing to have it in front of his eyes every morning – your full hips bouncing obscenely on his fat cock, belly bulging with his shaft, reddened lips parted and brows furrowed, with sweat dripping between your heavy tits, fitting his palm just perfectly. He would truly be ready to give over his Godly title to see it every fucking day.

"Mhmm yeah please baby, gonna fuck me with your cock?" Your lost gaze met his, even more miserable. "Mmm Cho baby, you're the best, the best fucking lov–"

You didn't manage to finish your sentence before he changed your position fast. You knew he was strong, with muscular arms and great posture, back filling his black robes and heavy, massive cock sealing your thigh cunt juust in the right way.

But you truly underestimated the power he possessed. And maybe you realised it the moment his hands appeared under your thighs, puuushing them far until your knees were almost around your head, with ass lifted in the air and breath knocked out of your chest.

And he?

He was massive. Obsessed. Lost. Bubbling under his nose, with eyes glued to your open pussy. About how delicious you were, how pretty your cunt was, how he'll breed it until it flows with his cum. He parted your lips with two fingers, whimpering at the sight of you, oh so lonely and needy hole, with saps dripping down the sheets.

Choso needed one thrust only – short, absolutely brutal, stretching a still tight ring of your muscles, absolutely devouring every panted cry that escaped your lips with his wet kisses, mouth covering yours fully, and tongue sinking down your throat.

"Mmm Cho, just like that, yes yes yes." He was swallowing your every moan like a madman, thrusting his cock deep aaall the way down to your cervix, head catching on your spongy spot and hammering it with every push.

"You make me, fuck, m-my Goddess, you turn me into fucking animal," He whimpered right into your mouth, fat tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to sliding down his flushed cheeks every time your cunt clamped down on his drenched cock. "I-I dreamed about this for s-so long."

And you started to feel it – this warmth in your belly, your hitched breath, head spinning, and back slightly arching with Choso's brutal thrust, obscene moans filling his chamber and nothing but squelch squelch squelch of your absolutely soaked folds drenching his fat cock.

"C-cho I'm close, I'm so so so close mhmm p-please!"

Nothing could prepare him for your sweet cumming – cunt clenching hard, creamy rings stuck to his shaft and slick gushing down your thighs. You cried, shuddered, rolled your hips against his, squeezed on his cock so hard, you felt every vein of his throbbing shaft. And he continued to pound you madly, brutally, cock sinking balls deep into your hole, a whimper escaping his throat when he drove his mass on your body even harder.

Folding you in half, preparing for a proper breeding, the thought of fucking the most fertile Goddess made him go insane.

Oh god, oh dear fucking god, how many children could you give him?

How delicious your milk would be when he would fuck your pretty pussy while drinking it riiight from your plump tits?

"M-my Goddess, can I p-please cum–"

"You better not spill any drop." Your voice was raspy but still possessed this domination that made him cream his pants on the spot.

So with another thrust, he completly crushed, body shuddering, thrusts not stopping until his tip pressed fully against your womb, filling you with loads and loads, oh god he really was a perv and a virgin, of cum, until it stuck gluey to your walls.

And with a heavy breath, he finally plopped down, embracing you with both arms and placing a cheek on your breast.

The silence filled his chamber, with sky still showing no traces of sun, only the nighttime quietness and, oh, were those crickets singing outside his temple?

"They're also dying, you know?" He whispered, as if reading your mind.

A laugh escaped your throat as you combed your fingers through his hair. "So you decided to put them in your garden?"

He chuckled too, dark eyes closed as if preparing for deep slumber. "I hoped you'd like it. To have something... alive, more familiar here."

Your heart squeezed faintly at the thought of God of the Dead himself wanting to make you comfortable in his always gloomy, always eerie domain.

And maybe you didn't much enjoy the shrieks coming from Tartarus and all the lost souls wandering around his territory, you truly thought that with more aliveness here, you could make it work.

That's why no God or nymph could ever imagine, that during the next feast, Hades himself, a God feared by them all, will sit obediently, flushed on red wine, with a such a beauty on his lap – Aphrodite herself, chippering something sweetly to his ear and may or may not moving her hips in circles on his, oh sooo tight robe!

Going back to Egypt, Seth! Sukuna next <3

Since the faithful meeting when he was still just a boy, with nothing to his name, nor without any knowledge of his godly descent. He would remember that day for the next few years, while fighting his way up to Mount Olympus and proving his worth. While dreaming of you every single night, with nothing but shimmering stars and the gentle splashing of a brook reminding him of the kindest soul he's ever met. With benevolent touch and bewitching eyes. The sweet power that helped him lick the wounds, and the lovely giggles following him in dreams every night.

After years of hardships, he finally ascended to heaven and got the recognition of his father. Became the golden child, a precious sweetheart, with a massive combat body compared only to Ares's and the strength of a thousand monsters locked up in the deepest parts of Tartarus. He was a monster himself, some may've said, but with a kind heart and, oh, such handsome looks.

