Riah

you can hear itadori purr through paper thin bedroom walls as you spin webs of slick over your swollen clit — rubbing it mercilessly in tune with the dull thud of his bed against the barrier between you. you match your roommates pace, the switch between gruellingly slow grinds and thoughtful thrusts which you know hit deep. if you close your eyes, you can almost picture him above you, inside you, sinking into walls that welcome him back as though he had never left.

with one hand you spread your folds wide, strings of arousal breaking between them like ruined strands of glue. using the other, your fingers trace lower to press into your quivering hole — you picture yuuji’s stretch, how you’ll struggle to swallow his dick down to the hilt and how proud he’ll be when you do.

“fuck, don’t tell me you’ve had enough. you’re gonna take these inches just like the rest of me. you’re gonna be good, right? that’s what you are… good f’me. good for me.”

you can’t help the way you gush around your fingers at his voice. pulled tight in his throat by lust, gravely against a stranger’s ear to which you feel envious of. yuuji has always been a talker and you could genuinely listen to him for hours, but when he’s fucking someone just one wall away from you — muttering filthy verses into their skin, you know you won’t last very long.

“i can take it. i wanna take it, ‘ji,” you breathe to yourself, under warm breath and teary eyes. the stimulation your fingers provide as they nudge at your wet walls and g-spot — you imagine — hardly compare to the heavy press of yuuji’s cock against them. you know that you’d feel so full, feel his tip climbing up to your ribcage. you know you’ve never wanted someone so bad.

the pace next door quickens, the moans shared grow loud and uncontrolled and for a second — you think that he might be moaning for you. in your mind, you can taste the desperation in the curse words that slip from yuuji’s lips and layer over lewd squelching. the plap of your pussy ravaged by thick cock that throbs every time you clench.

“i want you to cum for me, baby,” he says distantly, fractured voice and slapping skin. “can you do that? cum for me?”

you nod and flex your fingers against every pleasure spot you know your rippling walls possess — imagining the new ones yuuji would discover if he were the one fucking you. “y-yes! i can… ‘m gonna… gonna cum for you ‘ji!” you shriek, muffling the pathetic sound with your shirt between your teeth. “fuck, yuuji!”

it hits when his hits, a tidal wave of lust in liquid form that rushes through your ears like hot blood and streams from your cunt in clear, perfect streams. the high pitched wail that claws its way out of you mimics itadori’s guttural groan while he finishes inside his partner.

“there’s so much cum, so fuckin’ much. wanna put it all inside you.” he chokes. “baby, oh my god.”

you bet it’s warm, viscous as it pools against their entrance. a sleepy thought you barely remember as the strength of your orgasm tugs you to sleep. a slumber where you’ll forget how loud you were when you came and how thin the walls really are.

because in the morning, there is no smell of bacon to rouse you, or hird plate set for breakfast nor is there a sweaty yuuji returning from the gym. its just him and tired eyes and a slanted smirk that makes your gut turn sideways as he carefully pries open your bedroom door — brown eyes dropping to the sticky fingers still buried between your thighs ( of course you’d fallen asleep fucking yourself ).

“i guess we both had fun last night, roomie,” yuuji beams. warm and sugary like molasses melted on a stove. “but what i’d really love to know is … if you were moaning my name to get a rise out of me or to get me to finally fuck you.”

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

"What? I'm just saying." He takes a lazy sip of beer. "You're way too tense these days. You need to hook up with someone. Let off some steam."

She gasps, swatting at his leg. "I absolutely am not."

He grins, eyes glinting. "Yes you are. I can't put my finger on it, but you just seem so restless lately. Like you're crawling out of your skin."

"It's just stress over work." She pulls the pillow tighter. "Writing for the New York Chronicles is a lot of work. Deadlines, interviews, fact-checking—"

"Uh-huh. And when's the last time you got properly fucked?"

"Ned!"

He laughs, full and unbothered. "I'm serious. Maybe some good dick will help you. Relax those shoulders, clear that head of yours. You're practically vibrating."

On the fire escape, Peter's hands tighten into fists.

She's mine.

The thought crashes through him, possessive and raw. His jaw aches from clenching. He watches her through the window—her flustered expression, the way she hides her face in the pillow, the way she doesn't deny it. She's restless. He knows. He's seen her pace her apartment at 2 a.m., seen her press her thighs together in the bathtub, heard the soft, frustrated moans she thinks no one can hear.

And he knows Ned is right. She needs release. But the idea of her finding that release in someone else—some stranger's hands, some stranger's mouth, some stranger's cock inside her—makes his stomach twist with something dark and violent.

"You're impossible," she mutters, throwing the pillow at Ned.

He catches it easily. "And you're in denial. But okay. Keep telling yourself it's deadlines."

She stands, smoothing her shirt. "I'm leaving before you say something even more embarrassing."

"Text me if you change your mind! I know a guy—"

"Goodnight, Ned!"

The door clicks shut. Ned chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

Peter stays frozen on the fire escape long after she's gone, her scent still lingering in the air, her laugh still ringing in his ears.

He knows what he has to do.

He has to reintroduce himself. Casually, carefully. Slide back into her life before she finds someone else to release those frustrations on. Before some other man touches what's his.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he watches her walk home from a rooftop three blocks away, her silhouette moving under the amber streetlights. He watches her pause at her door, glance over her shoulder like she feels something watching her. She hugs herself, shivers, and disappears inside.

Soon, he tells himself, pressing a hand over his chest where his heart used to belong to her. Soon I'll make you remember. Or I'll make you want me again.

But for now, he waits.

Peter stands outside the coffee shop, his reflection staring back at him from the glass door. He checks his hair three times—runs his fingers through it, smooths the front, tucks a stray strand behind his ear. The black shirt hugs his shoulders just right, and the glasses frame his face in a way that used to make Y/N bite her lip and look at him twice.

She loved these glasses, he thinks, adjusting them once more. She used to say I looked like a secret librarian. A hot one.

He takes a breath, pushes the door open, and walks in with a confidence he's been practicing for weeks.

The bell above the door chimes. Y/N looks up from the counter where she's been scribbling in a notebook—probably working on another article for the New York Chronicles. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She's wearing a simple apron over a cream sweater, and when she sees him, she smiles.

It's polite. Professional. The same smile she gives every customer working at her parent's cafe.

But it's still her smile, and his heart stumbles.

"Hi," she says, setting down her pen. "What can I get started for you?"

He steps up to the counter, leaning an elbow on the polished wood. "Hey. I'll take an iced americano and a chocolate donut."

She nods, writing it down. "Anything else?"

"No, thanks. That's perfect."

She turns to prepare the coffee, and he watches her movements—efficient, practiced. The way she scoops ice, pours the espresso, reaches for the donut with a tissue. When she turns back and hands him the cup, their fingers brush.

It's barely a second. Just a whisper of contact.

But she pauses, her eyes lifting to his face. A flicker of something—recognition? Curiosity?—passes through her gaze before she blinks it away.

"Here you go," she says softly.

He takes the cup, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks."

She smiles again, a little different this time—warmer, a hint of confusion. Then she turns back to the sink where a few dishes are waiting, rolling up her sleeves.

Peter takes a seat by the window, sipping his americano, watching her from behind his glasses. She's humming softly, something he doesn't recognize. From the back room, he hears Ned's voice, humming some pop song, the clatter of boxes being moved.

Over the next few weeks, he becomes a regular.

He comes in every other day, sometimes every day. Always orders the same thing—iced americano, chocolate donut. Sometimes he grabs a table and pretends to work on his laptop, but really he's watching her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she bites her lip while reading. The way she laughs at something Ned says, bright and easy.

Their interactions are casual. Limited.

"Morning Peter." She learns his name.

"The usual?" She asks.

"You know it."

A smile. A quick exchange. Then she's busy, and he's left with the ghost of her attention.

It's not enough.

So one afternoon, when the shop is empty and Ned is in the back, he makes his move.

He walks up to the counter, coffee in hand, and as he reaches to pay, he lets his wrist go slack. The cup tips. The lid pops off. Brown liquid splashes across the floor, a puddle spreading near his feet.

"Shit," he mutters, a little too loud.

Y/N spins around from the espresso machine. "Oh no! Don't worry, I'll get it—"

She grabs a roll of paper towels from under the counter and moves to crouch down, but he's already there. He takes the roll from her hands, his fingers closing over hers for a brief, deliberate second.

"It was my fault," he says, meeting her eyes. "Don't worry about it."

"Really, I can—"

"Nope. I got it." He kneels, wiping up the mess quickly, ignoring her protests. "You have enough to do. Let me take care of this."

She stands there, hands on her hips, watching him clean up her floor with an expression caught between amused and impressed.

"You're not going to let me help, are you?" she asks.

"Nope." He finishes, tosses the wet paper towels in the trash, and straightens up. "See? All good."

She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're stubborn."

"I prefer determined."

"A determined mess-maker."

He laughs—a real laugh, not the careful one he's been using.

They stand there, the air between them easier now, the tension cracked open. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms, studying him with fresh eyes.

"You come here a lot," she says.

"I do. Good coffee. Good donuts." He pauses, letting his voice drop just a fraction. "Good company."

Her cheeks flush. She looks down, then back up, a spark in her gaze. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Born and raised. Just... been away for a while."

"Ah. A returning native."

"Something like that."

She tilts her head. "What do you do, Peter? Besides cleaning up your own messes?"

"I'm a freelance photographer. I take pictures of the city, the people. Try to capture moments that don't last."

Her eyes light up. "That sounds beautiful."

"It has its moments." He holds her gaze. "Maybe I could show you sometime. If you're interested."

The offer hangs in the air, soft and deliberate. She bites her lower lip, considering, and he feels his pulse quicken.

"I'd like that," she says quietly.

A bell rings from the back—Ned calling something about a shipment. The moment breaks, but it doesn't shatter. It settles into something warm, something potential.

"I should let you get back to work," Peter says, stepping back. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?"

"Same time," she confirms, her smile lingering.

He walks out of the coffee shop, heart hammering, a grin threatening to break across his face. He doesn't look back, but he doesn't need to.

He knows he has her attention now.

Ned slides up beside Y/N the moment the door swings shut behind Peter. He nudges her shoulder with his, a knowing grin already spreading across his face.

"Okay, so that guy? Exactly your type."

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck. "Peter?"

"Obviously Peter." Ned leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Like, I get it. He's attractive in that nonchalant way. The whole I just rolled out of bed but I'm still hotter than you vibe. And that confidence? It's practically dripping off him." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Makes you horny, doesn't it?"

"Ned!" She smacks his shoulder, but she's laughing. "Shut up. He's just a nice guy."

"A nice guy who you've been staring at for three weeks straight."

"I have not—"

"You literally watched him walk to the door just now. Like a sad puppy."

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because he's right. She did watch him. She always watches him.

Ned groans, shaking his head with mock exasperation. "When you two finally hook up, I'm going to be right there to say I told you so."

"He's just a customer, Injun."

"Mhmm. Sure." He pats her shoulder and heads toward the back room, already humming again, leaving her standing there with her thoughts.

She bites her lip.

He's just a customer, she tells herself. But her mind drifts anyway, unbidden.

His voice—low and warm, with a teasing edge that makes her stomach flip. The way he carries himself, relaxed but aware, like he knows exactly what he's doing at all times. His baggy clothes, the way they hang off his frame, hiding and revealing at the same time. The silver rings on his fingers. That little smirk he gives her sometimes, like he's in on a joke she hasn't heard yet.

Her exes were... fine. Nice. Respectful. Boring.

They held doors open and said please and thank you. They kissed her forehead and asked if she was comfortable. They never made her pulse race. They never made her wonder what it would feel like to be pushed against a wall and taken.

Peter does.

He gives her mystery. Maybe even a little danger. The way he looks at her sometimes, like he's holding something back—something intense.

She shakes her head, physically trying to dislodge the thought. Crazy. You don't even know him.

But the thought lingers, hot and stubborn, all the way through the rest of her shift. It follows her home, past the subway, up the stairs to her apartment. It settles in her bones the moment she closes her door.

---

She's restless.

The apartment is quiet, dark except for the lamp by her bed. She changes into a tank top and shorts, lies down, tosses, turns. Her body feels tight—a coil wound too tight, needing release.

She gives in.

From the nightstand drawer, she pulls out her vibrator—a sleek pink thing she's had for years. She lies back, spreads her legs, and lets the hum of the motor fill the silence.

Her mind drifts to him.

To Peter. To his hands. Those rings. What they'd feel like gripping her thighs. His voice, low in her ear, telling her exactly what he's going to do to her.

She presses the vibrator harder against her clit, her breath hitching. She thinks about his smirk, his confidence, the way he holds her gaze a second too long. She chases the image, lets it build—

And then she comes.

A sharp, quick release. A gasp. The tension snaps, but it doesn't dissolve. It just... scatters. Falls apart unsatisfyingly.

She sighs, letting the vibrator drop onto the mattress. Her body feels hollow. Empty. Like the orgasm barely scratched the surface of what she actually needs.

"Fuck," she whispers to the ceiling.

She lies there, staring at the dark, her skin still buzzing with unresolved heat. She wants more. She wants him. But he's a stranger. A customer. Nothing.

She rolls onto her side, pulls the blanket up, and tries to sleep.

---

Outside her window, perched on a fire escape three buildings over, Peter watches the dark shape of her bedroom through the gap in her curtains.

He didn't look. Not directly. He swung toward her building on instinct, drawn by the familiar pull of her presence, and he landed on the adjacent rooftop just in time to hear it.

The buzz of the vibrator. Her soft, breathy moans.

His name. She whispered his name—Peter—on a desperate exhale.

And then the sigh. That disappointed, hollow sigh at the end.

He heard it all.

His fingers curl into a fist against the brick wall beside him. A smirk spreads across his face, slow and predatory, mixing with the ache in his chest.

You're not satisfied, are you, baby?

He knows the feeling. He's been unsatisfied too—in a different way. Hungry for her touch, her voice, her warmth. But that hunger is about to be fed.

He pushes off the ledge, letting the night air rush past him as he swings into the darkness.

Soon. I'll take my rightful place soon.

Below him, the city blurs. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance. Another night of crime waits for him—thugs to stop, civilians to save. The usual.

But tonight, for the first time in weeks, he feels something close to hope.

———

It starts slowly.

A whisper of warmth against her skin. The weight of a body behind her, pressed close, solid and familiar. She can't see his face, but she knows him—or rather, her body knows him. Her back arches into his chest instinctively, seeking more contact.

His hands. God, his hands. Calloused palms sliding up her thighs, fingers digging into her hips with just enough pressure to bruise. She feels the cool bite of metal rings against her overheated skin. A low chuckle rumbles against her ear.

"You've been so good for me, baby. But I'm gonna take what's mine now."

She opens her mouth to respond, but he's already rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, positioning her on her knees. The sheets are soft beneath her palms. She can feel his cock—thick, hard, pressing against her soaked entrance—and she whimpers, pushing back against him.

"Please," she breathes. "Please, I need—"

He cuts her off with a sharp thrust. He slams into her to the hilt, and she screams, her body clenching around him immediately. He doesn't stop. He fucks her like he owns her, like he's been waiting for this, each stroke deep and punishing, hitting a spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."

His voice is low, rough, almost unrecognizable through the fog of lust. She can't think. She can only feel—the stretch, the burn, the relentless pounding. He wraps a hand around her throat, not choking, just holding, tilting her head back so he can whisper directly into her ear.

"You missed me, didn't you? Your tight little pussy missed me. Say it."

"I—yes—fuck—I missed you—"

He groans, a sound so raw it vibrates through her bones. His pace quickens, his grip on her hip bruising. She feels the coil building, tighter and tighter, her moans turning into desperate sobs—

And then she wakes up.

---

Gasping.

Y/N bolts upright in bed, her tank top soaked with sweat, her thighs sticky with arousal. The sheets are twisted around her legs. Her pussy is throbbing, clenching around nothing, so empty it almost hurts.

She blinks at the ceiling, panting.

What the fuck was that?

The dream is already fading, slipping through her fingers like water. She remembers heat. A deep voice. Being pinned down and fucked senseless. But the face—she can't remember the face. Just a blur of dark hair, broad shoulders, a cruel smirk.

She presses her palm against her cunt, gasping at the sensitivity. She's soaked. Her thighs are slick. Her hole flutters, desperate to be filled.

"Fucking hell," she mutters, flopping back onto the pillows.

It's been like this for almost a week now. Every night, another dream. Some nights she's on her knees, sucking a thick cock while a hand tangles in her hair. Some nights she's tied to a bed, spread open, being fucked so slowly she can feel every inch drag against her walls. Some nights it's just a voice—a low, possessive voice—calling her filthy, desperate, mine.

She always wakes up the same way: wet, aching, unsatisfied.

She reaches for her vibrator on the nightstand, but even as she presses it against her clit, she knows it won't be enough. It never is anymore. She comes—hard, fast, grinding into the plastic—but the release is hollow. An echo of what her body actually craves.

She doesn't know what that is.

Her exes were boring. They never made her feel claimed. They never made her scream.

But her body wants something more, something she's never experienced. Or so she thinks.

She sighs, tossing the vibrator aside. Her cunt still throbs, still clenches, still weeps for something she can't name.

Why does this feel like grief?

---

Across the city, perched on a water tower overlooking her block, Peter watches the distant glow of her window with a dark, hungry expression.

He knows.

He's been watching her sleep through the gap in her curtains. He's heard her moans, her whimpers, the desperate sounds she makes when she's lost in a dream he put there—not consciously, but through the lingering threads of the spell that binds them. She can't remember him, but her body can. Her body is a traitor, whispering his name in the language of her muscles, her slick, her trembling thighs.

He clenches his fists, his cock hardening painfully in his suit.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath.

I'll give you what you're craving soon.

He pushes off the water tower, swinging into the night, leaving his mark on the rooftops like a promise.

But he doesn't go far. He lands on the fire escape just outside her window—close enough to hear her frustrated sigh, the rustle of sheets as she rolls over, the quiet, desperate whisper she thinks no one hears:

"What do I need? What's wrong with me?"

He presses a hand to the glass, his rings glinting in the moonlight.

Nothing's wrong with you, love. You just need me.

————

The morning rush at the coffee shop had been mercifully slow, leaving Y/N and Ned with nothing better to do than wipe down the already-clean countertops in a lazy, synchronized rhythm. The TV mounted in the corner murmured in the background—some local news broadcast about a bank robbery in Midtown. The anchor's voice was tinny, almost an afterthought.

"...and witnesses report that Spider-Man intervened just moments after the robbers entered. No casualties reported. The web-slinger made a quick escape as usual—"

Y/N didn't look up. Neither did Ned. It was New York. Spider-Man stopping a robbery was as routine as a subway delay. They'd both heard the name so many times it barely registered anymore—a ghost in red and blue, flickering across screens, saving lives, disappearing.

Ned hummed a tune under his breath, rubbing a smudge off the granite with his thumb. Y/N's mind was elsewhere. Still half-lost in the hazy aftertaste of another dream from last night—the echo of a deep voice, the phantom weight of hands on her hips, the ache between her legs that hadn't fully faded even after she'd come twice this morning.

She bit her lip, grip tightening on the rag.

Focus. Work. Coffee. Normal stuff.

The little bell above the door jingled.

She looked up.

And there he was.

Peter stepped inside, and she felt the air shift. He was breathing hard, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso like a second skin, dark patches of sweat spreading across his chest and under his arms. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in messy waves, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened over his neck and collarbones.

He looked exhausted. But also... good. Really good.

"Hey," Y/N said, her voice coming out a little too breathy. She cleared her throat. "You okay?"

He offered a tired smile, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Just tired. Killed it at the gym today." He let out a huff of laughter, rolling one shoulder like it ached. "Didn't realize I pushed myself that hard."

She nodded, already moving to make his usual ice americano. Her body went through the motions automatically while her eyes trailed down his frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the tanned skin. The sweat highlighted every contour—the arch of his biceps, the column of his throat, the way his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath.

Shit. She felt heat creep up her cheeks.

Her gaze dropped lower, catching a glint of silver at his wrist. A bracelet—woven black cord with a small metallic charm, a roughly shaped star. It looked handmade, well-worn, the edges smooth like it had been touched a thousand times.

She slid the cup across the counter toward him. "That's pretty," she said, nodding at the bracelet.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. A flash of emotion too fast to name—hope? Pain? He opened his mouth, and she could've sworn she saw him about to say something, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

Do you remember that you gave this to me?

But the words didn't come. He just watched her as she pulled away from the counter, already turning back to the rag in her hand.

Of course she didn't remember.

"Thanks," she said over her shoulder, already distracted, moving toward the back to restock napkins.

Peter stared at the bracelet on his wrist. The star charm. She'd made it for him on their six-month anniversary, clumsily braiding the cord while sitting cross-legged on his bed, laughing about how she'd never made jewelry before. "So you don't forget me," she'd said, pressing it into his palm. "Wear it even when you're being Spider-Man. I want to be with you, always."

He clenched his jaw, forcing the ache down his throat.

She doesn't remember. Of course she doesn't. You knew that.

Ned slid off his stool and walked over, holding out a napkin. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but pointed. "Your forehead's bleeding a bit."

Peter blinked, reaching up. His fingers came away with a smear of red. Shit. Must've caught a stray piece of debris during the takedown. He'd been too focused on getting there fast—on changing out of the suit in that alley, on making it to the shop before she closed—that he hadn't bothered to check for damage.

"Ah, that." He took the napkin with a casual shrug, pressing it to the cut. "Tripped on the way here. Almost ate pavement. Stupid, I know."

Ned's eyes lingered on him a moment too long, a quiet skepticism behind his gentle gaze. He didn't say anything, but Peter could feel the weight of his unspoken question.

That's a weird place to trip. And you're too banged up for just a fall. And you showed up right after Spider-Man was seen.

But Ned just nodded, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "Be careful," he said simply, and walked back to the counter.

Peter exhaled slowly, pressing the napkin harder against his temple. He watched Y/N move behind the counter, her hair tied in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was beautiful. She was his. And she didn't even know it.

He took a long sip of the coffee she'd made him, letting the bitterness ground him.

He smiled against the rim of the cup, eyes fixed on the curve of her back as she bent down to grab more cups from the low shelf.

The bracelet gleamed on his wrist like a promise.

The morning air in Manhattan carried the usual cocktail of exhaust fumes, pretzel cart steam, and distant sirens. Y/N walked with her messenger bag slung across her body, earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats keeping her grounded. The New York Chronicle skyscraper loomed ahead, all glass and steel, reflecting the pale winter sun. She was running a little early today, which meant she could grab a decent coffee from the lobby cart before heading up to her desk.

She was two blocks away when the screaming started.

At first, it was distant—a ripple through the crowd ahead. Then it grew, a wave of panic rolling toward her. People began sprinting in her direction, faces twisted with fear, elbows knocking pamphlets and coffee cups out of the way. A woman clutching a toddler nearly collided with her.

"What—" Y/N pulled out her earbuds, heart lurching. "What's happening?"

No one stopped to answer. The tide of bodies pushed past her, and she stumbled sideways, grabbing a lamppost to steady herself. Then she saw it: a column of smoke rising from the base of the Chronicle building. Orange flames licked at a collapsed awning. Glass littered the street like crushed diamonds.

Oh god. That's the lobby.

Her feet started moving before her brain caught up. She had to get in there. Had to see if her coworkers—her editor, the layout team, Maria from HR who always gave her extra granola bars—were okay. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.

"HEY!"

A blur of red and blue dropped from above, landing in front of her with a soft thud that cracked the asphalt. She yelped, skidding to a halt.

Spider-Man.

His lenses narrowed, body angled like he was about to grab her.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was modulated, sharp with urgency. "There's a gas leak—could blow again any second. Get back."

"I have to see if the people in that building are okay!" She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, a wall of spandex and muscle.

"I'll check. You stay here." He pointed a gloved finger at the sidewalk behind her. "Don't move."

She barely registered that she'd just been ordered around by a superhero. Her heart was hammering. The smoke stung her nostrils. "I'm not just going to—"

He was already turning, preparing to leap. She took a step forward, following him.

A sharp thwip sliced through the air.

Something snapped around her right wrist—a rope of white webbing, sticky and warm, yanking her arm sideways. She stumbled, grunting, and found herself anchored to the handle of a police cruiser parked at the curb. The web held fast, elastic but unyielding.

"What the hell?!" She yanked at her wrist, but the webbing stretched and held. "Are you serious right now?!"

Spider-Man paused, tilting his head. She could almost hear the smirk behind the mask. "Nope. Wait here. I'll free you after I'm sure it's safe."

And then he was gone, a red streak disappearing into the smoke-filled doorway.

Y/N stood there, arm stretched awkwardly toward the cop car, jaw hanging open. People were still running past her, but the immediate panic was thinning. She looked at her wrist, at the white strands wrapped snugly around it, and felt a jolt—not of anger, but of something else.

The texture. The pressure. The slight give when she pulled.

Her breath caught.

She was in her bedroom. The lights were dim. Her wrist was bound to the bedpost with...not a rope...not a scarf...something else entirely. Her arms stretched above her head and a dark figure hovered over her. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his weight, his heat, the deep rumble of his voice against her ear.

"Stay still, baby. I'm not done with you yet."

The memory dissolved as quickly as it came, leaving her gasping on the sidewalk, knees weak.

What the fuck?

She shook her head violently, pressing her free hand to her flushed cheek. "I'm starting to feel like a fucking sex addict," she muttered under her breath. Of all the things to think about right now—tied to a car by Spider-Man—her brain was conjuring erotic flashbacks? With...Spider-Man? For all she knew, the guy was a forty-year-old accountant underneath that suit. He could be balding.

But he didn't move like a forty-year-old. And his voice, even through the modulator, had a certain quality—young, confident, teasing.

She shook her head again, harder. Stop it. Focus. The building.

A few minutes passed. The fire trucks arrived. EMTs started setting up a triage zone. Y/N strained her neck, trying to see if anyone was being carried out. She pulled at the web again, frustrated, but it held true.

Then Spider-Man emerged from the smoke, walking casually now, hands on his hips. He jogged over to her.

"Building's clear. No casualties. Gas leak was contained before it got worse. Minor injuries, but everyone's out." He reached for the web on her wrist and gave it a sharp tug setting her free.

She rubbed her wrist, red and slightly raw. "That wasn't cool. You could have just asked me to stay."

"I did. You didn't listen." He shrugged, the motion exaggerated by the suit's padding. "You should be more careful. People get hurt when they run toward explosions."

"I work there." She glared at him. "I was worried about my friends."

He was quiet for a second, his head tilted. She could feel his gaze through the white lenses, studying her. There was something familiar about the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders.

Then he straightened. "Bye."

And with a single leap, he was gone, swinging between buildings, disappearing into the Manhattan skyline before she could even respond.

Y/N stood there, mouth half-open, hand still rubbing her wrist. The phantom sensation of the web lingered—soft, taut, possessive. Her skin tingled where it had been wrapped.

Why does that feel like a memory I can't reach?

She stared up at the empty sky, the smoke still curling into the gray clouds.

And for some reason, her thighs pressed together.

Get a grip, Y/N. He's a stranger in a mask.

But her body didn't believe that. Not for a second.

The evening air did nothing to cool the heat lingering beneath Y/N's skin. After the chaos at the Chronicle building, after being webbed to a police car like some disobedient puppy, after the shredded remains of her dignity scattered across Sixth Avenue—she'd gone through the motions. Talked to her editor. Confirmed everyone was safe. Filed a preliminary report on the gas leak. Smiled at Maria's thanks.

But all the way home, her wrist tingled. The ghost of that webbing refused to fade.

Now she stood in her apartment, shoes kicked off, coat thrown over the armchair. The city lights bled through her window, painting amber stripes across her wooden floor. She should shower. Eat something. Answer the three texts Ned had sent asking if she was okay.

Instead, she grabbed her laptop and collapsed onto her bed, flipping it open.

YouTube.

Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it. She typed in the search bar: Spider-Man New York 2024.

The results flooded the screen. News clips. Fan edits. Compilations titled "Spider-Man's Top 10 Saves" and "Spider-Man Being a Menace for 12 Minutes Straight." She clicked the first one—a news report from two months ago, shaky cell phone footage of Spider-Man webbing a falling construction beam before it crushed a bus.

She watched it twice. Then a third time.

The comments section was a battlefield.

"whoever is under that suit is DEFINITELY packing i'm not taking questions"

"imagine getting railed by spider-man... the grip?? the stamina???"

"he literally fights crime every night and still has time to help old ladies cross the street... husband material"

"plot twist: he's actually a 50 year old dude with a beer belly and we're all just simping for spandex"

"even if he is 50 i'd still let him web me to the bed 🥴"

Y/N snorted despite herself, scrolling deeper. The thirst was real, embarrassingly real. These women were out there, posting paragraphs about what they'd let Spider-Man do to them. What they'd do to him. She felt a pang of something—not judgment, because who was she to judge—but recognition.

She'd felt that web around her wrist. She'd felt the possessiveness in that single thwip.

And God help her, she wanted to feel it again.

She clicked on another video. This one was different—a street interview, low-budget, filmed by someone's phone. The camera focused on Spider-Man, standing casually beside a hot dog cart, and standing next to him was a little boy—maybe eight years old, holding a notebook.

The interviewer says, "We've got a special guest today—this is Liam, and he wanted to ask Spider-Man a few questions."

Spider-Man crouched down to the boy's level. His lenses softened, tilted—the body language of someone genuinely engaged. He reached out and patted the kid's head, a casual, affectionate gesture.

"Go ahead, Liam. I'm all ears."

And he laughed—a low, warm chuckle that cut through the modulator like a blade through silk.

Y/N's breath hitched.

That laugh. She knew that laugh. It tickled something deep in her chest, a phantom sensation, like a voice calling from underwater. Her fingers tightened on the laptop. She replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times.

"I'm all ears."

The way he said it—teasing, gentle, familiar.

She shook her head, hard. You're projecting. Every guy laughs. It's not him. You don't even know who "him" is.

