It all started around four months ago. You had an experimental device quite literally blow up in your face, but you still learnt some pretty valuable data from it regardless. Of course, you could just write it down and go on with your day, but you were excited! This could turn into something really useful— a real game changer.

The only problem was, there was no one else in your team since specialists like you were so sparse. Well.. the sergeants were always nice to you. You’re sure Soap would love to hear about an explosive device anyway.

“That’s crazy”

Well, it was a rather dry response compared to the ten texts you had sent over, but you suppose it could be worse. Maybe he was just waiting for you to finish?”

“Sounds good 👍 “

Huh.. he sure did text like your dad. You put your phone down, a little disheartened by the lack of energy. Still, he could just be busy.. or a bad texter.. well it’s fine. Not a big deal. You’re an adult, and you still have more work to do— you can totally just tell him in person instead!

“So then when i tested it, it didn't even react badly at all! There was a little bit of fumes, but hardly near last time.” It’s been a whole week since, and you just couldn't hold it in today, telling him all about it. Besides, it’s lunch time, and he collected you from your lab so it must be fine. “So.. uh, any progress on the stuff we asked you to make a while back?”

You tilt your head, confused by his words. “The new breaching device? I mean, I sent that through a while ago. That’s not my fault if the testing and safety team haven't approved it yet though.”

“It is approved.” Price pops out of nowhere, almost making you jump before he pats his hand on your shoulder and grabs the last cake. Sneaky. “They’ll be arriving in time for our next op, Soap.”

You just grin, happy now that it’s gone through as you come and sit with them. As you eat, you start to realise he didn't really react to your story at all, just waiting until he could ask the question. Still, you refused to believe it was on purpose. He must’ve just been worried about the op

So you try Kyle next. It’s been a while, and they just returned from said op a week ago, so you figure it’s been enough time now.

“Hey Kyle, what do you think of these plans? I'm kind of worried it’ll react oddly with the metals, so there’s also this option. And I could just scrap it all together and make this instead.”

He doesn't reply initially, even if you can see his little icon is online, so you wait in your lab, lips turned down in a frown. It’s only twenty whole minutes later when your phone suddenly dings, making you rush over to check. “Sounds good.”

Huh?

He hadn't even answered the question you asked, not even in the slightest. Maybe he replied specifically to a plan you sent? Nope, not even. Just those two words. You let out a long sigh, glancing back at the prototype and just deciding to go ahead. Maybe he was in a rush but wanted to just give you an answer to your first question.

—-------------------

You cough harshly as you grab a water bottle from the rec room fridge, face scrunching up at the sharp wrack of it against your chest. Damnit, maybe these new concepts weren't a good idea in the slightest.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ghost comes up beside you, grabbing a water bottle for himself and making you frown at his gruff tone. Then again, he’s always been like that, so what can you really expect?

“Probably just some strong chemical I used.” You shrug, almost struggling to open the cap. “I’ll probably have to spend tomorrow doing paperwork instead..”

“No can do, we need more units of the prototype you put through the other week.” Price says from the armchair near the tv, stacks of paperwork on the coffee table.

“But..”

“The mission is next week and we have hardly any time to waste.”

Ghost only shrugs, sipping his own bottle of water down anyway. “Don’t know what the problem is, it is your job. You’ve got the weekend to rest up anyway.”

—------------

The longer you work on the units, the less time you spend outside of your lab. Even when you do somehow build the hope up to message one of them again, the best you get is a reaction in the chat, or an emoji. Other times they directly ignore whatever you had talked about, switching the conversation to something else. Plus, the one time you had gotten out and asked Soap if he wanted to go on a walk, he had barely let you get a word in.

“Price.. You got a minute?” This is the worst you’ve felt in forever. You’re not sure if it's spending all day getting hand cramps that has you, or spending all week worrying over if you really are just really annoying.

“Got one for you. Go on.”

Your palms are sweaty, and you wipe them against your jeans, suddenly really nervous about all this. It’s not like you haven't had good conversations with him before, and he’s never been explicitly rude either. Still, you can't help but wait for the inevitable.

“So? What is it?” He glances up at you, his pen on the papers he’s looking over and you just sit there on the couch, tongue falling still as you stare back at him.

“I..”

Do you start telling him a story? Maybe about how you feel? Or a rant? Do you tell him about the new weaponry because as a captain he’d want better right? Or do you tell him about the current project because he’d want an update?

What is the right thing to say?

“I’m a bit busy, you know.” He gestures to the papers and then glances back over you, who still sits there like your switch just wont turn on no matter how hard you try.

“I.. was just wondering if you wanted a cup of tea.” You eventually mumble, even if the words sound utterly wrong strung together and you’re closer to nonsense than speaking normally.

“Yeah, could do with one. Thanks.” He instantly shifts his attention back to his work and you swallow, stepping back and out of his office.

Then a few days later, they left, off for the mission for two whole weeks and you were on your own again. So here you are now, others asking if you’re okay and taking advantage of your ‘free time’ since they assumed, when the taskforce was gone, you had no work.

You come back to your lab, only leaving because you needed to grab a package you ordered– it’s been days since you’ve actually left your lab. You’re getting real sick of people asking for everything under the sun, or just straight up giving you odd looks when you even come near them anymore. In fact you’re starting to get really sick of everyone. With a long sigh, you stare at the message lighting up your phone. Really? You had to find out from some random soldier that they’re returning back today? They were supposed to be your team– weren’t you hired for their taskforce?

Feeling petty, you turn on do not disturb, although a small part of you knows that no notifications will even come through anyway. Instead, you let your eyes flicker to the broken parts sitting on your table, the chemicals littered across the lab. How did you come to dread the one thing you loved so much?

As you let your head rest on your scratched palms, you turn the music on your headphones louder– hoping to drown out the silence following you for days. You’re so sick of this.

—----------------

A whole day has passed since they got back from the mission and Price hasn't seen you once— you even missed the debrief session that discussed how well your devices work and how to implement them moving forward.

For some reason you’ve been spending more and more time in your lab— not that he’s bothered to ask why though. He always just boiled it down to too much work. They all had too much; it’s just life.

“Got the report but no one responded from the lab. Figured they’re not in there, Cap.” Gaz says, having just tried to deliver the documents to you but to no avail.

“Have you tried their room?” He huffs, wondering why Gaz was being so pedantic at all. Obviously if you werent in one place you must be the other.

“Yes sir, looks like it hasnt even been touched for a week though.”

“Fine. I’ll handle it.” He takes the report and tucks it with his pile as he dismisses Gaz, carrying in with more pressing matters.

It’s only that evening that he remembers, finding it again when he was looking for another document. Well, he fancied a cup of tea anyway, so he might aswell just deliver it on the way.

“Oi— Dont tell me you have those damn headphones again.”

There’s no response when he knocked, and so he groans, deciding to put the master key to good use and open the door. Immediately he’s hit with the strong fumes from mixed chemicals, so bad he has to pull up his shirt to cover his mouth. “What the..”

In the midst of it all you lay on your desk, passed out and arms limp at your sides, like the dead bodies he’d find out there in the field. “What did I say about falling asleep in here?” He grumbles, walking over to nudge your shoulder. You were a light sleeper anyways, he knew from the tiredness that lingered some mornings. Except.. you didn't even twitch.

He nudges you again, harder, before yanking your head up by your hood just to watch your head loll like a doll would. Your face is pale, like life has been sucked out and when his hand finds a weak pulse that’s when he realises something is very wrong.

——-

Pt2

yayyy angst

”Sergeant Garrick, the rookies are fighting again.” You frown, the noise having disturbed your 

stroll around base— it was the best way to formulate new ideas.

”C’mon, I know a quieter route we can take.” And he did, walking beside you, sometimes in silence until you’d suddenly gasp. Then he’d look over expectantly and your lips would open, rambles spilling out as you go on about the idea you just came up with. It doesn't nearly make sense to him, considering you keep using references to metal work techniques. Still, he listens to every work intently, happy to see that smile return on your face once more.

“Gaz?” You sulk— your recent tech had been soaked in an unfortunate storm whilst it was being delivered. The cardboard was drenched when it came, and you didn't even need to open the box to know the parts you requested were wet too. You weren’t even sure if they’d work anymore, but the budget for this month had been entirely run dry.

“I know.. I heard from the Ghost.” He had helped you bring the heavy boxes into your lab, watching your face fall when you opened them. So here you had come, all the way to the mess hall to find him. Gaz pats the space beside him, and you take a seat, a miserable look on your face. “You want my dessert? I’ll grab another.”

He passes it over to you as you sit beside him, frown slowly disappearing as you eat the mousse inside the cup. Soap soon comes too, sitting opposite as he starts a tangent of his own. Ghost joins after, bickering with the Scot until you’re giggling and Gaz grabs you a tray of your own food. It’s not your fault you have a tendency to forget to eat, but he doesn't, passing you another carrot as you excitedly discuss a new bomb prototype with Soap.

 “Kyle..?” 

You had come out with the team for the first time ever, a group pub trip with loud music, cheers from the game echoing around and bustling bodies surrounding every corner of the room. He was sitting at the booth on his own, Soap mingling with someone across the bar, Ghost grabbing drinks and Price momentarily pulled away by another captain. Not that he looked too happy about it.

”Hey, love. C’mere.” He pats the space next to him and you sit down, legs pressing against his as you lean in. “You okay?”

“Too many people. One of the soldiers just tried to explain something to me.. about welding. I knew that a decade ago!” You slur, annoyed, with lips curving down into a frown. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to loll your head against him.

“Typical idiots. You want me to grab you a drink? My treat.” You think about it for a moment, then just shake your head, a soft breath making your chest sink. 

“No, it’s okay. Just wanna stay here.” He blinks at that, not expecting the soft tone and the way you just melt. He tried his best to be a good soldier and a good teammate, lending an ear when needed or a hand. But he’d never had someone so openly rely on him like this, without hesitation too.

“Okay,” He hums, rubbing his fingers up and down your side as a small smile graces his lips. The weight of you is comforting, a reminder of the good that still keeps his heart burning. It’s even warmer when you fully fall asleep against him, your eyes closed as your hands gently circle around his arm. 

“Bloody ‘ell did you slip somethin’ in their drink?” Ghost remarks, making Gaz pull a wide eyed look as Price chuckles. The pair of them slide in opposite, empty glasses in their hands. “It’s true, Kyle. Even Soap can't get them to sleep.” Price mentions, remembering how many times they’ve tried to convince you to get some actual rest.

“Guess.. they just like me a lot.” He says quietly, looking down at your quiet breaths, the softness of you. He’d let you cling onto him for a million years if it meant you stayed as peaceful as this.

--------

yes this is more weapons designer reader propaganda, also i thought of this at 3am when i got up to pee and hurried to write the first 3 paragraphs LOL

first weapon designer drabble here COD masterlist

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you. 

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were. 

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue. 

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit. 

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped. 

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom. 

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you. 

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet. 

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed. 

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure. 

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again. 

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing. 

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family. 

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale. 

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond. 

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?” 

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature. 

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind. 

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him. 

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic. 

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals. 

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library. 

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. 

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it. 

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette. 

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never. 

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up. 

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off. 

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are. 

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck. 

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it. 

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe. 

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table. 

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating. 

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember. 

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in. 

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room. 

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.” 

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak. 

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice? 

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep? 

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway. 

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull. 

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for. 

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband. 

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction. 

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted. 

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again? 

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting. 

Satoru - blindfold and all.  

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep. 

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same. 

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.” 

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.” 

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless. 

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before. 

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes. 

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler. 

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye. 

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you. 

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul. 

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod. 

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well. 

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle. 

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either. 

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom. 

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life. 

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night. 

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes” 

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else. 

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic. 

Powerful. 

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question. 

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it. 

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all. 

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder. 

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange. 

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next. 

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding. 

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-” 

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was. 

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too. 

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still. 

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom. 

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that. 

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you. 

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers. 

One. 

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly. 

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king. 

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough. 

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over. 

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower. 

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet. 

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either. 

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either. 

Satoru. 

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.” 

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric. 

Blue. 

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later. 

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue. 

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body. 

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window. 

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind. 

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna. 

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready. 

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne. 

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step. 

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man. 

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow. 

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?” 

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially,  “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper. 

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra. 

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks. 

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall. 

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel. 

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could. 

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him. 

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging. 

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling. 

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy. 

And then, he opens his eyes. 

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue. 

That crystal blue. 

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life. 

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul. 

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. 

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew. 

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now. 

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.” 

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’” 

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library. 

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily.  “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years. 

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful. 

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was. 

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster. 

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers,  just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me. 

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized. 

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping. 

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark. 

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before. 

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you. 

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You. 

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown. 

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-” 

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?” 

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life. 

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words. 

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle. 

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song. 

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist. 

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to. 

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh. 

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length. 

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.” 

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you. 

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy. 

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.” 

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers. 

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted. 

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering. 

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft. 

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?” 

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white. 

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock. 

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.” 

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection. 

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off. 

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering. 

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt. 

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts. 

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart. 

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh. 

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily. 

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was. 

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve. 

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again. 

“Oh- oh.” 

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you. 

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is. 

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more. 

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you. 

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out. 

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need. 

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly. 

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same. 

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel. 

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much. 

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body. 

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth. 

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving. 

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips. 

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell. 

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Soon enough, you’re rovering your heel ambly up and down the plane of his thighs, up and down, up and down—in nothing but a mere graze. 

The tips of his ears scorch red as he feels his smart, smoothened trousers getting tighter n’ tighter by the second. Nanami fights not to let his gaze dart downwards, he fights—but the slightest sensation of your heel inching closer, and he cracks.

Soon enough, your stare follows.

And you’re letting out a curious hum as you take in the bulge he was embarrassingly sporting. 

“Oh? What’s this?” He damn-near flinches at the tone of your voice - so mockingly innocent. Nanami knew better- he knew so much better. “My portfolio never said you were such a pervert, Agent 7:3.”

He spits out, “No-”

“Yes.”

And he’s always loved those jet-black, barrel-black, heels of yours- honestly! 

They sat collecting dust in a corner of your half of the closet, and he always did think they contrasted perfectly with his pale-green suits. 

Though, he did often wonder when you’d bring them out.

He just never could’ve expected this…

Nanami lets out a pained hiss- letting his head drop backwards ever-so-slightly as you’re stepping down even harder. “Hard?” Your smile widens, feeling him throb and twitch beneath your heel. “Getting even harder? How did we ever get here, hubby—?”

How did you two ever get here, indeed.

.

.

.

Nanami remembers the pre-mission briefing perfectly- he always was told he had a photographic memory. However, the details of this particular day stand out so crystal clear in his brain that it was almost too sharp; like a rusty nail, or the point of your heel.

It’d been a sunny Thursday, even though daylight never pierced the headquarters of JISE (Japanese Intelligence Services’ Eastern-focused division). Nanami - though he wasn’t Nanami Kento, here, he was Agent 7:3 - had done this same song and dance, song and dance, song and dance over a hundred times already. It was routine as he flipped through the thick file that’d been slid over to him.

Agent Corpse [CONFIDENTIAL—Yaga Masamichi] sat with his arms crossed and a grim expression upon him that he wore nearly as much as his sunglasses. He waited patiently as Nanami finished reading through the miniscule blocked typing and looked up at him.

“So…” He started, neatly closing the file. “The mission seems standard, I don’t see why I would have any trouble with it.”

Yaga sighed and pushed his shades up, “It’s not the intelligence-gathering I see you having trouble with, rather it’s the…social aspects.”

Nanami raised a blond brow, “Social?”

“This mission-” Yaga sternly tapped the top of the file, “This isn’t one of your lone wolf operations, 7:3. To get close to the head of the Zenin family, you need to take on more roles than one. A family man. A father. A husband.”

The blond man steeped in his silence as his higher-up continued. 

“You need to really live in this role, Kento—” He was startled - Yaga almost never called him that. Through his dark sunglasses, the older man’s eyes twinkled. “You need to believe it.” 

“I…”

Without waiting for the rest of his sentence, he flicked open the file to a comprehensive list of potential orphanages and single women around his age in Tokyo: the building blocks to his faux-family. “Two people here will be counting on you to believe in your role.” Yaga spoke low, “And whatever that means for them after this mission is over…” This was always the hardest part. “From now onwards, consider yourself a husband and father before a spy. First and foremost.”

Nanami had never carried out a mission that involved other people.

And there was silence that stretched taut and nearly snapped- before Nanami answered in the only way he knew he could. 

He looked at nanami with steely brown eyes, “Respectfully, I am the best spy in all of Japan’s Eastern Division for a reason, sir.”

Yaga slammed the file shut. It resounds louder than it should’ve - and there was the slightest smile twitching at his lips. “Good.”

For the good of the nation. 

The days thereafter weren’t what Nanami would consider a blur—rather a list of procedures pertinent to his mission, of which he went through them all step by step, strictly and methodically. An exercise so tried and tired by him that he could do them in his sleep (he always slept with one eye open).

First, he rented out a nice home in suburban Shibuya, a spy’s-distance away from the Zenin ancestral home. It was a cosy cookie-cutter home for the cosy cookie-cutter life that he supposes normal civilians have the privilege to live, with cookie-cutter welcome mats and a patch of green garden from which sprouted a spare sprig that one could never be too sure wasn’t plastic. It had a dog home, too. Not because of any request or seeking from Nanami’s side, but because most families that lived in such a place owned one.

So he went out and adopted a shelter dog to keep up with appearances. 

And how to explain the mysterious funds to the nosy neighbors? Well, his cover story of living in Denmark because of his grandfather’s side could only hold up for so long - Nanami got a cover job as a psychiatrist at the nearest affluent hospital. And then…

Then came the slightly difficult part.

Nanami Kento had done research on twenty-one different orphanages in Tokyo and several more outside before he’d finally landed in Sendai. And that was where he met Itadori Yuji.

Name: Itadori Yuji.

Age: 6 [March 20th]

Family: None alive. His parents died shortly after his birth [cause unknown], and he was taken care of by his paternal grandfather - his only living family - until he, too, passed from illness [lung cancer].

Other: Has been rehomed four times in the four-month span that he’s been living at the institution. Gets along well with others, cheerful disposition—is generally a good kid, though he seems to have trouble finding a guardian that can handle his energy. No matter how much they tease and taunt him - in the cruel, unknowingly callous way of children - Itadori still attempts to engage with them day after day, particularly with his tiger toy. He just needs some love. 

Nanami’s stern eyes lingered on that last word. 

He looked up from the sheet that the caregiver had handed to him. It was the first one that he’d been given- and by the sheer speed at which they had, he assumed that they’d been more than eager to get rid of the pink-haired little boy. Nanami glanced around the cream-colored room; small and cardboard-strong. This was a shady place.

He makes note of its location and organization to pass over to Yaga later. 

Under the rim of the paper, he could see two small shoes getting scuffed on the carpet.

And as he puts it down to stare at Itadori, the boy raises his tiger toy upwards. An offering.

Wide chocolate eyes and trembling lips.

He looked as if he was about to cry.

Nanami doesn’t take the offering—though he did crouch down and reach his hand out to clasp one chubby, cotton-stuffed hand, he mimicked shaking hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Tiger.” Albeit a little stiffly - Nanami somewhat awkwardly attempted to smooth his features down to something warm as he looked at the boy then. “And who might you be?”

He’s never seen a smile wider.

And thus, everything was going according to plan.

There was the slightest hiccup when it turned out that Itadori Yuji needed tutoring - a lot of tutoring - that Nanami pored and labored over until he was seeing fractions in his nightmares, before he could complete the entrance exam for Jujutsu Academy. But he got in—by some cosmic miracle, Itadori Yuji got in. 

He’s never been prouder- as a fake father, of course. 

Everything really was going to plan. First came the baby, then came the prestigious school acceptance to get Itadori to form an acquaintance with Fushiguro Megumi, then came the marriage. 

A little out of order, he knows.

And then after bumping into you at the local bakery he often frequented, he knew he’d found his future wife.

Not in a romantic way—he swears! 

He swears.

“Oh…you dropped this.” You’d caught his attention in that gentle tone of yours. 

Dropping down, you’d handed him an embroidered handkerchief he’d dropped during the collision - his favorite item to carry, in addition to the fact that it had a slip of poison stuffed between the folds. One he’d been planning to use on one of the Zenin elders just today…

What would he have done without you?

Similarly crouching before you straightened yourself, Nanami had met your eyes tenderly as he took the poisoned handkerchief from you. “Thank you…and your name?”

You’d looked down shyly as you answered. Venom at your fingertips.

He killed a man that evening and could only think about you the entire time- in the best way.

Name: Well, he’d turned it over and over in his mind until it was practically emblazoned.

Age: You never ask a lady her age.

Occupation: Clerk at Tokyo City Hall.

Family/ friends: None of note.

Looks: Perfect.

And Nanami was never a romantic type of man to begin with - it was always work, work, work, espionage. And after a long, hard day of his duties (spying was surprisingly not as thrilling as the movies made it seem) he rarely had the time to think about anything more than that. Something…beyond just his responsibilities.

Something in the future. 

He knew he wanted to retire, some day, but that was in a future he didn’t care to set a date on. Setting a date on it made it seem more real.

A picket-fence. A garden. A dog running around that he pretended to grumble at. The pitter-patter of small feet and the laughing of the one that followed it—all while he watched from the front porch. Flashes of such nonsense have run through his mind; but only in the dead of night when he could pass those off as fever dreams. And pretend to forget them in the morning. 

And so Nanami Kento got married.

It was a hasty affair - about a week after he met you. Three dates and one introduction to Itadori later (it was important he liked you…because how else would the ruse of a happy family be believable?) and you were submitting a form of marriage registration to the very City Hall you worked at. New to the neighborhood, you didn’t have a lot of friends nor family to invite, which just made Nanami’s just so much easier.

To your coworkers, however, it had garnered the most amusing reaction.

Nanami had been present for a work function of yours, when you’d mustered up your courage and commented to one of your associates that he wasn’t just your boyfriend, and then you’d showed them the ring. He’s never seen more smug jaws dropped.

It’s then that he’d decided you were actually rather humorous. Humorous enough that perhaps this mission, despite its unknowing collaborators, won’t be too hellish after all…

Perhaps he’d even have a decent time playing pretend.

Before he has to leave it all - the home, the doghouse, the dog and the kid who’d be rehomed with a loving family he handpicks, and you.

.

.

.

One week before the marriage. 

“You understand that he will be the most difficult target you’ve yet to encounter?”

“I understand.”

“You understand that he is highly-trained, highly-experienced, and dangerous?”

“I understand.”

The masked higher-up straightens and snarls at your assertiveness, “You understand that your mission is not over until you’ve succeeded in assassinating Nanami Kento?”

“I understand.” But no matter how much they attempt to deter you - you’re keeping your head held as high as ever. Hands behind your back. Dagger cutting through the dim lighting with its malicious glints. After so many years in this profession, you can only grow as miserable and nerve-wracked to an extent before every target simply becomes a job.

More than that; you fume silently as those damn higher-ups at the Garden underestimate you.

The Garden was a group of specially-trained assassins operating predominantly within inner-Tokyo, though you did branch off to other wards when required. And of them all, you were their #1: the best of the best, a kill count that you’d stopped measuring, the one they sent on only the most hazardous missions. 

There was a reason you’d been nicknamed The Phantom.

Playboys. Politicians. Athletes and singers—you’ve seen it all. The good and the bad. The deserving and perhaps the undeserving- though you never pondered upon it.

They were all the same faceless, breathless targets to you. And your dagger always hit bullseye.

Sometimes, however…sometimes you did wonder what the bigger ripples of your jobs were. Would anyone search for them? Would anyone notice? Would anyone cry nor care? Was this, perhaps, what stopped you from finally leaving this damn place - were you deserving of such leniency?

Sometimes you did wonder whether you withheld from the simple pleasures in life because you were punishing yourself, in a way. A family. A hearth. A home. But a guilty assassin was no better than one of their own targets - there are more ways to die than just in the physical. 

And so you didn’t think about it.

You didn’t do anything but glare at the higher-up that sat behind his desk, his papers, and his smooth white mask. Who were they to undermine you? “I have never failed a mission before, and I will never fail a mission ahead. I will take this job and complete it before you even know what’s happened.”

He lets out a wheezing chuckle- it was abnormal for them to be so flippant about your success rate when it comes to a job. “That’s the spirit.” He throws over a paper-thin file, “You’ll need it.”

You’ve taken down spies before- hell, you’ve even taken down other assassins. To have him act so dubious about this job? Jolting a step towards him, it really made you wonder about the nature of this particular target…

And so you’re flipping through the single page of information the Garden had on him.

Case 143

Codename: Agent 7:3 [rumored to be linked to the target’s impeccable ability to find the weakest points when attacking any building, vault, or person.]

Name: Nanami Kento.

Age: 27

Height: 6’1 - 6’2

Looks: Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Fine features. Broad-shouldered and fairly toned, he is known to be partial to suits and other clean-cut clothes above anything else. 

Profession: Secret agent.

Family: Unknown.

Residence: Unknown.

Current mission: Unknown.

Status: Currently active and HIGHLY DANGEROUS.

Those last two words had been underlined twice.

But you were determined. 

In the time assigned to you by the higher-ups, you deduced that you’d have about three attempts. 

What’s that saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? You wondered whether there was anything in there about marrying them.

.

.

.

First attempt.

Long-distance sniping wasn’t exactly the most comfortable technique. 

Then again, perhaps you were just experienced enough to worry about such a thing. You’d be lucky.