Light hair as if bleached by the Mediterranean sun and deep eyes, thick as hazelnut paste, with the gentleness never seen among warriors. Broad shoulders that could lift a thousand mountains and split the seas, without a droplet of sweat sliding down his curved muscles.

He was nothing but a demigod, but his name and fame spread around the country like a fire. The strongest man alive, the greatest hero, a myth, whose travels and deeds ended up on the pages of local storytellers and curved smoothly within the marble walls of his temples. His journeys spread wide across the long coastlines and mountainous peaks, with the nymphs whispering of his slayers like little birdies.

Of the King of the Thrakian Gigantes, he has killed to free the princess from his clutches. Of the Libyan giant, son of Poseidon, who abused the travellers crossing his land and made them compete in wrestling matches. Of the Prometheus he has freed, and the eagle feeding on his flesh, killed by Heracles himself. His father, Zeus, wasn't merry upon hearing the news, but Heracles was no one if the most dear child of his – thus the Gods and mortals did not feel Sky Father's wrath.

There were lots and lots of myths and tales celebrating Heracles's deeds, praising his half-godly figure and spreading the fame.

What mortals, gods, and other divinities didn't know, however, was why.

Why was he doing all of it?

Why was he trying to achieve an almost godly rank?

Why did he want to sit among the highest ones and praise in glory?

Why?

Because for Heracles, or Nanami Kento as his mortal parents named him, it was always you.

And what would be the easiest way to ask for the precious Nymph's love? Became the greatest, strongest, most praised warrior of the Mediterranean Sea, of course. Was there anything beautiful creatures like you loved more than the fame and glory? Not really.

At least that's what he thought.

Until he finally met you again, high on the Olympus' peak, basking under the flaming sun and dipping naked body in a river. You weren't alone, as other little birdies chirped right to your ear, with soft voices and girlish laughs, glancing at the river's calm waters.

And as beautiful as they were, his pleading eyes were reserved solely for you.

Nanami Kento has never met Aphrodite, but how truly angelic could she be if his heart already raced for a simple nymph? What could she possibly have that you might've lacked?

Did her hair bounce the same way as yours? Were her eyes shimmering slightly as if cursed by the stars? Was her skin soft and plush, with flushed cheeks and lips plumped like the freshest peach, he dreamed of caressing with his own? Was Aphrodite's voice as mesmerising and honeyed as yours, tickling the deepest parts of his brain?

What did her laugh sound like? Was it as bewitching? Could she also sway her hips with the swelling of the ocean's waves? Would she be willing to help him the same as you did?

Was her heart as compassionate as your?

Because that's what Nanami Kento thought – of you, being the loveliest petal, with the tenderness and kindness not seen among any of the patheon's gods.

That's why he approached you with confidence and pride, with eyes never leaving your blooming face and his heart swelling under the single giggle slipping through your cheeks.

He was hopeful and full of anticipation to once again hear your gentle voice soothing his mind.

But when you saw him... oh dear.

"What do you want?" your voice slashed his heart. "Why are you here again?"

Well... maybe, actually, it wasn't his first time meeting you on Olympus.

Not the second and third, even.

The fourth? Maybe fifth.

You stopped counting after seeing him the third time, with the same beseeching look and broad shoulders hunching under your irritated gaze.

The first time he asked for your hand was surprising. You were surprised as to why the strongest man alive wished to marry you?

A simple nymph, bathing lazily under the Greek sun and stuffing herself full of rich olives while days were passing by. You were nothing but a small deity, playing over the rivers and gossiping with other sisters while sipping the sweet wine sneaked out of Dionysus's cellar.

He talked of some meeting years ago, and your healing power, but Mnemosyne could only remember when and where it had happened.

For too many men healed by your powers walked this earth, and too many of them wished to see your slippery figure once again.

Coming back to the same river again and again, in hopes of catching your fleeting shadow or a single melody of your laughter, looming over the waters as men possessed.

The sole look on their faces was truly miserable, but seeing them like that was, well, quite fun.

You liked it and watched them secretly, as their tears and pleadings were drowning in the depths of rivers.

So how surprising was it when one of those sorrowful admirers, driven by an obsession, managed to rise in glory and turn out to be the mightiest's son.

Oh, how problematic he was, following you like a shadow and turning the Mountain upside down, just to ask for your hand. You thought that the first rejection would stop his further pleadings, but when Zeus himself decided to visit your small cottage and beg to finally accept the offering – the highest one too could not bear the misery of his son – you finally gave in.

Did you accept Heracles's proposal? No.

Were you willing to do it? Maybe.

"My love, I've come to ask–" he started, standing over the river's edge and covering the hottish sun.

Other nymphs giggled quietly, and you knew how eager they were to step into your shoes any second. Jealous of having such a man as Nanami Kento wrapped around your finger, ready to plunder the mortal world for a single glance of yours.