But her skin was prickling. Her thighs pressed together under the laptop.

She kept scrolling.

There was a Reddit link. r/SpiderManFantasies (NSFW). Her thumb hovered over it for a full ten seconds before she clicked.

The forum was a treasure trove of desperation. Women (and some men) posting photos they'd taken of Spider-Man mid-swing, or perched on a rooftop, or standing in the middle of a street after a rescue. The photos weren't explicit—they couldn't be, he was fully suited—but the captions were anything but.

"If I ever meet him I'm dropping to my knees immediately. That suit does NOT hide what he's working with."

"Imagine him pinning you down after a fight, all that adrenaline still pumping... you'd feel the bass in his chest."

"I don't even care what he looks like. I just want one night. ONE. NIGHT. With whoever is under that mask."

One post showed a blurry shot of Spider-Man crouched on a fire escape, his legs spread, the suit stretching taut across his thighs. The caption read: "I want to sit on his face and never get up."

Y/N closed the laptop so fast the screen clicked shut.

Her heart was hammering. Her cheeks burned. She pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning.

"I'm not above this," she whispered to the empty room. "I'm so far below this it's embarrassing."

She threw the laptop aside and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The city hummed outside—distant sirens, a neighbor's TV, the low bass of a car passing by. Her skin felt too tight. Her cunt ached, a dull, persistent throb that had been living in her bones for weeks now.

The clock on her nightstand read 11:47 PM when Y/N finally collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her jeans and a thin camisole.

Sleep came heavy and reluctant.

---

She woke with a gasp, thighs pressed together, a dull throb between her legs.

The clock read 2:47 AM.

Her skin was damp with sweat. Her nipples were hard, rubbing against the cotton of her shirt. She'd been dreaming again—fragments of a body above her, weight pressing her into the mattress, a warm mouth trailing down her stomach. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his hands. Strong, calloused, knowing exactly where to touch.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you."

She threw an arm over her eyes, breathing hard. She was wet, aching, clenching around nothing. She slid a hand down her belly, into her underwear, her fingers finding her clit swollen and desperate.

She rubbed herself slowly, trying to chase a release that never came. She imagined the web wrapped around her wrist again. Spider-Man's lenses staring down at her. The low laugh from the video.

"Fuck," she whimpered, fingers moving faster. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She could feel a shape just out of reach.

Her body remembered. Her mind didn't.

She pressed her palm harder, hips bucking, but the orgasm hovered like a mirage, untouchable. She let out a frustrated sob, pulling her hand away, her chest heaving.

Outside, on the fire escape, a shadow shifted.

Peter pressed his back against the brick wall, his own breathing uneven. He'd heard her whimper through the glass. Heard the wet sound of her fingers working. The whine of her frustration when she couldn't finish.

His cock was hard, straining against the suit. He'd come here to check on her after the explosion—to make sure she was safe, to watch her sleep like he did most nights. He hadn't expected this.

But he couldn't leave. Not while she was aching.

Not when he was the only one who could fix it.

He pressed a palm against the cold glass of her window, the mask hiding the anguish on his face. Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll find a way.

But for now, he just listened to her breathe, and hated the spell that kept them apart.

———

The knock that rattled Ned's door at 11 PM was frantic—three sharp, pounding hits, then a pause, then another. He barely had time to unlatch the lock before Y/N pushed past him into his apartment, her eyes wild, her hair a mess, her chest heaving like she'd run the whole way.

"Okay," she said, hands on her hips, pacing his narrow living room. "You were right. You were fucking right."

Ned closed the door slowly, crossing his arms. He was in sweatpants and an old band tee, clearly winding down for the night. "Right about what, exactly? Because I'm right about a lot of things."

She whirled on him, jaw tight. "The sex thing. The needing-to-get-laid thing. The I'm crawling out of my skin thing." She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at the roots. "It's not just being horny, Ned. It's like—" She stopped, struggling for words. "It's like my body is craving something specific. A specific touch. A specific rhythm. A specific person. But I don't know who or what. I don't remember. I just feel this ache that nothing fills."

Ned's teasing demeanor softened. He gestured to the couch, and she collapsed onto it, head in her hands.

He sat beside her, voice careful. "An ex? Someone you dated before? Maybe your brain locked away a breakup that hit you harder than you think."

She looked up, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "No. It's not an ex. I don't have any traumatic breakup memory. It's—" She groaned, frustrated. "I don't know. It feels like a ghost. A phantom limb."

Ned was quiet for a moment. Then he said, slowly, "Maybe you don't need to find that specific person. Maybe you just need to try someone new."

She blinked at him. The idea hung in the air, fresh and foreign.

"Someone new," she repeated, tasting the words.

"Someone who doesn't come with baggage or memories. Someone who can just—" He made a vague gesture. "Fuck you into forgetting whatever's haunting you. A clean slate. A hot body. A night of no strings."

She stared at him. Then, slowly, a nod. "Maybe you're right."

His grin spread wide. "I am right. And I know exactly how to start." He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. "There's that new nightclub in midtown. Opened last week. 'Velvet Underground.' It's got black lights, VIP booths, and supposedly a very attractive bartender who does body shots. I've been dying to go."

"A club," she said flatly.

"A club where you can find a guy—or girl, no judgment—who will take you home and fuck you until you forget your own name. That kind of club."

She chewed her lip. The idea terrified her. Thrilled her. She thought of her empty bed, the wet sheets, the incomplete orgasms. She thought of the phantom hands in her dreams.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Let's do it."

Ned clapped his hands together. "Yes. I'll text you the details. Wear something slutty. I'm talking a dress that says 'I'm here to get railed.'"

She laughed—a real laugh, shaky but genuine. "You're such a bad influence."

"Someone has to be."

They spent the next hour planning. What time to arrive. Which drinks to order. An exit strategy if the guy was a creep. Y/N felt lighter than she had in weeks, a fragile hope blooming in her chest.

---

Outside, pressed against the brick wall of the adjacent building, a figure in red and blue watched through the sliver of curtain left uncovered.

Peter's hands curled into fists.

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Someone new.

The words echoed in his skull, each syllable a knife twist. She was going to let some stranger touch her. Some random guy from a club. He'd put his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat...

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, muffled by the mask.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

He pushed off the wall, landing silently on the fire escape below. His mind raced. He couldn't stop her—not directly. He couldn't reveal himself, couldn't break the spell. But he could intercept. He could follow. He could make sure that no one—no one—got close enough to touch what was his.

Even if she didn't remember it.

He swung into the night, a plan already forming. The club. He'd be there. Not as Spider-Man—too obvious. He'd ditch the suit, put on something tight, something that would make her look. He'd find her on the dance floor, buy her a drink, let the night unfold.

The hunt was on.

The strapless bodycon dress was a weapon, and Y/N knew it.

Black velvet hugged every curve from her collarbone to mid-thigh, the hem riding up just enough to make men's eyes glaze over. She'd paired it with strappy heels that made her legs look miles long and a thin silver necklace that caught the light. Her hair fell in loose waves, makeup smoky and deliberate.

Ned let out a low whistle when she stepped out of her bedroom. "Holy shit."

"Too much?" She tugged at the neckline nervously.

"Not enough. You're going to break necks tonight. Possibly some hearts too, but who's counting." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, laughing. "Let's get me laid."

---

The Velvet Underground lived up to its name. The interior was all dark burgundy and dim gold lighting, with a massive dance floor pulsing under black lights that made white fabrics glow. Bodies moved together in a haze of sweat and bass, the air thick with perfume and alcohol.

They claimed a spot at the bar, and Ned ordered them both shots of tequila. "Warm-up," he shouted over the music.

Y/N downed hers, grimacing at the burn. A second followed. Then a third.

By the fourth, the edges of her anxiety had blurred into a pleasant haze. The bass thrummed through her bones, and she found herself swaying, scanning the crowd. Potential candidates everywhere—sharp jawlines, broad shoulders, confident grins.

None of them made her stomach flip.

But then the door opened.

And he walked in.

Peter had planned this.

Tight black jeans that hugged his thighs and sat low on his hips. A simple white T-shirt, thin enough that the outline of his chest was visible when he moved. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms. He'd styled his hair messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he wore that lazy half-smirk that had always made her knees weak.

Her favorite outfit.

He remembered the first time she'd seen him in it. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and he'd shown up at her door looking like this. She'd pulled him inside by his collar, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him so deep he'd seen stars. Her hands had tangled in his hair, pulling, while the other roamed down his stomach to palm him through the denim. She'd broken the kiss just to whisper against his lips, "You look so good it should be illegal. I want to ruin you."

And she had. For hours.

He carried that memory in his bones as he pushed open the club door, scanning the crowd with practiced casualness. His eyes landed on the bar.

There she was.

Strapless black dress. Hair loose. Cheeks flushed from alcohol. She was even more beautiful than he remembered—which was saying something, because he remembered every detail.

He pretended not to see her at first. Ordered a drink. Leaned against the bar, letting the black lights catch the contours of his arms.

Then Ned spotted him.

"Hey! Peter!"

Peter turned, feigning surprise. His eyes landed on Y/N, and he let them widen slightly—just enough. "Oh. Hey. Didn't expect to see you guys here."

Y/N's breath caught. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. "Hi."

Just that. Hi. But the word came out breathy, almost involuntary.

Ned gestured him over. "Come join us. We're just warming up. Y/N's on a mission tonight."

"A mission?" Peter raised an eyebrow, sliding onto the stool beside her. Close enough that his knee brushed hers under the bar. "Sounds intriguing."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words came out slurred. "M'sion... find someone... hot..."

Ned sighed. "I think the tequila hit faster than expected."

Peter smiled knowingly. She always did get tipsy fast. Three drinks and she'd be clinging to him, whispering dirty things in his ear. Four and she'd be begging to go home. Five and she'd be asleep before they hit the door.

"I can help you get her home," he offered, voice steady. "If you want."

Ned looked relieved. "God, yes. I was not looking forward to carrying her six blocks in those heels."

They helped her off the stool. Her legs wobbled, and she stumbled forward—

Right into Peter's arms.

Her palms landed flat on his chest. Her head tipped up, eyes glassy and unfocused. She blinked at him, a dopey smile spreading across her face. "Wow. You're... strong."

His hands caught her waist, steadying her. The velvet of her dress was soft under his fingers, her skin warm beneath the fabric. He could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse.

He lowered his voice, letting it dip into that husky register she'd always loved. "Oh yea?"

She nodded, earnest and drunk. "Mmhm. Like... hero strong."

If only you knew.

Ned was already heading for the door, waving them along. Peter kept one arm around Y/N's waist, guiding her out into the cool night air. The city hummed around them, taxis honking, distant sirens, the buzz of neon signs.

The walk to her apartment was slow. She kept tripping on cracks, leaning into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. At one point she looked up at him, squinting.

"You smell... familiar."

His chest tightened. "Good familiar or bad familiar?"

"Good." She nuzzled into his shoulder. "Really good."

Ned shot him a look—half curious, half amused. Peter just shrugged, playing it casual, though his heart was hammering.

They reached her building. Ned held the door while Peter helped her up the stairs. At her apartment door, she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them twice.

When she finally got it open, she turned around, throwing her arms around both of them in a messy group hug.

"Thank you," she mumbled into Ned's shoulder. "You're the best."

She pulled back, swaying slightly, and turned to Peter.

Her eyes met his.

The air between them thickened.

"You..." She reached up, touching his cheek with drunken clumsiness. Her thumb brushed his jawline. "You look so good tonight."

The words came out soft. Barely a whisper. Heavy with something she couldn't name.

Peter's throat tightened. He wanted to grab her, pull her inside, pin her against that door and remind her exactly what she was missing. He wanted to kiss that drunk confession off her lips and replace it with moans.

But not yet.

Not yet.

He smiled, gentle and aching. "Get some sleep, Y/N."

She blinked slowly, then ducked inside, closing the door with a soft click.

The lock turned.

Peter stood there for a long moment, hand pressed flat against the wood. He could hear her on the other side, shuffling, probably kicking off her heels.

"She say something?" Ned asked from behind.

"Just saying goodnight."

Ned hummed, unconvinced. "You know, for a guy who just met her, you're pretty invested."

Peter turned, keeping his face neutral. "She's a friend. I don't like seeing friends drunk and alone."

"Uh huh." Ned didn't push. "Well, thanks for the help. I'm gonna crash. See you around, Peter."

"Yeah. See you."

When Ned disappeared down the stairwell, Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He pressed his forehead to the door, listening. On the other side, he heard her humming—off-key, sleepy—as she padded toward her bedroom.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon she'll know.

But for tonight, he'd settle for knowing that even drunk and confused, she still thought he looked good.

That was enough.

For now.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of his apartment swallowed him whole.

Peter stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the wood, listening to the echo of her voice in his head. You look so good tonight. Drunk, slurred, honest. She'd meant it. Even without knowing who he was, her body remembered. Her eyes had traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and something deep in her gut had stirred.

But she was inside, alone, probably already curled up in bed, dreaming of strangers.

And he was out here. Alone. Again.

He pushed off the door and walked to his kitchen, grabbing a glass of water he didn't want. The apartment was too quiet. Too empty. The walls seemed to press in on him, carrying the weight of every night he'd spent like this—restless, aching, watching the clock tick toward dawn while the city hummed outside.

It's hard when no one loves you and the ones you love can't remember you.

He set the glass down harder than intended. It cracked. Water spilled across the counter.

"Fuck."

He stood there, dripping, staring at his own reflection in the dark window. A stranger in his own life. Spider-Man saved people. Peter saved no one. Not even himself.

He loved being Spider-Man. Loved the rush of swinging between buildings, the wind in his face, the sound of sirens fading as he swooped in to help. Loved the gratitude in strangers' eyes when he pulled them from wrecks, the way kids pointed up at him with awe.

But Peter deserved his own life too. A job he didn't have to hide. Friends who called him by his real name. A girl who looked at him like he was the only man in the world.

He closed his eyes, and there she was. Y/N. Laughing. Touching his face. Whining his name in that breathless way she used to when he was inside her.

"You're so good, Peter. Fuck—don't stop—"

His hand curled into a fist.

Then his spider-sense flared.

Sharp. Urgent. Something wrong.

He sighed, heavy and resigned, and reached for the suit.

---

The city was cruel tonight.

He swung from rooftop to rooftop, the wind biting at the exposed skin of his face and hands. Below, the neon lights of Manhattan bled into puddles on wet asphalt. Somewhere, a woman screamed—he veered toward it, landing on a fire escape to find a mugger wrestling a purse from an elderly lady. He webbed the guy to a lamppost in seconds, returned the purse, and was gone before the woman could finish thanking him.

Two blocks over, a car crash. He helped pull a family out before the fuel line sparked.

A domestic disturbance. He talked a man down from a balcony ledge.

A break-in at a convenience store.

A fire on the Lower East Side.

He kept moving. Kept saving. Kept pretending that each life he touched filled the hole inside him.

But it didn't.

Because the whole time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of her. Her safety. Her smile. The way she used to trace the scars on his shoulders after a bad fight, her voice soft with worry: "You can't keep doing this, Peter. One day you won't come back."

And he'd kissed her forehead and promised he'd always come back to her.

Now she didn't even know to wait.

---

He landed on a rooftop overlooking her building.

The lights were off in her apartment. She was asleep, probably still drunk, tangled in sheets that smelled like her perfume. He imagined her lips slightly parted, hair fanned across the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her chest.

He pulled out the photo he kept tucked inside his suit. Polaroid, edges worn from handling. Her smiling at the camera, hair messy, wearing his hoodie. She'd taken it one morning after they'd spent the whole night tangled together. He'd been making coffee, and she'd grabbed his phone, snapped the picture just as he turned around.

"So I can look at you even when you're gone," she'd said.

He didn't know she'd end up being the one gone.

He pressed his thumb to her face, tracing the curve of her smile.

Soon.

Soon, he'd find a way. Something drastic. Something that would break through the spell's hold and make her remember—or at least make her feel it, even if she couldn't name it.

Soon, he'd be inside her apartment. Inside her. Reminding her exactly what she was missing.

But for now, he tucked the photo back, turned toward the next siren, and launched himself into the night.

For her. Always for her.

The bell above the door chimed, and Peter walked in like he owned the place.

Y/N looked up from the register, head pounding, eyes barely open. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like last night's cheap perfume and regret. The hangover was a dull throb behind her eyes, a punishment for every shot Ned had convinced her to take.

She squinted at him. Him. The guy with the dangerous smile and the bracelet she didn't remember giving him.

"Morning," she grumbled, not even trying to sound pleasant.

He grinned. Actually grinned, like her misery was the highlight of his day. "Someone had fun last night."

"Someone regrets everything."

He laughed—that low, easy sound that did something annoying to her stomach—and walked past her to the counter. "Just the usual, please."

She turned to make it, moving slow, her head throbbing with every step. The espresso machine hissed, and she winced.

Behind her, she heard the door open again—a small commotion, a child's voice. She glanced over her shoulder.

A little boy, maybe seven or eight, had run in too fast, his backpack swinging. He collided with the table where Peter had set his bag, sending it toppling. But before it could hit the ground, Peter's hand shot out, catching it mid-air with reflexes too fast, too precise.

"Sorry, mister!" the boy said, eyes wide.

Peter just smiled, crouching down to the kid's level. "It's okay, buddy. No harm done." And he reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with an easy, affectionate motion.

Y/N froze.

The gesture. The way his fingers moved through the dark strands, the gentle mock-scolding in his tone. It was exactly how Spider-Man had ruffled that kid's hair in the interview she watched online. She'd watched the clip multiple times, her body heating each time—the way those gloved fingers had been so careful, so human, beneath the mask.

She blinked, shaking off the thought. No. That's ridiculous. Lots of people ruffle kids' hair.

But something nagged at her. The precision of the catch. The casual confidence. The way he moved.

Peter straightened, catching her stare. His eyebrow arched. "Something wrong?"

She realized she'd been staring. Heat crept up her neck. "No. Nothing. Your coffee."

She shoved the cup toward him, maybe a little too aggressively. He took it, amused, and leaned against the counter instead of leaving like a normal person.

She needed to get this over with.

"Listen," she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "About last night. I was... a lot. I know I was all over you, and I'm sorry. I don't usually—I mean, I was drunk, and Ned was being an ass, and—"

"Cute."

She stopped. "What?"

"You were cute." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim. "Not 'a lot.' Cute."

Her face burned. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out. Just a stupid, flustered silence.

He smiled—that knowing, crooked smile that made her knees weak—and pushed off from the counter. "See you around, Y/N."

He walked out, the bell chiming behind him.

She stood there, heart hammering, watching him disappear down the street.

Fuck.

She touched her cheek. It was hot. She was blushing like a teenager. And worst of all, she was thinking about him—the scent of his cologne, the strength in his hands when he'd caught that bag, the way his voice had dipped when he said "cute."

She shook her head, turning back to the register.

But as she wiped down the counter, her mind wandered. To Spider-Man. To Peter. To the way both of them made her feel seen in a way she couldn't explain.

Maybe I have a crush on him.

She bit her lip.

Or maybe I'm just that desperate.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something about him. Something familiar. Something that pulled at the edges of her memory, just out of reach.

And somewhere across the city, swinging between rooftops, Peter smiled to himself, her blush burned into his mind.

Soon, he thought. Soon, you'll remember.

The city was settling into dusk, streetlights flickering to life as Y/N walked home, her bag slung over one shoulder. The hangover had faded to a dull ache, replaced by the restless energy that had been gnawing at her all day. She was thinking about Peter—the way he'd laughed, the way his hand had caught that bag, the way he'd called her cute.

She was so lost in thought she almost missed the commotion.

A sharp cry. An old man's voice, cracked with panic. "Help! Someone help!"

Y/N's head snapped up. Across the street, a figure in a hoodie was sprinting away, an old leather bag clutched under his arm. Behind him, an elderly man stumbled, reaching out helplessly.

"Hey!" Y/N didn't think. She ran.

Three blocks. Her lungs burned, her legs pumping, the thief weaving through pedestrians. She was fast—she'd always been fast—but he was younger, more desperate. He ducked into a narrow alley, reeking of garbage and stale urine.

She followed without hesitation.

The alley was dark, shadows pooling like liquid. She could hear his footsteps echoing, slowing. He was cornered. She rounded a corner, ready to tackle him—

And then he was gone.

No. Not gone. Pinned.

A figure in red and blue dropped from above, landing silently. The thief was already webbed to a wall, the bag dangling from Spider-Man's hand. The hero turned to her, the white lenses of his mask catching the faint light.

"You really need to stop running into danger," he said, his voice modulated, teasing.

Y/N's heart pounded—not from the chase, but from him. From the way he stood, the way he moved.

She tried to step forward, to get a better look at the thief, to see where he'd gone into the darkness—

A thwip. A strand of web shot out, catching her wrist, yanking it to the brick wall beside her.

She stared at her hand, pinned by the familiar white silk. Again.

"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, yanking at the web. It held firm. "You can't just—"

"Watch and learn," Spider-Man said, and in two quick moves, he had the thief subdued, the bag retrieved, a police call tapped into his comm—all while she stood there, helpless, a memory flickering in the back of her mind.

Webs. Restraint. A voice whispering in the dark. Hands on her wrists, pinning her down. A body pressing against hers, the rough texture of a suit, the heat beneath it.

She blinked, the image dissolving like smoke.

He was in front of her now, the old man's bag tucked under one arm. He reached up and flicked the web on her wrist. It dissolved instantly, dropping her hand.

"You're free," he said. "Now go home. It's not safe."

She rubbed her wrist, glaring at him. "You can't just do that whenever you want! I was helping! I could have—"

She stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest plate. "You don't get to decide when I'm in danger! You don't get to just—"

She pushed him. Hard. He didn't move, but she kept going, frustration boiling over, her hands flat against his chest—

And then her foot caught on a loose piece of asphalt.

She stumbled forward, off-balance, straight into him.

Her body collided with his, her hands instinctively grabbing his arms to steady herself. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, the fabric of his suit smooth and textured beneath her palms.

And something clicked.

The feel of it—the tight compression, the subtle ribbing, the exact way the material hugged the muscle underneath—sent a shiver through her. Her eyes widened. She didn't know why, but her hands began to move, sliding down his arms slowly, almost reverently. She felt the curve of his shoulders, the strength of his forearms, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

She looked up.

The mask stared back at her, white lenses unreadable. But she could feel him watching her, feel the sudden stillness in his body.

Her breath caught. She could see him beneath the mask. Not his face, but something else. A feeling. A memory just out of reach.

I know you. I've felt you before.

She lifted a hand, reaching for his mask, her fingers trembling—

He stepped back.

Just one step, but it was enough to break her hold. Her hand hung in the air, empty.

"I have to go," he said, his voice tighter now, less playful. He set the bag down. "The police are on their way. Stay safe."

And before she could say another word, he was gone—a blur of red and blue vanishing into the night sky, leaving her alone in the dark alley, the old man's bag at her feet, her skin still tingling where she'd touched him.

She stood there, heart racing, frustration and confusion twisting in her chest.

Why does he feel so familiar?

She clenched her fists. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a name she couldn't remember, a face she couldn't see.

And yet, he's a stranger.

She bent down, picked up the bag, and walked out of the alley, her mind churning.

Who are you?

The question echoed in the empty space where Spider-Man had been. And somewhere, high above, hidden in the shadows, Peter watched her go, his hands shaking, his heart aching with the weight of everything she didn't remember.

——————————

The bell above the café door chimed, and Y/N's heart did a little flip she immediately suppressed.

Peter walked in, all easy confidence in a loose black t-shirt and those worn jeans that hung just right on his hips. He ran a hand through his hair—still slightly damp, like he'd just showered—and gave her a small smile as he approached the counter.

"Morning, Y/N."

She should have said something. She should have smiled back, asked for his usual order, made some casual remark about the weather. But her mind was still reeling from last night. The alley. The webs. The way her hands had traced the suit's texture like her fingers remembered what her brain couldn't.

Instead, she just nodded, her movements mechanical as she punched in his order. "Americano."

He blinked, clearly noticing her clipped tone. "Yeah. Thanks."

She turned to make the coffee, her back to him, feeling his gaze on her. She could sense the question in his silence—what's wrong?—but she couldn't bring herself to address it. She didn't know what to say. Hey, I think you might be the superhero who's been haunting my dreams and my subconscious sex life, but I can't be sure, so just pretend everything's normal.

She slid the cup across the counter. He took it, their fingers almost brushing. She pulled back too fast.

"Thanks," he said again, slower this time, searching her face.

She just nodded and turned to wipe down the counter, even though it was already clean.

The café was quiet—a lull between the morning rush and the lunch crowd. Ned was in the back, restocking cups, humming something under his breath. Y/N busied herself with meaningless tasks, acutely aware of Peter settling into his usual table by the window, pulling out his phone.

He didn't look at her again. Or maybe he did, in brief glances she pretended not to notice.

After a few minutes, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head. The motion pulled his shirt up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his stomach. Y/N's eyes tracked it before she forced them away.

"Bathroom," he said, more to announce it than anything, and disappeared through the back hallway.

The moment the door clicked shut, Ned emerged from the stockroom, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Okay. Now's my chance."

Y/N frowned. "What chance?"

Ned didn't answer. He darted to Peter's table, where the worn leather messenger bag sat propped against the chair leg.

"Ned, what the hell—"

"Shh." He was already crouching, unzipping the bag with practiced ease. "He's so mysterious. I just want to snoop a little. See if he's hiding anything interesting."

Y/N's heart lurched. "Stop! Put that back." She hissed, crossing the café in three quick strides. "What are you doing? That's his private stuff—"

"Relax, I'm just looking." Ned's hands moved through the bag's contents—a wallet, a phone, a protein bar wrapper, a small notebook. "Boring, boring, boring. How does this guy have no personality in his bag?"

"Ned, I swear to God—"

He pulled out a crumpled piece of fabric. Dark red and blue, folded into a rough square.

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he's a fan."

He unfolded it, and Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

It was a mask. A Spider-Man mask. The white lenses stared up at her, empty and familiar.

Ned held it up, smirking. "See? Fanboy. Probably wears it to bed or something." He scoffed, tossing it carelessly back into the bag. "Guess even mysterious guys have heroes."

But Y/N wasn't listening.

She reached down, her fingers trembling, and picked up the mask. The fabric was cool against her skin. She ran her thumb across the surface—the subtle ribbing, the tight weave, the exact texture that had pressed against her palms last night.

The same texture.

Her blood ran cold.

She remembered the alley. The way her hands had slid down Spider-Man's arms. The way the suit had felt beneath her fingers. The way her body had known it, even when her mind couldn't.

This was the same mask. The same fabric. The same—

She looked up. Ned was staring at her, his smirk fading into confusion. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She was holding Spider-Man's mask.

Peter's mask.

Peter is Spider-Man.

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the air from her lungs. She stood there, frozen, the fabric clutched in her hands, the truth burning through her.

He's the one who saved me. He's the one who webs me to walls. He's the one who watches me from the shadows.

He's the one I've been dreaming about.

She thought of the dreams—the vivid, explicit dreams where Spider-Man's voice had whispered filthy things in her ear, where his hands had pinned her down, where his body had moved inside hers like he knew every inch of her. The dreams where she had arched into him, moaning, pleading, coming undone.

Her face flushed, her thighs pressing together involuntarily.

Oh God.

She had been dreaming about him. About the man who had been coming into her café, smiling at her, teasing her, touching her—and she hadn't known.

But her body had.

Her body had remembered.

"Y/N?" Ned's voice was sharper now. "Put it back. He'll be out any second."

She forced her hands to move, folding the mask roughly and shoving it back into the bag. She zipped it closed just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Peter emerged, wiping his hands on his jeans. He glanced at them—Ned standing awkwardly by the table, Y/N frozen behind the counter—and his brow furrowed.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine!" Ned said, too quickly. "Great. Just—telling Y/N about a thing. A thing I saw. Bye."

He scurried back to the stockroom, leaving Y/N alone with Peter.

He walked to the counter, picking up his coffee, his eyes studying her. "You sure you're okay? You seem... off today."

She couldn't look at him. She stared at the counter, at the espresso machine, at anything but his face.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice flat. "Just tired."

He didn't push. He just nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Alright. I'll see you later, then."

He turned and walked out, the bell chiming behind him.

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding, her mind racing.

Peter is Spider-Man.

And she had been dreaming of him fucking her senseless.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse. A strange mix of fear, confusion, and something else—something hot and hungry—coiled in her stomach.

She had questions. So many questions.

But more than that, she had a need.

A need to find out if the dreams were somehow real.

----------

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You bit nervously at your nails, watching all the others gear up as though they were going to play laser tag and not be exposed to real bloodthirsty curses. You hadn't thought this far when you signed up for the Special Force Against Curses. All you knew was your old neighbour who had retired from SFAC now stayed at home all day eating snacks and yelling at his television. That was all you wanted from life.

The brutal 9-5 for decades would wear you out too fast. You couldn't spend the majority of your life waiting desperately for the weekend. It would be easier to enlist, tough it out until you found a way to be discharged with pension.

You hadn't really considered all the danger you'd be exposed to. Suddenly that fat pension made sense. They could afford to dangle it over your heads knowing most of you would not make it to the finish line.

The others began retreating from the weaponry breaking you out of your thoughts and making you wonder if you had taken too long dallying. Now only the stuff no one wanted would be left but then you saw the tall figure make their way through the parted crowd. Not only taller than all the other men but that shock of white hair made him stand out all the more. The one everyone called the mad dog. Though to you he looked more like an extraterrestrial being with those freakish blue eyes of his.

You had heard the rumours. He was as strong as ten men, so fast he could take out a whole gang of curses before they even realized they were under attack. Thought of strategy and planned attacks out in ways others couldn't even perceive of. It sounded like the winning recipe for a soldier but apparently, and according to the more envious men, he was barking mad. You thought it was just jealousy of his skill.