You’re laid low on your front; against the slightly-damp rooftop of a building between SHIBUYA SKY and Shibuya Hikarie. The cold, hard floor pushed against your body and lifted you meters overlooking the scramble below—humans, animals, cars, all in a symbiotic collision of which contact never happened. 

You’ve been married to Nanami Kento for about a week now.

And in that week you’ve taken note of his routine, his work hours, his favorite stops along the route…home. All under the guise - the guise - of being his considerate wife. 

And it’d turned out to be a worthy sacrifice in the end once you’d discovered that the stoic, sensible Agent 7:3 had what you’d never have expected of him: a sweet tooth. Everyday after work, no matter how tired he is, he’d stop by the bakery he met you in—picking out a few treats to bring home to you and Itadori. 

It was a cosy establishment squatted on a corner of Shibuya Crossing and next to the apothecary; vines creeping down the sides, wide-open wooden doors, and decorated with luscious baked goods in the window. The only reason you yourself had gone there was to manufacture a meeting with Nanami. But here he was right now, seated in a window booth with a book in his hands. Gold-rimmed glasses on his nosebridge. Legs stretched out beneath the table. Blond brows furrowed just a little as his eyes scanned the page.

He looked almost like something out of a movie. Perhaps he couldn’t have looked more unassuming if he tried. 

You’re letting your gaze linger on him through the rifle scope for a few seconds. 

And it’s in this brief pocket of time that Nanami sets his book down, takes off his glasses, and looks through the window straight in your direction. Yours. 

You startle.

You take perfect aim at his head and shoot.

BANG!

Meanwhile, Nanami Kento is having a quiet relaxation - a rare moment. His ‘job’ as a psychiatrist kept him more busy than he would have expected, on top of using the position to spy on the vast Zenin members that flitted in and out of the hospital sometimes. He was about halfway through the last story of The King in Yellow, marking down notes on the Zenins in its margins, when he straightens up and glances down at his watch.

Humming to himself at the time, Nanami gathers his things and looks up at the sunny sky above. It was a beautiful day.

Thus, in prim, precise movements, he’s getting up - not too fast - and making his way to the counter to tip the serving staff extra.

CRASH!

Nanami’s taken just a single step away from where the bullet surely would have struck him—a honed head of metal that shatters the Tokyo atmosphere at over 1200 meters per second. With a deafening cracking sound, it makes the bakery window burst beneath its pressure, sending shards of glass flickering in his direction; Nanami steadily puts his open book down and lets the fragments hit the leather cover instead of him. 

There’s a scream.

And then there’s chaos.

People running. Children crying. Cars stopping on the road. No one was hurt in the least - if anything, it was just that poor book he’d have to replace with a new cover. 

But he understands that this line of work meant he was more used to such things than civilians- perhaps more than he should be. And he was a Wanted man - not by the law but by those who think they’re above it. And so he’s calmly walking over to the counter as the rest of the customers inside the bakery evacuate. Placing a large wad of cash on its wooden plane, he’s just about to leave before he looks more suspicious—before turning right back around and plucking out something from the lavish sweet display - your favorite. And then one more loaf of milk bread for Itadori.

Plopping them down in a bag, he makes his way out. 

This morning, he’d told Itadori to meet him on the other side of Shibuya Crossing- he steps onto the zebra-patterned road right now and can see the little boy waving frantically from the other side. A ball of sunshine energy and a coat of orange far too big for him, but it’s one that he’d grow into - or at least, that’s the excuse Nanami had made when it’d turned out that he’d picked the wrong size. Damn, he needs to fix that.

For the mission, of course. Nanami shakes his head back into rationality. 

Quickly crossing the road, the boy throws his arms around the blond man’s legs.

“Papa—!” He squeals, chubby hands grabbing at his three-piece suit. Itadori’s Spider-Man backpack jostles just a little as he jumps up and down, “What took you so long? It was so scawy waiting here…people are running about.”

“My apologies, Yuji.” Nanami responds, looking behind his small figure. “But I see you brought your friends along for moral support.”

Pink brows frown, “What’s mowal support?”

Behind him, the frames of Kugisaki Nobara and Fushiguro Megumi shuffle about - his (temporary) son’s best friends from school, and it was just as convenient that the black-haired boy was exactly their ticket into siphoning more information about the Zenin family - and Nanami nods at them graciously. “Thank you for walking my son here.”

“Hah, no problem.” Kugisaki crosses her arms smugly, “He was scared so of course we had to-”

“Was not—!”

Fushiguro, meanwhile, just squints at the sky. “There was a strange noise. It sounded like thunder.”

“There was, wasn’t there?” Nanami responds, looking around. The chaos had largely calmed down by now, and as police surrounded the bakery, little by little Shibuya seemed to be getting back to its usual sort of commotion—he looks down at the oblivious starry-eyed boy. “Perhaps that was your mother on her way, I always do say she fell from heaven.”

Itadori frowns, “That sounds like it would hurt.”

Fushiguro scoffs, “That sounds illogical.”

“What’s illogicwal mean?”

Kugisaki squeals, “That sounds romantic-”

“Ewwwww.”

“That’s right.” Nanami tilts his head up and looks in the direction between SHIBUYA SKY and Shibuya Hikarie. Where the shot had come from, he does not need to wonder why. “That is romantic, isn’t it?”

Again, right at you.

And from on top of that rooftop, the long-range rifle drops from your hands.

You hadn’t known that he’d be meeting the three kids afterwards. And perhaps if you’d had an inkling then…

No.

Even as you watched the miniscule shape of Nanami Kento - Agent 7:3 - throw Itadori over his shoulders and clasp both Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s hands as he carefully crossed the bustling road with them, heading in the direction of the sweets’ shop down the road (his second-favorite stop to spoil Itadori), you knew you had a job to do.

And you had to do it, even if it killed you in the process.

That evening, you’re home when he comes back.

“I’m home, darling.” Setting his heavy bags down, as usual. Letting Itadori in before gently clicking the door shut, as usual. Asking you how your day at ‘work’ was before wrapping you in a hug, as usual.

If he suspected you had anything to do with that stray gunshot at the bakery, then he’s made no indication since- you’d seen nothing on the news, either. And by now you’ve convinced yourself that the intensity of his gaze upon you on Shibuya Crossing was a mere fluke. A mere coincidence. Perhaps he was just looking at a strangely-shaped cloud above—

And then he produces the paper bag in his hands.

Looking inside, you gulp.

He’d memorized your order perfectly.

“I got the last one, can you believe it? It seems that the bakery will be undergoing some construction in the following weeks.” Nanami spoke as he shrugs off his coat, looking at you with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “It’s your luck, my love.”

“R-really…?” You didn’t know what to say. Merely holding the bag limply in your hands, as if it would detonate any second now. Just your luck, indeed…

Unsure where to even look- you’re staring after the pink-haired boy that’d rampaged inside, pretending he was Spider-Man. 

“Mhm.” Nanami mutters to himself as he walks inside. “I’ll have to learn to make it at home, however…”

.

.

.

Second attempt.

Perhaps you needed some collaborators, too.

It’d been a beautiful summer-drenched Friday when Nanami had suggested taking Itadori and his two best friends out to the aquarium. 

It was one of his few days off- which in and of itself was shocking. It seems that Nanami had been working himself to the bone recently, and the office had taken initiative to force the blond man into taking a holiday. You’d perked up in your love seat, a novel in your hands—but between the pages was a leaflet on poison concoctions that you’d been reading through. 

“The aquarium?” You’re smiling sweetly up at your handsome husband, running about a hundred different ways you could kill him there. “Why, that sounds wonderful, Kento. I’ll get Yuji from the garden-”

“You just get yourself ready, darling.” Nanami’s voice was deep and warm - it felt like the spread of heat after drinking hot cocoa, the way it starts from the pit of your stomach before eventually ebbing into every one of your fingertips. “I’ll worry about wrangling Yuji into the bath. Take your time.”

Oh—all the assassination plans you could concoct in that time! 

Attempting to keep the smile off of your face, you’re leaping up onto your feet and heading in the direction of your shared bedroom to get ready. Making just about one step- two- three…before halting in your tracks and swivelling right back around. Nanami’s keen ears catch onto the difference in the determined cadence of your footsteps and he looks back at you.

Questions ready on his tongue, “What’s wro-”

And for perhaps the first time, the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento is rendered speechless. 

Because you’re placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning him towards you with a single tug- pressing your lips against his svelte cheek. 

Nanami’s skin is warm against yours - and you know it only makes logical sense, but some part of you had perhaps wondered whether his body was just as cold as his professional demeanor. Despite being married you hadn’t quite…consummated the marriage yet—and he understood, he could wait. He didn’t need something if it wasn’t related to his mission, of course

And you’re trying to convince yourself that this is part of yours- to gain trust, you rationalize. 

The kiss lasts less than two seconds, and your heart thump-thump-thumps against your chest as you pull away. Refusing to meet his eyes, his raised brows, his speechlessness, you’re turning heel and speed-walking to the bedroom.

All for the mission.

All for the mission.

All for the mission.

Little did you know that someone else in the house was thinking the same thing.

Nanami stands there unsteadily for a few seconds before heading to the garden to gather Itadori. 

Before high noon, you were all ready and had picked up Kugisaki and Fushiguro to go to the aquarium - during which Nanami had been glad to snoop around the Zenin family home as he took the little boy off his guardian’s hands. 

The aquarium was an entire ecosystem itself.

The entire world was seeped in blue, and sunlight dazzled from above the largest attractions to create patterns of gold that looked almost unearthly. Parents tugged by children, teenagers tugged by parents; friends and couples that flitted from tank to colorful tank in a near-aqueous way. Laughs and excited gasps—melding in symphony with the honking of clown horns, with the occasional burst of a balloon. It seems that many families - and you use the term because there was none better - had the same idea as yours, and the smell of sticky, sweet strawberry ice cream hits your nose as soon as you enter the area for water exhibits.

Passing by the lively tanks, hand-in-hand with Itadori, your gaze catches on something that sparks an idea in your mind. “Yuji…” You’re dropping down to be eye-level with the pink-haired little boy, “Why don’t you and your friends go and check out the touch tank over there?”

“The touch tank?” He nervously looks over to the lowly-fenced exhibit surrounded by children and a few handlers. It was a well-managed tank, widespread with nooks and crannies and rock masses along the sides, a hand-washing station before it; squeals emerged occasionally where a participant happened to touch something particularly slimy. He kicks the ground, “Hmm.”

Kugisaki wraps her arms around one of his, “Oh- c’mon, idiot.”

“Hey-”

And then she leans in and whispers in something that wasn’t a whisper at all - but what would a six-year-old know about secrets? Adults knew far too much. “Your momma obviously wants to spend some romantic time with your papa, don’t you have common sense?”

You have to bite back a laugh- sure, you wanted to be alone with him. 

Though not for any reason they could conjure up.

He sputters, “I-I…” Looking over at Fushiguro for help.

Fushiguro, notably, doesn’t help.

Instead he walks over to an exhibit of sea urchins.

“I want momma and papa to be happy.” Itadori fiddles with his orange overcoat. And your heart clenches—when this is all over you don’t know how you’re going to explain this to him. But you’d be damned if you weren’t allowed to take him for yourself- wait.

You’re shaking your head.

You were thinking nonsense.

And you’re composing yourself just in time for Itadori to look up at Nanami and receive a gentle nod in reassurance - whatever he does, the older man would be content with.

Itadori lets himself be dragged away by the ginger-haired girl- only if that meant he could drag the human version of a disgruntled little sea urchin with him, too. And as the kids have their fun, you’re promising that the two of you won’t be too far away and to definitely call one of you if they need you—before you’re wrapping both arms around one of Nanami’s.

Hugging him to you, you peer into his gold-flecked eyes softly. “I’d really like to see the blue-ringed octopus exhibit, Kento.”

He slightly coughs out his answer, “A-and so we shall, my love.”

And so here was the plan: the venomous creatures were the least-visited. So you’d drag the spy away where one couldn’t see, get him distracted by them, and knock him unconscious with the chloroform-soaked handkerchief you had carefully packaged in one pocket. Dagger in your other pocket. Then you’d finish the job, of course.

Then, outside, was a Discretion Team from the Garden that would discard the evidence, and let you take the kids back home- perhaps even concoct some excuse about ‘a work thing’ coming up at the hospital and causing him to leave.

It was perfect.

It was perfect.

 Next to the squid exhibition and the camouflage section, Nanami Kento was completely and utterly entranced by the octopus exhibit. His face paints in a blue light as he watches the alien-like movements of the creatures, so much so that he doesn’t even notice you slipping behind him—digging through your pockets before plastering his face with the damp handkerchief. 

Nanami’s hand comes up to touch your wrist, though you’re unmoveable. 

He breathes the chloroform in deep.

And then he wavers.

You got him.

Your heart rate spikes, thinking it’s time- fuck, you’ve finally gotten him. Keeping one hand with the chloroform pressed up against him, you’re just about to reach for the dagger snuck into your pocket. He was on the verge of being completely knocked out.

But someone on the verge of being completely knocked out wouldn’t tighten his grip on your wrist, would he? 

Your heart runs cold. 

Preventing you from grabbing your weapon, you feel Nanami smile beneath the thin fabric. Before imitating a sneeze into the handkerchief- “A—choo! Thank you, my love. How did you know I was allergic to the smell of squid ink?”

“You-” And you’re tugging your hand - and the venomous handkerchief - away from him as though his skin burned. 

“Yes?”

But he keeps his fingers intertwined with yours even as you pull away, letting them dangle between you two when you’re stepping into his line of sight once more and assessing every inch of him. His eyes? Clear. His gait? Steady. His expression? Normal (handsome).

No signs of dizziness, fatigue, or the signs of your plan working in motion.

But the chloroform—

Eventually, he lets your hands fall limply to your sides, and you’re looking down at the fabric in shock. Nanami Kento was still standing- and he hums as he turns back to the blue-ringed octopuses; slithering underneath an arch of coral as they, too, went into hiding. 

He clasps his hands behind his back and speaks to no one in particular, “Odd, isn’t it? I’m immune to 562 poisons and over a thousand toxic substances, but it’s squid ink that makes my system flare up.” 

Your jaw drops. Silently, solemnly, you find yourself standing beside him. “You’re…immune…”

He merely nods, staring through the tank. Gaze on something far away.

“I bet that was difficult.” There was a Poisons Division in the Garden as well, and you’d heard of the sheer torture they had to go through to make themselves immune to such things: one could make the body a scab to all things toxic, but underneath that was still a wound. You yourself knew that all too well. Ultimately, you say. “Must have to do with your work as a psychiatrist.”

Nanami nods, “Must have.”

There’s a shriek then the pitter-patter of small footsteps. 

You’re so wound-up and taut that it makes you jump slightly closer to Nanami- and he’s readily steadying you against his side. Arms on your shoulders.

“See, I told you they were being all romantic—!”

Nanami holds back a chuckle, “We should get going.” And unbeknownst to you, his eyes follow…follow…follow a man with dark hair streaked with grey, one that could only ever belong to the Zenin family. Zenin Naobito was lurking in the corners of the aquarium, the most unassuming place for one to conduct secret meetings with contractors that pretended they weren’t here for the same reason.

Because why else would Nanami go on a family outing, right?

Right? 

.

.

.

Third (and final) attempt.

“—and don’t forget your second change of clothes.” The only thing preventing Itadori from darting out of the house and into any oncoming cars was your single hand hooked around the handle of his Spider-Man backpack.

The only thing keeping him in one place.

Somewhat.

With the other, you’re attempting to shove down the spare t-shirt and shorts you’d picked out for him. Knowing your son, there wasn’t any sort of trouble, puddle, or cake batter that he wouldn’t somehow find and get into. And you don’t know what sort of house the Zenins ran, but you were determined to be on their good side.

And so you’re huffing and puffing, beads of sweat forming at your forehead, as you attempt to push it down the humble space- honestly, you didn’t understand why they didn’t just make these things a bit bigger. Just the slightest bit.

At this rate, he’s never going to…

“Itadori Yuji.” Your voice comes out deadpan, and the pink-haired boy turns to you with wide, innocent eyes.

Sweetly, “Yes, momma?”

“Why have you packed your entire Hot Wheels collection for a sleepover?”

Whatever he spouts about wanting to show Fushiguro and Kugisaki, whatever explanations he’s giving about moral support (honestly, where did he even learn such a thing?), goes in one ear and out the other.

Because yes—Fushiguro had invited Itadori and Kugisaki over for a sleepover at their home. It was convenient given that the two boys were practically next-door neighbors, and after the success of their aquarium visit you were hesitant to part the trio. Thus, it seems that Fushiguro had all but thrown a tantrum and attempted to run away from home in order to convince his guardian to agree to a sleepover. Which was sweet, of course.

But this was Itadori’s first, and any mother would be nervous about that sort of thing- wait.

But you weren’t a mother…technically. This was all a ruse for your mission, and so you’re shaking your head and pushing the bundled-up clothes deeper into his backpack, perhaps in order to drive that point home.

You’re interrupted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Let me take over, my love.”

You’re shifting aside to let Nanami handle the little issue swiftly—with a firm hand - thick fingers, prominent veins, that wedding ring on his left hand - he tugs Itadori back inside the house. “Now now, sunshine. What have we said about taking our toys out of the house?”

He tilts his head up n’ juts his little bottom lip out, “To take only one.”

Nanami lifts the bag just slightly to the side and takes a glance, “And does this look like only one?”

“No…” Itadori sighs.

Soon, you’re finding just about half the Hot Wheels production line laid out, side-by-side and color-coordinated, on the threshold to your home. It looked like a miniature parking lot of which Itadori grumbled as he pushed the clothes into the newly-presented space inside the bag and zipped it shut. Pouting.

Nanami chuckles gently, crouching down so that he was eye-level with the boy. ”You know momma and papa love you, right, sunshine?”

“I know…”

“And you understand why it would be difficult to take all the cars?”

Itadori takes a second to think, before giving you both a determined nod. “I do.” And you’re feeling something within you soar- but you’re forgoing wondering just what it means to feel so proud for the boy. 

“Good.” Your blond husband stands with heave, taking one of Itadori’s arms and turning around to look at you. “Say bye-bye to momma, Yuji.”

He turns with a beaming smile and a chubby arm raised in goodbye. “Bye-bye, momma.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, my love.” Nanami leans in and—presses a sweet, sweet peck to your cheek. Heat seems to sear from where his lips touched, spreading across your chest and all the way down to your toes. You feel your heat batter against your ribcage- fuck.

Was this what he’d felt the other day?

Two seconds; it’s as far as your intimacy as a married couple goes. And in that time Itadori brings his hands up to cover his eyes with a giggled, “Ewwwww—!” 

With an amused shake of his head, the father-son duo set off. Since the Zenin household was in the same neighborhood, about a street away, it was only about a five-minute walk to get there. 

Which is why you had to act fast.

Nanami Kento would be home in less than ten minutes - he wouldn’t have Itadori to slow down his long strides on the way back. And you’re standing there with the front door ajar as they leave, waving…waving…waving-

The very moment their backs disappear, you’re slamming the door shut and racing to the kitchen.

There, you’re reaching up to the very topmost cabinet: grabbing the new liquorice-flavored cereal you knew that no one in the house would touch. Of course, you’d emptied out the cereal this very morning.

And all that remained in the cardboard box inside was a slim vial you’d bought from the apothecary. 

It wasn’t exactly what one would consider menacing, but it was exactly what you needed for your Hail Mary attempt at completing your mission. It was made of a crystal-clear glass, fashioned into a reticello design, with a label containing some information and a stopper of gold that made the contents within seem far more elegant than they were in reality.

Dark brown powder that looked like ground up dirt.

An unassuming little substance you’d rippled with excitement over at the apothecary’s. So much so that you’d damn-near didn’t hear half the things she said- but it’s fine. You were an assassin, right?

And what was an assassin that didn’t know how to use the most powerful poison in the nation? 

Material XXX.

You’ve never seen it with your own two eyes. Nanami might have been immune to chloroform, but there was no living person on Earth that could resist this. 

Oh—it was beautiful…And it mixed so perfectly with the ground-up coffee you were adding to your coffee maker. One steaming hot cup of coffee had already been made and upon the kitchen counter beside you, it let out hot swirls of heat as you tampered with the other one. Sweetly fragrant. 

You smile- he’ll be dead in one sip. And, sure, you might have some explaining to do to Itadori - but doesn’t all good coffee spark conversation?

You’re still running through the list of excuses in your mind once the brewing comes to a stop.

And just in time, the front door clicks! open.

“He was so excited he tripped five times.” Nanami’s deep sigh echoes into the kitchen. You hear the shuffling sounds of him taking his shoes off, shrugging his coat onto the rack, stepping inside. “Though the other two were just the same- could you please make us some coffee, darling, while I get started on dinner?”

“You’ll ruin your dinner, Kento.” You call out to him, “And I already have.”

His handsome head pops out from the door, golden strands slightly tousled from the walk. Nanami breathes in the unmistakable scent of coffee piercing the kitchen air, and smiles. “You’re the best.”

“In many ways.” Leaning back against the counter, you’re handing his freshly-made cup - poured into a large mug that said #1 Papa - to him. 

Nanami’s large hands pluck it from yours and he whispers, “Thank you.” Looking down at the scalding concoction that still swirled within, “I really mean it, you know.”

“What?” You’re looking up at him in surprise.

“You’re the best.”

Your fingers grow tighter around your own mug: World’s Best Momma.

“Drink your coffee before it gets cold, Kento.”

He hums through a smile, before blowing on the similarly-fragrant steam. It smelled of jasmine and spring and something like love; but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? It’s almost a tease—watching Nanami swirl the coffee around a bit, watching him affirm his grip, watching him leeeean his stern lips in before-

“Aren’t you going to drink up, my love?” You almost startle - Nanami was staring at you through his blond tresses, brows furrowed in slight concern. “Are you alright? You look a little…tense.”

“I-I’m perfectly alright—” You hasten to explain- if Nanami got suspicious now and refused to drink his coffee, then there was no way you’re completing this mission. Without wasting anymore time, you’re bringing your coffee up to your own lips - though you don’t take a sip just yet. “Just thinking about work, you know how it is…”

He nods. “We’ve both been really busy lately, haven’t we? I apologize if I’ve made you feel a little lonely these days-”

“Not at all-”

“But still.” Nanami was determined. Those molten brown eyes of his seemed to be pinning you down to the tiled kitchen floor, and the heat of your body contrasted with its frigidness. “I apologize. Tonight, let’s just take some time for the two of us—we can watch a show, we can do some puzzles, tell me about your favorite book and we can read it together.”

You’re refusing to meet his eyes- you can’t. “That…that would be lovely.”

“To us.” Your husband - the spy, you have to remind yourself - outreaches his arm and clinks! your two mugs together in a toast.

“To us.” You weakly whisper. 

And then you take a sip and watch him do the same.

Immediately, you know something’s wrong.

From the slightly sour- slightly sweet- taste coating your tongue—to the way that Nanami takes a long, deep swig and sighs out in satisfaction. He doesn’t drop dead. He doesn’t grab his throat in agony. He doesn’t even stagger where he’s standing as he loses consciousness- 

Nanami sets his coffee mug down and grins.

“Poison working for you, darling?” And your own drops from your hand and shatters. “Oh dear, let me take care of that-”

“Stop.”

In the middle of reaching for the sweeping pan, Nanami halts and looks at you with slightly unfocused, glazed eyes. Heat rising to his cheeks. Breaths coming out in murked pants. Ones that you were sure mirrored your own. 

You felt as if you had a fever five times over and someone had still set you on fire—

Your temperature was soaring through the roof and searing through your skin, making your clothes feel clammy and clinging onto your form. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your temple. But even more than that was the way that- fuck, it was the heat between your damn legs. It was aching. Something deep and primal—something clawing at you from your insides and making you shudder as you lock eyes with Nanami once again.

Before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist to help steady you. And nothing more- did you want something more?!

You’re boring into his eyes and finding out that he wasn’t any better. Not in the least.

In fact, he’d drunk more of the potioned coffee than you.

Your wettened lips part and out comes the only thing you know how to say right now, “Kento.”

He jolts at the sound of his first name wrapped around your tongue. So sexual.

And his own words come out a gravelly croon, “Didn’t read the label, assassin?” That smile of his looked almost feral in the light you were looking at him right now. “Because I did.”

He attempts to pull away to show the label to you- the vial of powder he’d found. 

The plans he’d ruined.

The secrets he’d discovered.

The temperature in the kitchen was near-sizzling.

But the only thing you can think to do is claw your hands outwards and clutch his white shirt with an unfounded ferocity. One of his buttons pop! off and end up on the kitchen floor.

Chuckling, he gives up letting you see the label for yourself. If you won’t let him go, then…without a single warning, Nanami’s leaning in so that his pretty lips graze your ear. The front of his toned chest pushes up against you- and perhaps the only thing that helps you focus is the rapid, ravenous ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump! of his heart. Pummeling. “Because if you did, then perhaps you’d have seen that Material XXX isn’t supposed to come into contact with caffeine, my love…”

You gasp, hands twisting even deeper into his button-up.

“Because then, it doesn’t become a poison at all.” The long line of his nose glides down your throat, sending shivers skittering across wherever he was in contact with. He stops against a spot you knew was sensitive and softly blooooooows—cold air against hot skin. 

You shiver.

And he merely continues in a rasp, “Because then, it becomes a substance that draws out your deepest desires. Amplifying pre-existing needs that the host contains, those that might be hidden due to…other reasons. So consider it an experiment of sorts. Can you recognize what this concoction is for you, darling?”

“A-an aphrodisiac.” Your eyes threaten to flutter shut- the mere breeze of his breath makes your thighs clench. 