"I already said no," you quickly added, looking at his curled shoulder with a sly smile.

"Is there anything I lack, love?"

He kneeled, closing up the distance between you. You rested arms on the river's edge, looking up with doe eyes. He tried, really tried, to not glance at your naked body, with crystal droplets paving their way down the plush of your breasts. But you were nothing if not daring, taking the pleasure in the way his huge palms fisted and hazelnut eyes swirled between wet hair covering your nipples and plush hips swaying slowly in the water.

"You're covering my sun," you chuckled, and he smiled shyly.

"I'll bring you a thousand other suns if you'll ask me to."

A gentle hum slipped through, and you once again traced over his figure. Golden hair and warm eyes. Creamy skin coated by a thin armour and nothing but a white cloth hugging his hips. Muscles so big they seem almost unreal, covering him thickly and massively, making Nanami Kento the biggest and the most powerful man the world has ever birthed. His fingers were long and thick, but always oh so gentle, whenever he pushed a single strand of hair behind your ear.

The most intimate and only gesture you've ever allowed him for.

"I don't want another sun, just move away from this one," your voice was soft, but the words made his shoulders falter even more.

"I'll do whatever you ask me for, my love. Just, could you please rethink–"

You raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

His sandy eyebrows creased, with a small wrinkle forming between them.

Because he didn't know.

He truly, honestly didn't know why you would be willing to marry him, being sure of nothing but only the fact that he loved you deeply. Maddeningly, almost, verging on following you miserably like a dog if you just asked him to. Ready to shoot a sun down, just to bring you a piece of warmth.

But he didn't want to be like Apollo - drive you mad till death would seem more pleasant than accepting his feelings.

But he also didn't want to let you go, waiting eagerly for the day when–

"Fine," you suddenly said.

What?

"I'm sorry?" he couldn't swallow it, tracing the cunning smile forming on your face.

"I said fine, I'll marry you," you giggled, pushing away from the shore and swimming a few meters back. "But firstly, you'll need to prove yourself to me."

Your naked body swirled, as if melting together with warm water, before swimming closer once again. Kento was still kneeling near the edge, with thick thighs and knees touching the grass. Your wet hands rested on his muscles before you lifted yourself up. But only in half, with crystal droplets dripping down from pinkish nipples and hips still hidden under the gentle waves.

He almost burned.

Oh, was he dying?

Was your touch that sizzling, fragrance so maddening, that he truly started to burn from the inside?

He didn't dare to touch you, but hazelnut eyes traced the watery paths carving your skin, oozing down the plush neck, collarbones and swirling between the soft breasts.

You were close, too close, with your nipple almost touching his iron-covered chest and lips tracing the little bobbing of his neck. Kento fought hundreds of monsters, but none of them felt as heavy as your hands on his bare thighs, bearing all of your weight solely on his muscles.

Not because you were heavy – oh dearest, he could lift you up with a pinky if you wanted to – but because the idea of you touching him willingly made him feverishly weak.

"You're very, very strong, right?" came out giggly, sweetly, with a thumb circling his skin.

He nodded, a voice stuck in a throat.

"How strong, hm?"

"The strongest."

"No one can beat you, right?"

His head shook. "No one, ever."

You lifted yourself up higher, with hips slowly surfacing out of the water and knees landing on the lush grass.

Bare and wet, with the softest skin not dared for his touch and alluring eyes never leaving his.

He truly was the strongest, with clenched fists and gaze holding yours, never, ever, sliding lower than down to your breasts.

And, oh, you were having so much fun, watching his crumbling composure.

"Then, should you prove your strength, I will marry you," your eyes shone upon seeing a tremble of his lips.

"Really?" came out in a whisper so quiet that only you could hear it. "You promise?"

You chuckled, slowly, slowly, climbing up his lap. His kneeling thighs between yours, breasts fully pressed to his light armour, dripping heat looming over creamy, bulged cloth wrapped around his hips.

"Mhm, I promise," you nuzzled against his neck, breathing in the musky fragrance that wrapped him tightly. "If you'll finish twelve missions, I will give myself to you," backing up, your arms wrapped around his neck. "Will become your sweet wife. You'll be allowed to do with me whatever you want," your voice was dripping with seductiveness, curling around his neck like a viper, only to finish him off with a poisonous kiss.

And Nanami Kento was more than eager to be killed by those sweet lips of yours.

"What is it? I'll do whatever you want, love."

He should know that the devilish smile that curved your lips was nothing but bad news.

You told him all twelve missions, one more horrendous than the other, with other nymphs' breaths catching in the background and his fists curling right next to your hips that straggled his.

A flimsy, creamy cloth was keeping his cock away from your heat. Feverish and sticky, with honeyed juices already smeared around his bulge, and your eyes not leaving his even for a second.