You weren't the jealous type. No, you were the type to recognize that there were others in this world who had advantages and skills you didn't possess but just because you didn't have them, didn't mean you couldn't make use of them. The mad dog, or Gojo Satoru as you would respectfully address him, was exactly the kind of friend you needed to make it out of here alive and get to use the pension you had signed up for.

That day as you cowered behind a wall while the others attacked, you kept an eye out for that shock of white hair. Watching as the man disappeared from your line of sight and reappeared at intervals almost always brutally finishing off a curse and it became quite clear as you watched why he was called the mad dog. He had a smile on his face more frightening than the creatures as he disemboweled them, those freakish eyes of his glowing in the darkness like that of a predator.

That was a man you could hide behind and one clearly capable of protecting you from any and all threats. That evening at dinner when you had gotten your tray of food you marched it over right to Gojo Satoru’s table.

"Can I sit?" You asked before you could think better of it.

Those blue eyes gazing out the window slowly trailed over to you. Not even the slightest shift in his expression as he stared at you as blankly as he had been looking at the scenery out the window beside the table he always sat at, alone.

"No." He said, making your stomach drop. You had been planning how to approach him but you hadn't really considered the possibility he might turn you down.

"I'll give you my dessert." You bartered, his eyes flicked down to your tray.

"Blech, I don't like raspberry pudding." He said making you glance down to your tray too.

"I asked for chocolate." You exclaimed.

You had asked for the chocolate pudding but clearly the blind bat serving had given you the raspberry instead.

"That blind bat." You muttered lowly under your breath, glaring back over your shoulder at the old lady serving. Nearly jumping out of your skin in fright when a bark like laugh erupted from the man sitting before you. Eyes now sparkling when just before he had been looking at you like he wouldn't bat an eye if you dropped dead.

"That's my great aunt." He said, making your heart drop. You had really ruined all chances of friendship.

"She lost her eye sight in one eye while serving and then majority of her sight in the other in a curse attack." He continued. Not only had you ruined chances of friendship you'd gone and made an enemy of the strongest man in the troop, not to mention that he was your superior.

"I'm so-" You started but were cutoff by him speaking again.

"She's got a nose like a hound though so she definitely gave you the raspberry on purpose. Nasty old bat." Gojo said and you nearly went boneless in relief.

"I knew it couldn't always be a mistake." You said swinging one leg over the bench but a tutting sound made you freeze.

"I didn't say you could sit." Gojo said and you blinked at him like a deer in headlights before awkwardly pulling your leg back.

"Find another table, this one's mine." He said, glancing away from you in clear dismissal.

You joined one of the many other tables where the soldiers, clearly still sour that you had hid during the attack, gave you dirty looks which you ignored. Too busy trying to figure out what had happened because there had been a moment when you thought you'd found your in with Gojo Satoru.

You retreated that day but that didn't mean you stopped trying. From then on where Gojo Satoru went, you followed. If he was heading to meals then you were right behind him, tray in hand and getting the exact same foods he chose. You woke when he did and retired to sleep when he did. At first it was just to align your routine but the madman was an early riser so soon you needed to go to bed early if you were going to survive waking at dawn like him.

The only time you weren't dutifully following him around was when you all ran laps. He outpaced you several times and would eventually make it back into your blurred line of sight as you gasped and panted for air while being heckled by your commander for being a disgrace.

He mostly acted like you didn't exist. He would respond when spoken to but still made it abundantly clear you weren't welcome in his space. He had yet to allow you to sit at his table. The only time he had any sort of positive reaction to you was when he would hear something you muttered to yourself and would let out that bark-like laughter that nearly pierced your eardrums.

It was one of those mornings where you were dragging yourself to the training room. Knowing Gojo was already there and cursing him for being such an early riser when you finally saw what made the others avoid the man and speak of him as though he were the legend of a spooky ghost story and not their fellow comrade in arms.

You opened the door to the gym, still a bit bleary eyed but the fog of exhaustion disappeared the moment you took in the scene in front of you. Gojo Satoru was straddling a man on the ground beneath him, pummeling fist after fist into his face. The man's face, now a swollen, bloody mess, was completely unrecognizable even though you had been spending every waking moment surrounded by your fellow soldiers.

You couldn't help the gasp that escaped you when the next punch resulted in a spray of blood splattering up from the man's nose that had been reduced to a mangled mess of bloodied cartilage. Drops of crimson spraying out onto Gojo's pristine, marble-like pale skin. The sight made more unsettling by how other than that splatter of blood across his jaw and neck, there was not even so much as a scratch on him. Not even his hair was mussed.

At the sound, Gojo glanced up making you freeze in place. Those manic blue eyes now on you, glowing just the way they did when he was hunting curses.

"Good morning." Gojo huffed, sitting back on the man as though it were not the body of a person he'd beaten into unconsciousness but a bench.

"Good morning." You breathed, whirling around when you heard footsteps coming down the hall. Your heart nearly fell through your stomach as you made eye contact with the beady pair of your commander.

Violence against fellow soldiers was strictly prohibited. If the commander saw Gojo now he would expel him and all your efforts in fraying him down would have been for naught. The others didn't particularly like you for being weak and hiding during attacks. You had spent all your time following around Gojo and the others had already formed their little cliques. There was no hope of finding another protector.

"Commander, sir, Lieutenant Hiroshi was looking for you in the weaponry. Something about needing help with a holster." You said, making the man pause. It was common knowledge the commander had the biggest crush on Hiroshi.

"A holster?"

"Yes sir, his thigh holster has come loose I believe." You said and the man didn't even bother responding. Turning right back around the way he had come.

"Lieutenant Hiroshi wasn't in the weaponry." A voice said from behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Whirling back around to see Gojo stood behind you with an amused glint in his eyes and more concerningly the blood still splattered across his face.

"I know that but I had to get the commander out of here. If he saw this you would have been discharged from the military and that too disgracefully. You know you don't get pension if you get discharged disgracefully right?" You asked, unthinkingly licking your thumb and swiping at the blood on his jaw.

He flinched back, catching your wrist but you wriggled your hand out. Pushing against his chest so he was forced back into the gym and out of anyone who may be passing's line of sight. You leaned out, scanning the hall before turning back to look at the man whose large chest muscles you only now noticed your hands were still on considering he was looking down at them like he didn't understand what they were.

"Okay, now listen, you head back to your room and if anyone asks you were feeling sick so you didn't come to work out today. If you weren't at the scene of the crime, then you couldn't have committed it. I'll say I found him here like this. Just help me drag him over to the showers so I can say I only saw him after my workout."

Gojo was still watching you in complete silence as though you were speaking another language he didn't speak.

"Come on, get moving. If anyone sees you we're done for." You said.

"We?" He asked, reassuring you that he had in fact not forgotten his mother tongue out of shock. Though he didn't look the least bit flustered or shocked, only slightly perplexed but not at the situation, at you.

"Yes, we. If I get caught covering for your ass then I'll also be discharged dishonorably, completely defeating the purpose of why I enlisted in the first place so you better start putting that brain and those muscles to use." You said, walking over to the man and grimacing at the mess Gojo Satoru had made of his face. You had been about to grab his shoulders but that was too close to the mangled face so instead you moved to grab his legs which were more in tact.

"Why would you cover for me?" Gojo asked suspiciously and you huffed at seeing he still wasn't making any effort to help you. While he'd been enthusiastic about causing the mess, he was quite reluctant to join in on the necessary clean up.

His question registered and you were glad that you had been stooped down to try to lift the unconscious man's legs so Gojo couldn't see the momentary panic on your face. It probably wouldn't do to tell him that it was because you wanted to be brought under his wing until you found a way to be discharged early.

"Because we're friends." You responded, sounding a little unsure even to yourself but a quick glance up at Gojo told you he hadn't quite noticed.

His otherwordly eyes had a far off look and you wondered if he had now gone into shock before he met your eye and you watched as his gaze narrowed in on you reminding you eerily of a hawk zeroing in on their prey, sending a shiver down your spine. You really should have paid more attention to that uneasy sense of foreboding.

Instead of responding, Gojo stooped down to lift the man up by the shoulders and carried the heft of him over to the showers without taking his eyes off you but you were a bit too busy struggling to carry the man's legs to notice.

After you had both dropped the man in the showers you again told Gojo to go back to his room. Catching his wrist just as he was about to leave. He glanced back, looking at your little hand on his wrist and then up to you. Brows creased in worry for him.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" You asked and when he took a moment too long to answer rushed to clarify.

"Besides the unconscious man."

He shook his head in negative, something about that worried expression rendering him speechless when so many horrors and wonders he'd faced hadn't been able to.

"Good, go." You said releasing his wrist and turning to fret over the unconscious man again.

Gojo walked back to his room in a daze. You didn't know who he was. He had assumed you had been following him around like a shadow because you wanted to be affiliated with the Gojo heir. Set to inherit all the wealth, influence and glory of all the Gojo clan before him but your actions today made it clear you had no idea about his family background.

It wasn't often that people tried to get close to him. Not since what used to be rumours had become so undeniably backed by proof he had provided at nearly every turn in his life that even his parents couldn't refute them without risking looking like fools. And no member of the Gojo clan would ever risk being made a fool.

He had never had a friend. At first it was because his parents simply didn't think anyone worthy of standing beside him as an equal when he so clearly surpassed all the children his age in every conceivable way. That made him used to being alone and not at all used to sharing.

Gojo knew what the others called him - the mad dog for his territorial ways. Gojo didn't take kindly to anyone trying to take what was his. He didn't go around attacking people for no reason but when they tried to use or take his things that set him off. Admittedly he had a tendency to go a bit overboard when set off.

Like this morning when he'd gotten to the gym and seen one of the others using the weight machine he woke up so damn early to be able to use without others pawing all over it. He had asked politely for the man to find another machine because that one was his but the man hadn't listened and Gojo only asked politely once.

When he'd first enlisted these sort of misunderstandings happened fairly often. People mistook living in a shared space to mean Gojo would be sharing what was his. After that misunderstanding had been clarified with some of his fellow comrades in arms, word spread and they learned to stay away from Gojo's things.

He had broken limbs and beat people to unconsciousness in front of their commander and no one had ever dared to so much as write him up. It was real cute though to see you fretting and scheming for him. No one had ever worried over him like this. People had worried because of him. Worried over the damage he could do to them, their reputations in his parent's case or other such nonsensical things.

He found he quite liked your worrying. If this was what being your friend meant then he was quite ready to have you as his first and only friend.

After that morning incident it was like a flip had switched. Suddenly you didn't need to follow Gojo around anymore because he always managed to find you first.

In the morning he was at your door, knocking to be let in and dragging you along to the gym barely awake. If you got to meals later than he did then he'd have a tray of food waiting for you identical to his and if you went together then there was no question you'd be sitting right next to him.

Somehow no one had bothered to question what you had said about finding the man Gojo had beaten into an actual coma on the shower floors. You had been terrified a full investigation would be done and in your nerves suggested that maybe he had just tripped in the showers when your commander had been questioning you about the incident.

At the time he had made it seem like he would be digging into the matter and you were going to be in a lot of trouble if caught lying but then he'd never brought it up again. Perhaps you were a better liar than you thought.

What you couldn't deceive anyone about though was your lack of physical prowess and were currently feeling the full weight of your commander's disdain as everyone running laps circled you for a fourth time while you struggled to complete your second. Gojo had ran past you six times already. Giving you an encouraging thump on the back the first time that nearly laid you out on the ground had he not caught you, and then with an encouraging cheer and laugh as though he were having the time of his life every time since.

"Having to watch you run is the only time I regret enlisting." Your commander was saying when you felt someone run up next to you. You glanced over, seeing double from exhaustion before your sight settled somewhat and you realized it was just one very pissed off Gojo glaring at the commander.

"Would you like me to give you a couple other reasons?" He asked and the commander seemed to turn as green as you probably were with how nauseous you were feeling.

"I-uh have to go check on the others." The commander said, breaking out into a full sprint across the field. Apparently not even the commander was above being intimidated by Gojo.

To not have to hear the commander's disparaging while you endured having to do the activity you hated more than anything felt like a blessing and out of happiness you flung yourself at Gojo. Clinging to your saviour with all your might.

Had it been anyone else you both would have gone sprawling onto the field with the way you practically tackled him into a hug but Gojo had just gone very still, staring down at you in shock. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him.

You were so soft and warm against him. So much smaller than him you barely reached his chest. Burying your face into him like he was your only hope.

Before he could think of how to react you were glancing up at him beaming. Your face pink from the exertion, the afternoon sun making it glow and bringing out the flecks of gold in your eyes. He hadn't so much as broken a sweat while running those laps but now all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and his heart thudding against his ribcage.

Never before had he so desired for something to be his. And you were his, weren't you? It had been your idea all along to become his friend. You were the one to force yourself into his orbit and now that you had he had no intention of ever letting you out.

He allowed his arms to wrap around you, chest clenching at how right that felt. This was where you belonged, within his grasp.

You released him as abruptly as you had embraced him leaving him feeling cold and bereft. But there was still the lingering warmth of your touch and the heat that bloomed within his chest as you smiled at him in that way. Challenging him to a race you both knew there was no way you would win.

The effort however of trying to out run the Gojo Satoru had you so belligerent with thirst you couldn't be bothered to try to find your own water bottle amongst the many at the finish line. Swiping his from his hand and holding it up above your mouth so you could gulp it down.

A hush fell over the others, silence so pronounced that it made it through your haze of exhaustion. Every one of the others was looking at you, or actually upon closer inspection, not at you but behind you at Gojo.

Gojo waited for the familiar rage to rise up within his chest as he watched you gulp down his water from his water bottle. That feeling of wrongness and outrage but there was nothing. No rage, just that weird tightness he'd gotten in his chest earlier while looking at you.

It had been amusing to see you trying to beat him with your much shorter legs and how incredibly out of shape you were compared to him. He probably could have run that lap faster if he were carrying you than you had managed to on your own.

He had always liked running. It cleared his head and let out some of that pent up energy always buzzing in his veins but running with you panting next to him, gasping for air and asking if he was even human was the first time he had found running fun.

You made everything fun, life had been so dull before you. He couldn't imagine going back to that. He found everything you did entertaining. Your little habit of muttering to yourself. It was always rude or bitter comments said under your breath but he found them hilarious.

The way you made no attempt to hide that you had no interest in defending people by eradicating curses but were just here for the pension. Hiding away every time you were all sent out on a mission. Your honesty was a breath of fresh air amongst all the false bravado and nobility he had grown up surrounded by.

He threw an arm around your shoulders, feeling a strange urge to have you close that he'd never felt for anyone before.

"Let's get you out of the sun. You look like a tomato." He said and you scoffed through your panting.

"Sorry we're not all godly beings that can run laps in the sun and still look like we're filming an athletic wear commercial. Did you even sweat, you freak?" You asked, hearing a gasp from amongst the others but not paying any attention as you got up on the very tips of your toes to try to prove your point.

Gojo froze as he felt you nose into his neck and take a quick inhale. Feeling the blood rushing down south as your body pressed against his side, letting him feel the shape of you and the heat emanating off your skin. Your warm breath against his throat and the scent of you, clean sweat and soap filling his senses and making his head spin.

Suddenly he was the one that was breathless.

"How do you still smell good?" You muttered against his neck.

He couldn't help himself and pushed you away, only remembering at the last minute to not use his full force but still sending you stumbling back a couple steps.

"Oh can you not sweat? Are you like those animals that don't have sweat glands?"

You took his silence for affirmation and grimaced sympathetically.

"My bad, that's probably a touchy topic for you. It must be tough being unable to control your temperature and just overheating like a reptile in the desert. I won't bring it up again." You said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you passed him.

Letting you think he was missing sweat glands was better than trying to explain that he was actually sporting a raging boner because you had sniffed him. He let you walk away with his water bottle still held in your hand, turning to watch the commander a moment. That sight had his hard-on dying down fast enough and he scooped up your water bottle and chased after you just as you made it to the doors leading inside.

"Should we hit the showers?" He asked as he made it to your side.

It was strange that after a training session like that you and Gojo somehow had the showers all to yourselves. Usually this place was packed to the brim after a brutal training session with sweaty men all wanting to quickly shower so they could get to the dining hall as fast as possible.

"Can I borrow your shampoo? I'm all out." Gojo said and you quickly squirted some into your hand before turning to pass the bottle to him but froze at the sight that awaited you.

It wasn't unexpected. At that height and stature and with hands that were more like giant paws you couldn't have expected anything else, but this was nearly inhuman. It twitched as you continued to stare and you couldn't help the startled scream that escaped you at the sight of a monstrosity like that having any life in it.

You flung the shampoo at the man next to you and quickly turned to face forward again, hearing him chuckle.

"What, are you really acting like you've never seen a naked man before?"

"I've seen naked men but I haven't seen a weapon of mass destruction swinging between their legs before." You muttered furiously, chancing a glance at the man when you didn't get a response to see his face had gone completely blank.

"Which man have you seen naked? Was it one of those bastards?" He asked advancing on you completely ignoring the rules of the communal shower. You had assumed everyone knew that in the showers you always kept your eyes focused straight on the tiles in front of you and you never got too close to anyone else while your privates were swinging about.

"Woah, woah you stay over there and keep that thing away from me." You said, holding your hands out ahead of you in defense.

"Tell. Me. Who." He demanded.

"I've been sharing a shower with all those duds for months, of course I've seen them naked though none of them have been as shameless as you." You said, finishing up your shower and hurriedly wrapping your towel around yourself.

He grabbed your arm as you made your way past him.

"I've got clean clothes in my bag, wear those. Don't go out there like that." He ordered, eyes roaming down your body.

"Do you have a problem with the way I wrap my towel?" You asked.

Back when you were in school the other kids had given you shit for that though you never quite understood what you were doing so differently than the others.

"No, I have a problem with how small it is and how little it covers."

"It's the standard size they give everyone. Are you body shaming me right now? I'm sorry I don't have a six pack like you." You huffed.

"8." He said, a smirk twisting up his lips making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"Here, see -" He said having grabbed your hand, forcing your fingers to trail down what really was an 8 pack and counting out each row.

As he got to the bottom row and your palm brushed against the trail of hair that led to the image you were afraid was seared into your brain forever, you couldn't help but let out a yelp and snatch back your hand. Instinctively slapping him before your brain could catch up with what you had done.

Your eyes went wide as you saw his head turn. The pale skin of his cheek sporting a faintly pink handprint that perfectly aligned with the hand you would probably be losing in just a moment.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Gojo, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. I don't know why I did-"

He turned his head back to look at you making your mouth clamp shut. He took a step forward and you mirrored it by taking a step back. He took another and you did the same, both of you playing this game until your back hit the shower wall.

He placed his palm next to your head making you jump as he leaned in. Bringing his face level to yours as you cringed back into the wall, feeling like your heart was caught in your throat. All the rumours you had heard about his temper returning to you now.

"Kiss it better." He muttered.

"W-what?" You asked hesitantly, almost entirely sure you had misheard him. Perhaps he had said something about his intentions to kill and you had heard kiss.

"Kiss it better." He repeated, turning his pinkened cheek towards you and tapping his finger against it pointedly.

"Oh, uh okay." You said, you didn't quite want to kiss your naked comrade in arms on the cheek but it was better than being disemboweled in the communal showers so you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

He grinned as though you had done something particularly pleasing and his nickname began to make more sense than ever. The man really was barking mad.

"Now grab something from my bag to wear. I'll rip out the eyes of anyone who sees you like this." Gojo said, turning to saunter back to his shower.

You watched him go, wondering what sort of lunatic you had gotten yourself acquainted with. In the coming days you'd have that thought more often than anticipated.

Gojo Satoru wasn't just a powerful man, but an odd one too and for some reason everyone else just made allowances for it. Now that you were under his wing, that meant they made the same allowances for you.

The taunting by the others and dirty looks they had given you since your first mission when you hid instead of fighting had stopped. So had the very vocal disapproval of your superiors for your lack of strength and endurance.

Hanging out with Gojo also meant getting the gym to yourself, which was a great place to take a nap while the lunatic spent hours on various weight machines building muscles in places you didn't know people had them. It also meant never having to share the showers with anyone but Gojo though you didn't know if that was an upgrade considering he seemed to have no idea how to act in communal showers.

He was always chatting away and staring right at you as he did. The others may have hogged the hot water and been more unsightly in their nude form but at least they didn't stare. That was a small price to pay for all the perks though.

Being his friend wasn't hard. When you had first approached him you'd expected to be something of a lackey, imagining fetching his meal trays and egging him on when he got into a fight with someone. Truth was he did more for you than you did for him.

He got your meals for you because his great aunt actually gave him what he asked for and he would refill your water and even buy you snacks. It was unfortunate he didn't use his power to excuse you from training entirely but you tried not to get too greedy.

Eccentric as he was, beneath the aristocratic features and muscled physique that would imply an empty mind, he was actually quite smart. Seemed to be well-educated too so why he was so intrigued by you was genuinely a bit confusing. You didn't know what it was about you that made him seem to hang onto every word.

Those intense eyes of his bore into you while you spoke, though you were starting to get used to the other-worldly blue of them. He would burst into laughter at the oddest of times, particularly when you weren't intending to be funny. Though he'd always crack at least a smile at even your bad jokes. Grabbing you by the scruff and hauling you in when you truly made him laugh, resting his forehead against yours in a gesture you'd normally think too affectionate for friends but perhaps that's how comrades were.

The sound of the pulldown machine he was currently using was faintly registering as your mind began to wake but you refused to let yourself fully rouse to consciousness. When the sound of the machine struggling against the maniac who had had dragged you here this early finally seized, you had just begun to sink back into sleep when you heard the murmur of your name.

You groaned, turning over and clenching your eyes shut. Trying to escape into dreamland so you wouldn't have to face another day of arduous training and the resulting cloud of body odor that lingered in every room of the building because of it.

"Come on, wake up." Gojo said, poking your cheek but you batted at his hand.

“You’ve been napping for two hours. Do you not sleep at night?” He asked, which were long sentences and if you were understanding them then that meant the fall back asleep ship had sailed without you on board.

“No Gojo, I don’t sleep at night.” You sighed, sitting up and rubbing at your eyes.

“Why?” He asked, passing you his water bottle and smoothing your mussed hair as you took a long drink from it. Making you choke on the water as you dodged his hand irritably.

“Because the rats I’m roomed with stay up till ungodly hours playing games and drinking.” You said, once you’d finally managed to clear the water in your airways, helped by Gojo’s thumping of your back.

“Do they make you play with them?” He asked, returning to his patting of your hair.

“No, as if I’d ever do something so childish.” You scoffed, batting at his hand.

Truth was they didn’t let you play nor did they share their booze. Apparently rewards were for “soldiers not cowards” according to those jerks.

“Then why can’t you sleep?”

“Because they’re loud and stop touching my hair or I swear to god.” You growled, slapping at his hand.

“Swear to god to what?” He asked, though his gaze was a bit far away. Staring at the wall across from you both as though lost in thought about something. Probably trying to mentally tally the reps he had done, the meathead.

“I’ll - I’ll bite you.” You said, floundering for a threat when the man was double your size.

He smirked, amused. Holding up his giant claw of a hand before you like an offering.

“Well, as long as you’ve learned your lesson I'll let it pass this time.” You said, going to get up but that offending appendage forced you down by your shoulder. One of his claws keeping you seated and the other mussing up your hair until you really were livid enough to risk it all.

You caught his hand, bringing it to your mouth not paying any attention to how deceptively easy that was to do. Sinking your teeth into the soft flesh between his pointer finger and thumb like a feral pest.

Missing entirely the way those blue eyes darkened as he watched you, pupils blown wide. The hand forcing you down now cupping your shoulder and guiding you closer.

You pulled away, worried if you continued you might actually draw blood.

“My turn.” He said and you only had enough time to feel your stomach drop as he leaned in and then his teeth were sinking down into the conjecture between your neck and shoulder and you were screaming.

Pain wasn't familiar to you and to feel the teeth of a brute sinking into your sensitive flesh wasn’t something you could withstand with the grace of a soldier.

You slapped and batted at him but your hands were caught in his and easily restrained. Finally after what felt like an eternity of agony, he pulled back. Staring down at the mark he’d left in your soft flesh with a satisfied gleam in those freakish eyes of his.

He leant back in making you scream again but it broke off into an exclamation of “ew what the fuck man” as you felt something warm and wet drag over the bite mark.

You pushed vindictively at his chest when he pulled back and released your hands. Running over to the closest mirror to inspect the wound.

“You’re a fucking freak.” You called over your shoulder as you looked at the clear indents of his goddamn molars in your flesh.

“Be glad I didn’t break skin.” He said, making you yelp as he seemed to materialize right behind you like some sort of fucking ghost. Staring at your reflection with his mark on your soft skin with so much satisfaction and intrigue it turned your stomach.

You moved back intending to stomp his foot but froze as you felt something hard and large poking into your lower back.

“Please tell me that’s your water bottle in your pants.” You muttered.

“Nope.” He whispered back, popping the p in a way that had you jumping away.

“You’re a real freak. You better stay at least 6 feet away from me from now on.” You warmed.

He grabbed your wrist, hauling you in to his chest. You screamed again as the monstrosity in his gym shorts pressed into your stomach. Pushing against his chest but he kept you pinned with an arm around your waist.

“Nothing can make me stay away from you. You’re mine, I do what I want with you.” He said as easily as one tells the time and you scoffed.

“Like hell you do. Bit me like I’m a goddamn prime cut steak and then popped a boner. What a- oh my god are you a cannibal?” You asked, eyes wide in terror as you looked up at him. Mind jumping to the only conclusion you could think of in which a fellow soldier would be turned on by biting you.

“I wasn’t before but I might just become one because of you.” He muttered lowly, leaning down towards your neck as he spoke and snapping his teeth at you making you yelp again.

“6 feet, you rat.” You warned, somehow getting lucky and managing to shove him off as you accidentally brushed the beast pressing against your stomach in a way that had him going a little weak in the knees.

You watched him warily, a hand held out before you which you pulled back to your chest when his gaze dropped to it. He took a step forward and you took one back to maintain the distance.

“I-I’m warning you.” You said shakily which he ignored completely. Stalking forward until you were pressed up against the mirror with him hovering over you. That offending snake between his legs pressing against your stomach again.

“Warning me of what? Are you gonna bite me again?” He asked, tone light with amusement but those freaky blues still darkened in a devious way that didn’t sit well with you.

“I might if you force my hand.” You said, sounding uncertain even to your own ears.

The last bite had resulted in you nearly getting a chunk torn out of your neck and then getting harassed by a thing that should only exist in those bad romance novels you sometimes liked to read. You weren't really itching to repeat that episode.

“Do it here, please.” He breathed, and just for a second you could see why all the other soldiers complained he had it all.

So mesmerizingly pretty as he titled his head up, exposing the long column of his strong neck to you. Long lashes that nearly touched the apples of his cheeks when he blinked, pointed little nose and lush pink lips but then the words they uttered registered and the trance was broken.

“You’re completely fucking nuts” You mumbled, almost to yourself but he heard anyway.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me.” He said, backing off and finally you could breathe without the oppressive hulk of him looming over you. The monstrosity between his legs and the fangs in his mouth a safe distance away from you.

“We’ll see about that.” You mumbled, missing the way his eyes narrowed at your comment. No longer amused or playful.

You had known Gojo was weird but not threatening cannibalism or popping boners at his fellow comrades weird. It was making you reevaluate your chosen survival strategy.

Unfortunately while you were pondering whether it would be in your best interest to distance yourself from him, he was thinking the exact opposite. Planning how to get you more securely into his clutches.

He hated the thought of others around you. Not to mention others sharing a room with you. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it sooner. People other than him around you while you were at your most vulnerable, asleep or changing.

That had to change immediately.

He wiped at your mouth with his thumb, swiping off the bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. Bringing it to his own and licking it off. You hadn’t reacted to him wiping your face since he did it so often but your eyes went wide as saucers as you saw him lick the sauce off his thumb.

“You really have got to stop doing shit like that.” You said when you got your bearings back after staring at him blankly for another minute.

“Here you can have my karaage too.” He said, pushing his tray forward which was enough to distract you.

“Your roommates really bother you, don’t they?” He asked, watching you stuff your face with the karaage from his tray.

“Yeah, they’re complete assholes. Childish too, did I tell you they play games all night? Like talk about lack of maturity.”

“You should change rooms.”

“I tried, not allowed. Apparently we need to man up and learn to deal with each other’s shit.” You said, quoting the Commander.

“You can if there’s a vacancy in one of the other rooms.”

“Is there? Oh yeah the guy you put in the- I mean the guy who took a bad fall’s bed is probably empty but he’s roommates with that guy who smells like blue cheese. I’d rather not.” You said.

“My room has a vacancy.” He said.

“I thought lieutenants got their own rooms.” You said suspiciously.

“Yeah exactly, there’s an empty spot for you to take.”

You blinked at him, trying to mentally calculate if lack of sleep or risking being eaten by the snake swinging potential-cannibal was worse.

“The Commander doesn’t do his morning wake-up calls in the lieutenant’s rooms.” He said and you were sold. To not be forcefully woken to the unfortunate sight of your Commander screaming in your face that you were a waste of space and would regret not waking up sounded like a dream.

“Rooming together would be cool.” You said, already fantasizing about getting to sleep-in.

“Great, finish eating. Then we’ll go pack your stuff.” Gojo said, only then picking up his own chopsticks and beginning to eat his food.

Packing was quick when you had superhuman strength on your side. Your roommates cleared out in a matter of seconds when they saw Gojo follow you in, not that they would have tried to stop you either way.

You walked alongside Gojo who was carrying both your bags in one hand swung over his shoulder, following him to the lieutenants’ quarters where his room was.

You waited behind as he unlocked his door and then stepped in after him. Scanning the room that was surprisingly neat. You’d only ever gotten glimpses over his shoulder as he locked the door after himself.

The detail that stood out to you most though was the count of beds in the room which stood at a steady and alarming one.

“Where’s the empty bed?” You asked. Watching as Gojo set down your stuff and then sat down on the bed.