He nods. “An aphrodisiac.”

“How long have you known?” More honest than ever; the question blurts out of your lips.

Nanami takes the time to think, “Since the sniping in Shibuya is when I knew.” With lewd, lethargic eyes he looks you up and down- up and down…“But to be honest, I’ve always suspected.”

You growl—“So then you know I’m here to kill you-” 

“So try me.”

You lunge.

.

.

.

And perhaps that was how he got here.

Nanami feels the very pointed tip of your heel graze his bulging erection- and he bucks. Not enough to finally free himself, but enough that it makes the chair cricket—and you’re looking down at him through your lashes.

He’s forced to stop his head from throwing backwards, bearing his sensitive throat. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was the fact that he’s wanted you for so fucking long now- but he feels zaps of white-hot pleasure course through his body.

All the way from the in-betweens of his meaty thighs, riveting like snakes into every one of his limbs. Eventually up to his poor brain.

Slow and steady; you’re watching the fabric of Nanami’s trousers darken. Seeping and spreading the more he tried to press his legs together to hide it.

And once you’re roverin’ your foot over his cock- he moans. 

Grin spreading, the further you step down on him, the louder those squelches from his puddle of cum were. “Awww, already, Kento? They didn’t have that in your file.”

Somehow through it all, he manages out such a ravenously handsome grin. Blond hairs disarrayed. Tie askew. Shirt unbuttoned down until you could see golden hairs peeking out. “Th-they probably didn’t have a lot of things.”

“True.” You respond, stepping down harder and he gasps- “But remember who’s in charge now.”

Nanami looks at you through unfocused, half-lidded eyes. “Always was you, darling.”

“Flatterer.” Harder. 

“Fuh-fuuuuck…” He spits. Head dropping forwards, a thin line of drivel escapes from his parted mouth and adds onto the mess below. You’re watching it glisten underneath the dim lighting of the bedroom - one you’d somehow manage to drag the blond spy into. “Do that again and I’m going to cream my pants once more, my love.”

Your jaw slightly drops at the matter-of-fact way he was phrasing it. The Nanami Kento you’d been married to never uttered a word like this- “Well…”

“Is that what you’d like?” And, suddenly, his eyes are sharper than before. You had your leg raised so that you could step on his most sensitive bits, but you failed to realize that also meant he had access to your own…to rub his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat yearning for the cream. “Is that what you want your husband to do in repentance?”

“W-we’re not even really married-” Taken aback. Heat flaring where his pants fanned you- your dagger trembles where you held it against his throat. Close enough to cut.

And yet he was still craning his face - his mouth - as near as he could get to your cunt. Mouth watering. A crimson bead where your blade was rested-

“But we could be.” And you’re lost for words. Nanami just looked so pathetic beneath you in ways you never could’ve even imagined: eyes blown wide and dazed, mouth permanently unhinged as he inched towards your soaked underwear, breaths getting more n’ more labored the longer you kept pinning his clothed cock down with your heel. 

He had his hands cuffed behind him and was aching to get between those legs - and you’re unsure whether you should blame just the aphrodisiac. Desperation seeps into his words, “But we could consummate this marriage.”

Your lips part.

He doesn’t waste a second.

“Seven times over just to make up for the time we’ve lost.” And then he’s tipping his head back and bearing you with a grin, “Fuck my cock raw, my wife.”

And how could you ever say no to that?

You don’t—instead, what you’re doing is taking advantage of the needy way his jaw was unhinged in a soundless prayer. One that you’re answering with a direct spit- lips pursed, you’re letting a glittering glob of saliva paste against his lips.

Purposefully missing the precise target, the lewd translucent liquid splatters against the side of his lips before ultimately trickling inwards. And you’re watching with your jaw dropped as his Adam’s apple bobs- as he swallows.

Perhaps that was the last straw.

The tip of your glinting blade draws a perfect line down Nanami’s middle - just enough pressure to scrape a harmless line of white down his exposed skin. And then you’re slashing those ropes that bound him to the chair. 

Metal restraints, you watch him semi-free himself.

And you’re turning around and walking to the bed.

Sitting at the very edge.

Resting your palms behind you.

Your legs spread-spread-spreeeeeead wide enough that he gets a view good enough to make his slightly-teary eyes bulge. Lips parting. Cock twitching. You’re tilting your head casually to the side and beckoning him—“If you want it, come and get it, Nanami Kento.”

Handcuffed and hands behind his back, the famous agent has no other choice than to get on his knees and crawl over to you.

Fucking crawling.

The carpet chafes beneath his knees, the sound echoes as he inches and inches- torturously slow. Body bowed. Chest heaving. 

Whilst you don’t move a single degree.

It might have been hours- it might have been fucking eons that are passing by before Nanami reaches the foot of the bed; burning up far more from the fever of wanting you than any aphrodisiac in existence. He honed senses raise into the air - and he’s getting a whiff of that honeyed fragrance from your pussy. Almost singing to him, surely it wasn’t just because of that powder that he thinks it’s the most delicious-smelling thing on Earth.

His stomach nearly growls. 

And then Nanami’s between your parted legs and famished. 

All good spies deserve a treat, right?

Before you know it, Nanami’s leaned in and having his lips glued to your clothed cunt. Fucking glued. They were puckered and pert—both pairs of lips, and the vibrations of his moan make your back arch as he tastes you for the very first time.

Just the most innocent kiss. 

The first time that he’s getting everything he’s fucking dreamed of.

Because whenever you left the house dressed so prettily, whenever you hummed at the taste of your favorite baked good, whenever you bent over to pick up something- you didn’t know it, but…Nanami stared.

Oh, how he stared n’ licked his hungry lips. 

Wondering just how sweet your pretty, pretty cunt would taste - just how fucking sooooft and tender your pussylips would feel once he’s finally giving them that nice French kiss they deserved. All up on his tongue.

Despite being such a gentleman to everyone around him—who’d have guessed that Nanami Kento would have the dirtiest thoughts of them all? That whenever he gazed upon you with that ‘ruse’ of affection, he was actually hiding something far…far darker. 

The dirtiest thoughts that he was acting upon right now. 

With his honed tastebuds swipin’ down your wet slit, Nanami counts every bead of slick that you’re leaking through your panties. Sugary sweet. He’s boring his smoldering gaze into yours as he—with a slurp! lets those pearly translucent droplets collect on the tip of his tongue, and then glide, glide, gliiiiiide deep down to the back of his throat.

Blond lashes flickering his eyes shut at the flavorful taste, Nanami groans. 

“C-can I prove it now…?”

You almost don’t recognize his voice.

The tone of it sends fire shooting straight between your legs- and without thinking twice, you lean your weight on your hands and edge even closer. Whining, “Prove what, Kento?”

And he seems almost embarrassed to answer.

Almost shy now—

Though the heat of the aphrodisiac and the globules of slick stuck to his chin were making him more of an honest man by the second. “I need to prove that m’worthy of being your husband, pussy.”

Was he talking to you or…?

Fuck.

Sense coming back to him in bursts and stutters, Nanami shakes his head briefly- “I mean-” A blush rises to the tips of his ears, though his eyes remain as starved as ever—“I need to prove that m’worthy of being a good husband to both you and-” His biceps bulge as he struggles against the handscuffs briefly, pathetically and lovingly nuzzling the hot in-betweens of your folds. “-this girl right here.”

The way he says it…fuck.

He gives off the impression of a man that’s been starved for ages- for eons. There was something almost wolfish imprinted onto his expression, and the whites of his teeth feature an appearance between your legs as Nanami leans in; with knitted brows and a ragged emphasis, he’s asking - begging - once more. “Please-” Mahogany eyes just so earnest, “Marry me?”

Marry him?

Your jaw drops.

Was he so pussydrunk already that he’s genuinely proposing? 

Or was it just the aphrodisiac—you’re not waiting to find out.

Readily, Nanami only needs to feel a single shove of your glistenin’ wet pussy against his mouth - before he’s letting his eyes roll to the back of his skull. Farther and farther. Almost blindly, he uses his pointed chin to dig himself even deeper. And he couldn’t spread your pretty thighs apart with his arms, so he’s resorting to fitting his burly body - shoving your legs apart with his broad shoulders - until he gets closer to your core. Your dripping wet core,

Simply soaked.

Just a single strand of blond sticks to his forehead—usually-slicked hair coming out of its neat style now. And Nanami isn’t shy to sliiiide apart your drenched panties with his tongue, then start pressing kiss after open-mouthed kiss. 

Wide-mouthed. Gaping. 

Just the most teasing, faintish whispers of his tongue. Feverish in speed.

The sopping, smooth edge of his tastebuds lodge inside and slathers itself in all of your syrupy juices. Jaggedly probin’ in and out. “Is this how my wife wants it? Does this, mmm- feel good, my love?”

And you hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed until you’re fluttering them open—looking through tear-filled lashes at the handsome man between your legs. “Y-yessss…deeper, Kento.”

His eyes suddenly clear in urgency.

Mind befogged with lust - but he’s alert enough to recognize your pretty pleas. And without a single second wasted, the slashes of his tongue scour even deeper inwards. With all his slick inches he’s tunneling into your pussy- and your toes curl at the sensation of him driving into spots unknown. “A-and?” He spits, “Is this good?”

He’s just so eager to please. “Nghhh, yes.” Blabbering out, “Just a bit more to the side now, honey.”

Obediently, he cocks his head and angles his kisses. The layers of his lips smush with your delicate pussy, until it was as if he’s stuck there by adhesive - you don’t think he’s pulling away enough to even breathe…and he wouldn’t mind forgoing his own comfort to make sure you’re feeling your best. “Is this good?” The big, bad spy that has all of Tokyo’s underbelly trembling pleads.

“Yes-”

“And what else?”

“Wh-what…?” Stare widening in surprise. 

That cute expression of yours - the way your cunt seems to splash! another wad of your slick onto his ready tastebuds - makes him rattle at his chains. As though to break through. As though to ravish you whole. 

But the only thing he’s succeeding in doing is letting gravity stoop his face even lower onto your pulsating pussy. Every throb was just so delicous—and Nanami swears he’s feeling his own heartbeat synchronize with the rapid cadence of it. “What else do you need from your husband? Do you need more tongue?” 

Just then, you’re feeling the ridged texture of his tastebuds start drilling even deeper. That cutely pink tip of his tongue starts bludgeoning inside as though reaching for your very cervix.

And he’s hatching out something- something almost delirious. “Do you need it sloppier? Because I can- mmm, do sloppier.” The cacophonous noise from beneath your swollen folds starts growing in both pitch and volume as he increases his speed, thick, ribbony strings of slick coating the edges of his mouth - “I can make it faster. Slower. Sexier.”

You’re straining your hamstrings to push off the springy mattress, “P-please—”

“I can eat you out like a husband should.” 

Munch-munching away at everything your pussy had to offer. Everything and anything.

He’s jostling his body so painfully close to yours- skin against skin. Lips against lips. Without the gesticulation of his hands to balance himself, it was rare that he’d find a moment to push up and part from your pussy - and whenever he did, it just meant he wasn’t doing his job well enough.

Nanami chases after even the slightest movements of your restless hips. And there’s a slight crack emanating from his metal handcuffs when the straight top of his nose taps your throbbing clit. 

“Tell me, my wife—tell me what you want.”

It feels like you’re being struck by shards of lighting itself, “J-just like that, Kento-”

“Just like that? Or even more- hah.” He pants out in a raspy wheeze. Nanami’s voice was low- lower than you can ever recall it being. “Don’t hafta lie to me, darling. Your husband can give you aaaaanything and everything.”

A shallow moan cracks at the back of your throat by the way he’s emphasizing his words- notably by reeling his thick tongue out and drag-drag-draaaagging it all across the forefront of your cunt. “Th-then…ngh, I want whatever it is that you want, Kento.”

His golden brows shoot up to his hairline, “What’s- hck! that, my love?”

And in a split-second - perhaps it’s your assassin side coming out, perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that’s dialing every emotion up to the max - you’re grabbing a searing hold of Nanami’s pale tresses. A proper fistful that lets you jerk the strong man off of your cunt and gazing his glistening peripherals up at you.

He’s drawing his mouth away with a wet plop! The jutted-out edge of his lower lip trembles at the thought of not being in contact with your tasty cunt, and you have to tap the side of Nanami’s face to  get him to fully focus his attention on you.

It takes a little while for his lava-like eyes to peer up at you. “Y-yes, my wife…?”

Chuckling just a bit at the way he’s lost his train of thought - perhaps every thought he’s ever conjured up once he’s tasting your cunt. “What do you want, Kento? Tell me what you’d like…tha’s gonna please me the most.”

“But I beg to-”

“I know you want it.” And he didn’t forget about those ruthless heels of yours, did he? The broad frame of Nanami Kento shudders at the pointed sensation of your heels gliding up his open thighs. Trouser-covered and cum-drenched, you’re feeling for the bumpy area where his fat cock throbbed- and crushing down on it with the flats of your shoe. “This thing doesn’t lie to me, honey. Just tell me what the little spy wants.”

“I…fuck, this is embarrasing- this is so ungentlemanly-” But that was a ship long sailed. And he finds himself drooping even further into the heavenly in-betweens of your legs.

And you’re witnessing the veins on his beefy forearms pop out, the skin of his forehead perspiring- and it almost feels to you as if the blond man was holding himself back at this very moment. A shiver runs through you as you wonder just what him giving his all would mean for you…

And his swollen mouth cracks open, “Please…” And it’s not you that’s starting to beg…it’s Nanami himself. Deep and guttural wrenched out from his voicebox, he sends rumbles across your body like thunder. “Please push me even d-deeper into your cunt.” Nuzzlin’ your clit with his nose, he murmurs. “Push me so far deep- ride my tongue- use me until my mouth’s raw and I can’t even breathe.”

And you know you’re the one that asked him…but you can’t help but let your jaw hang speechlessly.

“I need you to make you c-cum on my tongue five times before I can call myself your husband.”

The answer takes some time to choke out, and when it finally does you’re feeling embarrassed at the slightly pitchy tone it takes. “Then do it.” With his sweaty strands plastered to your palm, and your heel being used to steady yourself—and push down on his convulsing cock. You give him no warning before pushing him down deeper. 

He sputters-

“I’m going to ride your face now, Kento.” And you’re shocked by your ability to keep your words from slurrin’ together now. “Do it- do everything it is that you want to do. But no pulling back to breathe. No cumming until I do.”

And he’s peering up at you with the most loving half-lidded eyes, “Yes, my wife.”

That man was a goner for his wife—you. 

“Hngh—mmm- K-Kento!” It’s just about the only thing your spit-drivelled lips can echo right now. The sound travels across the room before bouncin’ into Nanami’s eardrums, and he swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard. Because in a sultry split-second, he’s loosening his body up and letting you pin his face between your legs.

Then veering your hips upwards and upwards.

Frenzied, squelching movements of your hips. Your body was just crashing into his in the most sinful collision, and it was making the skin of his high cheekbones start to redden and sting- Nanami barely has the time to part his lips and take in an inhale—

Before your sopping pussylips are plastering to his mouth once more. And he’s lappin’ his tongue away wilding onto every inch he could reach - all around the hidden crevices of your cunt, before entering through your tight hole.

Nanami’s muscle was just so thick that he made you keen with the intrusion of his tastebuds. Feeling up the hugging walls of your channel, before you’re swearing he’s reaching for that one spot that made your eyes roll.

“Shit-” You’re babbling out, hands shaking where you held him down. “Sh-shiiiiiit, just like that. Does that feel good for you too, baby?”

He’s feeling the flaps of his lips start to swell and his lungs ache for breath- “Yes.” He’s never answered anything truer in his life - and it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac, though it did only seem to be getting stronger by the second. “Fuck—yes, and d-don’t keep doing that with your heel or m’gonna cum.”

“What?” You ask innocently - fully knowing the ministrations you were carrying out beneath your line of sight and his. Your heel was flattened over his massive bulge and smoothing up and down, up and down, up and down—practically jerking Nanami off though more with the pressure you were pitting against him.

The nib of your heel grazes his mushroomy tip and he bucks- “M’gonna cum, my love…”

Almost in agony. 

You smile as you reply, “Me too.” Before leaning down just the slightest inch in proximity of him - as though sharing a secret between just the two of you in this world. “But that’s only one of five.”

He grunts.

Fuck- he didn’t want to disappoint his beautiful wife. He can’t. He couldn’t.

And as though crazed, Nanami’s flickering the inches of his tongue through and through that dripping entrance of yours. In and out. Stirrin’ around his lengthy muscle in juuuust the way he knew would hit those pretty orifices that made you cry out so loud, Nanami’s focusing on your g-spot for a few seconds at a time to make sure you’re experiencing as much pleasure as possible with every thrust.

Through it all, his nose remains pressed up against your throbbing clit. “One down, four to go.”

“What do you…” Your toes curl then—because Nanami had predicted it before you had. With a sudden flash behind your eyes, you’re crashing into one wave of pleasure after the other - starting up from the pleasure-riddled area between your legs and climbing up into every cranny of your body afterwards.

Your arms go limp. Your back arches perfectly.

“Sh-shiiiiiit- that feels so good.” Your head tilts backwards as the sudden euphoria overtakes you, and your heartbeat only seems to accelerate by twofold after you take a look down at Nanami himself.

His eyes were rolling to the depths of his skull, until only the whites of them were visible. His mouth was agape and his body was almost moving on autopilot—pure carnal instinct simply lappin’ and lappin’ away at your cunt - sending sparks roaring through your body every time his dexterous nose struck your clit. His cock was twitching away furiously beneath your long heels.

And you’re quite sure that Nanami himself was on the verge of an orgasm- “Don’t cum.” You’re pressing down on his cock.

He jolts ever-so-slightly - though his movements don’t falter for a single second. And he was slightly muffled from his…position, though you do manage to make out a scoff. “Who did you think I was?” Nanami responds in a gravelly tone, “M’your husband, darling. And a husband is always supposed to keep his vows.”

You don’t mention that you technically didn’t have a ceremony with vows and everything.

Because in the next mere moments, Nanami has his tongue thrusted back inside and his chin glued to the bottom of your wet slit. No matter how much you’re bucking and moaning, he’s determined to accomplish that little wish you—he had had.

And with the textured swabs of his tongue, he’s pulling out one more orgasm. Two more. Three more-

You think you’ve lost count by the time you’re all sprawled out and spent on the bed. Throwing your head back, letting your heels hook onto his shoulders and tug him even closer - you’re all but begging for mercy as dopamine leaves stars bursting behind your eyelids. 

Your cunt was just so heated and raw at this point - though the aphrodisiac kept your slippery slick coming until it was drenchin’ Nanami all the way down to his collarbones.

His invisible dusting of blond on top of his upper lip glistens with the sap that clings onto it, and Nanami peers up at you with hollow, drunken eyes finally. “How many was that, my love?”

Would he believe it if you said you didn’t fucking know—

Apparently you didn’t have to remain wondering, because those words are leaving your lips mindlessly. They take a few seconds to penetrate Nanami’s own foggy mind- but with something akin to a crooked grin, he raises his head. “S’that so?” 

You’re shivering once he pulls his tongue out and presses a loud peck on top of your cunt.

“My poor, poor wife—did your husband go too hard?” And you’re not sure what’s in his intense gaze that makes you gesture out a single nod - an embarrassing nod. But you’re doing so anyway, and you hiss when he presses a final kiss and raises himself up onto his haunches. “But I have kept my end of the deal, darling. Didn’t your husband make you proud?”

“Y-yes—” 

“Didn’t your husband make you cum?”

“Yes-”

“Not five times, yet.” And through sheer will and the use of his incredible core strength, the trained spy stands up without breaking a sweat. “There’s one more to go…”

“Oh- let me.” Using whatever strength hasn’t been wrung out of you from the marathon of your highs - barely worrying about your refractory period - you’re surging upwards and reaching behind him. Those handcuffs you’d put him in were professional-grade and used on the job sometimes, nothing like the kinky toys that one might normally prefer.

Though this wasn’t initially supposed to be play at all.

And perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that’s clouding your judgement- you know you can’t keep blaming it any longer when…But you’re soon looking around the room for the key that you’d dropped.

You think you had a spare in the bedside cabinet but you couldn’t be too sure- but then again, the original must have fallen somewhere on the carpet during the height of your nervous excitement—

“Looking for the key, mm?” Nanami’s deep croon jolts you out of your single-minded mission. And you somewhat jolt as you look up at his impressive height; his handsome face. 

Your cunt had pooled slick right down to his clothes- the collar of it noticeably darker than the rest of the fabric, with his buttons shining as though polished a thousand times over. And his trousers were just as ruined.

Blond hair completely unruly now. Pupils blown-out through his glasses.

His lips were all reddened n’ puffy with the prolonged contact with the sweetest dessert he’s ever tasted: you. And he’s wearing your slathered layers of slick like a medal of honor, glistening proudly across his mouth and jawline—evidence of his desperation. He husks, “No need to worry yourself, my sweet wife.” Just then, he’s straining his forearms to pull at the handcuffs with brute force - one vein on his forehead popping, skin flushing an even deeper red.

You don’t think he’s going to do it - no one’s ever escaped you when you used those.

But suddenly there’s a screech of metal and a clink! 

Before Nanami Kento’s rubbing at the slight bite of metal upon either of his wrists. His free wrists. His unrestrained wrists.

His unrestrained hunger as he then looms his chiselled body above yours- as you push yourself further and further up to the headboard, Nanami follows. He follows. He follows. He follows until your back hits the wooden panel connected to the wall, and those half-lidded eyes bore down upon you deliciously.

“Can we consummate our marriage now, my love?”

Your words could not be more sheerly needy- “Yes.”

And soon enough you’re helping Nanami out of his button-up, his vest, his trousers. Only his boxers stand in the way now and you’re just impatiently tugging them down—finding your jaw dropping at the sight of him.

Because Nanami was big as far as you’d felt.

But this was…what was that saying about it always being the quiet ones? Nanami’s length laid thick and throbbing between his milky legs; the tip of his shaft flushed an angry red, he’s leaking hot precum in lines down your inner thighs.

Dribbling out from the heavy volumes of his ballsack, and ending up coating his cherry tip in a cute white. 

In the saturated air, his cock twitches upwards a few times. Makin’ stray beads gliiiiide along the vein-covered length of his shaft- down and doooooown to soak into his burnt golden curls at the very base. The entire image was just so sexy that you can’t help but let out a moan—

And Nanami chuckles before he turns his tender lovin’ eyes towards you. “Don’t worry. You’re next, darling.”

Your clothes are shed at an even faster rate.

Soon enough, it’s just him sandwichin’ his bulbous tip between your folds. Too big to immediately slide into your cunt, too covered in so many wads of your slick - slippery with your own sap - that he occasionally eases inside and makes you yelp at the stretch. “It just feels so- fuck, I just know s’gonna feel so good.” Your hands claw down Nanami’s broad back, “I need you, Kento. Badly.”

“How badly?” He crouches over you, lips centimeters from yours. “I need to make sure you’re not jus’ talking out of your pussy, my wife.”

“I’m not—” You promise. “I need you- fuck, I need you.”

“Need me to what, however?” Nanami cocks his head and almost meanly asks- he never knew he could make you sputter so much. It was just so fun watching your pretty mouth fall slightly apart as you registered his teasing—it almost made him want to spit between your lips.

He does.

And Nanami continues shoving his expanding erection just between your thighs, “Do you need me to take this pretty pussy like it’s our wedding night? Do you need me to m-make love to this pretty pussy like we’ve been married for years? What is it…?”

You’re mouthing something that his popped eardrums don’t hear.

Leaning in, “What’s that, darling?”

And so you’re repeating - just a little louder than before. “I n-need you to fuck me like you’re trying to prove you’re my husband.”

Just like before.

And that seems to flip a switch in the stern, stoic Nanami Kento.

Just a little.

Because the next time you’re blinking your teary eyes open- it’s to see the harrowed furrow between his brows as Nanami reels his hips back n’ positions his largely flared tip between your legs. Right where he needs to be.

And then he push-pushes inside—

“Fuck-” He spits- strong hand darting out to grip the headboard. You hear it splinter—“Fuck.”

“Please…” Looking up, you’re letting out a soft gasp at the way the muscles on his arm bulge and make themselves clear next to you. The sheer strength. The sheer pressure. The sheer streeeetch between your legs that you’re being fed inch by solid inch.

It’s almost too much - so much more than you ever thought possible to take in one go. Your throat feels clogged with saliva and Nanami’s sheer size as his cockhead thoroughly pierces your channel.

Smearin’ your gluey walls to either side of him, he enters you slowly yet mercilessly. More and more. 

Your head falls back against the plush pillow directly beneath you-

“Now now- stay with me, darling.” Nanami’s strict sentence was less of a command and more of a sweet willing for you to open your eyes once more—to let him see those pretty, heart-shaped peripherals as he fucked you long and sweet. 

He was burrowed just about halfway in at this point and starting to thrust.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t completely drenched in your sweetest caverns yet, as long as your thighs were quivering with the utmost pleasure. 

And Nanami collapses his rock-hard, chiselled front on top of your body - almost crushing you under the weight of him. Though you admit that the pressure was one so pleasurable that it sends zaps of electricity shooting to your toes—oh, did you mention that he’d kept your heels on, still?

And right now he was hooking his right set of fingers underneath your thigh, pressing your capped knees all the way up to your tits. 

You’re mooooaning at the burning stretch of your hamstrings.

And he’s letting you ease into it for a few more moments before throwing both legs over each side of his shoulders. Wet with perspiration, you’re letting your heeled feet slide down his hard muscles before finally managing to loop them around your neck.