Hera herself, Zeus's wife, would be more merciful to her husband's bastard child than you were. The twelve labours sounded almost impossible, bizarre, absolutely savage even for a man like him.

But if that was your wish, then be it.

After you finished talking, he didn't say anything for a minute. Stared, with a pale face and furrowed brows. Golden hair caught the last rays of sunshine, basking his face in warm flames.

"Are you willing to–" but you didn't finish, when suddenly, you were gripped by your hips and placed back in the water.

Not a single word left his mouth, when he raised himself, gave you one last glance and turned around, disappearing in the lurking forest before the sun fully set.

Other nymphs quickly curled around you, watching his muscular back with sorrowful eyes.

"Sister, weren't you a bit harsh for him?" one asked.

"Dear, those labours... he may end up dead before finish them all," another added.

You sighed, wondering whether you'd actually gone overboard.

☾ 𖤓 ☾ 𖤓

He didn't visit you the next day.

Or the day later.

He didn't visit you even a week later, and when it prolonged to two, you started to worry.

Maybe you truly carried it too far?

But then, one night, while indulging with sister nymphs in the small, wine-party, one of them mentioned:

"Have you heard, dear? He killed the Nemean Lion."

You stalled, with throat clenching around the sipping wine.

"What did you just say?" you mumbled between the harsh coughs.

She slapped you gently on the back. "Your first labour – he did it. Strangled the lion with his own hands and skinned it for its fur."

It was true that the lion had been quite a trouble and a few gods had already tried to wrestle him, but you didn't expect Kento to do it so effortlessly.

With bare hands.

You didn't talk at all for the rest of the evening, wondering whether Nanami Kento would truly be able to finish all of your unachievable labours.

But after the first one, his next accomplishments came one by one. Sometimes over a distance of a few weeks, sometimes a month. And for this whole time, he didn't show himself even once.

You didn't catch a single strand of his golden hair nor the gentle, hazelnut gaze. Heavy, musky smell stopped following you around, and at some point, you even started to miss the deep voice that came to haunt you in dreams.

That space, dreams, seemed to be the only place where he appeared more human than ever. Long fingers grazed your cheeks and neck before slowly dripping down to your swollen breasts and soft belly. In that other, unfamiliar but at the same time so magnetic world, Kento was bolder than ever – more ferocious, brave, using his massive body to pin yours. Spreading your plush thighs, circling creamy clit with his fingers, warm eyes following every changing expression of your face.

You would wake up wet. Feverish. With pulsing heat and sweat dripping down your spine, before turning on your bed and glancing over the window, as if in a wish to see a piece of this golden hair.

And while you were trying to understand those new feelings, Kento was finishing labours one by one.

After the lion, he killed a Hydra, a monster with nine venomous heads, cutting each one of them with his sword, before dipping the silver into its poisonous blood.

Then he captured the golden-antlered deer alive, the most precious pet of goddess Artemis, before sending it straight to your cottage.

When you saw the animal chewing on the grass surrounding your place and drinking water from the river curling around the house, a deep sigh rolled from your lips. At least the deer looked quite well and indeed rather graceful.

For his fourth labour, he travelled to the land of the Centaurs and captured the Erymanthian boar, solely to return it to the King of Tiryns. It was a, well, sort of a present for a king, whose wife liked you very dearly.

The fifth labour was of the humiliating sort, and you thought that he might take offence. You forgot, however, that a man in love was prepared for all sorts of hardships and degradations, thus cleaning the stables of Augeius in a day was nothing but a pleasure break from killings. The stables were known as one of the biggest and filthiest ones, impossible to clean even in a month, but the idea of you becoming his wife was enough to forget about his ego.

Months were passing by, and the number of labours started to diminish rather quickly. On the contrary, all the little gifts you've asked for were coming one by one, till your deer got himself a precious, Cretan bull from Knossos, and a little hybrid cattle of Geryon straight from a foreign country, who was said to be born of a divine goddess. One day, three golden apples belonging to the Nymphs of the West appeared on your table, and you hid them quickly before the praying eyes would see the stolen treasure. Oh dearest, you were nothing but a simple nymph compared to the reputed Hesperides, with no other goddess but mother Hera having a single golden tree in her garden.

Nymphs started talking. Whispering, gossiping about the possessed demigod who plundered through the mortal realm and played havoc. They knew what his reason was. Everyone knew, together with gods and Zeus himself, absolutely furious over the foolish challenge you've brought upon his bastard son.

What frightened you greatly, however, was the last labour. The one you feared the most, knowing that it could've ended up badly not just for him, but for you too. For your justification, you truly thought that he would drop out (or be dead) after the first mission.

Thus, when the news of Cerberus, Lord Hades's dearest pet, being kidnapped spread around Olympus, you almost fainted.

It was best to keep good relations with all the gods and goddesses, as no one knew when one of them would turn out to be helpful.

However, keeping the especially good affairs with God of the Underworld himself was particularly beneficial, and his rage was the last thing all the deities on the Mountain desired.