“I said empty spot, and here it is.” He said, to your utter horror patting the spot next to him on the solitary bed in the room.

“Oh no. That's not gonna work. Thanks but hard pass.” You said stepping forward and grabbing your bags. The larger one of which you were quite unsuccessful in lifting and resolved to drag towards the door instead.

Before you could even make it more than a step away while dragging the bag that probably weighed more than you considering you were never a light packer, Gojo was in front of the door. Blocking the only exit.

“The change is processed. You can’t go back now.” He said.

“Processed where?” You cried. You had this discussion less than an hour ago and certainly hadn’t put in any requests.

“In the system. Your bed’s being given to the new arrival and you’re rooming with me.”

“I didn’t submit anything, how’s that possible?”

“I did it for you.”

“The office closes at 4.”

“I processed it this morning.” He said making your jaw drop at the sheer audacity of the extraterrestrial being before you.

“What do you mean you did it this morning? I didn’t even know this was happening till an hour ago.”

“I knew you’d agree.” He shrugged.

“Well I don’t, so kindly please go tell them they can’t give away my bed and help me carry this back. I know it's mine but I don't understand what I put in here to make it weigh a ton.”

“Not happening, darling. I told you you’re stuck with me, so you might as well settle in. Feel free to shower first.” He said and it was all too much for your brain to process but one particular detail stuck out.

“Wait, you’re telling me you have a shower in your room?

“Yeah, convenient isn’t it?”

“So why the fuck have you been using the communal showers?” You asked.

“Because that’s where you shower.” He answered as though that was a completely reasonable thing to say.

“Yeah like I said, hard pass on this whole situation. I’ll drag that newbie out by his toe hair if I have to. That bed’s mine.” You said, starting for the door, intending to somehow push past him while you dragged your overly large bag.

Perhaps you could somehow use the weight of it to your advantage. You remembered them teaching you all something about throwing off your opponent using their weight so this had to be similar. Not that you ever mastered that maneuver either.

"Darling, you have two options. Be good and listen to me, start unpacking your stuff, take a shower and then come to bed or I tie you to the bed. I unpack your stuff and then shower you myself. Either way you're staying in this room." He said making you pause in your very unsuccessful dragging of the bag sent from hell.

You stared at him, trying to discern if he was quite serious and would really follow through on his threat. Nothing about those blue eyes of his was giving you any confidence that he had a single rational or normal bone in his oversized body and so you gave up.

"I'm building a pillow wall between us." You huffed.

Your pillow wall lasted about 0.3 seconds before being quite unceremoniously, and unnecessarily violently, tossed to the floor. Then you were pulled back into the chest of the lunatic who had tricked you into his den and were used like a teddy bear.

There was no dignity in any of this. That pension could not begin to cover the damages that you had incurred here in this hellhole.

It was warm though, and his bed was softer and blankets fuzzier than your own. The weight of his long limbs on you was making you drowsy even through the haze of anger that nearly blinded you.

"You're a bad man." Was all you could manage before sleep overcame you.

Gojo didn't sleep though. He couldn't believe how good it felt to have you in his arms. So soft, so warm against him. If he wanted, and god how he wanted, he could completely envelope you in his arms so none of you was left exposed to the rest of the world. Take all of you for himself.

You moaned in your sleep, arching up slightly and he loosened his hold just enough to let you turn once he realized that was what you wanted and then on top of being sleepless, he was also rendered breathless. You turned, resting your head on his shoulder easily as though even in your sleep you could tell you two fit like puzzle pieces.

His heart clenched as he stared down at you. Watched your parted lips, still not knowing what they tasted like. Gojo wasn't ignorant to the effect he had on people and yet somehow the only one he had ever wanted was entirely immune.

He pulled you in closer, lowering his head to press his lips to your forehead. Feeling a warmth bloom in the core of his being that he had never felt before. This had to be what others called being at peace. So fulfilled, like there was nothing else he wanted, nowhere else he would rather be. This was addicting.

You woke enveloped in warmth, arching up and stretching in the little space you had between the awfully heavy covers pinning you to the bed. Finally opening your eyes and then screaming in horror when you were met with two blue lightbulb like objects floating in a blurry pale shape mere inches from your face.

"What is it?" The shape asked and as your vision focused you rest your hand over your racing heart. Trying to catch your breath from the insane jolt of adrenaline seeing something so unnatural that early had caused you.

"Don't do that. Why are you staring at me with your 500 megawatt bulbs at - god 7 in the morning." You said, turning to check the clock by his bedside.

"Wait isn't this actually late for you?" You asked, remembering he normally rose at 5.

"I didn't want to risk waking sleeping beauty." He said with a smirk.

"You could be doing laps around the bed with a lawn mower and I wouldn't wake up once I'm asleep. I just can't fall asleep in noise." You clarified.

"Lucky I'm quiet as a mouse at night." He said.

"It takes a big man to admit he's a rat." You said, going to scooch off the bed but Gojo tightened his arm around you.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To get changed for training, we're already late." You answered.

"They would understand if we skipped a day." He said.

"No, I want to see the thief that stole my bed."

You could never have anticipated that in that thief you would find a kindred spirit. A soldier who flinched when anyone came near them in combat practice or looked out at the field with utter dread painted on their face. Perhaps that bed was simply fated only to have rational heads rest on it, or cowards as the rest of the troop would put it.

It was inevitable that you two would begin to get close when you were always the last ones to finish a lap, dragging your feet and cursing having ever laid eyes on this place. Standing with your backs against the wall as the others went hand to hand as though fighting for their lives when it was just practice.

Of course there was someone who highly disproved of this camaraderie. Gojo hated the new guy. Would glare daggers into him whenever he saw you both together and was the only reason you weren't braiding each other's eyebrow hair and exchanging pension fantasies.

"Oh man if that weight had fallen on my foot I'd be lined up at admin with my direct deposit form in hand faster than Commander could call me an idiot." The new guy - Kaido said making you guffaw and nod in agreement.

"What a fucking dumbass, telling the Commander he's just fine. That was a golden ticket to pension land." You agreed.

"You're too young to be thinking about pension." A voice said from right behind you making you yelp and turn to see Gojo looming above you and Kaido.

"I think you just shaved ten years off my life. We really need to put a bell on you." You said, taking the offered water bottle from Gojo and letting him pull you back so you were stood by his side.

"Lieutenant Gojo, sir." Kaido greeted awkwardly making you laugh and elbow Gojo, glancing up expecting him to laugh too but rather seeing him looking down his nose at Kaido as though he were dirt on his shoe.

The Commander called you all in before you could say anything but it stayed on your mind the rest of the morning anyway.

"Do you not like Kaido?" You asked as you sat on the bed that day while Gojo was folding both your laundry making him pause.

"No, I don't." He said, looking up at you, taking you by surprise. You had at least expected him to deny it.

"Why?"

"Because he sticks too close to you."

"No, you stick too close to me. Kaido understands the concept of personal space." You said.

"He better. I don't like seeing you with him, stay away from him." He said making you frown.

"I like Kaido, Kaido's my friend." You defended, not noticing the way the way Gojo froze at your words.

"He's your friend?" He asked, voice deceptively level and calm.

"Yeah, unlike the rest of you try-hards he understands the appeal of the easy life. We get each other." You answered not even getting a moment to try to back away before Gojo had tossed aside the towel he was holding and was rounding the bed.

Grabbing you by the jaw, he pushed you down flat onto the bed. Knocking the wind out of you with the unexpectedness of the movement. He sat down straddling your hips, keeping you pinned in place.

"Tell me again who’s your friend." He said.

"What the fuck dude? What's wrong with y-" You asked, being cut off by your own gasp of pain as he tightened his hold around your jaw to the point where the bones creaked in protest.

"Who is your friend?" He asked again.

"K-Kaido." You answered, not quite understanding what his problem was.

His eyes darkened and grip got even tighter making you grab at his hand, afraid he really might break your jaw.

"G-Gojo please it hurts." You mumbled, words barely intelligible with the way he was holding your face.

"I'm your only friend. You don't need anyone else. Just me." He said, leaning down closer so your noses nearly brushed against each other. Enouncing each word clearly and calmly as though he weren't actively trying to crush your face between his hand.

"Fine, fine just you. Please let go, it hurts." You pleaded. Willing to say anything to make him release you in that moment.

He let go of your face, seemingly satisfied but didn't get off of you. Watching in silence as you rubbed at the clear imprints of his fingers on your face. The bruises darkening into your soft skin.

He felt a pang in his chest, he hadn't meant to hurt you. He had just lost his mind a little hearing you so casually give someone else the place he held in your life.

"Let me see." He said, reaching for your face but you slapped at his hands. Pushing him away and when he saw the way your eyes were watering with pain he backed off readily, heart sinking as he realized he had hurt you to the point of inducing tears.

"I'll get you some ice." He said.

"No need." You scoffed, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. Scooching off the bed and heading for the door.

He let you go, knowing you needed some time to cool off. He'd always gone too far when it came to protecting his things and keeping the paws of others off of them. He'd never meant to hurt you though.

You slammed the door behind you. Immediately headed to the admin office. In the past few weeks you had often wondered if choosing to befriend Gojo had been a mistake but today had proven it. He was a far bigger lunatic than you had initially known. Volatile in his unpredictability. You were better off without someone like him by your side, either he'd get you in trouble or he'd end up hurting you seriously in one of his fits.

"I'd like to change rooms." You said as soon as you made it to the admin office, approaching the man sitting behind the desk who you'd never bothered learning the name of.

"Why?" The man asked, looking like he'd rather be doing anything but his job.

"I'm rooming with Lieutenant Gojo right now-" You paused as you saw the man's eyes widen and him sit up straighter.

"But there's only one bed so I'd like to request to be switched into any room with a vacant bed." You continued, wondering why he looked so alarmed.

"There's no vacant beds." The man said making you scoff.

"I know there has to be at least one considering Tomoya is still in a coma and will probably be in no condition to continue in the force when he wakes." You said.

"His bed was sent to headquarters." The man answered and you stared at him blankly, making his ears turn red at how stupid of a lie he had just uttered.

"Okay, well I don't have a bed so can you request headquarters to send it back so I have a place to sleep?" You asked.

"I'll put in the request." The man said.

"And how long is that going to take?" You asked.

"I don't know but I'll let you know when it's processed." He said making your eye twitch.

"Fine, thanks." You relented, getting the feeling there was no reasoning with this soulless slave to bureaucracy.

You would check Tomoya's dorm yourself. If you found the empty bed then you'd come here and demand this lying rat to process the transfer right then.

You lurked in the corridor outside Tomoya's room, icing your bruised jaw until one of his roommates finally emerged. The door opened and the pungent smell of blue cheese wafted out, singing your nose hair but you still forced yourself forward to take a peek. Letting out a triumphant "ha" which had your future roommate flinching out of surprise.

"I knew that man was a liar." You said to the soldier currently staring at you like you had two heads before marching back to the admin office. Swearing out loud when you saw the door was now closed. It probably wasn't even 4 yet.

You would be back first thing tomorrow morning. Waiting outside before the office opened to force that stinking liar to process your transfer request. That meant you just needed to figure something out for tonight. Tomorrow by this time you would have roommates who weren't actively a threat to everyone around them.

You didn’t want to see Gojo but the clinic doctor saw right through your lies about being sick and wouldn't let you into the infirmary. Upon arriving to the base you had feigned being sick quite often to get out of missions and more arduous training sessions so by now the doctor was more likely to believe Pinocchio with an actively elongating nose than you.

You couldn't avoid seeing Gojo but that didn't mean you couldn't ignore him. You walked right past him at shooting practice. Joining Lieutenant Hiroshi's group instead and avoided his gaze at dinner, choosing to sit next to Kaido instead. Feeling the full force of those otherworldly blues on you all throughout the rest of the day but refusing to look back at him.

Kaido however was having more trouble ignoring Gojo than you.

"He looks like he wants to kill us. Wait - actually he was only looking at me like that. He looks like he wants to kill me and looks like he's going to eat you as usual." Kaido said.

"Ignore him." You responded, angrily shoving another piece of broccoli in your mouth.

"Easy for you to say, he doesn't look like he wants to kill you. What happened between the two of you anyway?"

"Nothing." You barked, the word muffled and unintelligible due to the very undercooked broccoli still filling your mouth.

"Muppet?" Kaido asked in confusion making you huff in annoyance.

"I said nothing and I'm sleeping in your dorm tonight." You said after forcefully swallowing the unchewable broccoli down.

"What, why? There's no space in our dorm." Kaido whined.

"Because you stole my bed."

"I didn't steal shit, you transferred to Lieutenant Gojo's room so they gave me yours."

"I didn't transfer. That rat filled out the paperwork himself. You know what - it doesn't matter. Here, I'll give you my chocolate pudding if you let me stay." You said, pushing your tray towards Kaido.

"I don't like choc- oh it's blueberry. Fine, you can stay." Kaido said and you swore out loud when you looked down at the pudding. Being a pain in the ass clearly ran in the family.

You heard a bang across the dining hall and glanced up only to see a fuming Gojo up on his feet. His tray of food now spread all over the ground next to his table. He glared at you and Kaido as he made his way across the dining hall. Grabbing your tray from in front of Kaido and throwing it to the floor with a loud clattering sound that made you flinch.

"Stop testing my patience unless you want to see what happens when it runs out." Gojo warned, but you were too stunned by the commotion to think of anything to say. He turned to stalk out of the dining hall when you didn't respond.

"What a fucking nutter." You muttered under your breath once you were quite sure Gojo was out of earshot, glancing over at Kaido to see he was still frozen.

"Hey, you okay?" You asked, nudging him with your elbow.

"I don't know if that's spilt juice or if I pissed my pants." Kaido said making you grimace in disgust as you looked down at his pants to see that they were indeed soaked.

"Looks a little orange so unless you're very sick it's got to be the juice." You said, hoping you were right.

After clearing up the tray and giving Kaido the chance to shower and change out of the juice/sickly urine-soaked pants you two made your way back to your old dorm to retire for the night.

"What are you doing back here?" One of your old roommates asked the moment you walked in.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

"Did Gojo get sick of his little lapdog?"

"Should we go ask him that together?" You asked, making the smirk fall right off the ugly mug of your most obnoxious old roommate.

"Whatever." He responded, going back to the stupid card game he had been playing with the others.

You and Kaido stood staring at the twin bed that looked even smaller than you remembered it. It really wasn't built for two adults to share.

"We can just lay in opposite directions." You suggested.

"Gross, I'm not laying with your feet in my face." Kaido said.

"Okay then orange-piss boy, what do you suggest?" You asked, earning yourself a dirty look from Kaido and confused glances from the others.

"Why don't you just take the floor?"

"Because the floor is hard and cold and there's creepy crawlies everywhere."

"Fine, we'll just share the bed. It's really no different than standing side by side." Kaido said.

It was very different. The bed was so cramped you couldn't even build a pillow wall without compromising the little space you had and of course Kaido had the pointiest elbows known to mankind. He wouldn't stop shuffling around to get comfortable and one of his elbows from hell would dig into your vulnerable midsection.

After the fourth time you elbowed him back which started a war you were bound to lose with your regular human elbows. You both eventually fell asleep bruised and cramped.

You were woken far too soon for it to be morning by a hand desperately slapping at you and then gripping into your pajama shirt as though about to tear it off. You slapped at the hand, trying to get back to sleep but were forced awake when you heard an odd, muffled gurgling sound followed by the voice of the last person you expected to hear.

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself." You heard Gojo say making your eyes fly open, struggling to adjust in the dark room only to see him forcing Kaido's hand backwards until you heard a sharp snapping sound as his wrist broke.

Your scrambled upwards on the bed, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Gojo sat straddling Kaido's chest, chocking him with one hand. The other still holding the wrist he had broken. Kaido let out a muffled scream, turning to look at you and reaching out towards you with his other hand making you flinch back but Gojo caught that hand before it could reach you.

"What did I just fucking say? Why can't people just listen while I'm asking nicely. Everyone's always trying to get their paws on what's mine." Gojo said, tossing Kaido's hand back down to his side. Increasing the force with which he was choking Kaido, pushing his head further down into the bed.

"G-Gojo what the fuck?" You asked, shakily reaching for the hand that was choking Kaido but seeing that manic blue gaze turn on you in the darkness had your blood freezing in your veins.

The predatory look he had while hunting curses back on his face but this time there was no joy accompanying it. Just a single-minded determination to take out what he saw as a rival for his chosen prey.

"Oh darling, did we wake you? I'm sorry, I was just teaching this fucker what happens when he puts his hands on what's mine. Why don't you go sleep in our room? I'll be there in a minute."

Kaido let out a muffled whimper, his flailing growing weak as he began turning purple with the blood rushing to his head. His teary eyes met yours, forcing you into action. As much as you wanted it to be, this wasn't a nightmare. Gojo had really somehow found you here and was about to kill Kaido if you didn't do something.

"Get off of him Gojo." You cried, shoving at his chest with all your might but it wasn't enough to move him.

You glanced back, about to yell to wake the others. Only to see them already awake, sitting up in their beds. Watching the scene with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fucking help me." You yelled at them, pushing and clawing at Gojo who didn't even bother to swat at you. Instead wrapping his free arm around your waist and pinning you to his side.

You thrashed against him, pulling and scratching at his arm as Kaido's eyes bulged.

"You're gonna kill him." You screamed, near feral now in your attempts to get Gojo off but it was like trying to move a rock.

"This is what happens when you befriend someone else. Look closely darling." Gojo mumbled, resting his forehead against your head. Completely relaxed as though he weren't actively choking the life out of someone.

"You fucking cowards." You screamed at the others, looking around desperately for something to help you get Gojo off. Your gaze landed on Kaido's alarm clock and you grasped at it desperately, turning in Gojo's hold and slamming it down into his temple with all your strength.

He reared back, finally releasing Kaido and you shoved him back off of him. Watching, with your hands hovering helplessly as Kaido coughed weakly, tears still streaming down his eyes and broken wrist held against his chest as tremors shook through him.

You heard that bark-like laughter and turned to see Gojo clutching his bleeding head. Streaks of blood running down the left side of his face, over his eye making the mania of his unnaturally blue gaze all the more terrifying to witness. Blood seeping through the hand he held to his head yet he was laughing.

"Only you, darling, would dare to do such a thing. Only you could get away with it." He said, pulling you in by the wrist back towards him.

"Let go, you fucking psycho." You yelled, hitting your fists against his chest but he swept both your wrists up in his hand. Palm sticky with blood that rubbed off onto your skin as he brought your conjoined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to them.

"Never, I'm never going to let you go." He muttered, lips still against your hands. Darting his head back with a laugh as you tried to swipe at his face.

"You're not going to have a choice. When everyone finds out what you've done you're going to end up rotting in prison."

"Whose gonna put me there?" He asked, smiling indulgently as though speaking to a child.

"Me, I'm going to report you for what you've done to Kaido and I'll tell them about Tomoya too." You threatened.

"But you covered for me, you're my little accomplice. Won't that get you in trouble too?" Gojo asked, voice still light and teasing but his words made you blanche.

He let out another one of his bark-like laughs at the look on your face, darting forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek as though unable to help himself. You flinched back in disgust.

"Oh darling, I'm just teasing. I'd never let you get in any trouble and neither will I. You don't have to worry your pretty little head over things like that when you're with me. I take care of what's mine."

"There's four witnesses to you attacking Kaido. There's no way you'll get away with this." You said.

"What witnesses? Did you guys see me here tonight?" Gojo asked the others without even bothering to take his eyes off of you. He always thought you looked so cute while angry, turning as red as a tomato and glaring as though you could ever hope to intimidate anyone.

"No, sir." Came three responses making your eyes widen and you turned to look at your old roommates.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You all called me a coward but really you're the cowards." You spat, and not one of them could meet your gaze.

"It doesn't matter. I witnessed it, I'll help Kaido report you." You said, turning back to Gojo.

"My poor darling, you really don't know who I am, do you? I could kill Kaido at breakfast and no one would even dare complain about the mess."

"What do you mean? Who cares if you're a lieutenant, you can't go attacking soldiers."

"Poor, sweet thing, you don't even know who you decided to befriend. You don't even know who it is you belong to." Gojo tsked as though truly sympathetic at your naivety.

"I'm Gojo Satoru, darling. This place is only running because my family wants it to, because I want it to. I can do whatever I want here, but lucky for you, so can you. So long as you have my approval of course. Sleepovers with other soldiers are not allowed." Gojo said and suddenly everything he got away with doing began to make sense.

How he had gotten away with nearly killing a fellow soldier with as poor an alibi as yourself. Why he had a room nicer than the Commander and wasn't questioned for any of his insane antics. Where he got all that audacity from.

"I get you were upset with me so I'll let this one slide, but if you ever do something like this again, I'll have no choice but to punish you. You're mine, don't ever let anyone else get so close, let alone touch you." Gojo said, reaching for your face. Face dropping and eyes growing cold as you flinched back from his touch.

"Enough. I told you not to test my patience. Don't push me so far that I have to get strict with you. Now come on, let's go to our room." Gojo said, getting up off the bed and holding his hand out to you.

"You're fucking insane if you think I'm going anywhere with you." You said, turning back to Kaido and ignoring his hand but it was a mistake to turn your back to Gojo.

You were yanked back around by your arm making you cry out, Gojo ducking down and tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing before turning to stalk out of the room.

"I warned you." He said, swatting at your ass with one of those giant hands making you yelp.

"Put me down." You demanded, squirming and flailing to try to get out of his hold. A kick to his stomach only earned you another smack on your ass.

Your yelling must have attracted attention for you heard a door opening down the hall and the Commander's voice demanding which moron was up causing a commotion this early before he came into view wearing a sleep robe tied over pajamas.

"Help me." You called out, reaching out towards the Commander when he stood there staring as though frozen in shock. Heart sinking as Gojo got closer and the man merely stepped out of his way.

"Excuse us from training for the rest of the week, we've got a couple things to work through." Gojo said as he passed the Commander.

"Yes, of course. Let me know if you need to leave the base, I'll have a car arranged."

"That won't be necessary." Gojo responded, turning the corner so you could no longer see the man who you had expected to help you but had only stood with his head bowed down to the monster carrying you off.

Gojo didn't so much as slow down until he had made it back to his room. Opening the door with you still hanging over his shoulder with ease and dropping you down onto the bed. You immediately got to your feet, eyeing him warily where he stood before you.

He raised his hand and you flinched back making him frown as he brought his hand to the still-bleeding wound on his head.

"Fuck, you got me good." He winced, prodding at the wound tenderly and going over to the mirror hung up on the wall to get a better look.

"I didn't think you were capable of that but it's good to see you're not completely defenseless. Though, next time, maybe try hitting someone else and not your friend." He said, wiping at the blood with his t-shirt gingerly.

"You're not my friend." You said, seeing him pause in the reflection of the mirror. Eyes flashing before he closed them and took a deep breath as though trying to restrain himself.

"You're angry." He sighed, turning back to face you.

"No, I'm not angry. I'm disgusted. I can't believe I ever called you a friend." You spat.

His jaw clenched but he shook his head as though the movement would help him shake off what you had said.

"I lost control and I hurt you. I get that you're mad and I'm sorry for hurting you, I really am, but don't go saying things you don't mean." He said.

"Oh I mean it. You mean nothing to me, I don't ever want to see your face again. In fact, I'm leaving. Fuck this whole force. That pension isn't worth this shit." You said, moving towards the closet intending to pack but before you could even round the bed Gojo had crossed the room and was turning you to face him by the arm.

Your protests died on your lips as you caught sight of his face. Blue eyes alight with rage, the veins running up his neck and into his jaw standing out grotesquely from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. He looked inhuman, like something animalistic and feral. For the first time you felt truly afraid of Gojo.

"Didn't I say not to push me too far?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Didn't I?" He demanded loudly, gripping you by your upper arms and giving you a sound shake.

"Y-you did." You responded, arching up in his hold to try to get out of the painful grip he had on your arms.

"Who are you leaving?" He asked, bringing you in closer by the hold he had on you.

"Who said you could fucking leave me? Who even allowed you to think it?" He barked, giving you another shake.

"You're mine, you don't ever get to walk away from me. You're the one who barged into my life, you think you can just up and leave whenever you want?" He demanded, his grip growing steadily tighter on your arms.

"Gojo, please, you're hurting me." You said, eyes watering from the pain but you didn't dare try to pull away.

"And what about how much you're hurting me?" He asked.

"Does my pain mean fucking nothing to you? Saying shit like I mean nothing to you, that I'm not your friend. You know what, you're right. I'm not your friend. I'm so much fucking more than that. Friend doesn't begin to cover what we are to each other."

"W-what?" You asked. You knew he was weirdly possessive of you but you hadn't anticipated that he thought of you in that way.

"I'm your fucking everything. Your friend, your lover, your husband. It's all me, there is no space for anyone else. I won't let there be anyone else. I'll make you mine in every conceivable way. Put a ring on your finger, brand my name over your fucking heart and mark your pretty little neck with my teeth every damn day." He growled, and before you had a chance to react was leaning down and sinking his teeth into your neck making you scream as he tore through the flesh.

You flailed in his grasp, pushing and shoving at his chest but it was like trying to move stone. After what seemed like an eternity of agony he finally pulled away, teeth lined with your blood and lips crimson with it.

"All fucking mine." He declared, licking over his lips making your breath catch as the reality of your situation dawned on you.

You had walked right into the den of a monster, awakening the beast and now you were trapped in its grasp. You should never have befriended Gojo Satoru. Not when there was all those rumours about him. Shouldn't have thought yourself more clever than the rest, able to tame the infamous mad dog.

"Gojo I don't think of you that way." You said shakily, hoping you could at least get him to go back to wanting to be your friend, not whatever the hell this was.

"That's okay, you'll start. It's my fault, I should have been more clear. I know how oblivious you can be so I wanted to take things slow but clearly that was a mistake on my part."

"Y-you can't force someone to be with you. I don't want to be with you and I won't." You said, trying to sound firm.

"I know you're a little slow and normally I find that to be fucking adorable but I need you to get it through your head that you are mine. You belong to me." He repeated slowly as though trying to drill the words into you.

"You're the one who forced your way into my life so really this is all on you. I would have left you alone had you not started following me around and then tried to cover for me, getting all worried about me getting into trouble." He said, going from enraged to getting a far-off look in his eye as though reminiscing. He was fucking insane, his moods changed faster than you could keep up with.

"I only approached you because I needed someone who'd have my back during missions. I didn't mean for any of this to go so far." You said.

"I'll always protect you, I'll always have your back. There's no curse, institution or person that can get to you while I'm around." He cooed, not seeming mad at all to find out about your ulterior motive for approaching him.

"I don't need that from you. I'm leaving the force, I never should have joined." You mumbled, filled with regret over your greed that had brought you into the predicament.

"You're not going anywhere. I'll tie you to the bed if that's what it takes. You'll stay where I am. If you don't want to be part of missions, good, I'd rather you not be but you're staying here."

"You can't watch over me every second of every day. I'd find a way to get away so why don't you just make this easy for both of us and let me go?" You asked, making his eyes darken and that bravado that had overcome your senses drained just as fast leaving only a hollow, cold sense of fear behind.

"I told you I'm never letting you go. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you with me. I don't want to tie you up but I'll do it if you make me and if you somehow manage to get out then I'll hunt you down and I'll break your fucking legs so you can't run." He growled making you flinch back.

"Now what's it going to be? Are you going to choose the easy route where you stay with me in our room and get to move about as you please or should I tie you up?" He asked.

"Better yet should I move right to breaking your legs so you don't get any funny ideas about running away? They'll even discharge you with pension if I break your legs, you'll still stay with me of course but it is what you always wanted." He said, grabbing your jaw in his hand and forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes softening when he saw the tears in yours.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to make you cry. Come here." He sighed, pulling you in to his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

Terrified as you were of him you couldn't help but sob into his chest. The dread of the horrible predicament you had gotten yourself into making you seek comfort from anywhere you could get it, even if it was the source of your misery. He hushed you, rubbing a hand up and down your back soothingly. Pressing apologetic kisses into your head.

"I told you not to push me. I fucking lose it when I even so much as think of you not being with me. Just promise me you'll stay with me. That you won't ever leave and we can forget all of this."

"I-I won't." You hiccuped, finally giving in to what had been inevitable since the moment you first approached Gojo.

Each distortion that filled the skies—the skies you have started to despise—spelled an inevitable demise as humanity endured even worse losses. As you took exams at college, there were lines outside of hospitals. The day of your graduation, as you walked the confetti covered balcony, there were bodies lining graves—the A-rank dungeon break nearly flushed out a small city an hour away from you. That day, your supposed ‘celebration’ encompassed hesitant smiles and reluctant whispers that congratulated you on your success.

“At least we are still here.” You recalled a woman saying, scolding the looks on her family’s faces.

You looked at the sky, your tassel gently flowing with the motion of your head. Eventually, the monsters will take over this land. They will overwhelm humanity’s strongest fighters and wipe out the population in clusters. You could feel the anger pooling, then, at your helplessness. Average civilians were so weak, so useless. It hurt that you couldn’t even protect anyone, let alone yourself. Why, why were you born so weak—

Your emotions stilled at a cloud that slowly passed over the sun. Your heart was calm, beating slower.

Even when the world ends, the sky will remain unchanged—unchanged, vast, and still beautiful.

Then, the world ended.

You still remembered the day as if it were just yesterday, when the gates appeared—the roaring sounds oscillating across the entire country and its diameter devouring the peaceful summer sky. The action of itself was unjust—not because it triggered the apocalypse, but because it tied in a pacifist to the unyielding destruction of the entire world. There was a brief intermission between the gate openings and the flow of monsters; realization of the situation propelled Darwin’s theory of natural selection into motion. You were lucky to have broken out of your stupor, yelling out that everyone should run—maybe you saved some lives that day.

The screams were just as loud as the tremors that shook the earth once the rampage began. You could not focus on anything else but the shrieks, and the vile sounds of slicing of innocent faces you would now never get to meet in this lifetime. Once again, you were helpless to the world around you. No awakening, no power, no ability to do anything. The best you could do was silence your whimpers and hope it all stops.