“This is a mating press- yeah.” He whispers, “D’you like this, my wife?”

Nodding fervently. 

Leaning down to lick off the salty-sweet tears that were streaming down your cheeks, “Good girl.” The nickname slips between Nanami’s pussydrunken mouth before he can stop himself. And when he feels the huggin’ entrance of your cunt grow even wetter at the sound of it…oh.

The tips of his digits damn-near tremble with excitement as the blond-haired man plucks a pillow from one of the many you were laying against. Fluffing it up. Promptly placing it underneath the base of your spine, just where that curve was supposed to start, and raising your hips just a little.

That change of angle made the thump-thump-thumping tip of his cock just slightly press against the roof of your cunt, and you whine. “Sh-shit…”

“D’you know what that’s for, my love?”

“Huh?” You respond hazily, and he gestures towards the pillow. Just so gone- on his cock, on the aphrodisiac, on the primal instincts on the verge of screaming at him to shove even deeper. “Um…”

Nanami leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “That’s alright. I’ll teach you later, my love. For now…”

For now, what was that you’d begged for earlier?

Ah…

For now, he was going to fuck you like a loving husband fucks his beloved, beloved wife.

And he was going to prove it to this pussy that he was your husband—is. There were no two ways of going about it- Nanami’s leaning his toned torso backwards and suddenly rammin’ into you with all his strength.

He doesn’t stop until he’s sure he can hear the damn thwack! of his mazin’ tip reaching for your deepest depths. The sensation of your cervix was just so smoooooth and spongy, and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that the notorious man had just bottomed out on your tight, tight pussy. 

You’re keening at the way your folds can do nothing but quiver n’ take and take. Gulping down those greedy inches that he was funneling over and over again into you—the scruff of his tawny happy trail scrapes your sensitive pussylips and you buck-

“And don’t think that you can run away.” He was amused.

For every millimeter that you were arching off of the mattress due to oversensitivity, Nanami was making up for it with yet another two rugged slams of his hips. He just loved that surprised expression upon your face when you found yourself being dragged right back, being manhandled, with a mere tug of his trained physique.

One hand on the right side of your waist.

One hand bracing his gluttonous base.

He furrows his brows and tightens his jaw as he haaaaauls you right back down- and soon enough, you’re finding that perhaps - perhaps - you’re shifting yourself away just to have him do it all over again.

And he indulges you, of course. Spearing between your glossed-up pussylips from tip to bottom end.

Fat inches that were making themselves at home.

Eventually, Nanami’s hungry gaze pins you down- first. Before the rest of his Herculean sculptured body chooses to rest further on top of you n’ glue your skin, your hips, to his own—preventing you from moving just a centimeter further than he wanted you to. Preventing you from shifting his determined cock around. He’s practically melding your bodies into one—he almost wishes he could.

Before Nanami had finally scoured ‘round your insides and located your g-spot. And he couldn’t have you moving around when his entire mission was to make you numb with pleasure, could he?

The heat between you two crackles in the air, and Nanami fucks you slow and shallow with his flared red tip. Rovering over that one spot-

“O-oh my god, oh my god, Kento—” Words slurring into one. Nearly indiscernible. 

And through your tears, you’re making out Nanami’s lips pursing into something gentle. “Shhhhh…” The breeze of his scorching pants waft over you, dialing your own body temperature up into something insatiable. Aphrodisiac or…no, just the two of you. “You’ve got this, my love- fuck, you’ve got this.”

“I…” Eyes scrunching shut. “N-never felt anything like this before, honey.”

“You can take it.”

“I am- I am-”

The way his thrusts were probin’ into you was just indescribable- though Nanami Kento might have been a gentleman to everyone that ever encountered him - and yes, you suppose that even included the targets for his missions - you were briefed and trained to see him as the complete opposite. 

Unlike most, you knew Nanami Kento as the agent…the danger…the target for your own mission.

But his cock was drilling into you over and over in sharp, rapid thrusts and you’re thinking that perhaps you hadn’t been so correct about him after all…

Calculated thrusts.

Nanami was making sure that you were wringing out the maximum amount of pleasure from each one of them. Not wasting time between smooching the door to your womb—thud-thud-thud. And between reeling his hips all the way back until your cunt was wet and gaping around where the circumference of his tip was the fattest. The neediest. Red-hot.

And then he’d be sliiiiiiding one of his most prominent veins down the middle along the most tender of your nerves. Kissing it.

Making white-hot bliss burst through your body as he’s managing to hit eeeevery single fucking orifice that made you swoon. Those large arms of his cage you safely, and Nanami already knows by now that you’re drunk on his hips. “Feels good, yeah?” He asks you-

And you almost have the heart to respond with something feisty—well, obviously. But the sincerity in his eyes makes you prattle out, “Feels s-soooo good. Didn’t even know that it could feel this good…”

He smiles proudly, “Yeah? Oh yeah—” Patting your sensitive clit with his abdomen, “And how’s the- haaaaaah, fuuuck, keep squeezing me like that- How’s the speed, my love?”

“P-perfect…” Cockdrunken. Bed creaking.

But Nanami merely nods and licks at the walloping amounts of saliva pouring from one end of your mouth and onto the silken covers of the pillows. “Mhmmmmm…and what else? How’s the angle?”

Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull. “The- angle—oh.” Just then, he’s adjusting his hips just the slightest few degrees so that his bludgeoning cock would hit a fresh new target tilted slightly upwards to the roof of your cut. And you’re practically yowling out, “That one- ngh, that’s the one.” Nails possessively claiming his back with countless scratches and indentations of your nails, “P-pleeeeease keep that one, Kento.”

“Like it that much, huh?” He hums to himself, “But of course, m’not gonna change it when s’my wife’s favorite.”

In a small thank-you, you’re craning your head up and attempting to kiss him. 

He meets your lips halfway, but don’t think that that’s the only thing his vicious hips could do.

“Now now, don’t tap out…” Nanami grunts n’ shudders to himself—he has to gnaw down on the plushness of his bottom lip to compose himself at least somewhat. “And how about the feeling of my balls- hah- feel how biiiiiig and heavy they are, just for you?”

Struck and feeling his cadence accelerating, you can only nod and nod.

“Feel how rock-hard I am for you?”

Nodding.

“Feel the way I- fuck, the way m’only getting harder?”

Nodding.

“Feel the way your g-spot just throbs whenever I’m near?” His crowned and hungry tip pauses just to prove his point, and you’re dragging your nails down his biceps with a disappointed whine. A call to continue if there was any.

To which he does.

Harder than before- pap-pap-papping—! the front of his hips against yours.

“And feel the way m’pumping out so much- fuck- precum?” Just then - as if on fucking cue - you’re feeling a wet draaaaag of his pre being pushed deeper inside you. Pooling on layers on top of your cervix n’ swirling around every time you’re being moved, “Shit, m’gonna make a mess again. See what you do to me?”

“I do-”

Nanami scoffs, “You know I’d do anything to make you feel good, my love.” Boring those golden eyes into yours- yes, they looked damn golden in this lighting and in the hazy state of your mind. “Anything-”

One of his thick hands scrape down your front- they were the hands of someone that’s trained and worked and fought to get to where he is today. And you’re shivering at the slight callouses that massage you—

Your husband continues, “Never think that you’re- hah, any less loveable- desirable, because of anyone or anything before.” And despite the fact that you two were connected on levels, physical ones, that were the farthest they could go…it still feels the most intimate once he rests his clammy forehead onto yours and whispers. “Because I’m here- fuck.”

Toes curling atop his shoulders - doesn’t matter how much you’re thrashing them out of sheer pleasure at the stretch, he’s taking every bruise head-on. “Yes, yes, yes—mmm, yes…fuck, it shouldn’t feel this good- ngh, legally it shouldn’t feel this good.”

“When have we ever cared about the legal labels?”

Those pearly whites of his gnaw down on your lips n’ drag you into a kiss. 

He utters, “Because your Kento’s here.”

Whimpering up at him when all the constant kissin’ at your g-spot almost gets too much to bear. So overstimulated. “A-and why do you say that, Kento?”

He could coo at the cute way you’re asking that question.

With your legs shakily squeezing around his neck, with your lips trembling and threatening to escape a sob. The way your cunt swallowed him up and dragged him to the very depths of your cunt was almost dizzying for him to feel—and he knows his balls were thwacking so hot and headily against the forefront of your cunt. He knows he’s close.

He knows the patterns of his zig-zagging veins were outlining themselves upon either side of your walls- he could feel it.

He knows that these were the pearly gates of heaven themselves. Opened right with your legs.

And Nanami has to force himself to not fucking throw his head back with a thunderous groan—more to hear your sweet, sweet noises than anything. And instead, he nuzzles his sweaty face into the crook of your neck and lets out looooow, trundling whispers. “You’re s-seriously asking me that, my love? Don’t mock me-”

“I’m not-”

“Because the answer should be obvious.” And this is the first and only time that the Nanami Kento would interrupt you on any matter. “S’because I’m fucking made for you, aren’t I?”

And with that being said, it seems his cadence is only growing faster. Harder. Hittin’ your lower half at what, to you, almost feels like the speed of light - his blushin’ tip only grows bigger and concrete-hard as he keeps jutting into the crevices of your cervix.

Running the lines of his veiny shaft down your channel all the while—

Soon enough: your pulsing clit finds home between Nanami’s thumb and index finger. 

On his left hand.

Which meant the stark frigidness of his wedding ring was making your body thrust itself into the throes of pleasure - not quite cumming, though considering just how overstimulated you were, you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up shattering all over him without any warning. Instead, you’re finding your mouth babbling away whatever stupid concoction of words was entering your mind- “A-and how can you say that-”

“That’s because I’m your husband.” He kisses your forehead softly once more, “Forget all those other boys and whoever that came- hah, before me, darling. They’ve never yearned—ached, prayed for this pussy like I have…”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up at your throat, “Y-yearned—? K-Kento, you can’t be serious.”

His dazed eyes widen, mouth stupidly agape. “Dead fucking serious.”

What’s the word to describe him…enamored? In…love? Pussy-whipped? But in all the best ways.

And he himself didn’t sound like he could compute the words that were falling from his mouth. Escaping, more like. He tut-tuts, “My wife…I fear I don’t even- haaaah, know who I am without this pussy. She’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few days. She’s all I’ve been…hungry for. She’s all I’ve been- fuck, needing to make myself run to the b-bathroom and jerk myself off until I see stars—”

“S-stars-” Repeating breathlessly to yourself. Such words from him of all people…especially when it pertained to you…you just couldn’t believe it.

“Making you feel good as your husband is my only goal, my love.” And he means it so earnestly- from anyone else you would have scoffed and rolled your eyes. But Nanami’s staring into your widely-blown peripherals as though he was exposing every shred and fissure in his soul.

He rolls his thumb over the nub of your clit.

Your voicebox raggedly wrenches out, “All this time you’ve…”

And fuck- he’s so far gone that he can’t hold back the fucking lewd grin as he admits—

“All this time-” Planting one chaste peck on your forehead while he fucks you, “-your husband has been-” Then another one on your right cheek, “-a damn pervert waiting for you to catch him.” In more ways than one. And then a final one on your left cheek.

He pulls away and admires you.

“And how does that make you feel, my wife?”

“It m-makes me feel…” Spit drivels from the leaky orifice of your mouth along with a few whining pleas here and there. And before Nanami’s lust-hazed brain can begin to compute it, you’re reaching outwards and grabbing ahold of yet another fistful of his hair.

Dragging him towards you with a persistent few tugs.

Surprise and arousal flash across his face and steep into his already-agonized expression once you pull him close enough.

You enunciate up at him, “It makes me feel like m’gonna cum, soon…” Eyes flapping shut, chest arching up into his firmly-toned one. You hiccup, “-my husband.”

His hips stutter sloppily.

But you weren’t done just yet—“A-and I know you’re close, too.” Gaze flickering down to the briefest flash of his bulbous, red tip as he pulls out- only to be shoved between your pussylips once more. Again and again. “I want you to not hold back, Kento. No matter how hard it is- ngh, don’t hold back on me.”

He repeats, breathlessly. “Don’t hold back…don’t…” Nodding and nodding. 

And then you’re watching the line of his vision sharply stray to something above your head-

To the discarded fabric of his favorite tie.

And do you know how many times spies have been trained to get out of and create restraints? You don’t think it takes Nanami even two heartbeats to swipe the tie somewhere from the headboard and reach behind you to loop around your wrists.

Pinning them together.

Tying them blindly.

Tugging you to him with a flex of his muscles.

You’re being manhandled like so through a few slammin’ stripes down on the innermost layer of your pussy- he seemed to be reaching even deeper with this slight change in position.

“Please-” You can’t catch your breath fast enough—and the sheer sensation of Nanami throwin’ you around like a ragdoll whilst he fucked you like an absolute gentleman was enough to make you stutter out in just a few more moments- “P-please…Kento, m’gonna cum-”

Smack! The skin of his pelvis practically glues against yours. “Cum on your husband’s cock, my dear.”

And with the most sinful, squelching sound of your thighs tightening around his waist- you’re cumming. The fifth time tonight; it sears through every vessel in your body stronger and faster than you remember any previous orgasm being.

A buzzing electricity- turned zapping.

Curdling at the pit of your stomach and making you arch up into Nanami as many times as your limbs could weakly carry you…

Your heels claw ravaged marks down his shoulders, “C-cumming-” Babbling out as stars of pleasure formulate and burst behind your eyes, “Kento—fuck. Fuck, Kento, it feels so good—” 

“Fuck.” He grunts himself.

Entire body shaking as the wave of euphoria roars over you.

Flashing and overstimulated.

Then you’re peering up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Kento, I want you to cum, too-”

And that’s when it hits him.

Almost as if his body had been waiting for permission from you this entire time, as though he’d react to you above anything or anyone else. Orders. Though they were ones that his brain would gladly follow- Nanami throws his head back just a little and stammers his hips.

The round curve of his tip plasterin’ against your sweet, spongy cervix and holding there for a few seconds—before he, too, ends up giving into his pleasure.

Making you cum five times and this was the first time he’s cumming inside.

Brows knitting, his strong jaw drops ever-so-slightly ajar as he feels a sensation like never before. No matter how much of his creamy white cum he’s emptying out- your cushy walls were sucking him up for more, more, more…“Sh-shit—you don’t know what you do to me.” And with that said, he’s raising his knee up and setting it where the pillow underneath your hips was, “I think you a-already know what this pillow is for, hm?”

Nodding, “I do I do-” You could’ve guessed either way.

Especially by the way the spurs of his cum were barreling inside- being fucked deep inside. Deep inside. And because of the positioning of your hips, no matter how much you jostle or buck, his hot wads remain webbin’ up every orifice inside.

Glued to your cervix like adhesive.

The pillow only helped if you wanted to…expand the family.

Another toe-curling burst of pleasure runs through him at the mere thought of it, and Nanami turns his head to kiss the pretty side of your calf. Legs still limply wrapped around his head.

He hums, “And does this go against your mission, my assassin?”

You’re shaking your head.

Quite frankly, the only other thing you can think to do is to tug him closer with your lower half. 

Nanami’s shaft was thick and throbbing—burnished red at the top and polished with so many layers of cum. Hot puddles of it. He was making sure not to waste a single - not even a single - drop of it as he emptied out inside, though the sheer force of his thrusts did end up frothing some of his powdery-white cum between your trembling legs. So full that you were leaking from your hole.

He spits down on your stuffed pussy, fingers twiddling on your clit. “Then how about trying to kill me by milking me dry next?”

His heavy balls clench.

Your jaw drops.

And it really wasn’t just the aphrodisiac. 

You are the one that won’t be making it out of this alive.

.

.

.

“—no…no, it’s not for a lack of resources. No- no one’s threatening me.” Speaking sharply into the receiver of the payphone, the crackle of your elders echoes in your ears. You’re sure that you’re sending the Garden headquarters into an uproar by this point—you’re sure that everyone’s gotten the word.

The Phantom is quitting her line of work.

And though you suppose it wasn’t necessarily against policy to finally quit being an assassin, you just don’t think anyone would have bet that you’d be the next.

And in the booth next to you was Nanami Kento, on the phone with his own higher-ups.

You’re eyeing the handsome man through the translucent screen of plastic in-between, and he’s catching your eyes and shooting you a reassuring smile. He seemed to be having a much easier time with whoever was on his end, meanwhile you…Scoffing at the next accusation they throw out, “No, I’m not drugged or coerced or going to trade secrets with anyone-”

Another higher-up bellows something.

“Look, I’m going to post you my resignation letter and that is that. I just wanted to tell you all personally- think of it as my last duty to you.”  And with a sigh you’re beginning to push away from the receiver, “Don’t contact me again, kindly. Or you can—send assassins after me for all you care, we both know how that’s going to go down.”

The phone gets sternly put back in its place.

And you know that they won’t try to mess with you.

You know that.

They didn’t call you The Phantom for nothing - your presence still haunted the Garden when you weren’t there. As you’re making your way out of the booth, you’re realizing that your husband had wrapped up his call and was waiting for you outside.

Hands in his coat pockets. Fingers inching automatically towards yours once you’re outside.

He’d been nagging at you on getting a warmer covering layer recently, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate to shrug off his own jacket and insist upon you wearing it. Though he wasn’t a very loud man, his affection was practically palpable.

And you’re almost feeling shy walking down the street in what was obviously his coat, whilst he stuffed your joined hands into the pocket of your coat - one that he was now wearing. 

Eventually, you ask. “I assume your call went well, Kento?”

He sighs something half-fond, “Yeah…” And though it was true that both of you had been wanting out from these careers for some time now, it was still a wistful affair. 

It was just last week that Nanami had filed in his report on the Zenin family; revealing some corrupt ties and nonsensical numbers in their business that’d been blown across every news station, magazine, and forum you could think of in the past few days. Zenin Naobito had been arrested, of course, transferring the title of heir to none other than Fushiguro Megumi, your son’s best friend. And though the two of you weren’t working for your organizations anymore, you’d both promised to keep a firm eye on the boy to make sure that he wasn’t being pressured or made to live older than his age anytime soon.

You’re squeezing Nanami’s hand softly, and he looks at you with a smile. Continuing where he’d left off, “They were hesitant, but I think they understood. I think they saw - even before I did - that this was a long time coming.”

“They let you go that easily?”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, “I’m free.”

And you’re doing the same.

You’re both free.

Once you’re opening your eyes, it’s to look at the other side of Shibuya Crossing - where Itadori and his two familiar best friends were standing and waving at the two of you. Furiously. They laughed and bickered about who was waving the hardest. “So romantic—!” You think you hear Kugisaki squeal even from here.

You chuckle as you wait for the light to turn green.

Looking up at the blue, blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

A/N. No idea how this got so long erm- also Happy Avurudu to anyone that celebrates!!

The only thing you wanted to hear now was the sound of the water swishing beneath the boat, maybe even a seagull. But it was like you couldn't drown out his voice. It hadn't changed. It was exactly as you'd remembered it being about four years ago. Though, back then you swore you'd found it charming.

Odiha. That's where you were going, what you were focusing on, in order to service the flying boat that would help you and your fellow scouts reach the Rumbling, you needed to reach Odiha. To stop Eren. So why was Reiner's presence bothering you so much?

Reiner was your best friend at one point. When you first joined the cadet corps, it was obvious you were nervous to anyone who took a second to look. And for that, most people didn't see you as a potential reliable comrade.

Most people.

Reiner liked you. He had once playfully claimed you made funny faces during sparring exercises and took you under his wing, seeing your potential. Back then, Reiner had a talent for making anyone feel seen. Even stubborn cadets like Annie seemed to at least tolerate him, maybe even respect him.

So how could you not fall in love with him?

It was ridiculous how quick it happened. You were sure there were other girls vying for his attention just like you were, but you swore Reiner gave you special treatment. It was stupid.

Reiner would see you entering the mess hall and instantly make sure there was a spot open at his table for you. Bertholdt had typically sat across from him, but most of the time there was a spot directly next to Reiner conveniently available just for you. He'd call you by your last name over to their table, always a smile on his face, always so damn sure of himself.

"Bread?" He had offered, causing you to shake your head with a nervous smile on your face. Nervous. Not nervous enough, apparently. But that didn't matter—not when Reiner was offering you bread, or to train after hours with you, or take you into Stohess one weekend when you mentioned wanting a change of scenery.

"I know you wanted that muffin," Reiner said regretfully as you walked away from the bakery stall at the food market. "Sorry I couldn't get it for you."

You shook your head, mouth full from the cookie he'd already got for you just ten minutes prior. "It's fine, really," you assured him, words slightly muffled from the pastry.

Reiner simply smiled at you, taking a bite of his own cookie.

When you returned to Trost that evening as the sun was just beginning to set, the teasing from your comrades was relentless.

"Woah!" Connie had exclaimed, realization dawning on his face as he looked at you and Reiner entering the mess hall together. "Where've you been all day?" He asked, nosy as ever even if the answer was plain as day.

"A date. Is that really such a foreign concept to you?" Reiner had teased, making Connie grin mischievously.

A date. You had your suspicions that that's what it was, but Reiner hadn't explicitly said it. Not until Connie asked. The straightforward explanation made your heart race, gaze dropping instantly to your shoes as Connie's laughter filled the space.

"So that's why you've been polishing your boots and actually combing your hair. I was wondering what the special occasion was," Jean had said to you, his brow raised and arms crossed in a way that was so distinctly Jean. Despite the words, you were sure it was his own way of approving.

"Oh, my God, is that a hickey?" Sasha suddenly butt in, moving into your personal space. Her hands held your head in place as she stared at the scrape from training on your forehead.

"Hickey—what—Sasha, that's on my forehead!" You had defended, but it was too late. Multiple other cadets heard the word hickey and ran with it, causing a flurry of gossip surrounding you and Reiner. And Reiner didn't deny it. He just smiled at you, and somehow that made you feel better.

There were plenty of times he'd made you feel better. An embarrassing amount of times. A pathetic amount of times, considering what he might've been comforting you about.

You sniffled, attempting to straighten yourself out before dinner was served in the mess hall as you sat on a log on the outskirts of the training grounds, taking in the yellow and orange blend of sunset before you. Even with the view, your mind was elsewhere.

It hit you every now and then at random. Despite it happening almost five years ago, you had pushed the grief down as far as you could bury it when your family was killed during the breach of Wall Maria. You were so young when it happened, but suddenly you were alone. When the Armored had broken through the inner gate of the wall, your childhood home had been crushed by a stray boulder.

You were lucky. You came to terms with that at a young age. Far too lucky. It chipped away at you everyday since, even without you realizing. What made you so fortunate to have escaped? Avoided certain death like your family couldn't? What made that soldier step in and save you but not them?

The wondering was pointless, though. They died and you didn't. For some reason fate had kept you alive until now. And for that, you had to live with a purpose. Even if now that purpose was wiping your snotty nose and trying to compose yourself enough to go eat with your friends.

"Bread?"

You had looked up to see none other than Reiner holding out a small loaf, a second one for himself in his right hand. Hesitantly, you had taken it, using the moment Reiner sat down beside you to attempt to discreetly wipe at the tears on your cheeks.

He didn't ask. You supposed it wasn't his style, or maybe he just assumed you didn't want to talk about it.

Reiner simply took a bite of his bread next to you, leaning forward as he chewed. After moments of silence, Reiner looked at you for a second and then towards the sunset. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a soft, almost wistful smile, but he said nothing.

"What?" You finally asked.

He almost replied with "nothing," you could tell, but he sighed and leaned back, either hands at his sides resting on the log. "You know what I miss most about home?" Reiner asked, his gaze locked with the sky. "The way the sun would rise over the hills," he stated.

You realized you'd never talked about it—why you were crying that day. To be honest, you didn't want to. Something about his presence had just put you at ease back then, to the point you forgot all of your troubles.

When graduation drew near, you weren't even sure what Reiner's plan was. Everyone knew his perfect scores got him into the top ten, eligible to enlist as a military police officer in the interior. That would've been great for him, but you weren't sure where that left you.

You weren't with Reiner when the Collosal titan had appeared and breached the wall into Trost. But you were there when Eren was discovered to be a titan himself.

From there, something in Reiner had shifted.

Back then, you figured it was realization of some sort. Realization that things were complicated, things were scary, things were real...

Things got even more real when Marco died. Marco wasn't someone you were close with, but he was always there, always kind. If someone as capable as Marco, as determined, as strong, as kind as Marco could die, what would that mean for you and your friends?

Many cadets dropped out that day, despite graduation being so close. You almost did as well. Especially upon seeing Jean's reaction to Marco's death, you didn't know if you had the guts to continue.

But Reiner always had to step in.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said, his strong hand on your shoulder. "Look at me," he commanded softly. You hesitated but met his eyes. They were serious, and almost cold now. Different from how they used to look at you. "I know you've got what it takes."

And that was that. Along with Jean, who was sure he'd join the military police, you joined the Survey Corps, falling under the wing of the Commander Erwin Smith.

You were terrified, but you had Reiner.

Things in your lives seemed to come to a halt when Annie was revealed to be a titan. And then Ymir, along with Krista being some kind of royalty and living with a completely different name—Historia.

It was all confusing and overwhelming, and you really wished Reiner was there for you. And he was, physically, always there. But then he was distant. Even when sitting directly beside you during meals like he did before, his focus was obviously elsewhere.

And then it happened.

You revisited that day often. When Reiner and Bertholdt transformed, and everything you thought you knew came crashing down.

You couldn't even cry, or scream, or do much of anything. You'd learned a long time ago to accept these things, but God did it hurt.

Then he was gone. He and Bertholdt, back to wherever they came from—their "hometown" as they so often called it. You didn't know back then, and you'd honestly stopped caring.