And yet, you managed to get on his nerves.

His visit was to be expected, and you tried to prepare yourself. Three animals in your garden, together with golden apples hidden under the bed, only fueled the rage of all the deities disrespected by your challenge. You paced back and forth, looking outside the window, as if expecting the earth to suddenly open up and birth Hades's obsidian chariot to appear in front of your cottage.

But instead, three days after the Cerberus kidnapping, a gentle knock pealed inside the wooden walls.

And as it turned out, it wasn't Hades who decided to place you a visit.

But someone, who you truly, really, didn't wish to see, and maybe standing face to face with Tartarus itself would be a much more pleasant option than meeting–

"Good morning my dear, my I come in?"

–his wife.

Aphrodite, in all her fullness, dressed in a flimsy, rosy dress and whitish sandals, stood right in front of you. With a sweet smile and a single strand of soft hair caressing her flushed cheeks.

"My Goddess," you murmured, opening the doors wider. "Yes, please."

She lifted up misty robes and came inside, looking around your small cottage with a little nod of her head. You didn't have many occasions to face the most beautiful goddess herself, thus your eyes traced shyly every curve, every bump, every flush of her body. Hips hugged by a rosy dress, hair falling over the shoulder, and gentle eyes, currently looking outside the window at the golden-antlered–

Oh dear.

"My Goddess–"

"You know, Artemis really liked this deer," she chuckled, sitting down at the table. One hand placed on her belly, the other supporting a tilted head. "I was rather surprised that your man managed to steal it," she stopped for a minute, before laying eyes on your face. "Well, before he stole Cerberus, too."

You wanted to refuse, he's not my man, but a wave of shame washed over your body. You lowered your head and bit down on lip. "My Goddess, I'm–"

She, however, continued. "I'm expecting, you know?"

Yes.

You've noticed.

From the moment she came inside your cottage and never took a hand off her belly.

Your eyes slowly looked up. "Does Lord Hades know?"

"You see, I wanted to tell him. Around three days ago, I think?" Great heavens. "But then our lovely dog went missing, and I've never seen him so, hm, devastated."

Your knees buckled up, hitting the wooden floor with a faint hump! "My Goddess, I'm so sorry. I didn't expect him to actually do this."

Aphrodite didn't say anything for a second, looking at your trembling body and cheeks burning with shame. You knew how protective she was of her husband. How bizarre, but rather lovely their marriage was, with Lord Hades quite enjoying being walked like a dog by his mesmerising wife. You didn't know that they tried for a child, but it should be fairly obvious – how could the goddess of fertility and her madly obsessed husband not have children?

And you? You somehow managed to ruin such a precious moment.

A deep sigh rolled over before she helped you stand up. "Please, it's fine, dear. Don't worry," you sat next to her, still too embarrassed to look up.

You groaned, covering face with hands. "I really thought he would drop out after the first one! This foolish man!"

Aphrodite giggled, resting her hearty face on a hand. "He's just a man, after all. A desperate one at that – the most dangerous type. My husband is quite similar, although I would rather not test how far he would be able to go to grant my wishes."

You answered with a chuckle before finally looking at the goddess's face.

Oh, she was so, so beautiful.

"What I mean is, I'm not mad at you, dear. Rather amused, I must say. I'm glad your man is ready to go through such hardships, just to–"

"He's not my man," you quickly added with a deep sigh. "I promised him my hand under the condition of finishing all twelve labours. I just didn't know that he'll actually–" you groaned again, and Aphrodite laughed. "I'm sorry for ruining your surprise. Lord Hades surely will be overjoyed."

She hummed, circling with fingers the plush of her belly. "Yes, well. Tears will be shed, I suppose. My husband cries more often than I expected, but it's fine," you were almost sure that she bit her tongue, before saying I like him that way. "Cerberus is back and healthy, so you shouldn't worry. I guess your... Heracles took him only for a simple walk."

You sighed with relief, seeing amusement dancing in the goddess's warm eyes.

"Well, I guess he'll come back soon for his reward," she chuckled, slowly standing up. "I'd better go before Choso stalks me out. He doesn't know about the baby yet, but tends to be rather overprotective," you accompanied her till the doors, tracing the bloom that has spread over her cheeks. Oh, she really must've loved him dearly. "But please, next time give me a warning before my husband comes back home crying. In case I'll have other plans for that day."

You nodded with shame before she waved you goodbye.

As much as you adored Aphrodite, she truly was the most beautiful but terrifying goddess in the whole pantheon.

☾ 𖤓 ☾ 𖤓

So you've expected him to come the same evening.

But when he didn't, something panged in your chest. Oh well, maybe you should be relieved after trying so hard to get rid of him. Maybe after finishing all twelve labours, he decided that your hand was, in fact, not worth a bean. Maybe during his travels, he met another woman (a princess even?) and decided to marry her instead. Maybe–

"Sister..." one of the nymphs called, and you quickly collected wits.