Was your family okay? You thought as another scream fell silent. Where were they?

You looked at the sky for a miracle, but all you could see was that damned gate.

“Thank you.” The stranger’s trembling hands folded over the small bread bun, his eyes full of shame and gratitude.

You nodded, then smiled. “You can pick up water from the well just North of here.”

The man nodded his head, repeatedly murmuring ‘thank you’s’ with his voice growing hoarse as tears dripped down his eyes. He had not moved to start eating yet; you could feel his hesitance even after you gave him the bun. You nodded once more before making a swift exit. From a few meters away, you could distantly make out the sounds of biting and chewing.

Your heart felt content. It was warm, sometimes, but it was hard for the heat to linger long. It was hard to fan the flames in the first place; humanity had dispersed into fragments, with remnants of a sound society lost long ago. You also had not heard of a single word regarding your family, no matter how many villages you crossed or people you asked—you assumed them dead on the day of the Parade.

Yes, the day of the Parade. The day of the nightmare you wished to forget, the crossing of endless monstrosities, and the mark of the end of humanity. By some miracle, despite the constant onslaught of dragons and beasts crossing the gates, you lived. Back then, people agreed how fortunate you and others were to be able to hide—after all, if you didn’t hide, you ran. Yet, all you could feel was turmoil brewing within you.

Was it really something fortunate?

The people you loved; your family, friends, they were all gone. Your accomplishments, career, vanished the moment the gates flooded open. Back then, you were playing a game of ‘pretend’—those serene smiles and unsaid thoughts renounced the oncoming catastrophe as a tale of make-believe. You wanted to shout at the survivors that nothing was ‘fortunate’ anymore, that you all were apart of scrapped pages ripped from a fable that deemed your lives forfeit after its story reached the end. You were dirt on the ground, now; organic matter that existed as sustenance for better life forms.

Then, there was the sky. The sky you had loved and cherished deeply, was an entity that you blamed. It was the sky’s fault; something that symbolized tranquility and freedom was replaced as a symbol of the beginning of the end. Beautiful, were the bright explosions that blinded and wrecked cities. Vast, the lines of gates that it held. Limitless, the rows and rows of monsters it brought from within. No longer a constant variable in your life, it was something that reminded you of the day you lost everything.

At least, that’s what you thought back then.

There was more to life than you realized when you found the first village. You had trekked far from the city, and far from your home. You did not know where you were walking, and it looked fruitless based on the lack of your supplies. By a stroke of luck, a group came across you while you were slumped on the floor. They pitied you, offering to take you to their sanctuary—the last of humanity’s efforts to survive.

Upon arrival, you noticed the structure itself looked flimsy, with a handful of people walking through rubble and around deep holes in the ground. It also looked poorly built; houses were built from logs and leaves, with some looking as if they could fall over any moment. But, that didn’t matter—what mattered were the people. A person stood in the middle of the village; you could only make out his shouts and pointing in different directions to assume he was the leader of the village. You watched as men moved to build another house, the same poorly structured house, as others ran away to seemingly get supplies. The women occupied their time by cooking and playing with the children, and you nearly cried at how carefree the children looked.

Despite everyone’s losses, they still moved on. You all were specks of dirt in the ground, but together—as soil—you could erode even the hardest of rocks.

You stopped momentarily, turning behind a piece of wooden wall that was left from a now-destroyed-shed. You peeked around the corner, seeing the man feast on the tiny bun. Good, he was eating. You originally volunteered to assist outsiders, thus had been handing out bread buns the entire day to lone scavengers roaming the outskirts. Although you could no longer take care of your family like you used to, at least you can try to ensure the nourishment of others.

You sighed, relief sifting down your body. You shifted through your bag, feeling the weight of a singular item. You had one more piece left, meaning your work wasn’t over, but you had exhausted nearly the entire outskirts. Perhaps you should take another lap around again—

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what looked to be a dark, blackened figure. It reminded you of the black spots you would get when you were dizzy or fatigued, so you turned your head for a better view.

There was… nothing. Everything was dark, covered by a half-broken roof and the rapid growth of moss and vines. You felt as if… something was staring at you. It was like a sharp pinch, as if there was a pair of eyes piercing like a needle into your soul. At the same time, you felt tired; enough so that if you were to close your eyes right now, you were sure the abyss would greet you in response.

Your eyes swept the shed, noticing a faintly drawn outline that was swaying within the void of darkness. You made contact with a pair of dimmed gray hues, its stare so bold and cold that a shiver quaked through your body. It was tempting to conclude that it was just some illusion, some petty trick on your mind so that the pill was easier to swallow. The longer you stared into the gray depths, the more you couldn’t look away.

What was this feeling?

It was not only that you felt your heart pump strenuously, but the surreality of your condition. You felt and heard your heart pump simultaneously with the feeling of adrenaline hitting your bloodstream. Your arms and legs tensed out of instinct, causing you to wince as your muscle fibers moved and pulled across your bones. The several cracks under the soles of your feet trembled slightly, as if matching your fear.

You wanted to look away so badly. You are too entranced now; a rabbit trapped under sharp claws as the wolf stared down its prey.

Please, please, please, look away.

No, this feeling—

You are remembering that day again. God, why even remember now?

It must be a coincidence—but it couldn’t be. It feels so much like…

Like…

Like those beasts.

Those beasts that walked where the sun did not follow.

They appeared in shaky and inky black forms. They would appear, and whatever they would do, would always result in a calamity. You heard the most screams from them, always.

“I’m paralyzed.” You thought, realization sinking in.

Is this the end?

Then, a sigh.

A deep, long, aired out sigh.

In an instant, all the pressure building within your frame vanished. The tension on your sarcomeres lessened, like a weight slowly floating off your shoulders. As the rush dissipated, you are left with trembling hands and shaky legs. Your senses came back to you, one by one.

Your head shot up, fearful eyes meeting wary ones. You see a figure, now—which looked to be a man—but it was odd. His frame was fluctuating between reality and obscurity, like he was struggling to pick the right balance of tenebrosity or to succumb entirely to the veil of night. His stare engraved holes into you; it was lucky that you hadn’t deflated into a balloon, most likely due to the restraint on his aura.

Aura… his sheer presence is powerful enough to knock you unconscious, that much you could tell.

To be truthful, you were clueless as to his actual thoughts. Initially, his presence was concealed—only emitting essence that you now thought was a warning. Maybe you pushed a button or two, seeing as he actually appeared in front of you. If anything, you were slightly grateful to know that you weren’t entirely crazy and that there was an actual person in the shed. However, you couldn’t read his expression at all; firstly because he wasn’t conveying anything, and secondly because you were too scared to try.

Neither of you moved; the shock having knocked the breath out of you and the stranger seemingly studying you.

Then,

“Go home.”

His voice was deep, so low in octave you imagined the sound waves still bouncing around your ear drums. In any other situation, it would’ve soothed you, as you envisioned singing lullabies or the humming of baritone tunes.

But, you also weren’t stupid. The man’s wording was specific—a demand. In a sense, he was a king; a ruler who offers you mercy after finding you in contempt of the sovereign because you tried stepping on his land. Unconsciously, your legs moved, recognizing that the lord gave you permission to leave—words your being waited on with bated breath to live another day.

So, you ran, not realizing that you dropped your bag of items, nor the growing smile on the stranger’s face.

That man, he never left your mind.

Somber gray eyes, and a complexion that rivaled Greek gods. His hair was as dark as the shadows devoured under his silhouette. He was more than ordinary, representative of a being that practices and deals in absolute power. There were only a handful of people who were gifted with abilities like that, back when the very first gates opened.

Right, now you remembered—they were called hunters. Hunters were classified into different rankings, all the way to S-rank and even national level hunters. To be a hunter, you were granted a certain seed of power.

If he were to be like anything else back then, could he have been a hunter? An S-class, even?

It was rare to come across ‘hunters’ anymore, the label long disbanding alongside the association that coined the term. When they appeared, it was considered a bad omen. Either they were chased by the Monarchs of the New World (for the risk they held) or isolated by the unawakened out of fear. Perhaps, the man was the last of the hunters—of the humans who could fight back at all.

Either way, you wanted to see him again. The more reflecting you did, the more you registered his seclusion; he is far, far from the remnants of civilization.

Regardless of the fear you felt, or the possibility of death, he was still human. He was someone who lost everything, just like you and everyone else.

The destination was a long and grueling walk from the current village you stayed at. Passing by outlanders, you gave out food and supplies as normal, while steadily making your way towards the shed.

Would he still be there? It was hard to say. Most remaining hunters were known to be nomads; staying in one place for longer than a day was like shooting fish in a barrel for their next enemy. You were not sure if he was a hunter in the first place, too—it was your latest profound superstition to be proven by whatever little luck you had left. As you treaded further, the familiarity of your surroundings fill you with perpetual dread. You began to second-guess your courage to embark on this trip in the first place, thoughts clouded and eventually drowned out by faint whispers inside decaying wooden walls. The moment your final step reached the broken shelter a hush filled the air, the shed girdling the edge of the forest encompassed by a heavy silence.

“Hello?” You called out to no one in particular.

You nearly surprised yourself with the surge of bravery to make out your greeting. You peeked into the shed, hands waving through vines. There was no one around the entrance, despite you hearing multiple voices.

Odd.

You weaved through a few cracks in the floorboard before being greeted by gray eyes. You jumped, obviously, because you did not expect him to be in such close proximity to you. He was a till a few feet away, but you could have never spotted him if he chose to sit closer to the wall. He was indeed discernible now, sitting under a small stream of light gifted by the sun. His shadow dragged along the box he sat atop of, sinking behind its crevices before pushing itself onto the wall and absorbing its shade. In any other universe, you would’ve described it as strange. In this case, you thought it supported how outlandish—and isolated—he must be.

“You’re back, what a surprise,” The man said, expression clearly detached. “I thought I scared you off.”

This was going to be difficult.

“Right. I was, but I thought it would be better to introduce myself since we got off on the wrong foot—“

A half truth, but you were also cautious.

“—my name is Y/N.”

He was burning holes into you again—the stare wasn’t any less discomforting than the previous time. His silence, too, was deafening. A sudden urge to scream to at least get a reaction out of him rose within you, but you quickly simmered it out.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly as he let out a faint hum.

You winced. “I wanted to give you something that I couldn’t last time.”

You quickly plucked out a wrapped item, hastily tearing through the covering to reveal a bread bun. You weren’t able to catch a glimpse of his face, opting to shift the bread onto an elevated surface so he wouldn’t be incentivized to lunge at you.

“I hope that this helps you, even if it isn’t a whole lot.” You said, nervously picking your cuticles.

The silence was very, VERY heavy, and—can he please say something?

You looked up and caught the man’s wide eyed, dazed state as his eyes lingered on the bread. It reminded you of a skeptical stray cat at a crossroads when offered an open-hand. The man’s eyes met yours, then, and all you could think was how much better he looked without baring his teeth at you.

“You’re funny.” He dryly chuckled, faint smile betraying his nonchalance.

You offered a small smile, blissfully unaware of his next few words.

“I’m Jinwoo.”

And,

“See you tomorrow?”

“Are you a hunter, Jinwoo?” You asked after placing down the wrapped bread.

You wanted to use his name in some way, lest you forget it or say it wrong. It was ironic you carried over some of your social habits after the end of the world, like a puppy you once fed.

“You could say that,” Jinwoo replied simply.

“Could?” You echoed.

He must’ve noticed your frown, adding, “Not like it matters now.”

He had a point; the name lost its meaning awhile ago. Still, you were ruffled by his restrained disposition. Surely, the label still had meaning to him.

…No, that was an unfair presumption. Jinwoo knows his own memories and emotions better than everyone, especially you. Besides, it wasn’t worth arguing the semantics on the basis of mere suspicion.

Thus, you decided to let it go.

Ah, that reminded you—he never told you his last name.

“You don’t have family?”

“I did.”

You perked up. “…You lost them, too?”

Jinwoo closed his eyes, licking his lips. “Because of the Tragedy, yes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Then, he squinted his eyes curiously. “I’m more interested in your story.”

You coughed suddenly, shocked by his gravitation towards you. Maybe it was because all you had to offer was bread and stories, or because you never took the chance to settle with your memories, but you felt compelled to talk.

And talk, you did.

Jinwoo was an excellent listener; he was levelheaded and passive, allowing you to just… talk, and talk, and talk (with a tendency to sigh or huff as remarks). You were spilling your family’s entire life story, grasping this fact in the middle of talking about your sister’s fiancé’s secret affair, but you found that you didn’t care. If you weren’t able to come to terms with your family’s passing before this, perhaps someone else can remember in your stead.

Did he care to remember every single detail, anyway? Probably not.

“Hold on—I lost track of the time. Crap, it’s getting dark.” You said, rushing to readjust your cloak. If you started the walk now, you might make it before it’s fully dark.

“It’s rather late, it wouldn’t be safe for you to leave.” Jinwoo said, rough voice clipping louder than your hurried shuffling.

“Did you like my stories that much?” You joked.

You waited a few beats of silence. “Sorry, bad joke; I wouldn’t have any place to sleep if I stayed, anyway.”

The shed violently shook at the end of your sentence, causing your heart to lurch in your chest. You latched onto the metal pole next to you, clutching tightly as you waited for the shaking to cease. Within seconds, Jinwoo was next to you, gently but firmly holding your arm; in moments, the quaking stopped.

“Must’ve been an earthquake.” Jinwoo noted, tone and expression laced with unconventional serenity.

Your quivering hadn’t stopped after the vibrations ceased. In fact, it increased exponentially because you were still trying to comprehend the glimpse of Jinwoo’s vibrant, deep purple eyes etched with absolute unadulterated fury.

You were deluded, you thought quickly as your breathing hastened. You were tired, surely.

“I should go home.”

His breathing stilled.

“Don’t forget about me tomorrow,” Jinwoo said, sounding strangely hollow as his iron grip slowly released you.

it would have been fine, if you weren’t so clueless. you took his actions as nothing more than him being friendly, and comfortable with you and sure - you both dated other people, but he’d made it abundantly clear to every woman in his life that you came first in the peking order. naturally, this didn’t make them stay long.

he had a deep, twisted sort of obsession when it came to you, constantly needing you close, wanting to hold you, smell you, caress you in anyway possible. you let him, of course - you were a sweet little thing, you always assumed it was normal despite everyone in your life questioning it. you were asked a million times a week whether you and jungkook were dating to which you’d always tilt your head, mumbling out a confused no. whenever he was asked, he’d simply smirk, and shrug his shoulders, playing the ambiguity card.

you weren’t sly, however. he could see right through you. no matter how innocent you’d act, he knew you enjoyed the attention, craved it and needed it in a way that resembled himself - you were a mere reflection of one another. he had just come to understand his feelings first.

y/n and jungkook, a simple pair. you couldn’t find one without the other, and despite him being the openly touchy and expressive one out of you both, the only person who thought it was friendly was you. the irony was, you knew deep down it was all a facade you were keeping up in hopes he would never stop. it felt too good to change the game now.

even now, jungkook knocked on your door at 2 in the morning, hair messy, coming from one of the libraries after a long PHD study session. you sleepily rose from your bed, already half way to dreamland as you lazily opened the door. though you weren’t expecting him, you knew it could only be him knocking.

“did i wake you?” he murmured quietly as you yawned against the door, letting him in.

he walked in, placing his bag and shoes by the entrance whilst he watched you sleepily turn back to your bedroom. “mm, but it’s okay.”

he followed you in, watching you snuggle back against your pillow. “scoot over.”

you did exactly that, shuffling, watching as he joined you in your bed, taking over a large majority of the space. you groaned a little as his hands found your hips, large fingers pressing into your skin whilst he pulled you into his chest with utter ease.

“smell good.” you purred, curling your face into his neck. he felt himself visibly relax, breathing in the scent of your hair.

“it’s the cologne you got me.” he murmured down at you.

you groaned in response, pleased at his answer.

if anyone were to see you both right now, the last possible thing they’d ever assume you to be was friends and yet here you were. best friends, even, through thick and thin. you’d learnt not to question jungkook’s wandering hands, how it brushed your ass every time he ran it up and down your back. he, in return, didn’t question you on the way you’d steal his clothes, curling into them whilst demanding to lay on his chest, wrapped tightly in his thick biceps. a mutual understanding, if you will.

“hey, we’re still on for tomorrow right? jimin’s party?” he whispered down, causing a subtle shiver down to go down your neck.

you huffed a little. “yes. now shut up, i’m sleepy.”

he grinned at that, bunny teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he pressed quick peck to the top of your head, finding himself joining you into dreamland.

—

you could hear the boom of jimin’s house minutes before you’d even arrived, offering a look over at your best friend yejin who was a giggling mess at the back seat of the uber. the blonde haired boy was notorious for his gatherings, unlimited alcohol thanks to his connections, and a gathering of people that rivalled multiple parties combined. he was a self proclaimed man of the people, offering his large home as a service to society. or so he claimed.

you slipped out once you’d arrived, pulling the hem of your tiny little dress down. the vibe for tonight was to have fun, find someone, get drunk, get ruined all before cosying back up in your warm, big bed. it didn’t feel like too much to ask for, and jimin’s party was the prime location to do it.

you followed yejin inside the too large house, immediately saying hi to people upon your arrival. within minutes, you’d both done your round, and you were finally walking up to your friends who were all mingling in the kitchen.

“hi.” you squealed at the sight of your party host, who grinned widely before giving you a big hug. “having fun so far?”

“jimin, this is insane.” you laughed, taehyung wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “more than insane, should of seen what happened 20 minutes ago, some girl slapped her boyfriend for flirting with someone else.”

“yeah well, had to try out do the other one.” jimin quipped, referencing his previous gatherings whilst already preparing you a drink.

“the fact you’ve managed that is insane.” yejin grimaced whilst taking a sip of the concoction yoongi had prepared.

your eyes flickered to the tall, tatted boy stood by the wall, back pressed against the surface. a loose tshirt sat on his figure, and though it shielded you from seeing the hard panels on his body, the sheer expanse of his shoulders were enough to have your legs move towards him within seconds.

jungkook was staring at you, gaze as intense as ever. his tongue draped over his bottom lip momentarily, wetting it at the mere sight of you. “hi.” he murmured down at you, lowering his head so his lips would graze your ear just slightly.

a shiver went down your spine. your fingers reached for his stomach, clutching his top gently. “already drinking? thought you’d wait for me.”

“been nursing it. don’t drink that.” he moved the cup jimin had given you out of your hand, preparing one for you instead. he was possessive like that, small acts that you could never pin point.

“hm? this tastes good.” you hummed, resting against him.

his arm slipped around your waist, done too casually despite the weight of it on your body. his eyes wandered over the tiny dress you were wearing, eyebrows furrowing.

“is this new?”

you peered up. “yeah! you like it?” you twirled a little, his arm loosening slightly. “got it today, yejin said it makes my legs look good.”

he grunted, half in appreciation and other half in annoyance that your mutual friend had you dressing in such a risqué dress. the thought of other men noticing you enraged him, in a way that wasn’t normal; not that he gave a fuck.

“i do like it. aren’t you cold?” he asked with narrowed eyes, hand returning to the bottom of your back.

you grinned into your cup, tilting your head. “that’s what you’re for, duh.”

at that, a smirk formed in his lips, the thought of you needing him in a way he was only more than happy to be was comforting to his obsessive brain.

the two of you muttered away, hidden away in a corner whilst your friends chatted around you. to the naked eye, you both appeared to be much more than the best friends you claimed to be. with your hands curled onto him, feeling his abs and hard chest under his clothes whilst his own were wandering up and down your back, often dipping low enough to touch your ass.

it didn’t register in your head that this wasn’t a normal thing. that friends shouldn’t touch each other so intimately, especially not ones that were as close as you and jungkook. the mask of friendship acted as a guide for you both, offering a rope of direction despite both of you often letting go, making your own decisions that completely disregarded what was supposed to be.

“gonna go to the bathroom.” you groaned suddenly.

jungkook had been stood in front of you, leaned over so you were caged against the wall, forcing you to push his chest lightly. “want me to come with?”

“what, so you can watch me piss? does that get you off?” you teased, watching as he rolled his eyes.

his tongue pushed against his cheek. “yeah, yeah, hurry up. i’ll hold your drink.”

you giggled to yourself, loving how riled up he’d get at a mere poke or jab, before sliding out of his grip, feeling his fingers tighten against you before letting go. jungkook watched you walk away, greedily taking in every inch of skin he could get. from your legs to your arms, the way your ass looked so fucking good in that dress. he let out a quiet groan.

you walked up the stairs, avoiding the moans emitting from different rooms like the plague. slipping into the bathroom, you quickly did your business before looking in the mirror whilst washing your hands. the alcohol had allowed for a flush against your cheeks and your pupils were dilated, you felt a rush all over your body. tonight was supposed to be chill, but the air felt electric.

you weren’t sure if it was the music, the amount of people or even the selection of drinks - but you felt slightly out of it. you shook your head, forcing yourself to stay present again before you began walking back to your best friend, almost too excitedly.

unfortunately for you, by the time you were slipping back into the kitchen, your tatted friend wasn’t there anymore, with hobi letting you know he’d gone into the main foyer. you, of course, listened and snuck between multiple people, exploring the house in a bid to find jungkook.

you huffed a little, realising he wasn’t there either. curse jimin, you thought, who needed a house this big anyway? your legs travelled around the expanse of the house, feeling slightly annoyed at the loss of your best friend who was usually stuck to your hip. you knew he preferred to stick together on nights like this, so you weren’t sure where he could be.

your legs took you to the living room, finding him leaning towards a corner which made your head tilt slightly, walking over immediately only to be stopped in your tracks the second you realised what was going on.

he had a girl in front of him, tall and leggy, and it took you no time to figure out who it was. yuna. his on and off ex of two years, toxic as could be, the one woman in the entire world you truly couldn’t stand whatsoever. unbeknownst to you, everytime you’d get into a relationship or begin seeing anyone, jungkook would return to her as a distraction, in hopes of making you jealous, to evoke any emotion he physically could. was it healthy? certainly not, but he didn’t really care for anyone that wasn’t you anyway.

you weren’t privy to this information, which meant your disdain for the frankly horrible woman felt unfounded. you felt guilty whenever you’d think about it, knowing you didn’t like her simply because she had jungkook when he felt more yours than anyone else’s, not that you could ever discuss that with anyone. you huffed at the sight, arms crossed whilst staring right at them.

you both had made a pact. you’d broken up with your ex boyfriend a few months ago, and at the time you felt like it was potentially a mistake, but jungkook had talked you out of it. said if you don’t go back, he wouldn’t go back to his ex either and selfishly, you knew that was what you wanted. yeah, you might have missed your ex, but the secret possibility of having him all to yourself was too much not to indulge in. seeing him now, however, had you drowning in annoyance.

yuna’s gaze flickered over jungkook’s shoulder, noticing you stood a few metres away looking at them openly. she wasn’t very fond of you either. it was hard to stomach the fact she would always be second in jungkook’s eyes, if even that, compared to the best friend he kept so closely to him. you could call and he’d drop the entire world to be by your side, so it made her bitter, naturally. seeing you stood there, visibly losing in comparison to her made a small smirk form as she tilted her head upwards to look at jungkook, her hands suddenly sliding all over his chest and shoulders.

you scoffed, deciding you’d had enough as you turned on your heel and exited the room with a grumble. if he wanted her so bad, he could have her, you didn’t care. he wasn’t allowed to come back to yours after though, a broken promise is still a broken promise and you held a grudge like no one else.

“now what’s got you frowning at a party like this?” jin questioned as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, seemingly appearing out of no where as you trudged to the kitchen to get drunk.

“nothing. it’s stupid.” you shook your head.

“probably, but if it’s upset you, let’s talk.”

you sighed, as you grabbed the bottle of vodka, making a concoction you knew would be too strong for you to handle. you were a lightweight after all. “jungkook’s in a corner getting all close with yuna.”exess

“stupid boy.” he shook his head. “are you upset because you don’t like seeing them together?” he asked, leaning against the fridge, watching as yoongi and jimin walked in, seemingly with the same idea as you.

“what..no it’s not that.” your cheeks flushed, a cheeky grin forming on his face that jimin was beginning to rival, understanding the context of the conversation immediately. “yeah? why you getting all red then?” the younger man teased.

“shut up.” you hissed, making him throw his hands up.

“okay. let’s say for arguments sake you’re not jealous, are you really gonna let that something as silly as that ruin your night?” jin asked, bumping your hip whilst making his own drink. “you can’t let his bad decisions dictate how you feel, enjoy yourself.”

“god. boring. don’t listen to him, y/n.” jimin huffed, grabbing your arms and twirling you a little. “don’t get upset. get even.”

“huh?” yoongi asked, eyes narrowing. “okay, feels like it goes without saying that you shouldn’t listen to jimin right now.”

you were intrigued, however. “what do you mean?” you asked, peering at him.

“get even.” he reiterated with a smirk. “gotta play him by his own game.”

“yeah, well, it’s not like my ex is here.” you grumbled at him, taking a sip of your too harsh drink, making you wince. jin tutted, stealing it out of your hand and making you another, more appropriate one.

jimin’s smirk could have rivaled the cheshire cat, with the way it pinned to either side of his face, clearly loving this game. he knew about jungkook’s feelings for you, and about the hidden feelings you could barely admit to yourself - wasn’t it time he had some fun, and made sure progress was being made?

“ah, but i have something better.” he tutted, leading you out to the entrance of the kitchen so you could look out all of the people here. “so many eligible bachelors. why go for something you’re used to, when you could try something new?”

you pondered his words whilst you heard yoongi groan, taking the drink jin was preparing for you and downing it himself.

soon enough, you had found yourself the perfect man. you couldn’t really remember his name, jaehoon, jaehyun, something along those lines - not that it really mattered. he was the right fit for what you needed. you flirted in a way you knew worked best, eyelashes fluttering and a few casual touches here and there, he was practically smitten by the end.

you’d even gotten up to dance, his hands travelling all over the expanse of your stomach, your hips and hair. he was letting you know exactly what he felt and what he was thinking through his eager touch. normally, you’d feel disgusted, you weren’t someone that revelled in attention like this but it was hard to think when you were being guided by jealousy.

“wanna get out of here?” he whispered down at you, voice heavy with intent.

at first, you faltered, as though ice water had been splashed onto your face, suddenly aware of what you were doing. one look upwards and you noticed jungkook wasn’t even around you, and for some stupid reason you couldn’t rationalise, it made you angry. he broke the pact. he had you walking around the party looking for him. him and his touches, wandering hands and fleeting looks - you knew friends didn’t do that, but it was jungkook. it was okay if it was him, you preferred it even, and yet here you stood, about to make the biggest mistake of your life out of pure ego.

“yeah.” you huffed a little, carried away by your thoughts.

the man in front of you couldn’t believe his luck, you were easily one of the prettiest girls at the whole party and entirely out of his league so he wasn’t about to waste a single minute. he took your hand, smirk big whilst leading you through the house, and towards the door.

you passed some of your friends, who were all looking at you inquisitively, managing to get to the foyer before you were so rudely stopped by a hand yanking your own away from his grip.

“what the fuck are you doing?” jungkook appeared, chest big and shoulders as wide as they could be.

he was inching towards the shorter man, eyes narrowed dangerously as though something completely unfathomable was taking place in front of him.

“who are you?” his eyebrows narrowed. “let go.” you hissed at the same time, yanking your hand out of his grip.

he turned to you, eyebrows furrowing in half confusion and annoyance. “what, you’re gonna leave with this guy? are you fucking stupid?”

“what’s it to you?” your eyes were matching his in emotion, whilst the man beside you watched you both in confusion. “listen, man, she told me she was single..”

“yeah, well she’s not.” he broke eye contact; facing him once more. “touch my girl again and i’ll fucking kill you.”

that was all he needed to hear; backing down immediately and all but scurrying away. jungkook was very well known, he had a presence that made most men uncomfortable, a cocktail mix of strength and anger that anyone would shy away from. it was secretly one of your favourite things about him, you were convinced he was invincible - the thought of him being able to protect you so thoroughly had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“jungkook.” you hissed once more, anger bubbling in your stomach.

he didn’t bother to respond, grabbing you by your hips and pushing you almost harshly against the wall, secretly making sure your head didn’t bang. “what was that? leaving with some guy, you don’t even know who he was.”

“would it have been better if it was someone i knew, then?” you scoffed, hands gripping his shirt where his hardened chest sat beneath, pushing him away though he didn’t budge whatsoever. stupid, concrete body.

his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. “you don’t fucking leave with anyone that isn’t me, you hear me?”

you rolled your eyes. “you don’t get to act all innocent with me, i’m surprised you’re not upstairs with yuna right now.”

“what are you talking about?”

“i saw you, so don’t even bother.” you huffed, pushing him by his chest once more only for him to grab your hands, pinning them to the wall above you.

“yeah? tell me what you saw, hm.” he darkly whispered down at you. “did you hear what we were talking about, or are you jumping to conclusions?”

you wiggled slightly, his chest now all but pressed against yours. this position was entirely indecent, and if either of you were more aware of your surroundings, you’d be thankful that everyone was currently too drunk to notice you.

“you said you wouldn’t talk to her anymore, that was the pact.” you hissed. “you promised and now you’ve broken it, so i can do whatever i want, you don’t get to dictate my decisions.”

he scoffed in your face, and your eyes widened lightly at the mere audacity, wiggling again against his grip. all this was doing was pushing your body tighter against him.

“you know, if you had stuck around longer than 5 seconds you would have actually heard what we were talking about.” he all but grumbled. “she approached me, wouldn’t leave me alone, i’ve spent the last 15 minutes telling her to fuck off, that i’ve only got my eyes on one girl, only have time for you.”

you stopped wiggling, his words hitting you one after the other.