When Eren was rescued from them, he tried telling you on the way back what Reiner had said in response to him screaming at them. Eren had brought you up, telling Reiner about all the pain and trauma you endured years ago when the inner gate of Wall Maria was broken and your family was killed.

Sorry. Sorry was what he said, according to Eren.

What a coward.

The next time you saw Reiner was a few months later. But it wasn't really him. It was the Armored titan, the same one you remember from childhood who had breached the wall. And now here you were, back in Shiganshina with your fellow scouts.

The bloodshed was monumental in Shiganshina. Bertholdt had died, but Reiner lived—barely. You weren't there when Hange and Jean had captured him. And you were grateful you weren't. Just three months after discovering his true self, you knew you'd do something stupid like let him go if you had been there. But that part wasn't really up to you, and he got away regardless.

That's when you discovered the truth of everything. The titans, the walls, Paradis, Eldians.

You wished you could hate him. But everyday you'd hoped for the day you could speak to him again, just once.

Those feelings seemed to have formed into anger as the years passed. And by the time you and your fellow soldiers raided Liberio, you basically lived in a shell. You promised your comrades you weren't going to allow feelings to get in the way, and you delivered.

So much happened in such a short amount of time it was difficult to even remember it properly.

You remembered seeing him—really him—for the first time again on Paradis. He was almost pathetic looking now, but a part of your heart still yearned for him.

Were the feelings even the same, though?

You and the rest of the scouts had to compromise and join forces with the Warriors in order to put a stop to Eren's plan to go through with the Rumbling. It was the first night that Jean brutally punched Reiner at the campfire. Years ago, you might've blindly taken the side of Reiner. Hell, if he said a word to you since being back on the island maybe you would've defended him. But he didn't. So you let it happen.

When the kids, Gabi and Falco, rushed to Reiner's side after the altercation, you felt as though you needed to physically drag yourself away to avoid saying anything to him.

Instead, you found Jean, cooling off in the outskirts of the woods. His head was in his hands, leaning against a tree as he shook.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, causing him to jump. You made eye contact, but he was quick to look away. Though, your small touch grounded him.

"Sorry about that," Jean apologized. "I got carried away." His voice was breaking, you'd noticed, but you shook your head.

"Don't apologize," you replied.

You made a choice that evening. The choice to stay loyal to your comrades instead of blindly following Reiner like you did when you were a dumb kid. But it didn't make it any less difficult when he stood there on the boat looking almost like he had years ago.

The expression on his face was that of determination. And the people at his side were none other than Jean and Connie.

You scoffed, pulling your gaze away from the men and staring off into the vast ocean—the ocean you didn't even knew existed years ago; the ocean Reiner didn't bother mentioning to you those nights you sat together for hours.

You'd gone over every emotion the past four years. You saw his side as best you could. Even so, it was hard to forgive. Especially when Reiner himself hadn't made an effort to speak to you.

"Hey." You didn't look up, you knew it was Jean.

"You gonna talk to loverboy or what?" He asked after a beat of silence. You finally lifted your head to shoot him a glare. Jean simply smiled, looking back at where Reiner and Connie were still talking and then back to you, sitting beside you on the bench.

You remained quiet for a moment after Jean sat beside you, your fingers absently picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. The gentle rock of the boat beneath you seemed to match the churning in your stomach.

"I'm not talking to him," you finally said, keeping your voice low despite the distance between you and the others.

Jean snorted. "Right. Because ignoring him is working so well for you."

You shot him another glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been staring at him every chance you get since yesterday." Jean's knowing smile widened as your cheeks flushed with heat. "Don't worry, he's been doing the same thing."

Something fluttered in your chest at his words, but you quickly tamped it down. "Has he... said anything?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice smaller than you intended.

Jean chuckled, that same knowing look in his eyes that made you want to shove him off the bench and into the sea. But then his expression softened.

"No," he admitted. "But it's getting annoying watching you two dance around each other like this. You look at him when he's not looking, he looks at you when you turn away. It's really embarassing for both of you."

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the endless blue horizon. The vastness of the ocean still amazed you, even now. "Well, if he wanted to talk, he would've said something by now."

"Maybe he's thinking the same thing about you," Jean pointed out.

"That's different," you protested weakly.

"How?"

You opened your mouth to respond but found you didn't have an answer that wouldn't sound childish. Jean was right, and you both knew it.

"Look," Jean said, his voice gentler now, "I'm not exactly Reiner's biggest fan. You were there when I..." He flexed his hand, the same one he'd used to punch Reiner the night before, his knuckles reddened now. "But we're all stuck here together now. And whatever was between you two—"

"There was nothing between us," you interrupted, the lie bitter on your tongue.

Jean gave you a flat look. "You're a terrible liar. Always have been."

You looked down at your hands, suddenly finding your fingernails fascinating. "It doesn't matter now anyway."

"Maybe not," Jean agreed. "But you're never going to stop wondering if you don't at least talk to him once. Really talk to him."

The silence between you stretched for several long moments as you considered his words. The rational part of you knew he was right. This tension, this unspoken thing hanging in the air between you and Reiner, it would only continue to distract you. And with what lay ahead—with Eren and the Rumbling—you couldn't afford distractions. And more importantly, you didn't want to die with regrets.

"Fine," you muttered, standing up with a resigned sigh.

Without waiting for some type of reaction from Jean, you turned and made your way across the deck toward where Reiner and Connie stood. Your heart hammered against your ribs with each step, and you briefly considered turning back. But Jean's words echoed in your mind—you would never stop wondering if you didn't at least try.

Connie noticed you first, his animated conversation with Reiner faltering as you approached. Reiner turned, and for a moment, you were transported back to those days in the mess hall—him turning to call your name, saving you a seat beside him.

But his eyes weren't the same. They carried a weight now, dark shadows beneath them speaking of sleepless nights and unshakable guilt.

"Um, I'll just..." Connie mumbled, already backing away, but you barely registered his departure.

You stopped a few feet from Reiner, suddenly unsure what to say. All the anger, all the hurt, all the things you'd rehearsed in your head over the years—none of it seemed right now that he was standing in front of you.

"Can we talk?" The words came out steadier than you felt.

Reiner looked surprised, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. He nodded once, hesitantly. "Yeah. Of course."

You nodded, and without another word, turned to lead the way to the stairs. You could feel his presence behind you as you descended into the dimly lit interior of the ship, the wooden steps creaking beneath your weight. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of salt and damp wood.

The sleeping cabins were arranged in a narrow corridor, small compartments with barely enough room for the bunks they contained. Most were empty now, with everyone gathered on the upper deck to watch the endless expanse of ocean passing by. You chose one at random, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The room was tight, with just enough space for two narrow bunks built into the walls and a small porthole that cast a circle of fading evening light across the wooden floor. You sat on one of the bunks, the thin mattress sinking beneath your weight. Reiner hesitated at the doorway for a moment before entering and sitting on the opposite bunk, the space between you barely more than an arm's length but feeling like an unbridgeable chasm.

Reiner's shoulders hunched slightly, his large frame somehow seeming smaller in the confined space. His eyes darted around the cabin before finally settling on his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap.

You found yourself remembering another small space you'd shared once, years ago during a thunderstorm. The supply shed had been the closest shelter when the rain had caught you both during evening training. You'd sat side by side on crates of gear, listening to the rain hammer against the roof, shoulders touching as Reiner told stories about his hometown to distract you from the thunder. And you remembered how you felt when he held your hand, the way his touch was so gentle, his fingers lacing with yours. Back then, his voice had been warm, his smile easy, his eyes bright with something that made your heart race.

Now, he sat across from you, silent and tense, his gaze fixed on the floor between your feet. The only sound was the creaking of the ship around you and the distant, muffled voices from above.

The silence between you stretched until it became unbearable. Your fingers dug into the thin mattress beneath you, knuckles turning white with the pressure.

"My family is dead because of you," you finally said, your voice quiet but sharp enough to cut through the heavy air. The words hung there, raw and unavoidable. "Every time I look at you, I see that day. The Armored Titan breaking through the gate. The boulder that crushed our home."

Reiner didn't flinch, didn't look away. He just nodded slowly, his eyes hollow. "I know."

"You know?" A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "That's all you have to say? You know?"

"What do you want me to say?" His voice was flat, resigned. The voice of a man who had already condemned himself a thousand times over.

"I want you to say something—anything—other than 'I know,'" you snapped, the anger you'd been holding back finally beginning to surface. "I want you to explain how you could sit with me that day by the training grounds, offering me bread while I cried about my family, knowing it was you who killed them."

Reiner's gaze dropped to the floor again. "I don't have an explanation that would make any sense to you."

"Try me," you challenged, leaning forward. "I've had four years to think about this, Reiner. Four years to try to understand."

He looked up then, and the defeated emptiness in his eyes almost made you recoil. This wasn't the Reiner you remembered—the strong, confident soldier who always seemed to know what to say, what to do. This was a shell of that man, worn down by guilt and grief.

"I compartmentalized," he said after a long moment. "The Warrior and the Soldier. Sometimes, I... I forgot which one was real."

"And which one was it?" you asked. "Which version of you was real, Reiner?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know anymore. Maybe neither."

You stood up abruptly, unable to sit still with the storm of emotions churning inside you. The cabin was too small to pace properly, but you moved to the porthole, looking out at the darkening sky without really seeing it.

"Do you have any idea what your betrayal did to me?" Your voice was quieter now, but no less intense. "It wasn't just that you were the Armored Titan. It was that you were you. Someone I..." You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Someone I cared about. A lot."

You heard the bunk creak as Reiner shifted his weight but didn't turn to look at him.

"I nearly quit the Scouts after you left," you continued, watching your breath fog the glass of the porthole. "I couldn't understand how I could have been so wrong about someone. How I could have trusted you so completely."

Your fingertips pressed against the cool glass as memories flooded back—training together in the rain, his hands adjusting your grip on the ODM gear controls, his laughter at your terrible jokes, the way his eyes would find yours across the mess hall.

"And it wasn't just you," you said, your voice growing thick with unshed tears. "I haven't been able to truly trust anyone since. Not completely. There's always this voice in the back of my mind asking if they're hiding something too. If they'll betray me just like you did."

"I'm sorry," Reiner said, his voice barely audible.

You whirled around to face him, anger flaring hot and bright. "Sorry doesn't bring my family back! Sorry doesn't erase the fact that you lied to me for years! Sorry doesn't change the fact that every memory I have of us is tainted now because I don't even know if any of it was real!"

"It was real," Reiner said, standing up now, something finally sparking in his eyes. "That's what you don't understand. It was all real for me too."

"How could it be real when it was all built on a lie?" Your voice rose, echoing in the small space.

"Because I didn't know how to separate the lie from the truth anymore!" He took a step toward you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Do you think this has been easy for me? Do you think I just walked away and forgot about all of you—forgot about you?"

You stared at him, momentarily stunned by the sudden emotion in his voice.

"I've thought about you every single day since then," he continued, his voice breaking. "I see your face in my dreams. I hear your voice when it's quiet. You've been haunting me for four years, and I deserve it."

The raw pain in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at him, really seeing him for perhaps the first time since you'd learned the truth—not as the Armored Titan, not as the Warrior, not even as the Soldier, but as Reiner. Just Reiner, broken and haunted and so very human.

"I know you hate me," he said, quieter now, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. "You should hate me. If I could go back and change what I did..."

"But you can't," you whispered.

"No," he agreed. "I can't."

The admission hung between you, simple and devastating in its truth. You couldn't change the past. Your family was still gone. The walls were still broken. And Reiner—your Reiner—had still been the one to do it.

But the man standing before you now, shoulders slumped under the weight of his actions, eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own—he wasn't the Armored Titan anymore. He was just as broken as you were.

Then suddenly you moved, your arms wrapping around his waist, your face pressed against his chest as sobs wracked your body. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against your cheek, so at odds with the broken man it belonged to.

For a terrible second, he remained frozen, and you thought you'd made a mistake. Then his arms came around you, tight and desperate, one hand cradling the back of your head as he buried his face in your hair. His body trembled against yours, and you realized he was crying too—silent, shuddering sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him.

The stubborn shame that had kept you both at arm's length dissolved in the salt of your mingled tears. There, in the dim light of the cabin, with the gentle rocking of the ship beneath you and the uncertain future ahead, you held each other like the last two survivors of a shipwreck—broken, exhausted, but somehow still alive.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, holding each other in the dim light of the cabin, your tears gradually subsiding into uneven breaths. His arms around you felt both familiar and foreign—the shape of him changed, but the way he held you still the same.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to look up at him, your faces were inches apart. Your hands had somehow moved to his shoulders, feeling the unfamiliar angles where muscle had once been. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, searched yours with a question he didn't dare voice.

"I still hate what you did," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I don't know if I can ever forgive that."

Reiner nodded slightly, accepting your words without defense. One of his hands had found its way to your face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear from your cheek.

"But I don't know how to hate you," you admitted, the confession tearing itself from somewhere deep inside you. "I've tried for four years, and I just... can't."

Something flickered in his eyes—a spark of something you hadn't seen since before everything fell apart. Hope, maybe. Or longing.

You weren't sure who closed the distance. Maybe both of you, drawn together like the inevitable pull of gravity. His lips found yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first, as if he expected you to push him away. When you didn't—when instead you pressed closer, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt—the hesitation gave way to a desperate need that matched your own.

Reiner's arms tightened around you, backing you against the wall beside the porthole. The cool glass pressed against your shoulder, a stark contrast to the heat of his body against yours. His kiss deepened, years of unspoken feelings pouring into it as his tongue met yours.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, longer now than you remembered. The scrape of his beard against your skin was new, and your heart skipped a beat at the way his breath hitched when you tugged gently at his hair.

When you pulled away again, breathless, his eyes were dark with a mixture of desire and pain. "I shouldn't be doing this," he whispered, even as his thumb traced circles on your hip. "After everything I've done..."

"Shut up," you murmured, pulling him back to you. "Just shut up, Reiner."

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob against your lips. "Still stubborn," he breathed.

Your hands tangled in his hair, eyes squeezed shut as you took in the feel of him. You were desperate, you knew. You felt pathetic, but you wanted him. Needed to be close to him.

"It's embarrassing how long I've wanted to do this," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing hearts.

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he took an unsteady breath. "When we were back in training, that day in Stohess..." His voice was rough, trailing off as your lips found the curve of his jaw.

"Why didn't you kiss me then?" you asked, the question muffled against his skin.

Reiner's laugh was soft and broken. "I wanted to. Every second we were together." His hands slid down to your waist, anchoring you against him as if afraid you might disappear. "I told myself it was because of the mission. That I couldn't get distracted."

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hand coming up to touch his face, feeling the unfamiliar texture of his beard beneath your fingertips. "And the real reason?"

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "I was afraid that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. That I'd tell you everything." The admission seemed to cost him, his voice barely above a whisper. "And then you'd hate me."

"I did hate you," you said quietly. "When I found out."

His eyes clouded with pain, but he nodded. "I know."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, more gently this time. "But I hated myself more for still wanting this. For still wanting you."

Reiner's response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, his body pressing yours more firmly against the wall. One hand tangled in your hair while the other gripped your hip, his touch both gentle and desperate. You could taste the salt of tears—whose, you weren't sure anymore—and something else, something uniquely him that you had tried so hard to forget.

The ship rocked with a stronger wave, causing you both to sway. Reiner's arm tightened around your waist, steadying you, and for a brief moment, you were back in the training grounds, his arms around you as he corrected your stance, his breath warm against your ear.

"I missed you," he breathed against your mouth, the words so quiet they might have been imagined. "Every day."

You didn't answer with words. You couldn't. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, alongside grief and betrayal and a hundred other emotions you couldn't name. But for now, in the dim light of the cabin with the sea stretching endlessly around you, you let yourself remember what it felt like to be in his arms.

Your lips found his again, harder this time, your teeth catching his lower lip in a way that made him groan. His hands tightened on you in response, lifting you slightly as he pressed you more firmly against the wall. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, years of longing and hurt and need pouring into it.

The world outside—Eren, the Rumbling, the fate that awaited all of you—seemed distant and unreal compared to the solid warmth of Reiner against you, the familiar-yet-different taste of his mouth, the sound of his ragged breathing mingling with your own.

This wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, tracing a path that made your breath catch, you realized it might be something like a beginning. A chance to finally confront all the things left unsaid between you, all the hurt and the betrayal, but also all the moments that had been real.

Reiner’s hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into your hips as he kissed you with a desperation that made your knees weak. The rough scrape of his beard against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you gasped—only for him to swallow the sound with another searing kiss.

This isn't at all how you expected your "talk" to go. Years of rehearsing different scripts in your head about how you'd tell him you hate him when you saw him, how you'd show him how it felt to feel betrayed and alone... All of those came crumbling down when he touched you like this, so gently but also so needy.

Not that the idea in general hadn't crossed your mind an embarrassing and pathetic amount of times. That, you couldn't deny. Since your cadet days you'd wondered what it would feel like with him, hoping he'd make a move. But he never did. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt the sadness well up inside you again, but that feeling quickly went away when he tilted his head to better kiss you.

His body pressed you harder against the wall, the heat of him searing through your clothes. You could feel the evidence of his arousal against your thigh, and the knowledge of how badly he wanted you—after all this time—sent a thrill through you.

Then, without warning, he broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice rough.

You didn’t.

A low sound escaped him, something between a groan and a growl, before his hands tightened on your waist—and then he was lifting you, turning, and depositing you onto the narrow bunk behind you in one swift motion. The thin mattress barely cushioned the impact, but you barely had time to register it before Reiner was on his knees between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

His gaze flicked up to yours, searching, hesitant—like he still couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you.

"Please," he breathed, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. "Let me taste you."

The raw need in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core. He was begging. Reiner—the man who had once been so confident, so sure of himself—was now on his knees for you, looking up at you like you were the only thing that could save him.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. You also didn't expect it to go like this. The Reiner that you knew back then presented himself to be some kind of big leader, something you admired because of how he never seemed to let it go to his head. He was one of the strongest, but he was humble.

So seeing him like this, desperate between your legs, felt almost like culture shock.

But even so, being with him, feeling him, talking to him all felt so good. So good you could cry. "Okay," you breathed, nodding.

His fingers trembled slightly as he undid the fastenings of your pants, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear. Your cunt was already pathetically wet just from making out, and suddenly you just wanted to close your legs so he wouldn't see how much he affected you. Stubborn pride still warred inside you even now. The cool air of the cabin ghosted over your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Reiner’s breath as he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, making your heart swell.

Reiner’s hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing over the damp curls between them. His breath stuttered when he saw how wet you were, his fingers tracing your folds with agonizing slowness.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

He kissed at your inner thighs some more, almost like he just couldn't get enough of the simple action. He'd lick at them, suck them, anything. Reiner was willing to drag this out, it seemed.

"Has anyone ever done this for you before?" Reiner asked, his tone carrying a mix of emotions, staring up at you with his pretty hazel eyes as he kissed at the soft skin of your thighs. Deep down, he selfishly hoped no one else had gotten to see you like this—feel you like this.

Your breath hitched at the sight, unable to pull your gaze away and similarly unable to stop your arousal and need as you felt yourself wet the sheets beneath you even further. "I don't see how that's any of your business," you replied stubbornly, wanting to keep the small amount of control you still held.

That gave Reiner all the answer he needed. "Hm," he responded, careful not to anger you, careful not to upset you. but also understanding and seeing just how much you wanted this—wanted him. And equally he was exceptionally aware of the way his cock twitched in his pants, desperate to make you feel good, desperate to feel your thighs around his head and your fingers against his scalp, desperate to hear you in these moments he's imagined you in so many times.

Reiner didn’t wait for another teasing remark from you—his mouth was on you in an instant, his tongue dragging a slow, filthy stripe up your soaked cunt, groaning against you like he’d been starving for this. The sound alone made your back arch off the bunk, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you open for him.

He was messy—no finesse, no practiced rhythm, just pure, desperate hunger. His tongue lapped at you like he was trying to memorize your taste, his nose pressing against your clit as he buried his face between your legs. Every flick of his tongue was sloppy, wet, loud, the obscene sounds of his mouth working you filling the tiny cabin. You could feel his stubble scraping against your sensitive skin, the rough drag only making the pleasure sharper, more overwhelming.

“Fuck—Reiner—” Your fingers tangled in his blonde hair, gripping hard as his tongue circled your clit before sucking it between his lips. His groan vibrated through you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips up, giving him better access as he devoured you.

He was relentless, like he’d been waiting years for this—because he had. Every muffled sound he made against your cunt, every time his tongue plunged inside you only to drag back up, every time his lips sealed around your clit to suck—it was all too much, and yet you never wanted it to stop.

His enthusiasm was almost embarrassing, the way he moaned into you like he was the one being pleasured, his hips moving against his hand as he rubbed his cock through his pants. You could feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared across his chin, and the sight alone had your thighs trembling around his head.

Drool mixed with your arousal, dripping down his chin as he ate you out like a man possessed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open for him as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking into you with rough, eager strokes before retreating to suck your clit again.

"Taste so good," he panted against you, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, fuck, I knew you would—"

His words cut off into a groan as he redoubled his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit before he sealed his lips around it again, sucking hard. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on you filled the cabin, obscene and perfect, and you could feel the way his hips rocked slightly against the bunk, rutting into nothing as he got off on just tasting you.

"Been thinking about this—" he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless circles. "—every night—"

His fingers dug into your thighs, leaving marks as he held you down, refusing to let you squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Close," you choked out, your hips jerking against his mouth. "I’m so close—"

Reiner growled, the sound vibrating through you as he sucked your clit into his mouth one last time, his tongue flicking over it rapidly—

And then you were coming, your back bowing off the bunk as pleasure crashed through you in waves. He didn’t let up, licking you through it, swallowing every drop of you as you shuddered and gasped above him.

When you finally went limp, panting, he pulled back just enough to look up at you.

His chest heaved, his eyes dark with need. But above that, it was like he needed some confirmation he did good.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Are you okay?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up your body until his weight settled over you, pressing you deeper into the thin mattress. His skin was fever-hot, his muscles taut with restraint, but his eyes—those damn hazel eyes—were soft, almost reverent, as he looked down at you.

You didn't answer, not verbally at least.

Your hand slid into his hair, gripping tight as you dragged his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue. A rough groan tore from his throat, his hips jerking forward instinctively, the hard length of his cock grinding against your still-sensitive clit through his pants.

His groan was muffled against your mouth as you licked into him, your fingers tightening in his hair. You could feel the way his body shuddered when you nipped at his bottom lip, the way his hips jerked forward instinctively, grinding his cock—so fucking hard against your thigh.

“God, you’re—” His voice broke as you kissed him again, rougher this time, your teeth dragging over his lip. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Fuck, I need—please—”

"Reiner," you breathed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Please fuck me."

You could feel it—the way his entire body trembled with the effort of holding back, the way his breath came in ragged bursts against your mouth. His hands fumbled with his belt, his fingers shaking as he undid the buckle, his cock springing free, thick and flushed and aching for you.

Reiner didn’t waste another second.

He hooked his hands under your knees, spreading you wider, his gaze locked on where your slick glistened between your thighs. His breath hitched, his cock twitching against your stomach as he lined himself up, the blunt head pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.

You did.

His eyes burned into yours as he pushed inside, slow, so agonizingly slow, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep control. The stretch was delicious, the way your walls fluttered around him making his hips stutter.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You feel—Christ—you feel even better than I imagined.”

And then he was seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt. For a moment, neither of you moved—just breathed, just felt, the weight of years of longing crashing over you both.

Then—because he needed to see it, needed to know this was real—he leaned back on his heels, pulling out almost all the way just to watch the way your cunt clung to him, glistening and desperate, before slamming back in. His cock disappeared inside you, your wetness coating his dick as your body stretched to take him.

The sound you made was sinful.

Reiner’s hips snapped forward again, harder this time, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that made your toes curl. His grip shifted from your wrist to your hip, holding you in place as he fucked into you with slow, deep strokes—like he was savoring every second, like he wanted to memorize the way your body took him.

His dick glistened with your arousal, disappearing inside you with each thrust, your cunt gripping him like it was made for him. He couldn’t look away—couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched as he watched himself fuck into you, over and over, your body taking him so perfectly.

Reiner’s rhythm was relentless, each deep stroke dragging a gasp from your lips. His broad palm slid down your stomach, fingers gliding through your slick until his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, rough circles that made your toes curl.

"There you go," he murmured, voice thick with praise as he watched your face twist in pleasure. "So fucking pretty when you take me like this. Can’t believe you’re real—can’t believe I get to have you."

You whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, for everything. Reiner moaned at the way your body clenched around him, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.

"Love the way you take me," he panted, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "Like you were made for me, huh? Made to take my cock just like this—shit—"

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his chest pressing flush against yours, his weight pinning you completely beneath him. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that had your vision whiting out for a second.

"There," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have you just like this—fuck—"

His thrusts turned slower but impossibly harder, each one dragging a broken moan from your lips. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you again, swallowing your gasps like he needed them to survive.

He braced himself above you, muscles taut, sweat glistening on his skin as he watched your face—every flutter of your lashes, every bitten-off moan—like he was memorizing you all over again.

His hips rolled into yours with a deep, almost reverent grind, pressing so deep you could feel him in your ribs. Your breath hitched as he lingered there, his tip nudging that perfect, aching spot inside you before pulling back with a slow, torturous drag that made your toes curl.

"Feel how deep I am?" he breathed, his fingers tightening on your hip as he rocked into you again, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. "Fuck, you’re perfect."

His voice was wrecked, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he didn’t rush—just kept moving inside you with that same maddening pace, every thrust a sweet torment.