The evening was of the warm sort, with the river's water nuzzling your bare skin kindly. Little droplets reflected the warm rays of the sunset, with a mix of orange, purple, and pink spreading over the forest. Birds were slowly going quiet, letting the crickets step in shyly and prepare for the symphony that was soon to spread near the river's bank. First fireflies, too, were timidly floating your way, with a gentle buzz of their paper wings.

You looked at her, seeing that she, in fact, was glancing somewhere over your shoulder. With an open mouth and eyes big as porcelain plates. "I think you have a visitor."

Your head turned, gaze immediately landing on the figure emerging slowly from the forest.

Heracles.

But this time he looked... oh.

"Good grief," the nymphs gasped, seeing the approaching monster.

Because no other word could the describe the man who has set his eyes on you.

With lion's skin draped over his shoulders, bulgy scars slashing naked arms and torso, swirling over pecks, thighs and even neck, as if some brute tried to cut him to pieces. Golden hair was still slightly marked by the crimson hues, as though the blood still gripped it mercilessly.

What shocked you the most, however, were his eyes. With no trace of gentleness from months before, rather filled with something... predatory. Beastly, maddening, with a gaze fixed on your frozen figure, still dipped in water.

Before you knew, other nymphs quickly flew away with terrified gasps, burdened by the heaviness of the atmosphere he spread around.

"Kento–" you whispered, as he came closer.

But before you could finish with a foolish question of what happened to you? His massive body steeped in the water. Gentle waves nuzzled him only till the ribcage, and you choked, when muscular arms lifted you up and sat on the shore.

Crystal droplets dripped down your breasts, nipples, down through the plush belly, naked heat, when he gazed up at you from below. With pledging, possessed gaze, focusing on nothing but your face.

"Tell me you want it," came in a whisper, quickly dissolved by the first melody of cricket's.

"Want what?"

His palms curled around your waist, face nuzzling against the softness of your belly, before he sighed deeply. "Me. Tell me you want me. You want everything that will happen the second you give me your consent."

A shiver dripped down your spine, and your lip trembled when his muscular arms tightened up. Something warm, feverish, started to coil in your stomach every time his breath hit your skin.

"And what will happen, if I may ask?" you knew that playing with fire would end up badly, but you wanted him to say it.

All those filthy, nasty, messy things you dreamed of every night and knew he did too. You could feel it, right now and before, with your legs still dipped in the river and feet poking something hard.

He looked up, with a dark hazelnut gaze, taking in your cunning smile. His arm lifted, thumb grazing the lower, slightly opened lip. "In details?"

You giggled. "Of course."

Fat finger pushed inside, landing right on your wet tongue. Plush muscle welcomed him warmly, with lips wrapping around it and giving a gentle suck.

His brows furrowed, and another arm pulled you closer to his dipped body, moving your hips right over the edge. Gaze still fixed on your face, but he could feel the heat of your cunt on his chest. From this perspective, you looked nothing but divine, with wet hair curling around your shoulders, plump lips sucking wetly on his thumb and eyes, fucking hell, looking down at him with a sly amusement.

"Tell me," you whispered, taking his thumb out and nuzzling cheek against his calloused hand. "My answer will depend on it."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought finishing the twelve labours was enough."

The arm curling around your body suddenly dropped down, with long fingers tracing the smoothness of your tummy, thighs, circling, pinching, smoothing wet skin, before going down... and down... and down.

Till your breath hitched and lips once again fell open.

"Hm? Did you lie to me, my love?" he whispered, with a big thumb plastered to your puffy clit. "Have you deceived me?"

You didn't answer, but instead spread legs a bit wider, inviting his massive body in. He chuckled, seeing your hips hovering over the edge and creamy cum dripping straight to the river. "They do say to never trust a nymph," his eyes glanced down, thumb placing small circles on your clit. "Did you deceive me, then?"

Your head shook. "T-tell me," slipped almost beggingly. "What will you d-do-"

His arms shifted, with big palms landing under your thighs and pushing them up, till you folded easily like a leaf. Your back hit the soft grass, knees pushed against the breast, while his massive body was still dipped in a river.

Now, with your bare heat right in front of his face.

"Firstly," he dipped down, placing gentle kisses on your inner thighs. "I will work on your pretty cunt till you'll be nothing but a whiny mess," his teeth dipped into the fat of your belly pouch, before licking it sweetly. "Then, I'll stretch you out on my fingers, getting hard over your moans and maybe dragging my cock against your legs," lips traced down, through the mound of your cunt, right till the drenched folds. With two fingers, he spread them open. And groaned. "Fucking hell."

"A-and then?" you whimpered feeling his warm breath on your clit.

"And then you'll go on your hands and knees, spreading yourself nicely like my good wife," he gave you the first lick. Long, sweet, heavy, plastering his tongue to your trembling clit, till a pitched moan bounced from the river. "Gods, you taste so good, my sweet fucking wife."