“imagine my fucking surprise when i try find you, only to find some fuck leading you out of this place.” his face was dangerously close to yours. “what were you planning, y/n? trying to get me angry? was that your game plan?”

you didn’t respond, nervously keeping eye contact. your thighs were pressed against each other tightly, a sick part of you enjoying this more than anything, the way he was being a little rougher with you whilst still being protective - it made your brain sing.

“and what would you have done once you were both alone, hm? he wanted to fuck you.” he growled harshly, making you grumble under your breath. “you think a guy like that is worth fucking?”

“okay, fine, i shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. but you still broke the pact.” you weakly pushed back, your ego too high to let him win.

jungkook knew it, knew the only reason you’d gone so far was out of jealousy and it made his heart clench harshly - it felt fucking incredible. his girl, his y/n, so bothered at the sight of another woman staking their claim on him that you’d become this blind? if only you knew the way he had shut yuna down, leaving the girl practically in tears after he explained how deeply his heart and brain were intertwined into you - that he’d take morsels from you if it meant being close to you, whilst he wouldn’t even look at her twice even if she’d offer herself whole. he knew it was cruel, but in that moment, when all he wanted to do was return to you, he hardly cared.

“yeah, i did.” he murmured after a moment, slowly easing your hands back down from the wall, now pushing them back onto his chest. he could feel your fingers pulling at the fabric of his t-shirt once more. “forgive me, baby. swear my intentions were good.”

you nibbled on your bottom lip. he was still so close, his nose bumped against yours gently, “fine.” you huffed a little, despite one of your hands drawling down to his stomach, feeling the tightness of his abs beneath.

he dipped his head so your cheeks were pressing together, his lips ghosting against your ear. “now, stay with me for the rest of the night. next man i see touching you, i’ll fuck up.”

and as you both walked away, you sported a triumph grin, not only having jungkook possessively lead you to a spot on the couch, but also have his wandering hand go from your hip to firmly grabbing your ass.

—

“how much longer?” jungkook groaned alongside yoongi, who sat beside him, arms crossed and eyes closed.

the two men were sat within the confinements of what felt like a jail, but was actually a mere clothing department. surrounded by pretty dresses and a flourish of colours, the pair felt utterly out of place, dragged here by either girl. yoongi and yejin had a weird back and forth that had been building for years, incredibly similar to your own relationship with jungkook? the difference between you, however, was they at least tried to be subtle for the sake of appearances.

“god, just wait, you’re both so impatient.” yejin huffed, whilst you both chatted away in your respective dressing rooms. “i don’t know about this one.” you murmured, loud enough for jungkook to pick up on the slight tinge of anxiety in your voice.

“come out, y/n.” he gently coaxed, noticing your feet from underneath nervously shuffling.

you did exactly that, however, your hair pulled up into a messy ponytail that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

“wait let me see too!” yejin excitedly rushed out, the lilac tone of her dress catching yoongi’s attention.

jungkook couldn’t look away from you. a sweet grey dress that hugged every inch of you - from where it sat on your calf to the way it dipped in at your waist. it felt like your legs went on for days, your breasts accentuated. you were perfection in a bottle, and the fact you weren’t sure drove him insane.

“i really like that, actually. you look nice.” yoongi nodded in approval, yejin walking over and adjusting the straps. “oh, you are so getting this. you look hot.”

you looked over at jungkook. it was his opinion you really wanted, and you knew it wasn’t healthy, but you craved his thoughts the most. he was soaking you in hungrily, eyes dark and legs parted slightly, causing you to flicker down secretly. he was enamoured by you.

“i like it.” he grumbled. “i like it too much.”

your cheeks flushed a little, pleased with your best friend’s approval. “you sure kookie? just think this grey is too moody for a wedding, and maybe it’s too tight?”

“it’s perfect. i’m wearing black, so we’ll match.” he shook his head. yejin grinned to herself before flaunting her outfit towards yoongi who was equally as enamoured.

“ooh, are you wearing that suit we got together at the start of the year?” you excitedly asked, shuffling over to him. you were now in front of him, his legs parted as he leaned back in his chair, your body inbetween.

he was taking you in, openly. from your eyes to your lips, lips to your neck, neck to your boobs and downwards. he couldn’t get enough.

“mm, yeah. remember you saying how much you liked it.” his hands were touching you now, on your hips, sliding over the material hungrily. “i really do.” you admitted, a small, too cheeky grin forming on your face.

yejin had returned to her dressing room now, you promptly doing the same, jungkook’s hands falling off of your body, watching the dress pool at your feet from the bottom of the door. he spread his legs a little wider, accommodating for the already growing nature of his length.

“hey, you guys joining us for dinner?” yoongi asked him quietly, watching as yejin walked out, hands playing with her hair. “dunno man, might have to pass, she’s kinda tired so thought i’d take her home.”

he nodded, watching as you too came out. jungkook admired you whilst you both said your goodbyes, soon enough standing in front of him, in between his legs slightly, like before. “you don’t have to come with me if you’re hungry, kookie, i don’t mind making my own way back.”

he scoffed, whilst standing, height towering over you immediately. “gotta take my girl home, hm?”

you didn’t want to admit the pounding that formed in your chest at his words and the ease in which he said them in. he took a hold of your hand, both protective and possessive whilst leading you to the counter, not sparing you a single glance as he paid for your dress. you had known him long enough to know he’d sooner die than let you pay for anything, another thing that had you kicking your legs and screaming into your pillow.

“wait, can we go to yours instead? just remembered my house is a mess and i don’t wanna deal with that right now.” groaning into his arm whilst you walked beside him, peering up with big, hopeful eyes.

jungkook wanted to scream. as if he could say no to you.

“mm, sure. you left your stuff from last time too in case you want to shower.”

you grinned wide at the confirmation. “hm, maybe i’ll have a bath.”

within the next half hour, you were in jungkook’s bath, soapy bubbles covering your naked body whilst you hummed in delight, candles littered everywhere to create some sort of ambience. you loved coming to his place, it was much bigger and warmer than your own apartment. his scent was also everywhere, which made your brain keen.

“you hungry?” jungkook called out from the kitchen, prepared to make you a whole ass meal at your mere confirmation.

you were away with the fairies, too cozied up in the warm water and scented bubbles to even begin to hear him. jungkook frowned, realising you hadn’t responded, making him walk towards the closed door, knocking lightly and asking again.

in return, all he got was a slight hum, as though you were confused of what he was asking. without thinking, the door was already being pushed open, revealing you.

your hair was pulled up in a cute little bun, whilst your knees propped up in the water, the only sliver of skin jungkook could see whilst the rest of your body lay hidden underneath the expanse of bubbles. he watched as you peered up at him lazily, as though this was the most normal thing in the world - as though friends were supposed to walk in on each other naked.

“what did you say?” you murmured up at him whilst exhaling a little, seemingly content.

his lip quirked upwards slightly, whilst his cock thumped against the expanse of his boxers and jeans angrily. if you shifted, just slightly, just a little…

“asking if you’re hungry.” his voice has become rough, causing your eyes to flicker over to him, before slowly trailing down, noticing the way he was evidently hard.

in all honesty, you’d noticed it constantly. whether it was you waking up to his morning wood pressed tightly against you, or whether it was at parties where you’d sit on his lap only to be left with a core aching for something you weren’t sure you’d ever get.

“not really. this feels too good to leave.” a sigh left your lips dramatically, making him crouch beside you, his hand dipping in the water slightly to feel the temperature. “that does feel good.” he confirmed.

“i even put the salt thing you bought for me. feels so nice.”

if jungkook was any other man, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the secretive tone you were using. but, alas, he knew you better than you knew yourself, which meant he could recognise the teasing tilt to your voice with ease. you were enjoying this. you liked seeing him rock hard for you, and judging from the way your eyes kept flickering down, you were just as needy.

“yeah? mind if i join you, baby? wanna see what’s got you like this.” he was suddenly so close to your face; watching the way your pupils were dilating, your eyelids hooding whilst you offered a little nod, almost delirious.

hungrily, you watched him. he discarded his top, his jeans. he made sure your eyes were connected as he was left with his boxers, his length imprinted against the thin material, watching the way your gaze flickered down almost hungrily.

“make some room.”

it was though you were taken out of your trance, slowly pulling yourself to the corner of the massive bathtub whilst he himself got in, his boxers sat on the floor of the bathroom. jungkook rested against the opposite side of you, his back against the tub whilst you did the same, the bubbles mostly hiding you.

him, however - no he was a different story. his cock sat heavy against his stomach, pink and long, thicker than anything you’d ever seen before. it looked angry, the way it was twitching, hard and begging to be touched, visible to his sweet best friend.

he watched as you stared, little gasps leaving your mouth as you hungrily took him in. you weren’t hiding it, something he appreciated greatly.

the problem with your shared dynamic was that neither of you were shy about how you felt, making it clear to the world whilst never discussing it to one another, leaving you in this tension filled relationship where you both wanted each other in a way that felt stifling.

jungkook watched the way your chest and rose and fell, hints of your pebbled nipples coming to the surface before being hidden away once more.

“you were right. does feel good.” he casually murmured, wet hands running through his hair to keep it out of his face, as though his cock wasn’t leaking pre cum in front of you.

you weren’t sure what to say, core thumping and begging for something, anything.

he smirked slightly. “but colder than i expected.” your eyes looked up at his voice, finally listening again. “c-cold?”

“yeah. warm me up?” he tilted his head, watching as your body moved before you could even think.

you moved towards him, water sloshing, not that either of you cared, so your back was now suddenly against his chest, your naked bodies curling into one another with ease. your nudity wasn’t an issue for you, and certainly not for him, but the second you moved, you hadn’t realised this meant the bubbles were now moving away from you too.

your visibly naked body pressed against him, whilst his arm curled around you. he could see your breasts, the way they jolted with every move, causing his cock to twitch much to your non-secret enjoyment.

“feels better.” he breathed down at you, air tickling your ear, making you curl further into him. your hands were against him, one on his chest and the other at his side under the water, but your gaze had fallen directly onto his cock once more.

“pretty.” you whispered up at him. his ego was beyond anything at the minute. what do you mean his pretty little best friend was perched, naked on his chest, admiring his fat length?

he nuzzled your nose, almost condescendingly with his own, eyes dark and dilated to match your own. “yeah? you like it?”

you nodded, curling into him further whilst one of your hands drew circles against his stomach, dangerously close to where it sat. you weren’t as innocent as you looked, and jungkook fucking loved it.

his own hand curled tighter against you, fingers touching just above where your own pussy sat. “been like this since the dress shop. you looked so pretty.”

the way he was cooing at you had your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, a small grin beginning to form. “i’m happy you liked my dress.”

“i fucking loved it.” he scoffed, drawing his own circles against you. “always look so beautiful.”

the ending of his sentence was whispered down at you, as though they were words too big for either of you to hear. it did nothing to stop your grin from growing, giggling a little into him as you nuzzled closer to his chest, your fingers brushing against his cock more openly.

you watched as it twitched, whilst his own hand was beginning to fall forwards, almost cupping your heat entirely.

“kookie…” you began, nibbling down your bottom lip as you nervously looked up at him. “can..can i?”

instead of responding, jungkook took his free hand and took your own, pulling it up to his lips to plant pepper kisses all over it. your eyes were batting up at him, enjoying the affection and attention beyond anything you could ever describe, before watching him take your hand, and slowly wrap it around his dick.

your little gasp nearly had him bucking up into your hand. the way it couldn’t wrap around fully, your fingers much smaller than his and yet you wasted no time, beginning to pump him slowly, up and down.

“you’re so thick.” your voice was filled with awe, and again, his ego felt like it was about to sky rocket. jungkook wanted to close his eyes, relish the pleasurable feeling of you exploring him for the first time like he had dreamt of on so many occasions. and yet, he couldn’t look away from you, the way your eyes were hooded and your hands were moving up and down in pure intrigue. it made him want to ruin you.

“my turn.” he whispered in your ear, making you shiver. his hand that was grazing against you, now moved purposefully. jungkook ran two fingers up your slit, groaning a little at how wet you felt. despite the water growing colder each passing minute, you both felt on fire.

you let out a breathy moan, head pressing against jungkook’s cheeks as your legs opened up for him, the two of you peering up at one another.

“prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen.” he huffed through a moan, your hand moving up and down his length. your faces were turned to one another, breaths mingling as your lips sat dangerously close.

god, you were so beautiful. jungkook couldn’t get over the hazy look in your eyes, the way your gaze only ever looked away to look at your hand pumping him, or his own fingers moving against you.

a loud moan left your lips once you felt jungkook push a finger in, deep and full. he wasn’t waiting for you to adjust, merely pumping it with a curled edge, hitting you exactly where you needed it. your forehead now touched his own as you adjusted your body, giving him more access whilst you too sped up your actions.

neither of you could look away, pleasuring one another as though it was the most natural thing on earth, both yearning to kiss each other and yet there still seemed to be an air of uncertainty. soon enough, he added another finger, watching as your mouth fell open and eyes shut tight.

“cmon, baby, want your eyes on me.” he whispered against you, pressing too gentle kisses to your face, making you whimper and nod whilst doing exactly that.

your hands were sloppy, almost unsure of yourself as the pleasure raked up and down your body. fortunately for you, jungkook was of the opinion you didn’t need to ever work, the concept both foreign and offensive to his mind. his hand darted out, taking a hold of your own on his cock and guided you, taking control of you whilst also fingering you, actions growing harsher.

“fuck. a pussy like this needs to be ruined. look at you; just begging to be stretched out.” his words were pounding in your brain. “bet you can’t think unless you’re leaking cum.”

you stretched your legs impossibly wider, water sloshing around you as you nodded along to his words, feeling them in the pit of your stomach. you wanted that so badly.

“jungkook, i can’t..” the moans you were letting out were loud and bouncing off of the walls of the bathroom, whilst you both grew more and more erratic.

his fingers ploughed into you, in and out, curling right against that singular spot that had you arching your back into him whilst he helped you fist his cock.

“you can.” he hissed, biting your jaw, leaving hickeys against your neck and jawline as though he had every right. “wanna feel you cum for me, sweet girl. hm? so good to me, just letting my ruin your little pussy. who does it belong to?”

“you.” you responded almost instantly, back arching as you felt something grow in the pit of your stomach. “all yours, kookie, always.”

he nodded, forcing you to look at him as he too could feel his orgasm approaching. your words were like a drug to him, feeding ever warped belief he’d ever thought. you were both on the edge, so close, so ready to break, feeling higher than ever in one another’s arms.

he pulled you in suddenly, fingers leaving your core and dropping your hand away from his own cock. you wanted to whine until you realised what he was doing, positioning your body on top of him so he could slide his cock between your slit, pushing the tip into your tight hole.

“you’re going to cum on my cock, y/n. you hear me? gonna fill you up, make sure it fucking sticks.” his words were so dark, so possessive and yet they bounced around your brain in mere pleasure.

your body was shaking, he was a tight fit, but he wasted no time, only managing to fit the tip and an extra inch inside before roughly thrusting inside of you, building on both of your impending orgasms. if you thought his fingers felt good, the painful stretch of only a part of his cock had you screaming into his face. he couldn’t stop, his hands harsh and leaving bruises on your ass as he clutched, chasing both of your orgasms. neither of you were thinking clearly, which caused jungkook to lean even closer and press his lips tightly to yours.

your brain blanked.

the movement of his lips, the way your mouths moved in unison hungrily, both of your hands moving against one another was enough to finally push you over the edge.

your legs shook whilst jungkook came too, a loud grunt leaving his lips as ropes of cum painted your walls, whilst you cried out in pleasure, the too harsh coil bursting all over your body.

you felt like you were on cloud nine, and once you had finally come down for your high, you realise you were perhaps out out of it for longer than you’d realised. your back was against jungkook’s, his arm around your waist whilst the shower head above washed both of your bodies. your legs felt weak and hard to stand on, but his grip was tight and made you steady.

“you okay?” he gently murmured down at you, with a small kiss to your forehead, causing you to nod with a little curl. “i feel so good.” you hummed, aching core a reminder of his love for you.

“good. did so good for me, sweet girl. fingered all that cum back in you too, so it’s all inside.”

his words would have scared any other girl, and yet here you were, quietly giggling to yourself like he had just said the most romantic thing on earth.

you reached over so you were turned in his arms, pressing your cheek to his chest, feeling entirely dwarfed in this position and yet it was exactly what you needed. the grin on jungkook’s lips rivalled that of a cheshire cat.

“cmon, let’s get you fed.”

the rest of the day was spent with you sat in jungkook’s arms, continuing your usual routine. you’d always been touchy, holding one another, nuzzling in one another’s neck and cuddling but this? no, this was completely different.

he had you sat on the counter whilst he cooked for you, shirtless, feeding you spoonfuls whilst he kept a hand on you at all times. later, he fed you from his lap, making sure you were full and satiated. once you were done, you both popped on a movie, watching until you felt sleepy, his arms carrying you to his bed. you slept good that night, feeling protected as you curled into jungkook’s arms, biceps wrapped around you and his fat cock hidden away in your gummy walls.

though neither of you rushed to talk about what had happened, you almost didn’t feel the need to. jungkook was yours, he always had been, and yeah you didn’t have a label, but you weren’t sure anything could accurately describe what he was to you anyway.

you fell asleep in the arms of the only man you’d ever truly cared about, body and soul, heart and mind.

—

you loved weddings more than anything else on earth. to be around people expressing joy for shared love felt pure in the sweetest of ways, and it was always an honour you held deep in your heart whenever you were invited.

you sat on a table with all of your friends. jungkook sat behind you and jimin to your right, the circular table wide and chatty, laughing with one another and clapping your hands excitedly when namjoon made his toast.

ever since that night with jungkook, things had changed. not in a bad way, oh contraire - his lips would often find your own in a sweet embrace, fleeting but gentle, his hands wandering inappropriately in their usual fashion but now it held more weight. you’d lost count on how many times he’d cum inside of you, it slowly becoming an addiction for you - you couldn’t function if he wasn’t inside you in some way. it was like a switch had shifted in both of your brains and it made you realise you didn’t want to pretend anymore, you liked his attention, yearned for it, wanted more and more and more.

you hadn’t seen him for a few days which felt like a lifetime, but your exams and your part time job kept you away from him, not that this was a deterrent. he’d send you videos you know you’d giggle at, or facetime you like he typically would. it felt different, the air had changed, and you found yourself longing for something you knew you could have.

jungkook had picked you up from yejin’s apartment, some of the other guys coming with too so you could all attend together, and he could have sworn you’d stolen his breath then and there. he’d seen you dressed for parties, or even half naked, but it didn’t compare to seeing you now. elegance dripped from every inch of you, your dress from the shop he’d bought you adorned on your body and your hair pulled back in a sweet bun, wispy pieces adorning your face. he was wearing the suit you loved so much, and the both of you couldn’t help but grin at one another.

on the ride there, the both of you sat in the back of yoongi’s car. his hand was against your thigh, possessive and meaningful and you found yourself playing with his fingers almost excitedly. you liked how visibly he wanted the world to know you belonged to him. made you feel good.

walking in, you weren’t sat together for the ceremony, with jungkook being further down in the row whilst you and yejin sat separately from the boys, much to his disappointment. this proved beneficial when he realised his position allowed for direct access to you, watching you greedily as he took you in. he couldn’t help but notice how many of the groomsmen were eyeing you up, and it made him clench his teeth but he remained quiet. a problem he’d deal with later.

the bride soon walked in, a vision in white, and jungkook watched the way your eyes utterly lit up, a little gasp leaving you. his gaze was hungry, obsessive, he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to - the way your small hands were clutched by your chest as though the mere sight of the bride had hearts pooling at your stomach. you wanted to be a bride? done, he’d get you a ring first thing tomorrow.

he was being quiet tonight, and despite now being sat behind you at the table, he’d not talked to you much. you were a slight over thinker, so you were assuming it might have been the environment, maybe he was uncomfortable at weddings? he didn’t seem uptight or anything, merely contemplative, and he was still being touchy so you assumed it was about something else as opposed to you.

silly little you had no idea that jungkook was thinking of the next steps. he’d propose to you, obviously, the title of boyfriend and girlfriend was insulting to him and he’d never stoop so low than to claim you in such a way. secondly; you’d get married, and he’d buy you a big house - he was already lined up for a high paying job that he was about to start, and he was pretty comfortable considering his family’s fortune. did you want a lot of kids? lord knew jungkook would give you a hundred if that’s what you wanted, or he’d live a life solely focused on you if that’s what you preferred. he knew you well enough to know you liked children, always cooing and complaining about baby fever to him as though he wasn’t correctly equipped to heal you from it.

after a while, you simply couldn’t take it anymore, pulling at his sleeve a little, forcing him to look at you whilst everyone ate.

“you okay?” you tilted your head at him, wispy hair falling into your face.

fuck, jungkook thought. you were beauty defined.

“yeah, i’m all good.” he confirmed, taking your tugging hand and intertwining his fingers with them underneath the table. “sorry, just been lost in thought.”

“what’re you thinking about?” you asked curiously.

he peered over your features, the way your big eyes were blinking up at him as though he held the answers to the universe.

he pressed a little kiss to your hand. “about how pretty you’d be in a white dress.”

you gasped almost immediately, catching the attention of yejin and seokjin who sat beside jungkook, before they looked away. you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, chest beating hard at the insinuation of his words, gaze dropping to the way his lips quirked slightly at your reaction.

“why..” you cleared your throat. “why are you thinking about that?”

his thumb was tracing patterns against your skin, leaning closer to you for a minute. “i always think about you. feels fitting for the setting.”

your heart was beating. was he teasing you? you didn’t even need to think to know the concept of jungkook being your future husband was something akin to having heaven on earth. a man utterly, entirely obsessed with you, showering you with love and affection whilst being a six foot something adonis. the fact he was your closest, most cherished best friend since childhood only added a little cherry on top.

“shut up.” you pushed him lightly, but the dusting of pink in your cheeks was enough for anyone to notice.

soon enough, the wedding party actually began, with namjoon forcing all of you to dance and have fun, laughs being heard all around the room as you and other guests danced the night away. you knew you were lucky for having such a sweet circle of friends, all caring and uplifting, unafraid to make fools of themselves in the pursuit of joy.

you slipped away, grabbing yourself a champagne flute and heading out to the open balcony to get some air. you were having the time of your life, and despite having jungkook in your mind all of the time, it felt refreshing to be around such love whilst thinking of him. your best friend. your man.

a small smile formed on your face as you found yourself wanting to scream out loud, feeling so many happy emotions, humming a little as the nippy night air chilled the heat on your body, your exposed arms forming goosebumps.

“god, it’s loud out there.” a voice chirped to your left, making you gasp a little as you looked over.

a tallish man; blonde, green eyes. he was lanky, and resembled one of your exes. on any other occasion, you’d be ready to admit that he was undoubtedly your type, but at the minute, the only thing that could begin to occupy even one moment of your thoughts were that of big boba eyes and a bunny smile.

“you startled me.” you breathed, letting out a light laugh.

he grinned. “sorry.” he turned to you fully. “too much for you too?”

“just wanted some air. got myself a drink, so, can’t complain.”

he laughed in response with a little nod. you found yourself chatting to the stranger, finding out he was a close friend of the groom, was currently working as a lawyer, financially responsible, even had a dog. on paper, this man was the total catch and the fact he was being so openly responsive with you, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he clearly desired you.

however, you felt absolutely nothing.

sure he was attractive, but hardly anything could pull you away from the warmth jungkook provided. he felt like home. twisted, warped, dark and yet it felt safe, something you knew no one else could replicate. he’d known you since you were in pigtails, held your hand through every single thing you’d ever experienced and still stood tall. if not him, then who?

“okay, i’m just gonna ask. gotta shoot my shot, so..” the green eyed man, nate as you’d come to learn, turned to you. “are you single?”

your cheeks flushed almost instantly. you had a sneaky suspicion his interest was blooming from that angle and yet assumed the best. “oh..uh, not really.”

“that doesn’t seem like a confident no?” he tilted his head.

you bit your lip, a slight smile forming. “guess it’s complicated.”

“a girl like you shouldn’t be wasted on complicated. you deserve a clear answer.”

you peered up at him, nibbling on your lip and contemplating. “i know what i mean to him, we’re best friends…we’re more than anything i can describe, really. i don’t even know what you’d call us..i guess that’s why it feels complicated.”

nate took a swing of his drink. “what a lucky son of a bitch.”

you giggled at that, before feeling a heavy warmth against your back, thick fingers clutching the side of your hip and breath tickling the back of your neck, a single kiss being pressed against it. your brain swirled with content, recognising the touch almost instantly, as though you were tethered.

“very lucky.” jungkook all but purred into your skin, a small and almost shy smile forming at your lips.

the man beside you instantly understood this man to be the exact one you had spoken about, and the sight of you together, the way you both melted into each others touch floored him for a moment. you were right - this was the epitome of complicated. as a stranger peering in from the outside, he wasn’t sure what he’d call you. boyfriend girlfriend felt foolish, anything more would be too little, but the way you were reacting and touching one another felt fated.

he took his leave, the once disappointment that swirled in his stomach quickly replaced by an understanding - you were each other’s person. he didn’t stand a fucking chance.

“you scared him away.” you teased, whilst jungkook turned you in his arms, looking down at you with arms locked around your waist. “bad dog.”

“yeah, i guess i did.” he hummed. “been doing that with every man that comes your way for years. some slip through.”

you giggled. he wasn’t joking. not that you needed to know.

he twirled a strand of your hair. “you seem contemplative.”

“is a girl not allowed to think?”

“hm. i encourage it.” hands slowly slipped up to the small of your back. “tell me your thoughts?”

you bit your lip.

“what are we?” you asked quietly, as though afraid you’d break the peace in the quiet you shared with him.

jungkook didn’t falter, though. not that you expected him to, but you knew that it was an age long question that made most people uncomfortable. it was about time you realised that jungkook wasn’t like most people, and he hadn’t been for the past 15 years you’d known him.

he tilted his head slightly, so that your eyes would meet his directly.

“you are everything.” he simply responded. “i feel like anything i label you as is too small and it feels insulting, but i’ll take anything you give me.”

you nibbled further, nodding. “i know.” your voice came out a whisper. “i’ve always liked you to be honest. i guess i just put our friendship first because you’re my best friend, you mean so much to me.”

your admission was sweet, and he could feel it in the depths of his soul.

his finger reached up, tilting your head back gently and pressing a small kiss to your jaw. “i feel a lot more than like for you, y/n. think you’d run for the hills if you truly knew.”

“i wouldn’t.” you breathed out, pulling at his shirt, tugging. “wanna hear it. you can tell me.”

jungkook stared down at you.

“you are the only thing i ever think about.” his finger under your chin was now caressing your cheek. you were so delicate. “morning, afternoon, evening. i feel physically sick if i don’t see you, don’t touch you or talk to you. your voice alone feels healing.”

you breathed out a shaky breath of air.

“remember our pact? i don’t talk to yuna, you don’t talk to your dumb fuck ex.” you nodded.

“only reason i ever entertained her was because i couldn’t stomach the thought of him being around you, getting to hold you and kiss you. even now, i feel angry, feel sick even thinking about it ever being a reality.”

“jungkook..” you all but gasped out.

“i know it’s fucked up. i know it’s not normal, but my brain is warped. i’m obsessed with you, felt this way ever since we were kids and it’s just gotten worse and worse and worse. but i don’t care, baby. you’re it for me and i’m spending my life making sure you feel every bit of that, i don’t care if it means i have to tear this world and make a new one for you.”

your heart was beating out of your chest as you peered up at him, hands shaky and lips parted.

“you, y/n, are mine. i’m yours too.” he nodded. “so call me your boyfriend, or whatever you want, because soon enough, i’ll be standing up there with you walking down the aisle all pretty in white.”

he brought you closer.

“and even then, when you call me your husband, i’ll feel fucking sick. because it’s a cheap comparison for what i feel for you, what i wanna be for you - you’re one half of me, and i’ll never make you feel any less.”

peering into jungkook’s eyes, you saw a swirl of two things. love, undoubtedly, which swam in pools of ebony brown, curling around his iris and hugging the whites of his eyes as though it was the most natural thing on earth. behind it, bigger, stronger even, sat infatuation - deadly, all encompassing.

if you were a better woman, you’d run for the hills, recognise him as the apex predator whilst identifying yourself as his ideal prey. unfortunately for you, every line of obsession that made up jungkook’s entire being was matched within your own. you were every inch of what he was to you, you felt the exact same emotions, the same need, the same awe, the same primal want that you couldn’t explain to anyone else.

he was yours, yours alone and you’d never let him forget it.

you were both leaning in, about to kiss, reaching a new high and understanding when your name was called out from inside the building. within seconds, it seemed you were pulled away out onto the dance floor where the bride was ready to toss her bouquet, your figure hidden amongst the other excited women around you.

you turned, your intention to simply watch as red petals flew in the air, cascading through the crowd and landing gently within your hands, brushing your fingers gently until they found a home in your embrace.

jungkook watched from the balcony, small smirk forming as he too clapped alongside everyone else in the room.

Satoru had paid him a ‘nice’ little trip after that, and threatened him so much he’d pissed his pants. Satoru had chuckled at just how pathetic that boy was, but really you were much better off without a cheating asshole. Even though he knew you were currently staying at this coffee shop – your car hasn’t left it – he did all this for your own good, really.

It was way past time for him to have you for Christmas, filled with his pretty white cum, he’d give you so much of it too, in all your holes. He’d decorate you in Christmas lights and tie you up, make sure you never left – why would you though, when you finally were his? You’d never have to work this shitty job again, he would keep you so full of cum you’d have trouble walking anyway.

The thoughts alone make his cock twitch underneath his slacks – he really should feel just a bit sick and depraved for his thoughts, but weren’t they sort of pure? Didn’t he just want to give you a perfect white Christmas?

“What’s wrong?” He asks, feigning confusion but not concern.

Of course he was upset you were hurting, even though you’ll be so much better off soon. God don’t you deserve it?

“Bad breakup ugh, I think I’m not getting enough sleep,” you mumble, handing him his warm coffee cup then, steam rising in a puffy little cloud. “Please take this free, for me just sobbing like this.”