"Could stay like this forever," he admitted, his lips brushing your jaw. "Just like this—buried inside you, feeling you clench around me like you never wanna let me go."

"Reiner," you whined.

"I've got you," he responded, hips never stopping.

And when your back arched, your body tightening around him, he didn’t speed up—just kept fucking you through it, his lips pressed to your neck, whispering praise as pleasure washed over you in waves.

Reiner’s thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper with each desperate clench. His breath came in ragged gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“I—fuck—I’m close,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. His fingers dug into your hips, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut.

You arched beneath him, nails scraping down his back as you panted, “Inside… please, Reiner—I want you to cum inside me.”

His entire body tensed at your words, a shudder running through him. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark with lust and something dangerously close to worship.

“Are you—fuck—are you sure?” he rasped, hips stuttering as he struggled to keep his pace steady.

You nodded, biting your lip as you clenched around him deliberately, drawing a broken groan from his lips.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Want to feel you—all of you.”

That was all it took.

Reiner’s restraint shattered.

"Fuck—gonna fill you up so good," he panted, his forehead dropping against yours. "Gonna make sure you feel it—"

You clenched around him, your own climax building again, and he cursed, his rhythm faltering.

"Come with me," he demanded, his voice wrecked. "Wanna feel you cum on my cock while I’m deep inside you—fuck—please—"

His words tipped you over the edge. Pleasure crashed through you, your body tightening around him in waves, and Reiner lost it.

With a growl that was almost feral, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed inside you, hot and thick. His body shuddered violently, his fingers gripping you like a lifeline as he spilled deep, his release filling you in waves.

You could feel him pulsing inside you, his cock twitching as he rode out his orgasm, his forehead pressed to yours. When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull away—just stayed there, his body heavy and warm against yours, his breath slowly steadying.

After a long moment, he lifted his head, his gaze soft as he brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

"Okay?" he murmured, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

You nodded, your fingers lazily tracing the muscles of his back.

Reiner exhaled, something like relief—or maybe wonder—flickering in his eyes before he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Good," he murmured against your mouth.

You lay in comfortable silence for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, Reiner's weight pressing you into the thin mattress, his breath warm against your neck. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, as though memorizing the feel of you. Neither of you wanted to break the spell, to acknowledge the world waiting outside this small cabin.

"I love you," you whispered finally, the words escaping before you could think better of them. They hung in the air between you, raw and honest.

Reiner stilled, his breath catching. Slowly, he raised himself up on his elbows to look at you, his hazel eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd said too much, revealed too much of yourself to someone who had once betrayed you.

But then his expression softened, a genuine smile—one you hadn't seen in years—spreading across his face. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I always have."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "I know it doesn't change anything," he murmured. "I know it doesn't make up for what I did. But it's true."

His eyes grew serious again. "Whatever happens with Eren, with the Rumbling… I'm going to protect you. I promise."

Before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door made you both jump.

"Hey, you two done?" Connie's voice called through the thin wood. "There's food up on the deck if you're interested. Kinda limited, but better than nothing."

You and Reiner exchanged wide-eyed looks before scrambling to get dressed, movements frantic and clumsy in the small space. Your fingers fumbled with buttons and clasps as you tried to make yourselves presentable.

"Uh, yeah," Reiner called back, his voice remarkably steady considering his panicked expression. "We'll be right there."

You could hear the smirk in Connie's voice as he replied, "Take your time. Not like we can hear everything through these paper-thin walls or anything."

Your face burned as you hurriedly tucked in your shirt. Reiner looked equally mortified, though a small, almost boyish grin played at the corners of his mouth when your eyes met.

"Ready?" he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Connie was waiting in the narrow corridor, a knowing grin splitting his face. Without a word, he turned and headed up the stairs, gesturing for you both to follow.

Reiner went first, and you couldn't help but notice the way Connie immediately engaged him in animated conversation as they climbed, acting as though nothing unusual had happened at all. Their voices faded slightly as they reached the deck above.

Jean appeared at your side as you finished climbing the stairs.

"So," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I take it the talk went well?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, really well," you replied, hoping that Connie was just teasing and no one else heard a thing.

"I just mean," he continued, a stupid and annoying grin on your face, "when I suggested you two clear the air, I didn't necessarily mean you should bring down the whole ship with your—"

Your face burned with embarrassment and fury. "I will literally throw you overboard, Jean," you hissed, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back. "I swear to God—"

You stammer a thank you, but your words die in your throat. The tattooed man steps forward, grabs the suitcase with one hand, and lifts it as if it weighed nothing. He gently places it on the ground, all the while fixing you with a look laden with innuendo.

"There. No need to thank me, ma'am." His smile widens, genuine, but terribly innocent. In the sweltering heat, you feel your light dress sticking to your skin.

You chose this outfit to capture your husband's attention, if only for a moment. Cruel irony: these are two strangers who, with a single glance, seem to have seen more of you than he has in months.

You cover your neckline with a nervous gesture. "Thanks for the help. You can go now." But neither of them move. The tattooed man tilts his head, his smile turning into an unabashed provocation. "Are you sure you want us to leave? It's like you're carrying all the load... while the mister is too busy."

His tone is insolent, but every word rings painfully true. You feel your cheeks flush, and not just with embarrassment.

The dark-haired man with the scar takes a step forward, as if to temper your concern. "We didn't mean to disturb you. We're here for the weekend too. Maybe we'll run into each other again..." His eyes don't leave yours, and a shiver runs through you that you can't explain.

"Everything okay?" " your husband interjects, finally looking up from his screen, looking distracted. You nod quickly, too quickly. When you look back at the two men, the tattooed one gives you a cheeky wink, and the other a discreet but equally disturbing smile.

Huling your suitcase into the room, you close the door behind you, a little too quickly, as if to erase the two silhouettes still imprinted on your mind. You don't even know their first names, but their gazes are already haunting you.

Your husband collapses directly onto the bed, phone still in hand. "I have a few emails to finish... afterward, maybe we'll go for a walk."

"Maybe." His favorite word at the moment.

You sigh and walk out to the balcony. The view overlooks the hotel pool. The laughter, the raised voices, the water sparkling in the setting sun... a cruel contrast to the icy atmosphere of your room, and then you see them.

Downstairs, near the outdoor bar. The dark-haired man, wearing a simple dark T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders, a drink in hand, and the one with pink hair, shirtless, tattoos exposed, casually sitting on a lounge chair, his red eyes scanning the crowd, hoping to see something.

You look away immediately, your heart beating faster, but it's too late. You know he's seen you. You can almost feel his smile, even without looking.

A little later, you insist on going down to dinner at the hotel restaurant. Your husband agrees, but his phone remains lying next to his plate. It took you a while to choose your dress. Too short? Too revealing? You had promised yourself you would seduce your husband, but in a corner of your mind, another, more dangerous thought had crept in. What if they saw you?

As if to answer your silent desire, they enter. Sukuna and Toji. They don't try to be discreet. Sukuna walks first, his gaze confident, a smirk hanging on his pierced lips. Toji follows, calmer, but his eyes find you almost immediately. You lower your head, but you feel their gaze pressing on you.

Your husband, absorbed in a notification, notices nothing. A moment later, a deep voice rises behind you. "Good evening..." You freeze. Sukuna is standing at your table, Toji at his side, slightly set back. "We'll see each other again." His smile is almost insolent, but his eyes shine with a dangerous interest.

Your husband barely looks up. "Any friends of yours?" You shakes your head. "No... we just ran into each other earlier, they helped me."

"We're staying here too," adds Toji, his voice softer. "We hope you're enjoying your stay." You sense the indecent implication, but your husband ignores it.

You feel your body react in spite of yourself. Sukuna leans slightly towards you, close enough that your absorbed husband can't see anything, but you can feel his warm breath against your ear. "You're even more beautiful sitting here than in the sun."

A shiver runs through you. You hold your breath, your gaze lost on your husband's bright screen... so blind, so deaf to what's playing right next to him. You understand that you've just crossed an invisible boundary: you don't push it back.

Your husband finally looks up from his phone, looking vaguely sociable, as if he's only just noticed their imposing stature. "Are you staying here too? You can join us if you like."

Your heart sinks. You want to protest, make up an excuse, but the one with the tattoos already cracks a predatory smile.

"With pleasure. Besides, we haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Sukuna and the other one is Toji."

In an instant, the seats are taken. Toji sits on your right, Sukuna on your left. You find yourself literally framed by their massive shoulders, their different but equally intoxicating scents. Your husband, meanwhile, resumes his conversation with his phone screen, at the other end of the table, as if nothing were unusual.

Toji rests his powerful forearms on the table, his fingers almost brushing your bare arm. "So, how many days are you staying?" His deep voice has an unexpected warmth, almost soothing, that contrasts with the electricity he gives off.

“Only two nights,” your husband replies distractedly. “My wife wanted a change of scenery.”

Sukuna stifles a chuckle. He leans toward you, his hand casually resting on the back of your chair, close enough for his fingers to brush through your hair.

“I understand. A change of scenery… it feels good. Especially when you need to feel… noticed.” His red eyes slide slowly over you, lingering just long enough on your cleavage for your stomach to knot.

You clear your throat nervously and grab your drink to occupy your hands. Toji leans slightly toward you, his body heat almost palpable. “Do you like the beach? I could show you a quiet spot in the morning. No tourists, just the sea and the silence.”

His gaze locks with yours. There’s nothing innocent about his offer. Your husband, without looking up, replies, “Oh, that might be nice for her.” Me, I have a couple of things to take care of."

Your stomach tightens even more. This weekend was supposed to be for the two of you, reconnecting after weeks of silence and routine. Your heart hurts terribly.

Sukuna straightens, amused, and pours himself a glass of wine, which he nonchalantly lifts. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow morning, she's ours." You swallow hard, wondering how you ended up in this situation. Toji places a heavy but gentle hand on your knee under the table, as if to calm your flinch, his fingers pausing just long enough to acknowledge his presence.

Your husband laughs at a notification on his phone. And you feel trapped between two men who seem to have already decided your role for this weekend.

The waiters set down the starters. When did the two of them order? You don't know, but colorful, appetizing plates appear on your table, but you already have no appetite. Your throat is dry, your senses heightened. You're stuck between Sukuna and Toji, and each of them seems to be playing their own part to unsettle you.

Toji is more discreet. He engages your husband in conversation, a few banal sentences about the weather and the nearby beaches. But under the table, his knees brush yours, his fingers sometimes resting on the wood right next to your hand.

His warmth is constant, subtle, but impossible to ignore. Sukuna, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He doesn't even try to hide his intentions. He leans towards you every time he speaks, his lips almost against your ear. "You hardly ever touch your plate, princess."

You hold your breath; your husband doesn't notice. "I'm the one who ruined your appetite, right? Or do you prefer other things?" His smile is sly, provocative, and his red eyes shine with a dangerous glint.

You try to answer, but your voice chokes. So you take a piece of bread, as if to divert attention. Sukuna lets out a low, low laugh, satisfied that he already has the advantage. Toji, no doubt sensing your discomfort, offers you a slight respite. "Do you live far from here?" he asks, his eyes searching yours with unexpected gentleness.

"We live about two hours from here..." you answer automatically, all too aware of Sukuna, who, innocently, he placed his hand on the back of your chair. His fingers slide slowly, imperceptibly, until they brush the base of your shoulder.

Your husband, focused on his phone, sees nothing. He even laughs at a message he receives, shaking his head, completely out of the moment. What could he possibly be doing with his phone while you're in front of him? Is he cheating on you? No, he certainly wouldn't do that.

The waiter interrupts your thoughts as he returns with the main courses. In the hustle and bustle, Sukuna takes advantage of your movement to move closer, his arm deliberately brushing your chest as he grabs his glass. His eyes never leave your face, waiting for your reaction.

You look away, but you feel your body tense under the burning attention. Under the table, Toji springs into action. His knee gently presses against your thigh, and he doesn't move away. His gesture is firm, deliberate, but surprisingly comforting, as if he's trying to steady you as Sukuna throws you off balance.

"So, how did you two meet?" Toji asks, sounding genuinely interested. You open your mouth, but your husband answers in a monotone, without looking up. "Oh, at college. Nothing very romantic."

Sukuna chuckles softly. "Too bad. A woman like you deserves a love story to match." He stares into yours with his red eyes, and you feel your stomach clench.

The wine flows, the food arrives, and the longer it goes on, the more unbearable the tension becomes. Sukuna leans towards you again, his lips so close that your ear heats under his breath. "You should smile more often. You look beautiful when you blush." ​​His fingers brush briefly against your back, just enough to make you jump.

Your husband finally looks up. "Are you okay, darling? You're all red."

You nod quickly, murmuring a quick "I'm fine," and taking a sip of wine to hide your confusion. Toji takes this moment to whisper a word, just for you. "Don't worry. We're taking care of you." His fingers, under the table, lightly press your knee before moving away, leaving you burning inside.

The meal finally ends. You've barely eaten anything. Sukuna, amused, raises his glass to his lips, his eyes fixed on yours as if he's clinking glasses in silence with you alone. Toji pushes his chair back slightly, but his eyes remain fixed on you, intense, heavy with promise.

Your husband stands up, stretching his arms. "I'm going upstairs. I have some emails to finish." He turns to you. "Are you staying with them?" » Toji looks at you, then at your husband, and smiles. "She's staying with us. We'll get to know each other."

He settles for Toji's answer and walks off toward the elevator, without waiting for your reply. He clearly prefers his phone to you. You remain seated, sad and angry at your helplessness and your husband, your fingers clenched on your napkin. Sukuna stretches nonchalantly, his tattoos playing in the dim light of the restaurant.

"So, princess... are you coming for a drink with us?" he asks with that smirk that makes it seem like he's already won. Toji tilts his head toward you.

"Just one last drink. Afterward, we'll walk you home." His tone is gentle, almost protective, and yet his eyes shine with an intensity that contradicts his reassuring words.

Your heart is pounding so hard you can't say no. You nod. Anyway, you have nothing better to do. A few minutes later, you're seated at a table near the outdoor bar, the pool reflecting the hotel lights. The air is heavy, warm, and night has just fallen.

Sukuna orders a cocktail for you without even asking what you want. "A little sweet, a little strong. I'm sure you'll like it." As he pushes the glass towards you, his finger deliberately brushes yours.

Toji, for his part, maintains his calm posture, but his leg brushes yours under the table, steady, constant, like a silent reminder that he's there.

"You seem tense," he says in a low, almost gentle voice. You shake your head.

"No, I... I'm fine."

"You're shaking." His gaze drops to your hand, clenched around the glass. Then, without warning, he places his large hand on yours, covering your fingers with comforting warmth. You flinch, but you don't remove your hand. Sukuna laughs softly, a deep, almost mocking laugh.

"She's trying to convince herself, man. You can see she's dying to be noticed, can't you, darling?" His red eyes lock with yours, and you feel a wave of heat rush through you.

You want to protest, but the words stick. You raise your glass to your lips to escape, and Sukuna leans in immediately. His eyes fix on your mouth as you drink, his predatory smile stretching his pierced lips. You nearly choke.

Toji glances sideways at Sukuna and slips away a few inches closer to you, his voice low, intimate. "Ignore him. He likes to provoke." He pauses, his green eyes fixed on yours. "But he's right about one thing. You look beautiful tonight."

Your heart skips a beat. You look away, staring at the pool, but your reflection in the water betrays the red in your cheeks.

The waiter comes by to offer a second drink. Sukuna accepts immediately for you, despite your hesitation. "Let yourself go, princess. Your husband came upstairs, he left you alone. Enjoy yourself."

His words snap, cruel with truth. Toji, however, gently pulls you back to him. "You have nothing to fear. We're here." His knee presses more firmly against yours under the table, and you realize your legs haven't moved. You accept his presence, even welcome it.

The conversation unravels. Minutes pass. Sukuna bombards you with direct, sultry sentences, while Toji watches you, speaking quietly, as if trying to read what you're not saying. And you're stuck between the two, chatting with them until you lose all track of time.

When you finally stand up, slightly dizzy from the alcohol, Sukuna leaps upright and puts his hand around your waist to steady you. "We'll walk you out." You want to protest, but Toji is already standing, and their two imposing figures frame you again.

In the hotel lobby, the air conditioning sends shivers down your spine. Your footsteps echo, and you feel their proximity behind you. Sukuna, walking deliberately too close, his breath almost tickling your ear. Toji, calmer, his hand discreetly brushing the small of your back to guide you.

Arriving at your door, you turn around to say goodbye, but Sukuna approaches, his tattooed hand resting against the wall next to your head, almost preventing you from backing away. "Are you really going to spend the rest of your evening alone while we're here?" His voice is low, sensual, and dangerous.

Toji says nothing, but his deep, burning eyes remain fixed on you, waiting for your answer.

You feel your back almost pressed against the wall, Sukuna far too close, his predatory smile hanging on his pierced lips. The air is heavy, laden with a tension that makes it hard to breathe.

That's when Toji, in a low but calm tone, breaks the silence: "We're not going to let you back in like this... come have one last drink with us." You half open your mouth to protest, but he immediately adds, almost amused, "Ironically... our room is right there." And he points to the next door, a meter from yours.

Sukuna chuckles softly. "Fate is playful, eh?" His arm finally moves away from the wall and gently strokes your arm. "Come on, princess. Just one drink."

Toji places a heavy but reassuring hand on the small of your back, gently urging you forward. "You have nothing to fear. We don't bite..." His eyes shine with a light that tells you quite the opposite.

Before you even realize what you're doing, you find yourself in front of their door. Sukuna opens it with his keycard with a nonchalant gesture. The room is almost identical to yours: a large bed, large windows, a large mirror, but oddly enough, three seats and a balcony.

Sukuna lets you in first. "Honor to guests, and especially to women." Toji closes the door behind you, locks it, then slips his key into his pocket. "Sit down," Toji says, pointing to the armchair by the bed. His hand brushes the small of your back again, a touch both protective and possessive.

You sit down, nervous, your bag clutched to your chest. Sukuna pulls out three glasses and pours an amber whiskey. "Here. Nothing better to end the evening with." He sits down next to you in an armchair, his burning eyes fixed on you.

Toji sits on the other side, leaning slightly toward you. His proximity is different, less provocative, but more oppressive. Sukuna's tattooed fingers tap the rim of your glass as if waiting for you to give in. Toji lets his gestures do the talking: he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his knuckles brushing your cheek.

Your breath quickens. You take a sip, to steady yourself. Sukuna leans in immediately, his lips close to your ear: "Here... let yourself go." » His hand slides slowly over the armrest, then down, his fingers brushing your bare thigh through the light fabric of your dress.

Toji, slower, takes your free hand. His fingers grip it gently, firm but delicate. "If you want us to stop, say so," he murmurs. His eyes search yours, his thumb already tracing slow circles on your palm, it's almost intimate.

Between the two of them, your body becomes the playground of their silent game, and despite the fear, despite the reason screaming that your husband is a few meters away, you feel your resistance crack with every gesture, with every breath against your skin.

"You're... really too close," you breathe, your voice low, a nervous laugh on your lips. Sukuna laughs softly, his breath hot against your temple. "Too close? Or not close enough yet?" His tattooed fingers move more openly up your thigh. He's not even hiding anymore, his red eyes fixed on yours, waiting for your reaction.

Toji, sitting right next to you, observes you. His elbows rest on his knees, his massive torso leaning towards you. His green eyes slowly move down from your face to your cleavage, then to your crossed legs.

You swallow hard, gasping for air. "If my husband... finds out—" Toji interrupts you, his voice deep and low: "No one will know. Your husband is too busy on his phone anyway."

His hand comes up to cup your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Look at me," he whispers. You look up at him in spite of yourself. Sukuna takes advantage of this. His hand leaves your thigh to slide higher, slowly, dangerously.

"You are..." you stop, your cheeks burning. "...impossible." Toji smiles, almost tenderly. "Maybe. But you didn't tell us to stop." His hand moves down your throat, his thumb stroking the sensitive line just below your ear.

You grip the glass so tightly you're afraid you'll break it. "Stop..." But your voice isn't authoritative. It's trembling, soft, almost pleading. Sukuna knows it. Toji knows it too. You're caught between the two of you.

Toji's arm moves behind you, brushing against your bare shoulder. "Tell us to stop, and we'll stop. But look at you..." His mouth moves closer to your ear, his words sliding in like a caress. "You don't want us to stop, do you?"

Your breath hitches. You close your eyes for a second. When you open them again, Sukuna is even closer, his lips just a touch away. Toji grabs his own cup and takes a sip, looking at you.

"Aren't you drinking anymore?" His voice is deep, steady, with a smile that makes you blush without knowing why. "I've... had enough," you murmur unsteadily. Sukuna chuckles from beside you, his fingers still planted on your thigh, slowly moving up. "You're a terrible liar, princess. It's obvious you're still thirsty."

Before you can protest, Toji takes a quick sip of whiskey and leans in. He places a large hand on your chin, gently forcing your face towards his, then leans in closer, so close that his alcoholic breath mixes with yours.

You barely have time to open your eyes wide before he captures your lips. His kiss is firm, sure, but not harsh. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue, hot and sweet, and your instinct is to pull away. But Toji insists, locking you in the kiss, and you realize he's making you drink. The liquor slides from his mouth to yours, your stomach twists, your breath hitches.

You moan weakly against his lips, unable to fight it. And when he finally pulls back, a string of drool hangs between your mouths. "There," he breathes, his thumb still stroking your jaw. "I knew you were still thirsty."

Your body trembles. You want to speak, to protest, but Sukuna takes advantage. His deep laugh echoes in your ear as his hand has already crept higher under your dress, caressing the bare skin of your thigh.

Your breath hitches, you briefly close your eyes. "I... I shouldn't..." Sukuna leans in immediately, his lips brushing your temple. "But you're still doing it." His hand presses a little higher, almost dangerously so.

Toji stays close, his forehead almost against yours. His green eyes stare into yours, disturbingly sincere. "Say it if you want us to stop. Really say it and we'll stop."

But no words come out. Your silence is already an answer. Toji hasn't taken his eyes off you. His thumb slides along your lower lip and without warning, he returns to capture your lips. This time, without alcohol, just the raw heat of his tongue.

You lose yourself almost immediately. His kiss is deeper, more demanding. His tongue demands, dominates, and you don't have the strength to resist. Your hands tremble against the fabric of your seat, but you don't pull away.

You feel Sukuna's hand still too high on your thigh, but suddenly, his presence invades the other side of your face. His tattooed fingers hook around the back of your neck, and he leans in, his lips first brushing the corner of your mouth.

Toji continues to kiss you deeply, and Sukuna, with a predatory smile, asserts himself on the other side. His pierced tongue slips into the exchange, bold, intrusively skillful. The cold metal on his flesh makes you shiver.

You gasp against them both, trapped between his two tongues. You moan softly, a broken sound that makes them both smile.

"You're so cute, darling," Sukuna sneers, his lips still wet from yours. Toji groans in response and resumes kissing you, taunting Sukuna as you moan into the kiss. Then he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist, His thick fingers against the small of your back.

You manage to tear yourself away from his lips. Yours are swollen, wet, and your heart beats so fast it feels like it's going to burst from your chest. Sukuna takes advantage of this and slides his hand under your dress, moving up sharply, caressing your bare skin with provocative slowness. Each gesture is calculated to make you shudder.

You want to speak, but Toji stops you. His face moves closer to your neck and places kisses there. His massive hand slips to the base of your breast, his fingers subtly parting the fabric to reveal it a little more.

You stifle a moan, your hands clenching the fabric of the chair. Their caresses complement each other, leaving you trapped by two fires that consume you. Then, with a sudden movement, Sukuna straightens and grabs you firmly by the waist. You protest weakly, surprised: "Wait—"

"Shh, princess." "You're coming with us." He says with a smile, and effortlessly pulls you toward the bed, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. Toji is already settled against the headboard, shirtless, legs spread.

Sukuna roughly pushes you against him, your back pressed against Toji's chest. You feel the warmth of his chest, his heavy breathing on your neck, his strong arms wrapping around you. He tucks you against him with a gesture, his hands wide open over your stomach and breast.

"Perfect," he murmurs against your ear, his deep voice vibrant. "Exactly where I want you. You're going to be a good girl for us, aren't you?"

You open your mouth to protest, but Sukuna has already slipped between your legs. His hands gently part your thighs, pushing your dress higher. His crimson gaze never leaves yours, sure of himself.

"Look at you, stuck between the two of us..." His voice is low, burning. "You've dreamed of this, admit it. Being stuck between two big men like us." His lips recapture yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue forcing access to your mouth, while his hand slips between your legs, already pressing against the most sensitive spot through the thin fabric of your panties.

Your body arches, a moan escaping you despite yourself. Toji groans behind you, tightening his grip: his hand kneads your breast firmly, the other moves down to your stomach, keeping you open to Sukuna, who traces slow, precise circles against your clitoris.

Each caress, each pressure draws a new shiver from you. Your breath is already caught when Sukuna pulls away from your lips, a predatory smile stretching his mouth. He contemplates you for a moment, his red gaze shining with a mixture of desire and cruelty. "You're already soaked," he sneers, his fingers still pressing against your intimate area through the fabric. "And I haven't even started."

Before you can reply, he bends down, sliding his hands under your thighs, which he mercilessly spreads, forcing your legs wider. The dress is already ridden up, your panties slide off with a sharp gesture, making them disappear onto the floor.

You gasp. "Sukuna—"

But your cry is muffled by a moan when his mouth crushes against you. His tongue, both hot and cold from his piercing, plunges between your folds, tasting, licking, sucking with obscene avidity. Each lick is precise, deliberate, and the wet sound he makes echoes through the room.