Theoretically, you weren't even engaged yet, but this word, combined with his deep voice, somehow made you even wetter. Spongy tongue once again swirled around your clit, with lips sucking, grazing, ravishing it madly, as if Nanami Kento waited for this moment at least a millennium.

For finally feasting on your honeyed juices and swallowing all the precious moans that slipped past your lips. The sugary mmm Kento, and, sososo good, or, p-please put t-the finger in.

He was spreading you wide open, with your hips hovering over the river's edge and his nose grazing your clit. You trembled every time his hard cock nudged your feet, with wet pads smoothing its leaking head.

Your finger curled around his golden hair, pushing him closer, deeper into your cunt, riding his tongue with a starved desperation to release the knot that already fastened in your lower belly.

And when his long finger pushed inside, your pussy clenched.

"Fuck, my love, you're still so tight," he grumbled, looking up at your falling breasts and arched back. "So beautiful," floated in a whisper, before he lifted massive body up and slowly came out of the water. "My beautiful, beautiful wife, does it feel good?" long fingers curled inside your tight walls, sending another shiver down your spine. His lips wrapped around your wet nipple, sucking on it with a gentle hum. "Mmm, so sweet, you're so sweet everywhere."

"K-Kento, it f-feels so–nghhh–good, so so so good," a pitched whimper slipped through when he added another finger.

He pumped your squelching pussy, with lips sucking on your nipples and eyes looking up every few seconds, just to take a pleasure in your ever-changing expressions. Slightly lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, single strands of hair stuck to your forehead, and fingers still curled in his hair.

You looked beautiful, mesmerising, folded as if ready to be bread, with rolled belly and lifted thighs. He could already imagine your fat ass hitting against his abdomen and drenched cunt swallowing cock. Your back curved in the most delicious arch, and knees biting into the lush grass.

Oh, he could already think of sweet tears that will roll down your cheeks and soft belly pouch being slowly, slowly filled with his cum, till you'll be begging, whining, crying for him to take his cock out and–

"K-Kento, I'm gonna–" you whimpered, feeling his fingers pumping you faster. Lips sucked on your nipples as if he wanted to milk you out.

It felt overstimulating, feverish, too much, with his massive body almost fully lying between your thighs, pinning you into the ground.

"P-please let m-me–"

"No, my love. You won't be cumming in any other way but on my cock."

He took out his fingers and flipped you on your belly. Big palms traced the fat of your ass before lifting your hips up – just as he promised. With your chest stuck to soft grass and dripping cunt opened up widely, looking like the prettiest, the juiciest fruit he'll ever tasted.

You couldn't see his cock, but, well, could definitely feel it. The moment he took drenched, creamy robes off, it sprang up and nudged right against your hole. Sticky and feverish, with a pulsing head sliding through your dripping cunt, collecting all the cum that Kento's fingers dug out. A tremble washed over your body, feeling the fatness of his shaft and single veins curling around its length.

It felt so... heavy. He didn't even put it in yet, but you could already feel its heaviness dragging between your folds, with its head nudging your desperately fluttering hole.

"You want it, right?" He asked, spreading your ass cheeks and spitting heavily right between them. Fat spit slid down to your pussy, before he pushed it right inside. "Say it, my love. Tell me how much you want it."

"K-Kento, I want it s-so bad, please," your hips rolled against his cock, glazing it with saps. When he didn't move, you tried to reach for it and push it in yourself, but he locked both of your hands on your back. "Kento!"

"I asked you a question. How much do you want it?" his voice was low, stern, as if he was tired of all the bullshit you gave him for the past few months. "Do you want me to push inside?"

"Y-yes!"

"Do you want to feel me here?" his fingers circled your tummy, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Mhmm, yes yes yes," you cried and he chuckled.

His cock, finally, pushed slightly, slowly inside, with sticky head catching on your entrance. "Do you want to get bred? Hm? Get stuffed so full, till you'll be feeling it in your throat?"

It was filthy, disgusting, nasty, but, oh, did it make you tighten around his cock like a little slut. Crying, moaning, and choking, while he pushed further, stretching your clamping walls and sliding through the creamy cum that stuck to his length.

You knew the strongest man alive would be well-hung, but when the head of his cock grazed your cervix and he still tried to thrust inside, something inside you broke.

"P-please, Kento, it's too muc–"

But your dear, gentle, always so careful hero turned out to be nothing but a filthy, possessed beast. You expected to hear his kind voice, sorry pleadings, maybe even a soft hand smoothing your bulging belly.

But instead, you felt it between your shoulder blades, as he pressed you harder against the grass. With his full weight hovering over your trembling body, heavy breaths nuzzling your neck, and cock thrusting deeper.

Nanami Kento was anything but gentle.

"Fuck, forgive me, my love. But I think I deserve a little treat after everything you put me through," and before you could protest, he shoved his length.