“No way,” his fingers brush yours now, you gasp just a bit at the connection, before blushing right under his gaze.

Fuck you’re pretty.

“Are you okay honey?” Your boss comes to you, a hand on your back, you nod quickly, swiping tears. “She’s just having a rough Christmas.”

“How so?” Satoru asks, leaning on the counter, elbows propped up on the glass, setting his cup down.

“Please you don’t have to listen to my fucked ass life lately, I’m sure you have work to get to.”

“I run my own company, sweetheart,” you and your boss swoon at his little smile. “So I have time.”

“Why don’t you get a coffee with him?” Your boss nudges you just a bit, you frown at her.

“Are you sure?”

“Go ahead, sit for a bit,” she makes you a cup. “I’ll take over.”

“You’re too good to me,” you murmur, she just pats your back, and you nervously look at Satoru, clearing your throat now. “Do you wanna sit for a few?”

“Of course, I have time, Christmas is dead at the corp.”

“You do marketing, right?”

“Mhm, thrilling shit,” you giggle a bit, melting him like the snow that’s left little wet drops on his coat. Your cute, puffy eyes and nose just a little rubbed raw clearly, he can tell you’ve been crying over that trash.

He can’t wait to make you feel so good.

“No one wants to buy anything so things are slow, it’s kind of just hanging out at the office right now,” he leans back, sipping the drink, letting the sweetness hit his tongue and moaning. “You make the best coffee.”

“No way!”

“Mhm, it’s why I come, also…” he trails off with a little smile.

“Also what?”

“Pretty baristas make my morning better.”

“Oh, not me right now,” you’re a flustered mess, brushing back your hair now, sighing. “You’re sweet though.”

“Am I?” He certainly isn’t thinking anything sweet, no he’s imagining if your cum tastes as good as this cream in his coffee.

“Very, ah where do I begin?”

“I guess why you’re crying, I’m a good listener,” his knees brush against yours under the little table, you look out at the snow for a moment, sighing.

“I may have gotten kicked out and broken up with.”

“Ouch, on Christmas?”

“Yeah,” you grimace, sipping your coffee, feeling the bitter beans coat your mouth in warmth, looking back at Satoru’s handsome face. “It’s like some shitty hallmark movie, I’m staying here till I get a new place.”

“At the coffee shop?” He blinks just a bit, you frown, nodding. “Well, then I have a Christmas gift.”

“What’s that?” you set the cup down, he pulls out his phone now, showing you a picture with a little smile. “Is this…”

“My pool house, I was just putting it up for rent. My friend lived there for a bit and moved out, so I was gonna see if anyone wanted to rent it out, it’s three bedrooms and fully furnished.”

So his poolhouse was bigger than your apartment – three times as big as you flipped through the photos.

“This is just your poolhouse?”

“Yeah, this is my house,” he swipes right to a literal fucking manor. “Pretentious, I know, the family home blah blah.”

“No it’s beautiful,” you hand him back the phone, frowning a bit then. “The thing is, I spent all my damn money on this guy, I do have an advance, but no way I could afford that.”

You were getting a whole different degree after over five years of college, and you’re another two years in. You feel you’re the only twenty five year old starting all over, but you just hated what you majored in – thus the barista job. You’re literally a walking cliche, and here is this rich CEO being way too sweet.

“Maybe like when I graduate I could afford-”

“I’ll give you crazy cheap rent,” he wouldn’t charge you a fucking dollar. “Like just whatever you can pay comfortably.”

“What?” You blink now, gasping. “Why?”

“Why not help out? I wanna be on the nice list and all,” he smirks just a bit, far too charming, fucking you up with that look. “It’s Christmas, you shouldn’t be staying in a coffee shop.”

“I don’t know how I’ll repay you, though.” You blink back tears now, Satoru’s hand brushes one aside gently, a cool touch on a heated cheek.

God he could think of many ways, you on your knees for him, the weight of his cock on your tongue, sliding in and out of that pretty, perfect mouth. You bent over his desk, letting him pump his loads into you, before he fingers them right back in your cunt, making sure to keep it in, breeding your perfect pussy.

“You can make me coffee at my place every morning,” he says softly, snowy lashes flickering just a bit across your face. “Maybe cook me a real Christmas Dinner, I haven’t had one in a long time.”

“I can absolutely do that!” You smile all big and pretty – Satoru will send the cooks away for a bit, just to see your cute little ass in the kitchen.

God, imagine when you’re round with his babies, you’ll be so perfect.

“Then it’s set, I’ll help you move your things tonight.”

“It’s not much,” you admit, frowning now. “Like clothes, laptop, a couple things… I can just um… bring em in my car.”

“Whatever’s easier, I’ll meet you there at five, here’s the address,” he jots it down on one of the napkins, handing it to you with his number on it.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“Just consider it a Christmas gift, mmkay?” He stands now, and you eagerly get up, hugging him before you can stop yourself, feeling his hard body against yours, his heart racing in his chest underneath your cheek. His hand comes to your back.

He smirks.

Things are working perfectly.

*****

“You don’t have to do all this,” you get emotional that night, when Satoru shows up with the cutest Christmas decorations.

The first night there was him showing you around, he was so sweet when he came to you with a huge tote, covered in lights and little ornaments and even a little mini tree. He’s got this cute little santa hat perched on one side of his head, he’s changed into this soft sweater and dark jeans after work instead of the suit you usually see him in.

You’d never guess that he was bringing you little things to spy on you.

“Nonsense,” he says, setting up the little tree and giving you a devastatingly attractive smile. “A place needs a little Christmas spirit, also I have so much just sitting, really.”

You help Satoru meticulously place each ornament, shoulders brushing each other, making you heat up a bit from the nerves. The pool house is warm, there are soft cinnamon candles he had the maids bring over and light when they cleaned the place just for you today.

This shit can’t be real – maybe you’ve hit your head watching a dumb Christmas Rom Com and so happened to dream him up. He smiles over at you, his eyes a myriad of blues, flickering candles reflecting in his pupils, lighting them up and making it so intense you can hardly breathe. Both of your hands reach for the same decoration, making you pause and pull back.

He picks up a delicate, hand painted crystal decoration, holding it up just a little bit. “That’s like a Tiffany!”

“Mmm, I guess,” he shrugs, not realizing all these damn ornaments are just insanely expensive. “This one can go right here. I have a few others too. Look, this is Frosty.”

Your eyes light up so pretty when he shows you the cute plush little snowman, you take it and smile, brushing your fingers across the soft white fur. “He’s so adorable, oh my god.”

“You can put him in your room if you want,” he mentions casually. “Or we can put him on one of the shelves.”

“No way, he’s too cuddly,” you hug him tightly, smiling at Satoru then. “Ah, thank you so much!”

“You can keep him too,” you’re looking right at that little camera in the snowman’s black eyes, oblivious, working perfectly to his plan.

Imagine getting to watch you touch yourself.

He’s got another little Santa, another camera, it’s like everything lined up so perfectly – you and him.

 He walked over to a small shelf on the wall, putting that Santa right there, smiling and feeling your gaze penetrate his back. You’re sitting on the arm of the couch when he turns back around, legs crossed at the ankles, hugging on to the little snowman closely.

You’re so perfect like that.

It takes a lot to play a slow game, to make you need him, to make sure he takes his time even with you here. But not sinking to his knees and worshipping you seems almost a cruel joke – isn’t it what you deserve? Instead he walks over to you, tilting your chin up just a bit.

“How are you doing?” He asks softly.

“This morning I was crying my eyes out, sleeping on a couch, now I’m here. It feels like a dream.”

“Good dream?” You smile at that, his fingers feel too good on your skin, you almost hate it when they drop.

“Very, but I guess I am really nervous. How to pay-”

“Don’t say pay me back, please,” you bite down on your lower lip, as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, goosebumps rise from just that, your body reacting to his little ghosts of touches.

“You should get some rest, you went through a lot today.”

“Yeah, that bed looks so comfy oh my god,” he chuckles just a bit.

“You’re so cute.”

“Nah. Maybe after a good night’s rest and a good bath.”

“Well feel free to anything, I’m right over there if you need me, yeah?” You nod, he leans down and for some insane moment you wonder if he’ll kiss you, but instead he just stands and smiles. “Good night Sweetheart.”

“Night, Gojo.

He leaves quietly without another word, the front door clicking shut, you hug that little snowman tightly to you. Even after you bathe and dry your hair, you can’t help but hold on to him, peering at the phone now, you look up your ex’s socials out of a morbid curiosity – just to find him taking Christmas pictures with another girl.

You glare at that screen.

He just broke up with you, how is he in matching pajamas? Unless… unless he had her the whole time.

“Shit.” You turn off your phone, you’ve cried so much there aren’t any more tears now, just burying your face against this cute snowman Gojo gave you.

Satoru Gojo, the man who’s literally like some Christmas Miracle, just who was he, and why was he so kind?

*****

The next morning, you remember Satoru bringing up making his favorite drinks and meals, so you cross the snow-dusted lawn to the main house. It was even more beautiful in the daylight, bright and modern, so big it’s insane to think he’s all alone in there, but you suppose that’s just what he’s used to. You find the key under the mat where he’d said it would be, nervously letting yourself in.

You feel a bit like some intruder, but you’d love to surprise him as a thank you, tomorrow was Christmas Eve and you didn’t exactly have anything to give your new… landlord? Is that what he was?

What was Satoru really?

You take in the bright, ridiculously clean home and shut the door behind you, leaving the chill outside, walking towards the kitchen. That alone was a chef’s dream, all marble counters and stainless steel, he has three fucking ovens – what do you even do with three ovens.

“Holy…” You trail off a bit, taking in your surroundings, peeking around each pretty white cabinet to find coffee. You feel even more like a damn intruder, ransacking his things, but he had said ‘make yourself at home’. Oh, he said sweetheart too, as if to wreck your ovaries.

You think Satoru threw you from depression into ovulation with that little tilt of your chin last night.

You grind up expensive coffee beans you find in the pantry, the scent making you feel like you’re right back at work. Sighing at how good it smells, you get to work making him the perfect cup. Then you get hungry, and find an almost empty fridge – he has a full deep freezer of various ice cream cones and flavors but hardly any real food.

How does he keep a body like this when all you proceed to find is candy and junk food all over?

It’s almost endearing, as put together as he seems, it’s a little hint of a bachelor pad, but you do find eggs and pancake mix.

“That’ll work…” You start whipping up fluffy pancakes when he comes out, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, staring right at your pretty little ass in those leggings.

You, in his kitchen.

Making him breakfast?

He bets that loser never appreciated something this sweet, but he sure the fuck did, watching in awe almost as you whip your little arm around, the pan already sizzling with oil. 

“Well, well,” you turn and then gasp, he smiles over at you, shirtless with just soft sweats on, your eyes drift down before you stop yourself. “What do we have here, are you makin’ pancakes?”

You felt a blush heating up your cheeks – god his body was perfect, hair a little messy from his sleep, his eyes lidded with a lazy smile. “I hope you don’t mind me like… breaking in? I wanted to thank you for everything, so I thought I’d at least make you breakfast.”

He walks over to you, saunters is the word, those v cuts on his hips and that silvery happy trail fucking you up, you swallow nervously as he comes to stand right in front of you.

“Do you like pancakes?” You manage to ask, he smiles, leaning down a bit.

“I do,” he reaches down, his thumb brushing a smudge of batter from the corner of your lip, making you gasp. He brings his thumb to his own mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly licks it clean, smirking at you. “Delicious.”

Fuck.

Fuck was that!?

Your breath catches in your throat, you swipe a now clean corner of your mouth where you’d tasted the chocolate chip batter, feeling that gaze ruining you. He’s so close you feel the warmth of his body, your heart hammering in your chest so violently it feels like it’ll burst out. His hand falls now, seeing the pancake turning golden in the cast iron pan.

“Oh!” You quickly flip it, exhaling in relief that it’s not burnt. “I made that coffee too for you!”

“Looks perfect,” he smiles and takes the cup, blowing on it for a moment all casual, as if that moment was something normal.

Licking his thumb making you think of the most obscene, lewd things.

“Thank you sweetheart, I could get used to this treatment,” you smile back at him, trying to act normal.

“Well I’ll gladly do it every morning, not like I wasn’t for… much less deserving people,” you grumble now, he frowns at that. “You don’t need to hear my bullshit.”

“I have a few before work,” he sips his drink and sits as you put a pancake and a bunch of syrup all over it. “God, they’re so good.”

“Oh thank you!” You sit next to him now, settling in the chair and sipping your own drink.

“No thank you,” he laps at his lower lip with a long pink tongue you just shouldn’t fucking look at really, clearing your throat with a little smile. “Did he contact you?”

He better fucking not have.

Satoru paid him off well enough.

“No, no, he’s got these fucking matching pj pics on IG, the little shit,” Satoru grimaces.

“Well that’s just shitty, I’m sorry…”

“I’m just glad I did end up leaving,” you swipe a little syrup dripping on his chin now, licking it, watching his eyes dilate. “Mmm, yum.”

Fuck. Are you trying to ruin him?

“Tomorrow I have friends coming over for Christmas Eve,” he says then, gripping your wrist now, thumb trailing the underside of it. “I’d love you to come over too.”

“Oh but won’t it be so weird?”

“Not at all, they’re kind of my family.” You blush once more, looking down. “I’m guessing yours is distant?”

“Yeah, they are…” Satoru already knows. No dad, your mom seems to have nothing to do with you, and no siblings he could find anything on.

Satoru will give you a family though, he thinks it as his gaze drifts to your stomach, smiling just a bit imagining how pretty it will be round.

“I’d love to come over.”

“Perfect.”

That night after work back in the pool house – you couldn’t sleep. The memory of his touch, of the look in his pretty blue eyes, that damn tongue licking his thumb that way? It was fucking you up in all sorts of ways, every casual touch or close proximity to Satoru was sucking your breath away, until you couldn’t even remember how you got here.

Your ex wasn’t even in your mind whatsoever, not right now, no it was just Satoru flitting through your head, images of him, feelings and touches. Tonight he made sure you ate dinner with him, in his immaculate house that just smells like him, hints of that expensive cologne, something soft and sandalwood that you can’t quite place.

That cologne is in your senses too, you can practically smell Satoru on everything somehow, even this soft weighted blanket he’s got you, the image of his shirtless frame was burned into your mind. Your cunt is wet when you think about it too long, it’s been a while since you had cum.

But here, thinking of him?

You feel so wrong doing it, but you’re already aching and needy, imagining more – his fingers inside of you, fuck they’re long. His lips… just all over your skin. That tongue…

You slip your hand beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms, your fingers finding the slick heat of your own cunt, touching a clit already pulsing and gasping out at it. You close your eyes, imagining it was his hand, his long, thick fingers brushing your clit right now, making you jolt, the blankets slipping off of you, as you’re overheated.

You feel it, warmth spreading all over, running circles on your swollen clit and whining out, it’s not enough, eyes fluttering shut now, picturing his face hovering right over you. Hadn’t you always found Satoru devastatingly attractive? So much so you avoided looking too long at those piercing blue eyes before, always looking down quickly.

The way he looked at you.

Was it all in your imagination, was it just him and no interest in you? He probably just wanted to help, to be a kind person, give back or some shit – and you’re shoving two fingers in your own gummy walls, contracting and squishing so tight.

“Ah!” You want longer ones, that hit your spot you’re trying so hard to, palm grinding on your clit, remembering the way his tongue had swept across his thumb. “Mnh!”

You’re pumping faster now, arching your hips, your other hand gripping those sheets beneath you, soft gasp escaping your lips as you press up on that little spot in your hole, the pressure building in your tummy. You shouldn’t be thinking of his cock and how big it must be, shouldn’t be cumming to him in his own poolhouse, but you can’t stop yourself.

Satoru smirks.

You’ve been such a good girl for him, your snowman right on the dresser facing you so perfectly, as he watches you in the darkness of his home office, sitting back in his leather chair, watching the scene unfold. On one of his three monitors, you were displayed in high definition, lying on the bed with your legs spread wide, so he had a perfect view.

“That’s it,” he coaches you quietly, undoing his sweats with a tug at the draw string, revealing his leaky cock that slaps his soft black shirt. “Got me leakin’ already, baby, fuck.”

He tugs up that shirt, letting his cock instead rest on his abdomen, moaning softly as his huge hand encircles his cock, stroking up and down carefully, his head falling back for a moment. God, imagine your little hand trying to cover him? Your mouth, the one crying out so wanton and lewd, full of him?

He’d fuck your throat so good your voice wouldn’t work.

He leans back forward, blinking you into view, watching as your back arches, your pathetic little fingers working between your legs. He knows you need him, it’s so hard not to give you it yet, listening to your whimpers, your little soft, desperate pants, clearly having a hard time making yourself cum.

“I’ll help you soon, pretty,” he whispers, his own hand stroking himself in time with the rhythm of your hand, matching it and exhaling, spitting right on his reddened tip. “What you do to me.”

Should he feel bad, watching you? No, you’re his after all, and he wants to know what you like when he does touch you, pay attention to your clearly needy little clit, how your thighs clamp down. He’ll make sure to keep them spread, keep you folded in half, it’s all he can think as he bucks up into his hand, smeared with spit and precum, the snow falling against the office window in the dark.

His pretty, perfect Christmas gift, just waiting to be unwrapped all for him. “Good girl,” he murmurs to the screen softly, voice breaking in the middle, veins just pulsing as he pumps more precum. “Prepping my gift f’me.”

Satoru hungrily watches you hit your peak, hips bucking up into your little hand, head sinking into the pillows as you moan.

His name.

Fuck you’re moaning his name.

He strokes himself faster, whispering yours as he cums ropes down his hand, messy streaks that run warm, picturing pumping it all inside of that hole you’re slipping your fingers out of. You’re softly moaning, shaking just a bit, your clean hand brushing your own hair back, covering your cute little face.

He bets it’s warm to the touch, in the prettiest blush.

Satoru exhales and cleans up, his eyes never leaving the screen, especially when you stand up and lean to look at yourself in the mirror, he’s already sensitive from cumming, but he’s pulsing and throbbing watching you. Leaned over and fixing now messy hair, looking all flushed and embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” he chuckles and touches the cool screen, right where your face is, as you pick up the snowman and his show is over. He keeps you on though, since he can hear your gentle breathing as you sleep. “Soon, sweetheart.”

*****

Satoru’s friends are amazing, but you can’t stop the awkwardness, the feeling of knowing you came screaming his name was overwhelming. You don’t even know how to fucking face him in the morning, when your dumb ass car won’t start.

“I swear it was fine…”

“I got you on a ride, don’t worry,” you’d ended up next to him in that sleek sports car, horribly embarrassed.

“I don’t wanna depend so much on you, already you’re doing too much,” his hand had come to your thigh as you both sat in front of that coffee shop, leaning low and looking at you behind his dark circle shades.

Too close, he’s too close.

His fingers are near your slick warmth, trickling down your inner thigh from how close he is, how his fingers press higher, squeezing your thigh so tightly it squishes in his grip. You’re trembling, so nervous then, wondering if you’re brave enough to lean forward, to kiss him.

But he’s gone as soon as he’s there, leaned back now, smiling. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that, we’ll fix that car soon. Probably after Christmas though.”

“I feel I’m putting you out.”

“Not at all,” you had sighed then.

“You’re too sweet to me, you really are.” He had just smirked at you, this look that sent an ache through you, as close as he is you can almost taste the sweetness on his breath, as it ghosts on your lips.

You can hardly breathe in that car, the heat blaring, Gojo so close.

“Sweet, hmm? Maybe I’m not as sweet as you think,” you’d just giggled at that, shaking your head.

You have no clue he unhooked your alternator, you’re so cute.

He’d of course had to pick you up too, the more you need him, the better.

It’s Christmas eve of course, Satoru makes sure to get you the perfect gift, a pretty necklace he can’t wait to tug and choke you with as he fucks you from the back – the chain is more than thick enough, just begging for your neck. He bought you a dress that you’re now wearing, looking so pretty in it he can hardly stand it, sitting there and talking to his friends.

You fit right in, but why wouldn’t you? It’s clear to all of them that Satoru is obsessed, they know their friend and when he’s in love he’s in love, hopeless and desperate, but even they’ve never seen him like this. He can’t take his eyes hardly off you, even when he’s laughing, when they’re all reminiscing, it’s like his gaze follows you across the room.

Everyone can practically feel how badly Satoru wants you – except you, of course, oblivious and cute, just enjoying the company, feeling so homey.

Shoko is hilarious, Nanami has this dry humor, Suguru is the yin to Satoru’s yang, like the exact opposite of him, but they fit so well. Seeing them on such a night makes you feel far too much like you’re at home, and not just staying in Satoru’s pool house for a time.

It feels too good, so good you get up to give them time alone, when he quickly stops you, a hand on your wrist, leaning low.

“Sweetheart, where are you going?” He asks quietly, possessive in how he holds your wrist, looking down your pretty neck.

God he can’t wait to tie you up, choke you until you can’t breathe, fuck you until it’s just all him.

“I want to give you time, I’ve already intruded so much,” you look down and fidget a bit with one of the buttons of his dress shirt, he tenses, tightening his hold. “You’ve been amazing to me, but I don’t want to take over your time.”

“I invited you,” he exhales now, stepping too close, leaning low. “You wanna go be alone tonight?”

“Um…” you blink tears suddenly.

Alone, you’re alone there, and here you’re with someone you want far too much, you’re far too comfortable, as if your ex meant fucking nothing the moment Gojo smiled at you. Part of you should feel bad, another part wants to sink to your knees and show him how much you appreciate him, that thought spreading to your core, with hot need.

How much would you have to touch yourself to even be okay? It’s like every moment near Satoru Gojo makes it worse.

“I got a gift for you,” you gasp. “It’s nothing really, but I want you to wait for gifts so I can give it. Please?”

“Of course,” you smile tremulously then. “Um, I also got you something, but it’s really not much of anything.”

“Please, anything you get me is perfect,” he kisses your temple, his lips lingering, your lashes flutter shut, leaning forward.

Too perfect in his arms.

You just are, he can practically smell how turned on you are for him, he wonders what panties you’re wearing underneath this pretty red dress he got you – were they soaked already? God he’d drink your cunt from them, bury his face, his hands lingering on your hips too long, lips still sitting there, the two of you breathless for a moment.

He wants to reassure you, but you just need to be a little needier, so he spends the next couple hours completely normal, waiting for his friends to leave, hugging them all good bye. You come help clean up, quiet and easy next to him, your gift sitting unopened still.

“You don’t have to clean, the maids will, sweets.”

“Still! No need to leave them much,” you start rinsing plates, when he comes behind you, turning off the water, hard body pressing against the curve of your spine.

You whimper.

Fuck, fuck.

He halts just a bit, you don’t see his satisfied fucking smile, as the snow starts whirling and the fire is crackling in the living room, like you’re in this perfect cozy nook of Satoru’s world. You bite your lip, hating the sound that came out of your mouth suddenly, looking back at him, hands still dripping wet from water.

“I’m so fucking sorry, um… wine and… been a bit? And you’re very…”

“Shh,” he cups your face, wrapping and arm around you, hand splaying your stomach, warm as it presses, and you can’t stop the next soft cry. “Oh yeah? Just been a while, that’s why you’re like this?”

“I… um…” His hand slips lower, cupping you over the red silk, your head falls back now against his chest, body arching.

“Are you tellin’ the truth, sweets? That’s why you’re so hot here, burning my fucking hand? A long time? Did he not make you cum, baby?” His voice isn’t the sweet one from the coffee shop, it’s darker now, his eyes black when you look back at them, a smirk on his lips.

You’re pulsing around air, aching for him, lost for words.

“I asked ya a question,” his hand starts to slide up that material soft against the creamy skin on your thighs. “Answer me, sweets. Be good f’me.”

“God…” you’re arching for more, feeling a thick, heavy length press on your lower back now. “I um… no, that’s not all.”

“Then what is it, why are you so wet? Hmm?” You bite down on a trembling lip, overwhelmed by the tall, buff white haired man toying with you, lost in his dark eyes and plush pink lips, parted, baring just a hint of sharp teeth.

“I’m wet for you, Gojo,” he moans then, slipping the material even higher, you’re so overheated from his body and the fire you feel beads of sweat trailing across your collarbone. “For you.”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his cock leaking and sticking to his boxers, so ready to bury himself inside you. “Say my name.”

“Satoru.”

He captures your lips as soon as you say it, mouth crashing down on yours brutally. It’s not the gentle, sweet kiss you might have expected from his lingering one on your temple, it’s not gentle, no – it’s hungry, devouring you, tongue plunging between the seam of your lips, taking you over.

You helplessly open for him, as if mentally you can fucking hear his voice murmuring ‘good girl’. The soft sounds of that christmas music are mixing with the fire, the heavy wind, his soft husky breaths, you’re so far gone you could cum from a kiss and your cunt exposed to the warm air as he tugs that dress high.

His other hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and just tugging until it hurts, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into the warm recesses of your mouth, drinking you. That’s what it is, he’s drinking you up, owning you, you’re desperately meeting his kiss, pressing your little tongue against his, whining out into his mouth.

He pulls back for a moment, a string of saliva just dissolving between you both, you’re shaking in his hold, lingering on his lips like wine, so perfect and sweet. Your eyes are already fucked out, a hand gripping his wrist where he’s so close to slipping his fingers in.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” you gasp then, eyes shooting up to him in shock. “You don’t even know, do you? Oblivious, my sweet girl, but don’t worry, you won’t need to think.”

“I w-won’t?” You’re so cute to him then, he smirks just a bit, caressing your jaw delicately.

“Not at all, not when you’re all mine sweetheart, just let me fuck you until you forget everything.”

He should be concerning, right? The shit he’s saying, but you don’t want to think anymore, you want him to take over, to take all the pain and loneliness, and pump you all full of him instead. It’s insanity, the way you trust this man you barely know, how you want him inside you, on you, everywhere.

“Say the word and I’ll fuck every thought from that pretty head, you’ll just be my perfect fuck toy, won’t you?”

God, are you really gonna say yes?

You nod, lips parted then, as he smiles, kissing you once more, messy and desperate. “You sure?”

“I want to be.”

“Good, good girl,” you melt against him at that, the plates forgotten in the sink when he turns you to him, your hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, as he presses you against that counter. “So long baby.”

“So long, what do you-”

“Shh, no thinking,” he’s kissing down your neck, hands gripping your ass, sighing as his thigh presses between yours, soaking wet. “I’ve been wondering all night, if those pretty little panties are already ruined for me. What do you think, sweetheart? Should I check?”

A whimper escapes your throat, so nervous suddenly, you’re literally stuck to your panties, slipped up puffy folds with how wet you are. You nod quickly in a jerky little motion, unable to form words as he kisses down the side of your neck, your cunt pulsing even more wetness out.

“You’re too precious, can’t talk already? I haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispers those words in your ear, fingers finally finding ruined lace, and that’s when he can hardly hold back anymore.

“Mnh! Satoru…”

“God, you sayin’ my name like that,” he groans, pressing up, his snowy lashes fluttering shut as he toys with your sticky panties, making you moan softly. “Soaked. All f’me, aren’t you?”

You nod again, sucking in a breath as he pulls back to look into your eyes, tugging a thigh over his hip, a thick finger directly over your clit, rubbing it in mean little circles over the thin fabric. You almost cum from that you’re so sensitive and needy, crying out and arching for more, head falling back.

“Eyes on me,” you manage to focus when he grips your chin, pressing that cotton even more flush against you, you’re desperately shaking for more. “That’s it, look at me, pretty girl. All your attention. Me.”

He keeps fucking whispering it as he touches you, until the ruined panties are nothing but this thin, messy barrier you want gone, slipping his fingers over them almost in you instead of moving them. Torturing and teasing until you cry out, your hips bucking up against his hand.

“Please, Satoru…”

“All this time, you’ve been sitting there with my friends, smiling and laughing, while this pretty little cunt was just aching to be touched. Weren’t you, huh? Slutty pussy, god…”

“Y-yes,” that’s all you manage to get out, he’s too much, but he’s also edging you, teasing you, the friction of that damp lace now cool against your needy, puffy little clit, that’s just twitching for him. “Satoru…”

“What do you need, baby?” He murmurs, pulling your panties to the side, slipping two fingers down your slit. “This?”

“More, fuck… please, more,” you have no sense of shame or embarrassment, grinding on him shameless, he pulls back those fingers, leaving your thighs shaking. “Satoru…”

“Mmm,” his fingers are soaking wet and glossy, he puts two to his mouth and sucks, the motion filthy as his mouth wraps it, smirking. “If we do this, you’re all mine sweetheart.”

“But you… don’t even know me? And…” He’s slipping your juices in your mouth now, fingers coated in your cunt and his spit, you moan.

“Suck,” you obediently do, his eyes are black then, a feral look on his pretty face, watching you bob your head. “You’re mine. Just mine.”

You barely know what the fuck happens, or how you end up tied up with a string of pretty white christmas lights, Satoru’s insane ass grin as he ropes your arms shibari style, pushing your tits out as he ropes them. He’s hungrily sucking on your perky nipples, moaning on each one, you’re on all fours on this soft rug in front of the fireplace, lit up for him.

“God, that’s perfect,” he murmurs when he’s done, and your ass is in the air, pussy soaked and dripping, your ripped panties next to that pretty dress tossed aside on the floor. “Cunt is soaked, she needs me, hmm?”

“Please,” you should be scared, ask yourself why you’re tied up with Christmas lights on Satoru Gojo’s floor, but when you see his body, his thick, girthy cock leaking pre, you instead eagerly suck on your knees.

“That’s it, such a good girl, god I knew it,” he whispers desperately, cock heavy and hot in your mouth, the tip leaking pre against your uvula. Spit is drippin down his heavy balls, making it a mess, glossy with your spit as he rocks his hips, tugging at your hair. “Throat is only gonna know my shape, just mine, hmm?”