Your body arches immediately, but Toji stops you from moving. Behind you, his strong arm locks your waist, and his free hand cups your breast, kneading it slowly, his thumb rubbing your hardened nipple through the fabric.

His face slides down your neck, his warm lips leaving a trail of wet kisses, all the way to your ear. His light stubble lightly scrapes your skin, drawing another shiver from you.

Sukuna lifts his head briefly, his mouth glistening with you. He sneers cheekily. "You taste even better than I imagined," then he dives back down, sucking on your clit with a force that draws a strangled cry from you.

You struggle weakly, but Toji tightens his grip and unzips the zipper of your dress. Your breasts are finally free, your hardened nipples teased by Toji. His mouth captures the curve of your jaw, then moves down to your shoulder, nibbling, sucking, leaving bright red marks.

Your moans are lost between the two of them, your body shaking with uncontrollable spasms. Sukuna's tongue redoubles its speed, crueler, more insistent. His hands spread your thighs even further, exposing you entirely to him. Your body trembles, your thighs no longer able to close despite the burning shame that invades you.

Sukuna's tongue draws uncontrollable moans from you, each precise movement pushing you deeper into guilty pleasure. Behind you, Toji doesn't let go. His arms encircle you like chains, his hot breath caressing your ear with each groan he lets out as he feels you move against him. His fingers play with Your sensitive nipples.

You feel a light pressure against your lower back, then an obvious hardness straining against the small of your back. His erection through the fabric is impossible to ignore.

Toji stifles a groan, his mouth capturing your ear. "Do you feel that?..." His deep voice vibrates against your skin, raspy, thick with desire. "You're the one doing this to me."

He shifts his hips slightly, rubbing his erection against you. Sukuna lifts his head for a moment, his lips glistening with moisture, a predatory smile plastered on his mouth. His tattooed fingers replace his tongue for a second, pressing your clitoris with calculated slowness, while he devours you with his gaze. "You want my fingers, princess, don't you?"

You nod, or maybe you shake, you don't know. Your whole body is on fire, your reason shattered. Toji groans behind you, his hands gripping your hips to press you further against the enormous bulge pulsing beneath his shorts. He leans down to your ear, his lips brushing your damp skin. "If you keep moving like that, I'll take you right here, right now."

You can't help but moan, excited, imagining yourself being fucked by Toji. Sukuna, laughing, immediately dives back between your thighs, his tongue sliding against you with even more ferocity. His tongue strikes right there, exactly on that burning spot, with sadistic precision. His mouth sucks you in hard, his tattooed fingers digging into your tender flesh, forcing your thighs apart roughly.

You cry out, your head thrown back against Toji's shoulder, your broken voice mingling with his hoarse grunts and Sukuna's muffled laughter. Your thighs close reflexively, but Sukuna keeps them apart, his tongue even crueler, pushing you to the edge.

Your body explodes in your stomach, violent, uncontrollable. Your muscles contract against Sukuna's mouth, and you arch your back so hard that Toji has to hold you in place, his hand on your stomach, his other squeezing your breast with possessive brutality.

"There..." Toji growls in your ear, his erection throbbing against your back. "Come. You look so pretty like this." You gasp, tears in your eyes, every nerve in your body on fire. But Sukuna doesn't stop.

On the contrary, his lips and tongue continue their torture on your hypersensitive clitoris. His tongue licks you with an avidity that makes you scream, your hands grip the sheets. "Sukuna- too-!"

"Too much?" " he sneers between licks, his voice vibrating against you. "Then why are you still cumming?" Your body tenses again, shaken by a second wave, almost more painful, because your pussy is burning, too sensitive. You sob with pleasure, unable to catch your breath, your spongy walls contracting repeatedly.

Toji, behind you, kisses your temple, your neck, then bites your shoulder, his hands moving down to your thighs to hold them open, offering you completely to Sukuna. His deep voice resonates against your skin: "Bear it, princess. You wanted to play with us, now you own up to it."

Your body spasms when Sukuna lifts his head slightly, his predatory smile shining through your blurred vision. You don't have time to catch your breath before he dives back in, even more cruel: his tongue plunges deep inside you, penetrating with obscene greed, while two of his tattooed fingers slide roughly against your clitoris, pressing it, rubbing it, playing on your heightened sensitivity.

Toji holds you pressed against his chest, his strong arm encircling your waist, preventing you from escaping the torture. His lips brush your ear, his deep grunts mingling with your moans: "You're so pretty when you moan..."

His pelvis moves behind you, and you feel the enormous hardness of his cock rubbing against your back again. You gasp, your heart racing. The thickness of his erection through the fabric is indecent, each pulse making you tremble even more.

Toji grabs your hand, clasps it in his, and guides it firmly back onto him. Your fingers touch his bulge. "Jerk me off," he orders in a raspy voice that won't tolerate any refusal. "Can you feel how hard I am for you?... Take care of me, my beauty."

Your hand trembles, but he wraps it around himself over the fabric, forcing you to caress him. At the same time, Sukuna gives you no respite. His tongue delves even deeper, replacing his fingers that are now spreading your flesh, opening you to him. He groans against you, his red eyes raised to your face contorted by pleasure, delighted to see you lost between them. His free fingers mistreat your clitoris, insisting without mercy, until your legs start to tremble madly.

"Fuck," Toji groans, his head thrown back as you stroke him through the fabric. "Keep going, princess... caressing me." His voice breaks into a rasp. Then, slowly, almost as if to prolong the suspense, he removes his shorts.

You freeze at the sight of his imposing, hard, veiny, and slightly curved cock, and his precum leaking from the head. You feel your stomach twist with both pleasure and nervousness.

Toji shifts to the side, leaving you freely between him and Sukuna. He adjusts his position on the bed, his torso against a pillow, his green gaze burning into you. "You can... touch," he murmurs, his voice low. "Show me what you can do."

Your hand trembles as you approach his shaft, your fingers first grazing the warm, taut skin. Toji groans, his hips shifting slightly to guide you, his arm pressing your back against him.

Sukuna, however, doesn't stop: his tongue and fingers give you no respite. Each lick of his tongue against your hypersensitive clit makes you arch your back, your fingers gripping his cock clumsily but determinedly. You feel every vein beneath your palm, every pulse burning through your hand and stomach.

Toji was already moaning, his breathing heavy and ragged. "Yes... just like that..." He gently nibbles at your shoulder, holding you perfectly still, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

His fingers slide into your hair to guide your face towards his. His lips meet yours in a heavy, hot, and pressing kiss. His tongue slides over, playing with yours, and his teeth gently nibble at your lip as his body moves against you, each pulse of his taut veins rubbing against your palm.

"Yes... keep going, my beauty..." he breathes, his voice raspy and low, his hands caressing your back, your hips, keeping your body perfectly pressed against his. He gives you no respite, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

Sukuna, down below, doesn't slow down either. His tongue dances voraciously over your clitoris, his tattooed fingers pressing every sensitive spot of your innermost being. You arch against Toji, unable to control your cries, your moans lost in the mix of wet sounds from the bedroom.

Your fingers tighten around Toji's thick cock the moment Sukuna decides to be merciless. His tongue pushes deep inside you, his fingers pressing your clitoris with devilish precision. Your thighs tremble violently, your stomach tightens, and you cry out into Toji's mouth as he kisses you again, your voice muffled by his tongue and possessive lips.

Your body suddenly arches violently, uncontrollable, and a hot jet escapes you despite yourself. Sukuna groans with satisfaction against you, receiving your juices, his lips wet with your uncontrolled orgasm. He takes your legs and places them on his broad shoulders. He continues to eat and drink you until your legs start to convulse and your toes curl, unable to stop.

Toji holds you firmly, his arm preventing you from fleeing the storm. His forehead presses against yours, his green eyes shining with pride and desire. His deep voice slips into your ear, "There you go, princess. Look at you... you squirted everywhere for us. You truly are a slut, my beauty." He kisses you again, more tender this time, nibbling your trembling lip. His hands caress your back, holding you against him as your entire body shakes with spasms.

"You're perfect..." he murmurs, groaning, his thumbs tracing small, soothing circles on your hips. Sukuna finally raises his head, a predatory smile smeared with your pleasure, and chuckles softly, "Fuck... you taste so good, sweetheart."

Toji cradles the back of your neck with a firm hand and forces your face up to him. "Now... you're going to take care of me properly, aren't you, baby?" He gently guides your hand, already wrapped around his cock, his hips moving slowly forward. His gaze doesn't leave you, a mixture of patience and demand.

But Sukuna soon straightens up too, the predatory smile stretching his lips, still shiny from your pleasure, which he lazily wipes with his thumb, then looks at him in frustration: "Hah... you've already enjoyed yourself enough, man."

His red eyes descend on you, burning. You feel the electricity between the two of them: a slight tension, of rivalry, but they seem strangely relaxed, almost amused to be competing for your attention, as if they knew you wouldn't be able to choose.

Toji grunts, a smirk on his face. "Ugh... always have to share, huh." He lies back on his side, his legs spread, his powerful chest pressed against the headboard, pulling you against him. "Come here, princess... start with me. Let him take his turn after."

Sukuna laughs softly, sitting next to Toji, legs spread, his hand already on his own cock, which he slowly strokes under your gaze. "You better not dawdle, doll... I don't have your patience."

You slowly raise your eyes to Toji, position yourself slowly in front of him, and place a light kiss on his glans, leaking precum, just enough to make him groan and tilt his head back. His hand immediately tightens in your hair, but you don't give in: you leave him frustrated, sliding your lips over his shaft without swallowing it, simply caressing it with your tongue.

"Tsss... don't play with me, princess..." he breathes, his deep voice trembling with impatience. Before giving in, you turn your head to Sukuna. His scarlet eyes shine with amusement, and you see his fingers already clenched around his thick cock, which he lazily strokes. You lean towards him, brushing the tip of your tongue against his hot skin, enough to hear him chuckle lowly.

"Hah... that pleases me much more," he sneers, his hand resting roughly on your cheek to force you to look at him. "Keep it up, doll."

But you refuse to choose. You alternate between slowly sucking on Toji's curved cock, deep enough to elicit a guttural groan from his chest, then pulling away from him with a string of saliva and moving toward Sukuna, sucking lightly without actually giving him what he wants.

Toji's fingers grip your hair tighter each time you spend too much time on Sukuna, while he grins like a satisfied demon, every muffled moan you draw from him serving to provoke his rival. "Look how she sucks me..." Sukuna breathes, his tone mocking.

Your thrusts become more assured, your lips glistening with saliva and their salty precum, and both men breathe harder, their muscles tense, their heated gazes fixed on you as if they might fight to keep you.

You feel like they're going to come soon. Your lips leave Sukuna with a lewd noise, and you slowly turn your head toward Toji and go to take care of him. He lets out a low moan, his head tilting back against the headboard. His hand digs into your hair, his fingers clenched, half-controlling your movements. "There... good girl... swallow me."

You swallow him slowly, your lips stretching around his width, your cheeks hollow, your tongue caressing the bulging veins. You breathe heavily, your eyes raised to his, and the guttural growl that emanates from his chest is your reward.

But you don't leave Sukuna alone. Your free hand reaches out to him, wrapping your fingers around his hot, wet cock. You try to jerk him off and suck Toji at the same time.

Toji tightens his grip on your hair, his thighs tense with tension. His cock thrusts roughly down your throat, stretching your mouth beyond what's reasonable. Your eyes immediately blur with tears, your eyelids fluttering as you choke on his length. Your nails dig into his thighs, yet your hand continues to pump Sukuna, refusing to let go.

"Here... take it all... babe, you're so cute." Toji breathes, his deep voice trembling with excitement. He holds your head firmly in place, preventing you from pulling back, and his hips roll slowly, forcing your throat to adjust to his size.

Your tears fall, your saliva dribbles down your chin, sliding down onto your chest. Your moans are muffled, swallowed by the hot, hard mass filling your throat, each thrust tearing uncontrolled spasms from your throat.

Sukuna watches the scene with a cruel smile. His swollen head slides into your wet palm, and he tightens your hand with a sharp gesture.

Toji moans louder, his abs trembling as he anchors himself in your throat. His entire body vibrates, torn between his iron control and the urge to surrender completely. "Look at me..." he commands, his fingers forcing your face to look up at him.

And you, your cheeks flushed, tears blurring your vision, you hold his gaze despite the burning in your throat. Your lips stretched, your hands busy, your breath ragged: you are taken, offered, swallowing everything he imposes on you.

Toji finally pulls your head back slightly, letting you suck in a scalding breath of air into your burning throat. Your lips are swollen, shiny with saliva, your cheeks glistening with tears and your running mascara.

A guttural growl emerges from his chest. He lowers his glistening cock and slaps it against your wet cheek, the obscene sound echoing through the room. Your cheek wet with your saliva and his precum. His green eyes stare at your panting, defeated face.

"Look at you... you filthy little thing..." he breathes, his deep voice thick with desire. Without waiting, he shoves his cock back into your mouth without warning, plunging his swollen rod deep into your already sensitive throat. You gasp again, your fingers clenched on his thighs, your misty eyes trying to look at him despite the intensity.

And with a deep groan, he comes. A hot stream spills down your throat, his cock throbbing on his tongue, each spurt forcing you to swallow or choke. His hands prevent you from pulling back, holding you firmly in place, and you have no choice but to take everything he gives.

You swallow in a mixture of panic and pleasure, your tears rolling freely down your cheeks. A trickle of cum escapes despite yourself, dripping down your chin. Toji moans at length, his eyes half-closed, his pelvis still pressed against your nose. "You look so beautiful swallowing my cum, my love."

Your lips tremble around him, your face glistening with saliva, tears, and cum. When he finally releases you, you gasp loudly, your half-open mouth still slightly filled with unswallowed cum, offering his eyes a lewd and deeply erotic sight.

Sukuna chuckles beside you, his fingers gripping his cock tighter at the sight of your soiled face. "Fuck... this is worthy of a porno."

Toji doesn't let you catch your breath for long. His strong fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to keep your mouth half-open. The hot cum that dripped onto your lips still glistened, and he scooped it up with his thumb before roughly smearing it on your cheek, then your swollen lips. His thumb pushed at your tongue, forcing you to keep your mouth full, dirty. You gasped through your nose, your misty gaze locked with his.

Toji chuckled softly at the state you were in: flushed cheeks, tears stuck to your eyelashes, a soiled chin. “Look how beautiful you are when you’re like this for me…” He rolled his still-sensitive head over your lower lip, spreading more of his essence, as if he wanted to mark every inch of your face.

Sukuna, who hadn’t stopped masturbating in your grip, his gaze shone with frustration. “You had your turn, Toji…” He squeezed your hand around his hard cock, forcing you to speed up. “It’s mine now. I want his mouth too.” »

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear, and whispers in a harsher voice, "Open for me, Mama. Toji can share a little, right?" Sukuna waits no longer: he grabs your jaw roughly and pushes his cock against your lips. His thick, hot cock penetrates you with a sharp thrust, and he tilts your head back with a throaty groan.

"There... finally..." he breathes, pleasure in his voice. His hips roll forcefully, forcing you to take him deeper, his rapid thrusts accompanying your movements, slapping against your mouth. "A mature woman's mouth is so good..."

Toji hasn't stayed behind; he positions himself behind you, and his expert fingers return to slide between your trembling thighs. He caresses your swollen, wet heat, pressing your sensitive bud with his thumb. You moan around Sukuna's length, your throat vibrating, drawing a moan of pleasure.

Toji leans over you and chuckles in your ear as he feels your reaction:

"You're so desperate, darling... I'll fix that." His fingers slide further, brushing against your other entrance, then his hands play with the curve of your ass. He massages, presses, stretches, as if to prepare you without warning. His grip on your hip prevents you from backing away, forcing you to remain firmly exposed between the two of you.

You find yourself smothered by Sukuna, who relentlessly fucks your face, and at the mercy of Toji's fingers, which alternate between deep caresses and pressure on your most intimate part. Their masculine moans mingle, heavy, impatient, trapping you in a spiral from which you have no escape.

The air is saturated with sweat, heat, and raw desire. Your senses are overwhelmed, your body pushed to its limits by the two of you dominating you with relentless intensity. Sukuna's red eyes stare at you, shining with a mixture of sadism and satisfaction, as if he savors every tear that rolls down your cheeks, every tremor of your body.

"You like it, huh, doll?" he breathes, his raspy voice vibrating against your skin. "You like being ours like this." He slows down for a moment, just enough for you to feel every inch of his thick cock slide over your tongue, before resuming a more brutal pace, his grunts echoing in the room. Your lips stretch painfully around him, your burning throat struggling to keep up with his frantic pace.

Behind you, Toji gives you no moment of respite. His fingers, expert and merciless, explore your sex with a precision that makes you lose your mind. He slowly slides one finger, then two, into your wet, tight heat, moving them in and out slowly, contrasting with Sukuna's brutality.

His thumb continues to tease your clitoris, alternating between light pressure and rapid circles, keeping you in a state of constant overstimulation. Your body trembles violently, unable to resist this double stimulation.

"You're so wet..." Toji whispers against your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. "You're made for us, baby. Aren't you?" His fingers delve deeper, spreading your flesh with cruel gentleness, while his other hand kneads your ass, his nails digging into your ently in your skin.

He holds you firmly against him, your back pressed against his muscular chest, his erection, now hard again, rubbing against your hip. "You're going to come again for us, aren't you?" he adds, his voice low and authoritative.

You want to respond, to beg, to scream, but your mouth is full, your muffled moans mingling with the wet, obscene noises filling the room. Your body is wracked with spasms, your trembling thighs unable to close under Toji's grip.

Sukuna, sensing your unease, slows down for a moment to let you catch your breath. He withdraws his cock from your mouth with a wet noise, a trickle of saliva still connecting your lips to his swollen head.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "You look beautiful like this, Mama. All broken for us." » His thumb strokes your lower lip, smearing saliva and his own precum on your face.

Toji's hands slide over your hips to reposition you properly on all fours on the bed. Your body trembles, still shaken by the waves of pleasure that have overwhelmed you, but you don't have time to recover. Toji kneels behind you, his large hands spreading your ass cheeks with possessive firmness.

"Are you ready, princess?" he asks, but it's not really a question. His voice is thick with desire, and you feel his thick head brush against your soaked entrance.

You gasp, your hands gripping the sheets, your body already exhausted but unable to resist. "Toji..." you whisper, barely audible, your voice cracked with pleasure and fatigue.

He grunts in response, his head pushing slowly against you, stretching you with agonizing slowness. Every inch makes you moan, your body adapting to his imposing size. He pushes in gradually, filling you until you feel his hips pressing against your ass.

“Fuck… you’re so tight…” he grunts, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

He begins to move, slowly at first, letting your body adjust to him, then his thrusts become deeper, harder. Each thrust elicits a cry from you, your breasts swaying from the impact, your face buried in the sheets.

Sukuna moves closer, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your face towards him. “Open your mouth, babe. You can do better than that.” Before you can protest, Sukuna guides his cock back to your lips.

Your mouth opens instinctively, and he pushes in with a satisfied grunt. His movements are slower this time, but just as demanding, synchronized with Toji's thrusts. You're caught between them, your body rocked by their opposing rhythms, each sensation amplifying the other.

Toji grunts behind you, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know he'll leave marks. "You're ours now, Mama... You're going to have the shape of our dicks inside you, my dear," he breathes, his raspy voice vibrating with possessiveness.

His thrusts accelerate, hitting a precise spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your moans are muffled by Sukuna, who tightens his grip on your hair, forcing you to take him deeper.

"Come on, Mama," Sukuna murmurs, his tone both mocking and encouraging. "Show us what a good girl you are." His hips move faster, his grunts becoming more erratic. You can feel him close, as can Toji, whose movements are becoming more disordered, more desperate.

Your body is on the verge of collapse, overwhelmed by pleasure and exhaustion. Each thrust from Toji pushes you further, each intrusion from Sukuna suffocates you more, and yet you don't want it to stop. Your stomach tightens again, a new wave of pleasure threatening to engulf you. Your cries are incoherent, muffled, your body wracked by uncontrollable spasms.

Sukuna is the first to break. With a guttural grunt, he pulls away from your mouth, his fist tightening around his cock. A hot jet splashes onto your face, sliding across your cheeks, your lips, your chin.

He moans loudly, his glowing gaze fixed on you, as if he wants to etch this image into his memory. “Fuck… you’re perfect like this,” he breathes, wiping a drop of his cum from your cheek and spreading it with his thumb.

Toji, feeling your body tense around him, is quick to follow. His thrusts become brutal, disordered, and with a deep groan, he releases himself inside you, his hot cum filling your core. His hands squeeze your hips until it hurts, his body shaking against yours as he comes, his breath ragged on your neck. “Good… girl…” he pants, his lips brushing against your sweat-drenched skin.

You collapse onto the bed, panting, your body shaking all over, glistening with sweat, saliva, and their cum. Your cheeks are burning, your lips swollen, your mind foggy with the intensity of what’s happening.

Toji and Sukuna collapse in turn, each on either side of you, their heavy breathing filling the room.

Toji wraps a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest, his breathing still uneven. "You're perfect. To think your incapable husband didn't notice," he murmurs, with a satisfied smile.

The air in the room is heavy, saturated with the smell of sweat, of sex. Your body is still trembling, every muscle exhausted, every nerve raw after the intensity of what Toji and Sukuna have done to you. You lie between them, your breathing erratic, your mind floating in a fog where guilt, desire, and shame mingle in an indecipherable swirl.

Toji gets up, goes to the minibar to get two bottles of water, then grabs a box of tissues and tosses it to Sukuna. He gently wipes your cum-covered face, a smirk on his lips.

Sukuna's voice, raspy and mocking, breaks the silence. "You look completely broken, doll. And yet... you still want some, don't you, darling?" he says, throwing away the tissue.

His fingers return to your crotch and lazily slide over your hypersensitive skin, tracing slow circles around your swollen clitoris. You flinch, a muffled moan escaping you, but your body, despite its exhaustion, responds. Sukuna sneers, his red eyes shining with a cruel glint. "Look at that, Toji. She's still ready for us."

Toji, pressed against your back again, growls softly, his possessive hand caressing the curve of your hip. “You’re insatiable, princess,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your neck, where the skin is still marked by his bites. His voice is softer than Sukuna’s, but just as thick with desire. “You want to keep going, right? Say it.”

You shake your head, or at least you try. Words fail you, your throat is dry, and your mind is too foggy to form a coherent response. Guilt gnaws at you; your husband is right next door, in the next room, probably still engrossed in his phone, oblivious to what’s happening.

Sukuna, impatient, pushes himself up on one elbow, his tattooed chest gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Come on, Mama, stop pretending.

You loved every second, and you know it.” His voice is low, provocative, and his lips stretch into a predatory smile. He leans closer, his breath hot against your mouth, and whispers, "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

You swallow hard, your cheeks burning. Your body betrays you, your thighs instinctively tightening as his fingers continue to play with you, brushing against your still-damp innermost core. Toji, sensing your unease, tightens his grip on your waist, his erection, now hard again, pressing against your back. "Say it," he insists, his voice deep and authoritative. "Tell us what you want."

You close your eyes, trying to regain control, but it's no use. Their presence is too overwhelming, their desire too palpable. "I... I don't know," you finally whisper, your voice trembling, almost inaudible. But it's enough for them. Sukuna lets out a deep, satisfied laugh, while Toji groans softly, his lips capturing your neck again.

"Oh, you know that," Sukuna sneers, his fingers sliding more firmly between your legs, slowly pushing into you. You moan, your body arching despite yourself, and he adds mockingly, "Look how wet you are for us. Your body speaks for itself."

Toji, behind you, loosens his grip slightly to reposition you. In one fluid movement, he flips you onto your back, laying you on the bed, your body exposed between them. His green eyes devour you, sliding over your bare breasts, your stomach still shaking with spasms, and lower, where Sukuna continues to play with you.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, his hand caressing your stomach before slowly moving down to your thighs, which he gently spreads. Sukuna, still kneeling between your legs, removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking them with provocative slowness.

"So sweet," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, without warning, he leans down again, his tongue resuming its assault on your clitoris, but this time, it's slower, more deliberate, as if he wants to prolong your torture.

"Please..." you whisper, not even knowing what you're asking for. A break? More? The two men exchange a glance, a knowing smile passing between them, as if they're sharing a secret you'll never understand.

Sukuna straightens, his face glistening with your pleasure, and grabs your hips to pull you towards him. "You want more, huh?" His voice is raspy, his eyes shining with an insatiable hunger. Without waiting for your answer, he positions himself between your legs, his thick head brushing against your entrance. "Tell me you want it, babe."

You shake your head, but your body betrays you again, your hips lifting slightly toward him. Toji chuckles softly, his hand sliding into your hair to force you to look at him. "Go ahead, tell him. Or I'll do it for you."

The words catch in your throat, but Sukuna doesn't give you time to think. In one fluid motion, he pushes into you, stretching you with a deliberate slowness that makes you moan loudly. Every inch fills you, burns you, and your hands grip the sheets, searching for a foothold. "Fuck... you're perfect," he groans, his tattooed hands gripping your hips as he begins to move, slowly at first, then with increasing force.

Toji moves behind you and brings you close to Sukuna, then turns your head to kiss you, his tongue invading your mouth with a possessiveness that takes your breath away. His fingers tease your breasts, lightly pinching your nipples, amplifying every sensation. "You're ours," he murmurs against your lips, his deep voice vibrating throughout your body.

Sukuna speeds up, his thrusts becoming rougher, deeper, each impact making you lose more control. Your moans turn into screams, muffled by Toji's lips, who doesn't let go. You're caught between them, their relentless rhythm driving you into a spiral of guilty pleasure.