Fully.

Till his balls smacked against your cunt and big hands pulled your ass to his hips. Till you moaned in a mix of pain and pleasure, feeling his massive weight in your belly, lungs and throat.

"Fuck," he groaned, tilting head back, trying not to cum right that second, with your walls locking him in a deadly clutch. "My love, baby, dear, ughh, you need to relax," he moved, sending a shiver down your spine.

But how could you relax, if his girth was already smudging your womb? Dear heavens, how could you relax if every move of his was brushing this spongy spot inside?

"Kento, p-please move s-slower–ahhhh," you moaned, gripping the lush grass crumpling under your trembling hands.

It seemed, however, that he was already gone, with his thrusts quickly changing from gentle waves to aggressive crushes, dragging his pulsing cock through your pinkish walls. You felt him everywhere.

His hands on your ass, gripping the jiggly fat and pulling you over and over and over on his cock, somehow thrusting it even deeper. Smooching your pudgy womb, kissing plump g-spot, scratching feverish walls with even more sticky cum dripping down the grass. You've never been so drenched before, feeling his length moving inside without any obstacles. It was smooth, delicious, electrifying, with his fingers slowly sliding between your folds and finding the pulsing clit.

And when he pinched it? Dear gods, your hips started meeting his thrusts, with your hole accommodating him even deeper, sweeter, swallowing his fat cock and clamping down as if desperately trying to milk it dry.

Nothing but filthy squelching filled the evening air, and your moans tingling his ears like the loveliest melody.

Oh, and you looked exactly as he imagined. With swollen lips and tears swirling in the corners of your eyes. His name slipping every few cries, and eyes trying to look back at his massive, sweaty body.

His broad chest breathing heavily and lidded eyes, taking in the way your cunt sucked him in.

"Fuck, my love, you're so–nghh–I can't longer, fuck," he rambled, quickening his pace, with every thrust going straight to your womb. "Do you feel good, tell me dear, is it good?"

You could barely whimper, feeling the knot in your belly slowly, slowly, untying, and eyes rolling back. Thus, nothing but simple, "Mhm, K-Kento, gods, feels so, nghhh, mmm gonna c-cum," could slip away.

His fingers played with your clit – rolling, pinching, slapping it gently with your gluey juices sticking to his fingers. He lifted them up, licking the skin clean. "So sweet, fuck, you taste so heavenly. My pretty, pretty wife will eat your cunt out every fucking morning. Spread you wide on the table and fill with cum before the sunrise," his fingers went back to your clit, already feeling the spasmatic clenching on his cock. "Like it that much, love? Your pussy is swallowing me so nicely. Can't wait to see you swollen with my children, heavens."

"K-Kento, please, let me cum–mhmmm."

"Can't wait to be bred, huh?" he chuckled, but you pushed your hips out, meeting every single thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes, I can't wait t-to, ahhhh, fuck cum inside me."

Your words seemed to ignite something within him, because the next second, his reddened tip got glued to your womb, as if sucked in by your muscles. Fingers still circled your clit, harshly, with a pinch, till your thighs started shaking and feet curled. A quivering cry escaped your clenched throat, and Kento finally, finally, started cumming.

Or, well, flooding you with his seed, till your head spun and lower belly started to swell.

"Fuck, my love, you better pray it takes," he mumbled, resting his wet forehead between your shoulder blades.

He came deep, filling every corner of your trembling cunt with warmth, planting his gluey seed right inside your womb. It felt heavenly, maddeningly good, with his fingers still working on your clit and gathering all the watery cum that gushed right against his palm. Long tongue traced your sweaty back, soft lips placing gentle kisses right down your spine.

He thrusted gently, keeping his softening cock inside as if trying to make sure that not even a droplet of his cum will land anywhere but inside your womb.

"I meant it," he muttered after a while, before changing your positions. You lay spread on his chest, with his cock still nuzzled inside. "I want to have a family with you. A big one."

"How big?" you mumbled, too tired to even lift up your head.

"Ten?"

Oh dearest.

Your eyes somehow looked up, tracing the completely stony expression of his face.

"You must be joking."

"Not from such affairs, my love," his fingers gently nuzzled your back – a touch completely different from the violent thrusts of his hips.

"Not even the oldest gods of this pantheon have that many offsprings."

He looked down with a warm smile before placing a single kiss on your forehead. "Then it seems that we need to set up a new tradition."

And after going back to your cottage and getting stuffed full in every possible position, you started to regret that the strongest man alive with the stamina of a thousand bulls, was supposed to become your husband.

And for the dessert, as the last fic from this collection, we're getting the most heartbreaking angst, aka Satosugu as Alexander the Great and Hephaestion.

I got a request for the second part of Hades!Choso, and because it's my fav fanfic from this collection, I will be making it (that's why you got the preview hehe) :) It will be posted here, where I'll be adding all my other historical, myths, tales based fics.

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