Sukuna groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know he'll leave marks. "Look how good you're made for me," he says, his red eyes fixed on you, shining with perverse satisfaction. "You were made to take my cock, doll."

Toji, feeling your body tremble under the assault, slides a hand between your legs, his fingers joining Sukuna's rhythm to press your clitoris. The double stimulation is too much, far too much. Your body arches violently, a heart-rending cry escapes you, and a new wave of pleasure engulfs you, even more powerful than the previous ones. Your muscles contract around Sukuna, who groans loudly, his movements becoming erratic.

"Fuck..." he breathes, his hips slamming against you one last time before he releases, his hot cum mixing with Toji's, filling you again. He stays inside you for a moment, his breath ragged, before slowly withdrawing, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Toji, still at your side, gently caresses your face, wiping away a tear that has rolled down your cheek. “You were perfect, princess,” he murmurs, his voice softer, almost tender. But his eyes still shine with that raw desire, and you know he’s not done with you yet.

Sukuna collapses beside you, his chest heaving rapidly, a low laugh escaping his throat. “Crazy,” he says, his mocking tone barely masking the satisfaction in his voice.

You’re unable to respond, your body exhausted, your mind lost in a fog of sensations. You realize, with a pang of panic, that the door to their room is only a few feet from the one where your husband is probably sleeping. Guilt hits you hard, but it’s quickly swept away by Toji’s hand, gently caressing your stomach, and Sukuna’s, sliding lazily up your thigh.

Your body is still trembling, lying between Toji and Sukuna, you're overcome by a mixture of conflicting sensations: the euphoria of pleasure, the burning pang of guilt, and a strange, empty feeling tightening in your chest. Reality hits you abruptly. Your husband. The thought that he might have heard or been looking for you chills your blood.

"I... I have to go," you whisper, your voice weak, barely audible, broken by exhaustion and growing panic. You sit up awkwardly, your wobbly legs almost refusing to carry you. Your hands fumble for your crumpled dress, abandoned on the floor, in a desperate effort to regain control.

Sukuna, lying on his side, one arm behind his head, looks at you with a lazy smile, his red eyes sparkling with amusement. "Leave? Already?" His voice is mocking, almost provocative. He straightens slightly, his tattooed chest glistening with sweat in the dim light. "You look like you enjoyed that, doll. Why are you running away?"

Toji straightens too, more slowly, his green gaze fixed on you with an intensity that makes you shiver. "Calm down, princess," he says, his voice deep but strangely soothing. He places a heavy hand on your wrist, stopping you from picking up your dress. "You're not going anywhere like this. You're still all shaky and not even clean."

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes, a mixture of shame and fear. "No, I really have to go. If my husband..." Your voice breaks, and you look away, unable to meet their gaze. "He might wake up. He might... I don't know. I can't stay."

Sukuna sneers, standing up gracefully and grabs your dress before you can take it and holds it out of your reach, a smirk tugging at his pierced lips. "Your husband? That guy who didn't even look up from his phone the entire dinner?" He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you really think he'll notice you're not here?"

His words hit you like a slap, not because they're cruel, but because they're painfully true. Your husband ignored you all day, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your doubts, and now, with these two men who have filled that void, even if it was in the most immoral way possible.

You look down, your cheeks burning, unable to respond.

Toji, gentler but just as authoritative, slides a hand into your hair, forcing you to lift your face to his. "Listen, princess. We know you're scared. It's normal. But you don't have to run right away." His fingers gently caress your cheek, contrasting with the firmness of his tone. "Stay a little longer. We'll take care of you."

You shake your head, harder this time, and free yourself from his grip. "No, I... I can't. It's too much." Your voice trembles, but you force yourself to stand, ignoring the weakness in your legs. You grab your dress from Sukuna, who hands it back to you with an amused smile, as if he knows you can't really escape them.

"Are you sure, babe?" he asks, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his muscular chest. "Because your body says otherwise." His gaze slides over you, lingering on the red marks on your hips, the traces of their hands, their lips, their desire. "You can run, but you'll think about us all night."

You put on your dress hastily, your hands trembling, avoiding their gaze. Guilt overwhelms you, but there's something else, a lingering warmth, a treacherous desire that refuses to fade. You shake your head, as if to chase away these thoughts, and head for the door, your heart pounding.

Toji rises as well, imposing, and approaches slowly. He doesn't touch you, but his presence is so overwhelming that you freeze, your hand on the doorknob. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us," he murmurs, his voice low and raspy. He jerks his chin toward the door, a smirk playing on his lips. "We're right next door, princess."

Sukuna approaches too, more boldly, and slips a finger under your chin to force you to look at him. “You try to convince yourself you made a mistake, but we all know you loved every second of it.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours without quite touching. “Come back when you’re tired of playing the good woman.”

You take a step back, panting, and open the door before you completely lose your resolve. “Good night,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, before rushing out. You close the door behind you, the slam echoing in the silence of the hallway.

In the dark hotel hallway, the cool air hits you like a slap, but it doesn’t calm the heat still pulsing through your body. You slip into your room, heart pounding, legs still weak. Your husband is there, lying on the bed, asleep, his phone resting on his chest, the screen still on. He hasn’t even noticed you’re gone.

You collapse onto a chair near the balcony, your hands trembling, your gaze lost in the darkness. Images of what just happened play over and over in your head: Toji's hands, Sukuna's tongue, their deep voices, their burning gazes. You press your thighs together, trying to ignore the lingering heat between your legs, but it's no use.

Guilt gnaws at you, but it's mixed with another sensation, more dangerous, more insidious. You realize, with terrifying clarity, that you don't regret what happened. Not really. And that thought terrifies you more than anything.

You stand up, unsteadily, and head to the bathroom to wash yourself, to erase their traces from your skin. But deep down, you know their imprints run much deeper than that. And as the hot water runs over your body, you close your eyes, unable to block out their faces, their voices, and their fucking big cocks.

"Shit."

masterlist - part 1 - part 2 - part 3

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toji was a quiet man.

stoic, broad, and nearly impossible to read. he didn’t waste time on small talk, rarely showed emotion. it seemed as though your overall presence didn’t faze him in the slightest, as if he’d already adapted to the idea of living with a stranger. he wasn’t the kind to leave messes or linger in shared spaces. everything about him was precise, detached. not out of cruelty, but habit, like he’d spent his whole life perfecting the art of keeping people out.

you’d heard rumors about him growing up. how he used to be the type of man who never stayed in one place for too long, who didn’t give his name to the women he fucked and never spent the night. toji’s never been a one-woman kind of guy. settling down wasn’t in his vocabulary. and definitely not with someone as young and out-of-place as you.

he was older. rougher. the kind of man who’d seen too much and felt too little. you were the opposite— softer around the edges, not naïve, but still idealistic enough to believe marriage might eventually mean something.

but the truth was, you were strangers playing house.

and he made no effort to pretend otherwise.

he never yelled or raised his voice, but he also never smiled. didn’t ask about your day or crack single joke. the most he ever said to you was the occasional, “you eat yet?” or “lock the doors when i’m out.”

he wasn’t cruel. but he wasn’t kind either. he was just… distant.

and every night, without fail, he took a pillow from your bed and laid it on the couch. like it was some unspoken rule neither of you had agreed to, but followed all the same.

you told yourself it didn’t bother you.

it’s better this way, you thought. less awkward. more space. at least he wasn’t forcing anything on you. at least he wasn’t trying to play pretend.

but it still left a strange hollow in your chest, watching him retreat down the hallway like some unwelcome guest, his broad back disappearing into the dark. it was your house, your marriage, but it didn’t feel like either belonged to you.

you could hear him sometimes through the thin walls— the creak of leather, the shift of his weight on the couch, the low sighs he tried to keep quiet. you’d often wonder, did he ever sleep soundly? did he ever think about coming back to bed? or was this just as unbearable for him as it was for you?

you didn’t know what he saw when he looked at you. just a kid, maybe. just another favor he owed. a girl too young for him. a wife he didn’t ask for.

and yet… there were glimpses. brief ones.

he’d linger in the kitchen after grabbing a drink, eyes flicking to you like he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. his gaze would catch on you when you bend over to grab something. there’d be times where his fingers would brush yours when passing a mug across the table, only to quickly pull away and act like the contact burned him.

but none of it meant anything. not really.

he still felt a million miles away, always avoided your eyes, and spent his nights on the couch.

and every time you lay in bed alone, facing the empty space where your husband should have been… you wondered how long it would be before either of you finally broke the silence.

+

months passed.

coexistence— bland, neutral, suffocating— was the best words you could find for it. two strangers living under the same roof. two shadows moving through the same space.

you learned his footsteps before his voice. heavy boots against the tile, always coming home late, reeking of steel and smoke. the scent of blood sometimes lingered longer than it should’ve. cuts along his knuckles, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a cigarette tucked behind his ear he never once lit indoors.

he never offered answers. and you never asked questions.

your conversations always felt transactional— brief and stripped of anything personal. he moved like a man who’d locked his entire life behind closed doors, speaking only when necessary, silence curling in the spaces between

but sometimes, he surprised you.

like when your cough wouldn’t go away, and he left a steaming cup of tea on your nightstand. no note. just honey, lemon, and a quiet gesture you pretended not to notice. or the time your car wouldn’t start, and by morning it was fixed, keys hung on the hook with a single post-it note: ‘battery’s old. don’t leave the lights on.’ or when you dozed off on the couch and woke up in bed, tucked in gently—your socks gone, your blanket neatly arranged over your shoulders, the air warm from the space heater you hadn’t turned on yourself.

little things. fleeting and wordless. barely there, but enough to leave a mark.

enough to make you wonder.

does he care? or is this just guilt? pity? obligation?

you caught him watching you sometimes, too. not lecherous. not overt. just… lingering. like he couldn’t figure you out. like he was trying to memorize you without getting caught. his eyes would trail over your face like he didn’t quite believe you were real.

but he never touched you.

never kissed you.

never allowed himself get too close.

and maybe it was better that way. maybe it hurt less to imagine he didn’t want you than to accept the possibility that he did, and was just too afraid to act on it.

until one night, everything changed.

it was starting to rain. the steady patter against the window, soothing enough to lull you to sleep with a book on your chest and the bedside lamp still glowing, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. you curled beneath the blankets alone, as always, half-asleep before the storm even settled.

you didn’t hear him come in.

but you felt it— the sudden shift in the air, the creak of the floorboards, the dip of the mattress under his weight. his warm breath near the nape of your neck.

your heart kicked in your chest.

“…toji?” you whispered, uncertain, afraid to turn around.

a pause stretched long.

“…can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough, like it scraped against something inside him just to speak.

your pulse quickened. “you… wanna stay here tonight?”

he hesitated. the air thickened, heavy with tension.

when he finally responded, his voice was low. remorseful.

“should’ve been sleepin’ here from the start.”

you didn’t know what to say. but when you shifted, he took it as an invitation— easing into the sheets behind you, his massive arm hesitating before wrapping around your waist.

his touch was delicate. almost reverent.

you held your breath as his fingers brushed your stomach. then your ribs. then lower.

“you sure?” he whispered, lips grazing your ear.

you didn’t need time to think before you breathed out a barely audible, “yes.”

a pause. then a low groan, rumbling in his chest.

“good,” he growled, voice thick with restraint finally snapping. “been holdin’ back for too fuckin’ long.”

and then he finally kissed you.

it was messy. desperate. months of pent-up frustration crashing all at once. his mouth was warm, his lips greedy, tongue sweeping against yours like he needed to taste every piece of you. every part he’d denied himself.

you whimpered, hands fisting in his hair, and he groaned against your mouth— deep and guttural, as if it physically hurt to hold back.

“fuck, baby… taste so sweet,” he murmured, breath warm on your lips. his hands roamed, rough palms caressing your hips, your thighs, your stomach.

he pulled back just long enough to sit up and yank your nightshirt over your head in one swift motion, tossing it to the floor. you lay bare beneath him, chest rising and falling, lips parted in anticipation— the look in his eyes darkened, heat blooming behind his lashes. his gaze dropped to your underwear, and a crooked smirk curved his mouth.

“always sleepin’ in those little fuckin’ panties,” he muttered, laced with amusement and need. “you do it to tease me?”

“n-no, i—” your throat tightened as he hooked his fingers into the waistband, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness, knuckles brushing your skin.

“you do now,” he said, eyes never leaving you. “so pretty… ‘s all mine, yeah?”

you nodded quickly, heart thudding in your chest. “yours.”

he leaned down, kissed your collarbone, your chest, your waist— leaving no place of you untouched. his stubble scraped your skin, rough enough to make your thighs twitch, your breath hitch. you shivered as he moved lower, lips brushing along your inner thighs until he was nestled between them

“spread those legs, sweet girl,” he rasped. “lemme taste what i’ve been missin’.”

you obeyed instantly, trembling.

and then he was on you.

your cry cracked the silence, body jolting as his tongue met your folds— slow, deliberate, filthy. he devoured you like he was starving, tongue flat and thorough, savoring every bit of you with obscene groans vibrating against your pussy.

“fuck… so wet for me already,” he breathed between licks, voice muffled and wrecked. “this pretty lil’ cunt’s been waitin’, huh?”

“t-toji— ah!”

he moaned in response, sucking your clit into his mouth while two fingers pushed inside— curling just right, filling you so perfectly it made your toes curl. you were already so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t give you a second to catch your breath.

he kept going, relentless, mouth and hands working in tandem until your thighs shook around his head and your fingers tugged his hair, your orgasm ripping through you in thick waves as you cried out his name.

only when you fell back against the pillows, panting and soaked, did he finally stop.

he sat back on his knees, eyes half-lidded, licking his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of you. he made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it with one hand while the other gently stroked your thigh, soothing you. his cock was thick, flushed, the tip glistening. heavy in his palm as he stroked himself slow, watching the way your chest rose and fell.

“gonna fuck you slow,” he promised, “but i ain’t gonna be gentle.”

you whimpered. “want you… please, toji.”

he leaned in and kissed you again— deep and messy, still tasting like you— before guiding himself to your entrance and pressing in, steady and thick, easing deeper until your walls stretched to take all of him.

“fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice…”

he stayed still at first, letting you adjust to his size, forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. then he rolled his hips, slow and deep, dragging every ridge of him along your walls. you were already gasping, body arching into his, overwhelmed by how full he made you feel. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, grounding yourself against the dizzying pleasure.

and then he started to move— faster, deeper, driving into you with smooth, powerful thrusts. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard thudded against the wall in rhythm.

“yeah, take it, baby,” he grunted. “takin’ it so good for me.”

his mouth found your neck, then your shoulder, then your lips again— hot and open, tongue sliding against yours between moans. you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only hold on and feel. your nails raked down his back as he fucked you harder, each thrust making your breath hitch.

“always thought about this,” he confessed between gritted teeth. “every fuckin’ night on that couch. wanted to come in here… split you open.”

his hand came up to wrap around your throat, not choking, just holding. “look at me.”

your eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at you like he was worshipping you. you were already teary, completely undone, and somehow still falling apart beneath him.

his lips were back on yours, languid, teasing, yet driven by something deeper. like he finally understood what it meant to want.

“mine,” he growled, low and steady. “you hear me?”

“yours,” you whispered back, broken and sure.

he groaned as he came, burying himself as deep as he could go, hips grinding into you while he spilled inside— thick and warm, pulse after pulse. you felt it fill you, every drop, your walls fluttering around him as you whimpered through the overstimulation.

you clung to him like a lifeline, barely able to breathe.

and still, he didn’t move.

he stayed there, chest heaving, one hand cupping your cheek, nose brushing your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you. he kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw. soft and sweet and quiet.

“shouldn’t’ve waited this long,” he murmured against your skin. “you… you make this place feel like home.”

you blinked up at him, bleary-eyed.

“…i thought you didn’t like me,” you hesitantly confessed.

his brows pulled together. “didn’t like you?”

you nodded. “you always slept on the couch. you never talked to me…”

his expression softened, almost ashamed.

he lets out a shaky breath.

“did it ‘cause i didn’t wanna scare you. didn’t think i deserved to sleep next to you yet.”

your heart clenched so tightly you thought it might break.

“…you do,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “you do now.”

he leaned into your palm.

then kissed you— slow, tender, like he meant every breath of it.

that night, for the first time, you fell asleep in your husband’s arms.

and for once… he didn’t leave.

it's obstreperous. maybe he's right, and you are perverted in the head and can never be healed. you were so caught up in your own frustrations that you didn't hear the shower turn off, or suguru step out to watch you for god-knows how long before finally speaking up.

"so why is it you're so pent up that you've got to touch yourself while i'm showering?" he asks.

"my body was just so happy that you were gone," you roll your eyes, staring to turn over to face him. "it's like i dry up when you're around... so when you left i was just so happy that i felt a good old orgasm coming—oh."

your voice dies when you turn and find your best friend isn't standing at the doorway anymore. he's right by the bed, and you're suddenly face-to-face with the edge of his towel. his v-line is cut deep, and the happy trail that dips beneath the fabric is enough to reboot that achy need that had you touching yourself in the first place.

"quit staring, weirdo."

you snap your gaze up to him, though this new sight only makes things worse. suguru looking down at you, his lazy grin framed by damp hair... you can only imagine what look would wash over his face if you were looking up at him instead with his cock in your mouth. would you treat him well? make him feel as good as he made you? would your inexperience faze him or only spur him on? to be the only man that knows that the roof of your mouth feels like...

"you're squeezing your thighs together," he notes.

ah. so you are. you might just explode and die. "stop talking."

"what can i say? i like the sound of my own voice."

"i don't."

"i think you do."

"you think ? doesn't that hurt your brain, sugu?"

geto rolls his eyes and takes a step even closer. if you were to tilt your head down any, you'd probably brush against the prominent bulge that is now tenting the towel hardly staying together on his hips. shit, now you're staring again.

"i could help you out," he drawls. "like last week."

you blink up at him. "i don't need that."

he doesn't believe you, of course. and you're not about to admit to him that after feeling his mouth on you last week, you haven't been able to make yourself cum since. still, you aren't sure it's all because you miss his mouth.

you loved it, of course you did, but since he went home that evening and the two of you fell back into being friends-without-benefits, you'd found yourself thinking less about geto pleasing you, and thinking about learning how to please him. You want to know how it feels to flip this, to take him apart instead. To see if he falls to pieces as easily as you had under his tongue.

"what if i want to return the favour?"

geto looks almost as surprised as he did when he found your stash of literary porn that sparked this whole exploration saga. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the implication of your words going straight to his dick. and then he laughs. "oh? my sweet little pervert wants to get their mouth on me?"

asshole. "nope," you lie, rolling back over to face away from him. "not anymore."

"get on the floor."

you still. "what?"

"cmon," he's grabbing your arm with one of his big hands, his grip gentle but firm. "you wanna learn how to suck dick? now or never."

"sugu—" you start, but swallow when you see the look he's giving you. stern, but desperate in a way that convinces you that nothing could be sweeter than granting him release.

the floor is cold against your knees, but you can't seem to focus on anything other than suguru, who sits down on the edge of your bed, legs spread, leaning back on his arms. he's looking down at you still, not too differently than before.

there's a moment that passes where the two of you just look at each other. you wonder if this is how he felt last week, looking up at you from between your legs, near salivating at the prospect of tasting you.

"i don't know how," you whisper, glancing down to the tuck that keeps his towel in place, though your gaze is quickly lifted when geto takes your chin between his fingers and forces you to look up at him.

"sure you do," he says. "you read all that crazy porn, you've got a whole library of blowkjob scenes on that fucking phone of yours."

"you're not funny."

"yes i am," he smiles, and presses a thumb against your lips. instinctively, you open your mouth and let him push in. pressing down on your tongue, his breath hitches when you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck. "shit."

pulling his thumb out and replacing it with his pointer and middle fingers, he starts to slowly press in and out of your mouth. you wonder if he's visualising your lips around his cock instead, or if he's remembering how those same fingers looking plunging in and out of you last week.

"surely this isn't doing anything for you," you say, though your words and muffled by his still-moving fingers. there's no pleasure in sucking on his fingers, right?

"you have no fucking idea," is all he can manage in a reply. huh.

mentally shrugging, you let him finger-fuck your mouth for a little while longer before he finally pulls out and tucks his hair behind an ear.

you look pointedly down at his towel. "can i?"

"you—yeah, yeah go ahead."

you reach out and untuck his towel, noting the way he leans back on his elbows as you let the white cloth fall to either side of his lap. his cock is thick and so hard it looks painful and...

he's fucking huge. your eyes near bulge as you take in the full length, the weigh it weighs itself down as he shifts his hips. even the veins stand out like cords. you aren't quite sure whether you should drool at the sight or cry.

"all yours," geto says, and you don't know why, but it comforts you a little. just you and him, the man you're most comfortable with. if you're about to embarrass yourself, you'd rather it be with suguru.

you start with a kiss to his navel, though. pressing up on your knees to reach his abs, you ghost your lips over the line of dark hair that trails down to the base of his cock. your forefinger gently traces a bulging vein that runs up the underside of his cock and, when you reach the tip, you dart your tongue out and taste the precum that's already started to bead.

it's not as strong as you'd expected it to taste—salty if nothing else, and it spurs you on to then wrap your lips just around his achy tip. almost immediately, suguru lets out a low groan and bucks his hips up a little.

"careful," he says, though brings a hand up to the side of your face in a comforting gesture. "i'm... sensitive right now."

you furrow your brows and give him a look. sensitive?

"i just came a few minutes ago, your mouth is... a lot."

you have to make a conscious effort to pull off his cock before clenching your jaw, lest you want to bite the idiot's cock off. "huh!?" you sputter, wiping your lips. "you were teasing me for touching myself while you were in there jerking off?"

he blinks down at you. "yes."

"that's it? just yes?"

"...yes?"

you blink up at your best friend. stupid fucking hypocrite of a man, with his stupid fucking smile and stupid fucking massive dick. how embarrassed you had felt, despite suguru and your closeness, should have been reciprocated. he was doing the exact same thing as you were, and is now only reaping the rewards of your lust.

he's sensitive? you smile, which makes his smile drop in turn.

"why are you smiling like that? you know i don't trust you when— ohhh my fucking god ."

you've got half of his cock in your mouth before he can even start to process the blinding pleasure shooting up through his spine. it's a bit of a mess, owing to this being your first time, but has his balls tightening all the same.

"oh fuck you," suguru is squeezing his eyes shut tight as you put to use one of the techniques you've read countless times before and swirl your tongue around his tip. "those fucking books."

you'd smile if your lips weren't stretched around his girth. the sounds escaping him are enough to spur you on further, that combined with the taste and weight of his cock on your tongue and you think you've never been this wet before in your life. you wrap one hand around what of suguru's length you can't fit in your mouth, and then snake the other one downwards to dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

you're close already, though you keep your own pleasure at bay. being the first to cum while you're giving head would give suguru too much to tease you with, and you're rather enjoying the sight of him genuinely falling apart beneath you.

yeah, you aren't just friends. you're sure you'll continue to pretend to be, but just the thought of someone else in your position makes your ministrations speed up: this suddenly pathetic man is all yours, like it or not, and you think he always has been, in a way.

"you're sure... hah, fuck... you're sure you've never done this?" he's practically whining now, bucking his hips up in time with your stroking, forcing himself just that little bit deeper towards the back of your throat. you gag a little, but hold your position. "how the hell..."

you rub small circles over your clit in time with suguru's thrusts up into your mouth. the dual sensation of delivering pleasure both to him and yourself is threatening to undo you, and you know for a fact that suguru isn't far behind. you've never seen him messy like this, not even last week when the bottom half of his face was shiny with your wetness.

"i'm close," he warns, moving his hand from the side of your face to the back of your head. "gonna cum, all for you... you're so good to me, aren't you?"

so he rambles when he's close... noted.

"so pretty," he goes on. "fucking... god, fucking perfect. i'm so proud of you... i love you."

and so you stop, pulling back off his cock and looking up at him with eyes almost as wide as his own. he's staring back down at you, lips parted in shock at his own words.

"you love me?" you gawk, pulling your hand away from your pulsing heat.

"no," he's quick to shake his head. "i mean, well yeah, of course i love you. you're my best friend, i just... shit, you know? i didn't mean to—"

he's cut off by the laughter that bubbles out of your chest. it starts off small, and then grows louder with each harsh breath you take. "you should see your fucking face!" you giggle. "i'm fucking with you, idiot."

suguru lets out a half laugh in turn. "you fucking asshole."

"you deserve it," you catch your breath, inhaling deeply to calm yourself before tilting your head and looking your best friend in the eyes. "i love you too, you know."

it'd be a sweet moment between friends if your words didn't act as some sort of trigger for suguru. without warning, he's letting out a choked groan and bucking his hips up as ropes of hot cum spurt from his angry tip.

what doesn't hit your face or land on his stomach drips down his cock and over your hand where you still hold his still-throbbing length.

"did you just—"

"don't say a fucking word."

the two of you stare at each other for a moment. your gaze darts from suguru's softening cock, and then up to his pink-dusted face before returning southwards.

you lick your lips, tasting the salty cum that has painted them white, before ducking down and licking a long stripe up his shaft. you collect every last drop of his release, eyes never leaving his, as you swallow the mess suguru made at hearing you love him.

once his cock is clean, you push yourself up to sit on the bed beside him, and swipe two fingers through the mess pooling on his stomach.

because you like watching your best friend squirm, you mimic his actions from before and press your fingers into his waiting mouth. he's less eager to receive than you were, but cleans himself from your digits nonetheless.

"i get it now," you tease, pulling your fingers from his mouth and wiping your lips with them.

"get what?"

"that you're totally into me."

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.