Your answer is a moan around his cock, pussy so needy and empty you’re dying for him inside, but you also desperately want to please him. Every fuck into your tight throat, every stretch and burn has you soaking wet, dripping down your slit onto that very rug beneath you, gasping for a breath as he shoves his cock as deep as you can even take it.

Satoru’s lost in how pretty you look like this, arms bound and lit up, his perfect Christmas gift that he can’t wait to fill up.

“Suckin’ me s’good, f-fuck…” He’s whimpering then, the sound shooting straight to your core, fucking your throat faster, pulling your hair until mascara trails down your cheeks with your tears. “I’ll give you anything, baby, yeah? Anything.”

You’re drooling when he pulls back, tilting your chin up to spit in your open mouth, you swallow so good, tasting saliva and pre, when he turns you to face the fireplace, pressing you down between your shoulder blades. He slides two fingers deep in your hole, you’re wriggling around, clenching him so tight, making his cock leak more pre, moaning.

“So tight,” he whispers in wonder, he wants to give you more prep but he can’t handle another moment without your cunt milking him. He bends down, pulling your ass up and licking a strip from your clit to your ass. “Mmm, the taste.”

“Satoru! Mnh!” The way his huge tongue just licks you clean, filthy stripes that are for his pleasure, messy and not hitting your spots, just scooping in as his moans vibrate, and his hands grip your ass bruisingly. “Please, please. In me…”

“Mmm, one more,” he can’t help but drink just a little more of your juices, they’re dripping in rivulets down his chin, he grins as you’re twitching, spreading your cute hole to spit in it. “Arch f’me.”

You eagerly do, the green cord digging into your thighs, when Satoru lines up his leaky pink tip and finally fucks you. But he doesn’t inch in, no he bottoms the fuck out in one mean stroke. You’re gasping out, desperately clutching the fur underneath you, so full you can’t take it, belly bulging and making the lights press in even more painfully than before.

Deep, punishing strokes that wreck your cunt, gliding easier and easier with the mess you are becoming, the slickness and your trembling walls accommodating his size. Every bit of pain just makes the filthy pleasure even better, the sounds of his moans, the smacking of skin, your squelching cunt all echoing in your ears.

He shoves so deep you scream then, so deep you feel him everywhere, in your tummy, fuck in your throat, gasping for air.

“Satoru, so much! Too much!” You’re shaking, he’s laughing softly, breath caught when you clamp down on him, looking at how huge his cock is compared to your tiny little pussy as he pulls back.

“God, look at that,” he watches that stream of slick pour down his cock as he pulls out then pushes back in, watching her stretch around him. “So much bigger than you, aww, she can hardly even take him.”

He’s dying over the size difference, the way your little hole is trying its best, the way his huge hand takes over your ass when it smacks down, the huge handprints spreading to your thighs. He’s not gentle, no, he’s fucking you like he wants to make sure you never leave, never even think of anything again.

“That’s it, takin’ my cock like you’re made for it,” he whispers, fucking you harder and harder, you’re gasping desperately, so full, his balls smacking your needy, twitchy clit with filthy fwaps, as you drip everywhere. “Makin’ a mess of that rug, hah, oh sweetheart you need me, huh?”

“N-need you – nghhh!” You’re done when he loses his control, bruising grip, fucking you senseless, strokes so messy.

“Gonna stuff you so full of white,” he chuckles, psychotic blue eyes glinting, prone over you, making everything dig in and leave its mark, cupping your face and looking down at you. “Aww, you want that? My Christmas present. My perfect fucking present. Mine.”

He keeps repeating it – mine, mine, mine – cock pulsing and thickening, pressing into your cervix, sending you over the edge, blinded when that orgasm rips through you. Your cunt clamps down on him so tight, pulsing and milking him for all the white he’s promising, earning his groan, his tensing.

“Gonna fill you up, next Christmas you’ll have all my babies,” you really should be scared, confused, but you’re still reeling from it, his hips slamming into you, railing your cunt until it is all his. “You want it, don’t you? Say it baby, please.”

“W-want it… ah!”

“Fuck, m’gonna give you so much, all you deserve sweetheart, all for you,” you feel him pulse inside you when he slams in to the hilt, hips snug on your ass now, a hot, thick flood of his white cum filling you up. “That’s it, take all of it, s’all yours.”

Satoru’s barely able to hold himself up when he busts inside you, coating your quivering walls, it’s so much it starts to leak out around his cock, mixing with your own slick and dripping down your thighs. He pumps a few more times, shakily taking breaths, hands holding you tightly, moans escaping.

“Took so much, god you’re perfect,” he whispers, pulling out to watch that creamy mix push out of your abused hole. “God you’re so good.”

The lights left their mark, but he’s massaging your skin after, cleans you up with his tongue, kisses every mark the lights left. He’s got you in his bed when Christmas strikes, smiling as you snore soundly against his chest, you’re wearing one of his shirts that swallows you, his cum still dripping from your pretty pussy.

He can’t wait until next year, when you’ll have your first baby for him, and he’ll already have another put in you next Christmas. You wake up sometime in the night, looking at him, blinking a bit.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

“Merry Christmas, Satoru,” you whisper, snug in his arms, wondering just what luck you have to be there.

Was it luck, some Christmas miracle? Or was it Satoru Gojo making sure he got his perfect gift?

Plus, he likes to watch you eat, drink water, take care of yourself, you just work too hard lately. He notices, every tired blink of an eye, and every yawn, Choso notices it all- including things only he can see - like how you shift your hips in your office chair, how you cross and uncross your legs, wearing a different color of panties every single day.

Sometimes you wear lace.

Once you wore crotchless.

He got very mad at you.

Who were they for?

Men at the office flirted with you, bustling and busy and a little more men working to women, they all were after you. He has lost count how many dates you’ve been asked on, but you always sweetly decline, Choso likes to think it’s because you already know-

You’re his.

“You should eat more, and relax a bit. Ever took a day off?” He asks you now, and you shake your head, sighing.

“Too many bills to pay.” You yawn once more, before pecking a kiss on his cheek, making him blush, which you find adorable. “Sorry, is that okay?”

“Oh it’s f-fine.” Choso is over six foot, towering over everyone, buff under that suit- you can feel it- and far too handsome for his own good, but he’s so shy he acts as if he has no clue of his effects.

On you especially.

Just being in his proximity gets you too excited, his dark violet eyes flashing just a bit as he looks down at you, when the elevator dings and you two walk out, your hand falling then. “I’ll meet you at lunch?” You tease with a wink, and he nods a bit then, that flush fading just a bit from his cheeks, while you walk into the bright, open office.

Floor to ceiling windows abound, and cubicles are all over, but Choso works in his own private office, as he’s a higher up manager, and you’re the owner’s receptionist and assistant. You prance up to your boss, Mr. Higaruma, who offers you his own kind and tired smile.

“Good morning.” He says your name softly, pouring over his paperwork then and downing his coffee, dark brows knitted together.

“Good morning, Mr. Higaruma, want me to take half your stack?” You put down your purse and your breakfast at your desk, he sighs then, running a hand through his black spiky locks.

“Would you be a doll and do just that? This weekend I got…” He looks around as if he’s not the boss, whispering in  your ear. “Hungover.”

You nearly snort, covering your mouth then, and Higaruma grins at your cute expression. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine, no, it is kind of funny. But I never drink anymore, ugh.”

“One sec…” You go to pull out a bottle of tylenol now, pouring water into a paper cup. “This will help, along with something greasy.”

“Greasy?” You both start talking, and Choso glares across the office, waiting for you to just sit down already.

How close did you two need to get!?

You finally do sit down, and he eyes your panties from the camera he has strategically placed, seeing that they’re purple today, making his cock throb as he sits in his office, he goes to shut the door then, staring at the image on his phone, watching you shift this way and that. Today the lace is clinging so tightly to your puffy lips he can see the outline of your perfect cunt.

“Oh my god…” He murmurs softly, if only you were his assistant, he’d have you bent over his desk right now, but for the moment he strokes his cock over his slacks, as you cross your legs, deterring his view. “Open them for me, baby, please…”

As if on command you do just that, lean back and spread your thighs, god he can’t stand how good you look, he eyes you out of one of his office windows as you smile over at him, waving so pretty. Clueless that he’s stroking his now leaky tip against his thumb, while he smiles back over to you, eyes torn between your pretty face and the upskirt view he has.

Choso’s cock springs free as he strokes himself under the desk, whimpering softly as he pictures it inside you, this is his daily routine though, stroking himself, over and over, he does so at least every day if not multiple times, using the precum and his own saliva as lube to stroke his thick cock faster. He bets you’re so tight, he bets you taste as good as you smell.

He’s leaned back, closing his eyes and murmuring your name when he hears a knock knock knock then, but he’s already cumming. “Shit, shit, shit…” He’s trying to hide his whine as he pours hot sticky ropes into his hand. “Hold on a minute!”

“Sure thing, Choso.” It’s you.

Fuck.

Choso hastily cleans himself up the best he can, tissues swiping at the sticky mess his cock has become, some of it is sticking to his black boxer briefs when he pulls himself together, opening his door. You’re smiling up at him, and he wonders if he should feel bad. You don’t know he sees your panties every day, but he brushes it off, because it’s not like he can help himself.

It takes everything not to drag you in as you just stand there curiously. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You’re flushed as you look down a bit, biting that lower lip that makes him think insane thoughts. “I wondered… would you like to come over?”

“Come over!?” He’s got his eyes wide now, and you feel your cheeks heat up more, shifting nervously.

“Is that too much? Is it weird?”

“What no I… you… huh?” Choso sputters now, imagining every way he wants you, god your lips probably would feel so good wrapped around his tip, wouldn’t they? Cleaning his cum off himself-

“Sorry, it’s stupid. Ugh. We just are so close here but we never hang out? And I have no friends here, just a cat I think.” You’re babbling, as he’s staring at you like you’ve grown another head.

You’ve wanted to ask him out for so long, surprised he never made a move, maybe you’re not his type? But curiosity gets the best of you, just who is he when he’s not so shy, when he’s not all in his business mode. Those glimpses of tattoos on his arms when he rolls his sleeves up are too enticing.

“A date?” He whispers, and you giggle then.

“It doesn’t have to be. Or it could be.”

“I’ll be there, I’ll… bring wine?” He grins as you brighten up.

“I love wine!”

Oh, he knows.

He knows the brands you like, the type you enjoy, he knows so much about you already, he’s seen the outside of your home almost every night after work, just to make sure you get home safe of course. You live alone and you’re just a sweet, fragile thing, there are too many crazy men out there. Once he watches you, he leaves of course!

But he does notice you enjoy a glass of wine, you leave your window wide open when it’s nice out, petting your cat and sipping on it, reading some book. God you look so pretty when you think no one is watching, when your shoulders relax just so, in those moments his thoughts are far more pure, not like when he has to be tortured by the obscene amount of panties you have.

“I’d love to come over. Do you want me to bring dinner?” He’s trying to sound calm, not like he just noticed with horror he has some cum sticking to his pant leg then, which you seem to notice, tilting your head. 

“I think you’ve got something…” You bend down, brushing it off, making his cock jerk as you look at the sticky substance curiously, blinking while he panics.

“Oh it’s just… it’s some… the glaze, from the donuts!” He’s taking your hand now, and you’re already just licking it off your thumb.

You just licked Choso’s cum.

Fuck.

“You got donuts? Weird you got me bagels this morning. Silly.” You tease now, brushing your thumb back across your skirt, smiling up at him again.

“I uh… raided the… office cafeteria.”

“You have such a sweet tooth!”

You have no idea. Once he tastes you he will never stop.

He doesn’t think he’ll even let you leave,

“I do, okay I’ll bring dessert, you do dinner?” You nod and giggle just a bit, the sound making his heart clench.

“Perfect, I’ll see you after work and give you my address.”

As if he doesn’t know.

“Sounds good.” You shut the door, and he leans his head on it, exhaling, as you curiously roll your tongue around your mouth.

What kind of donuts taste like that?

*****

“This is my favorite wine, oh my God how’d you know!?” You take the bottle of blackberry wine, it’s not even common and sold at one specific store, Choso just smiles down at you, looking far too hot in his soft black shirt and jeans.

You only see each other in business gear, but seeing rolled up sleeves revealing veiny forearms is far too much to handle, along with the dessert ingredients he pulls out. “Was just a guess, is all.”

“A great guess.” Choso just smiles softly, with his lidded gaze drifting across the little tank top and skirt you have on. Just from his gaze your nipples press up, as if they’re trying to tempt him with your every breath. Thank you.” You kiss his cheek, making his tummy clench, god he can’t wait to fuck you, fill you, when you’re ready of course, when you’re begging him like the good girl he bets you can be,

“You’re very welcome. Oooh that already smells so good.” You giggle a bit, taking the wine and bag out of his hands, heading over to where the ingredients are sizzling, you’re making steaks that smell far, far too heavenly already. 

God you’re perfect, shimmying a bit when you taste the sauce you’ve mixed up, beckoning him over with your two little fingers crooked up. “Come taste this.”

Choso urges his cock to go down at your innocent words, but were they innocent really, when he sees how your lips curl up at the corner, cozy inside your pretty little kitchen. He can tell you cook a lot by the amount of mixers, grills, devices and utensils neatly lined along your light countertops.

“Delicious, oh my god.” He murmurs, after you hold the ladle to his lips, brushing some sauce off the corner of his mouth with a sigh, for a wild moment you think of kissing it off him.

But he just touches your wrist, wrapping long thick fingers around it completely, the grip so tight it excites you, before he’s just pressing a kiss on it. Great, you’re some horny slut and he’s this… gentleman or something? You could damn near jump him - how good he looks, how long you’ve been wanting this - but you make yourself act correctly, as you watch him work in the kitchen with you.

He’s got the sweetest chocolate mousse, his turn to ask you to ‘have a taste’ and you lap it up off the beater, short circuiting his brain, while he simultaneously takes in absolutely everything in your home. Every little picture, and every knick knack that comprises you. Of course he sees your cat slinking around, right before the movies he goes to pet it.

“He likes you, that’s rare.” You admit, grabbing two glasses of wine, pouring the dark swirling liquid, handing him one as you sit down the plate with the mousse, taking a bite and moaning. “Heavenly.”

He bets you taste heavenly.

He wants to say it, when you’re right next to him, your legs tucked under you, sipping on the wine, leaving a pretty lip print with the color you’re wearing, a color Choso would love to see smeared across your face. He’s tensing as you lean closer, his arm up and above you on the couch, casually strewn as if he’s not losing his mind.

He’s mapping out more of your house even as he casually brushes his hand up and down your shoulder, as the gory movie begins, and he quickly notices you are not a fan. “Everything okay?”

“Too much… oh god…” You’re suddenly against him, he pulls you close to his hard body, as you’re exhaling, shaking your head. “Scary.”

Choso’s fingers brush against the bare skin on your shoulders, when you’re burying your face against his chest, he’d laugh at how cute you are scared of this zombie movie, but you against him alone has him throbbing. Your hands clutching his shirt as your hot little breaths blow on his neck is too much, he can’t take it anymore, not having you.

His hand moves lower, brushing the sensitive skin down your arms, until he drops it to your hip, pulling you closer, hearing your breath catch as he does. Your nipples tighten in reaction, fuck it’s been a while and Choso smells so good, he feels good too. You don’t move for a moment, feeling warmth spread, mixing with the wine in your body.

You were hoping he’d make a move, as you just weren’t one to do so, but his hand doesn’t stray from your hip, as his thighs spread just a bit, and the sounds of the screams on the screen ebb for a moment. “It’s over now, are you alright angel?”

You blush at the nickname, already overheated, shaking your head and snuggling deeper. “No, it was too freaky.”

“You picked it!” You giggle a bit then, pulling back to look up at him, with eyes he can’t wait to have rolling back in your skull, his hand tightens at the thoughts, as your own grip tightens.

“I knew you liked horror, so I wanted to seem cool.” Choso watches you flush, so fucking cute then, and he pulls you more against him, now cupping your face with one of his huge hands. “Is that lame that I remembered that?”

Oh you’re so cute, as if he doesn’t know everything about you.

You’re feeling so small compared to him, when his hand takes over your face with his long, thick fingers, only making you wetter when he brushes a thumb over your lips. “You don’t have to try to seem ‘cool’ with me.”

“Choso… I…” You lean forward now, and your lips touch, but that’s when Choso loses any semblance of hope of remaining normal, calm, shy even, not when he finally gets your lips on his.

You’re on his lap before you can blink, gasping as his tongue swipes inside your mouth, barbell clicking your teeth gently, and you’re pulling back to gasp, looking down at his eyes. So dilated they’re black, he emits the softest growl as he presses your clothed cunt down on his lap, and you cry out, gushing wetness until your panties are sticky.

“God, look at you…” He whispers, his voice is so different, everything about him is, when you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, rolling your hips and feeling his thick length under his jeans.

He yanks you back down, mouths messy as you grind, as you move, nipping at his tongue ring with your teeth and pulling it, as his cock starts pulsing precum from your heat. “Choso…”

“Fuck…” He’s whimpering as you kiss down his neck, up to his ear, and he pulls you down harder, hands slipping up your skirt to grab that ass he’s stared at every day for a year. “You’re so wet.”

“S’much I… embarrassing…”

“No, no, not at all.” He’s pushing you back gently, so he can look at you, your nipples prominent against your top. He nips it over the thin material with his teeth, while you’re leaving a wet spot on his jeans.

He never thought he’d actually have you like this, silently begging him, one of your hands gripping his hair as he pulls down your top, revealing a nipple already perked up for him. You’re panting when he sucks it in his mouth, feeling the weight of the other one in his palm, your tits are even more perfect than he could ever imagine, the thought that anyone ever saw them makes him furious.

No one will again.

“Perfect.” He murmurs, as he is now slipping down his finger until it hits your clit, rolling in small circles over your panties, as he feels himself already too close, when he sees your lidded gaze, your thighs trembling on either side of him. “Can’t help yourself, can you baby?”

“Fuck…” Choso, sweet and shy and blushing, is talking dirty to you, as his barbell is flicking on your nipple, making you ache, so ready he could slip his cock in with ease. “Fuck me, please.” Your words make him pause, words you don’t just say, when have you ever asked- or fuck, begged?

Someone knocks on your door then, and you grimace in frustration, kissing him once more as he feels himself about to bust if you move once more, and the knock continues. “Should you get that?”

“It’s probably my neighbor, they're always asking for rides or for something.” You frown then.

“You’re sweet, that’s why hmm?” You just smile a bit, hoping they’ll go away, but ever persistent you hear her, shouting your name as Choso laughs a bit. “You can get it, it’s fine.”

“It’s so not fine.” You hop up, leaving Choso a moment to breathe as you adjust yourself and head to the door, where your neighbor starts going on and on, and you sigh, looking back at Choso. “Just a minute!”

“No worries.” As you step out on the porch to hear her ranting about another neighbor from what he can catch, you give him the perfect opportunity, he stands quickly, blood rushing to his head, he is so close to busting, he has almost forgotten about the little cameras he has.

He sneaks into your room now, finding it smells so much like you, your little plushies all along the dresser, which he casually takes one and puts a camera in, before opening the drawer, and seeing you do have an insane amount of panties. Just who are these all for he wonders, running a finger over your pretty bras now too, soft and silky and neatly folded.

God he wants them, but, he needs something you’ve worn, these are all clean and smelling of fabric softener, that won’t do. He eyes the rest of your room, your bed just a little rumpled, opening the drawer of your nightstand, scowling when he sees your dildo and vibrator.

You won’t get to use those on yourself once he has a say.

He thinks briefly of tossing them, but that would look a little suspicious, though he contemplates it for a beat too long, as he runs out when he hears the door shut, and stands there casually, pausing the movie as you peer in. “Just one more minute, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s all good.” He smiles sweetly, and exhales in relief, heading to your bathroom now, where he finds the pair he’d seen earlier sitting right at the top of your hamper, those purple ones that you clearly soaked, he sees the wetness left from them and moans softly, before shoving it in his pocket

Finally you’re back inside, kissing him in his arms, up on tiptoes, your own hands trailing down his body, until you’re touching him, and just the touch and he feels himself about to cum. He needs to stroke himself before he even lets you come near him, clearly, he grabs your wrists, and you pause, blinking up at him, lips in a pout.

“Am I moving too fast for you?” You ask then, brows knitting, while Choso tries to envision everything terrible to make his cock stop, panicking.

“No, I just… I have to… I got a call, while you were outside and um… I have to… leave.” He mumbles, you just blink a bit, pulling back and frowning.

“You have to leave right now?”

“Yes I… yes.” Choso kisses your forehead, before darting out and leaving you alone, standing there in confusion.

Were you coming on too strong!?

The thought swirls through your head as you take the glass of half finished wine, plopping down and sitting on your bed, frowning as you peek at your phone, he seemed so into it, was it the interruption, did he think better? You pause a bit, setting the glass down on your side table with a little clink, before laying and spreading your thighs, touching yourself with a hiss.

You’re so wet you’re sticking to them, ugh.

You call him then, right as Choso has your panties on his face, stroking his cock and moaning, he has the image of you laying on your bed when he opens his eyes and peeks at the monitor, rushing to answer your phone. “Choso… I’m sorry, but did I come on too much?”

“What? No, no…” He’s pulsing as he fucks his hand, now entranced by the vision of your legs spread like they are, it’s all he can see, when you’re shifting a bit.

“Okay um… I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

Say something.

Choso wants to so badly, but now he’s leaning forward, staring at you as you touch yourself, hearing a hitch of breath, and he continues stroking his cock as he watches you. “Cho?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I got nervous.” He admits, continuing to watch as you giggle just a bit, gathering your slick when your fingers dip under your panties, he watches your hips roll and hears your little sigh.

It’s like you know he’s watching.

“Are we still cool? I don’t want it to be weird at work.”

“No never, I-”

“I have to go.” You say suddenly, and he watches as the phone falls from your hands, glaring just a bit when you whine out, he can barely hear you, you hang up on him like a little brat.

You are rolling your finger on your clit as you smile just a bit, it’s a little petty sure, but he just walked out on you, so you get just a little satisfaction hanging up, remembering his touch, how good his hot mouth felt on your breasts. How good his length felt pressing up in his jeans, against your clit, god you can imagine how big it is when you slip two fingers in.

Picturing his tongue ring in the most wicked places, you feel yourself drenched, finally pushing down soaked panties, giving him the most perfect view when he finally sees your pussy bare. He blushes, looking away for a moment, should he be going this far he wonders, but he hears his name moaned from your lips, so he continues, wishing he could just call you back.

Just go back.

But he’s not ready- not just yet- you don’t need him enough, do you? But he can tell you’re starting to, as you’re pumping your little fingers in and out of your perfect, pretty pussy- he’s not sure he’s ever seen one that looks that good. He knew it of course but god he can’t wait to bury his face between your thighs, to lap up those juices he sees glistening.

“That’s it baby, cum for me…” He’s murmuring, as you do just that, thighs shaking, as Choso finishes with a whine, and then he could swear you almost smile at that camera, but no way…

*****

You already have breakfast the next morning.

You already have coffee the next morning?

Your boss apparently bought them for you, and you’re sitting right on his desk giggling a bit, as Choso looks on with a scowl, crumpling the brown paper bag as a coworker comes up to him then. “She’s so hot.”

Choso scowls, as another one walks up as well. “Yeah she is, damn dude I thought you were gonna shoot your shot?”

“I… she…” He’s stuttering, you gaze at him and wave a little bit, as Higaruma’s hand is dangerously close to your thigh while you’re sipping on coffee.

“Is she single then?”

“No. She’s not.” They back off when the tall, buff man glares violet eyes at them, and Choso feels his body raging, hand itching to spank that ass of yours till it’s covered in his handprints.

You notice his glare, turning away your face then, you know you shouldn’t be flirting, but you’ve never tried so damn hard to get with a guy who just leaves you in the middle of you grinding on him. He left without even a ‘goodbye’ or ‘had a nice time’ - he ran away, and part of you has your feelings hurt, because it feels like you’re making all the moves.

You could feel his angry gaze all damn day, until you see him at one point stomp off to the breakroom, and you can’t help but follow him curiously, surely a little flirting wouldn’t upset him that much, right? “Choso…”

Choso shuts the breakroom door then, pressing you against it and making you gasp, as he leans over you, one hand on the door, the other gripping you by your dress skirt, making you gasp. Your hands shoot up to his chest, as if to press him away, but when he is sliding up that skirt roughly you feel your heart thudding in your chest, feel your tummy heat up with desire.

Who is this Choso?

“Do you like him?” He demands softly - you blink a bit, biting your lower lip to hold in a slutty moan as his hand slips up your inner thigh, making you tremble.

“Who?” You whisper, smiling just a bit, but the smile freezes when he’s looming even more over you, taking over your every sense.

“Your boss, Higuruma. Do. You. Like. Him.”

You giggle a bit, breathless. “You're jealous, why?”

Choso shocks you when his fingers find you under your skirt, your cunt drooling all over his thick digits when he presses the cotton against you, you're whining out at the touch, clit twitching in response, head falling back against the door. When your eyes threaten to flutter shut, he grips your chin, making you look up at him.

“Do you like him?” He whispers again, and you shake your head nervously, hips arching for more of his touch, and Choso Kamo smirks, a man you’ve never seen do such a thing, a man that blushes and smiles sweetly. “Use your words.”

Fuck.

“No, no I like you… but you don’t- f-fuck…” He’s slipped his fingers under your panties now, exhaling against your lips, sweet breath like mocha against your lips, when he first touches your slick pussy without the barrier, he exhales, his hand on your chin slipping to tangle in your hair.

“You have no clue what I want, so was that… to make me jealous?” He demands, scowling as he sinks two thick fingers inside your gummy walls that grip him, even though he’s so mad at you, he can’t stop thinking how perfect your pretty face looks, how you’re tighter than he could imagine. He pumps inside you, hitting that spongy spot, pressing his lips right against yours. “Answer me, now.”

“Y-yes.” He laughs just a bit, curling his fingers while you’re wriggling in his hold, covering his lips with yours now, drinking in your cries as he hikes a thigh up over his hips, more and more inches of his fingers in your tight little drippy cunt.

“You wanna cum, don’t you baby?” He’s whispering, kissing up your jaw, as you cling to his suit jacket, nodding eagerly, Choso acting like this is nothing you could even fantasize, you hear the squishing of your wetness even in the room. You nod in between his kisses up your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin, as he hits just that spot like he already knows your pussy.

“Please…” You whisper out, and he thumbs your clit now, pressing against it and grinning as he feels you gush wetness, so much it’s insane to him, he’s fingering you in wonder as he feels your body tense.

“Were you a good girl? Do you deserve to?” You whine out when he pulls his fingers out just before you cum, making your lips part, when he sucks you right off his fingers, moaning at your taste, possibly the hottest thing you’ve seen.

You cannot figure him out.

“Good? Are you being good? Can’t answer?” He eases your panties back on, pressing your skirt down as you struggle to function.

“No.” You admit, his cock is pressing against his slacks, leaking precum while he is fixing your hair.

“You’re so pretty like this.” Choso’s whisper resonates through your body, which his dilated eyes trail down. “Tell him you’re not interested, and I’ll actually let you cum, hmm?”

You just nod, gulping as he stares so possessively at you. “When?”

“Tonight, I’ll be at your place. He kisses you once more, a brush of his lips like some insane promise, while everything you think you know is flipped. “I’ll be watching for when you tell him.”

With those words, he’s gone, leaving you to try to compartmentalize his words, his demeanor, as you’re aching for him, leaving you wanting twice now. You huff a bit, glaring up at him. “Fine then.”

“You’re so cute.” You scoff as you walk out, and Choso watches with a proud smile as you back off, as you sit right at your desk, and he sees just how soaked he’s made you.

*****

This time, there wasn’t any wine or awkward talk, there was no movie playing, the moment Choso walks in you’re yanking him by his collar, slamming your lips up on his as he locks the door with a click, his hands slipping up your waist. He pulls back for a moment, taking a breath, before he’s picking you up like nothing, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You were a good girl, did you tell him you’re mine?” You blink a bit then, confused, brows knitting.

“Yours?”

“Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” He’s whispering now, gripping your ass with his huge hands, earning your whine while he squishes it in his hands. “Did you?”

“I will.” He smiles softly, walking you right to your room, far too familiarly, but you let him, he plops your right down, so the camera will capture the perfect angle, when he starts kissing down your pretty, perfect body.

“You’re being good, a little bit at least.” He’s whispering, dragging your skirt off your hips, revealing another black lace panty, which he touches, finding it dripping with your slick. “Wear new panties every day, they’re all so slutty, do you want people to see her?”

“What? I…”

“Want them looking at what only I should see?” He’s slipping the panties up between your lips, pressing his own cock into your mattress as it’s pulsing from just being this close.

“No. I don’t want them to see.” Your whisper ends him, he laps a hot, wet stripe over panties he has pulled so tight, exhaling at how pretty you are when he looks up at your face, and your hands grip his hair. “I want you to see.”

“Me?” He’s dragging the soaking lace down your thighs, face to face with the pretty pussy he saw on a fuzzy camera, exhaling when he laps your pooling arousal from your slutty little hole. “So you want to drive me fucking crazy?”

“Y-yes…you…” Your sweet murmur along with how you taste ruin him, he’s spreading your plump lips, sucking in a breath as he sees you wide open, feeling your manicured nails pressing into his scalp while your thighs are shaking on either side of his head.

“So you know what you do to me, huh?” He swirls his tongue around your clit, tongue ring hitting it and making you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Answer.”

“N-no I don’t know… I just wanted you to… make a move I-”

“Teasing me? Making me stroke my cock till it hurts? Tsk.” Choso bites at your little clit now, and you’re screaming when he flicks the barbell on your engorged little clit, you’re gushing all down his pretty face. “That’s being bad, you know?”

“I’m s-sorry… you touch your-”

“Oh baby…” He’s looking up under long lashes. “I hope you can make it.”

“Make what!?” Your words are met with a moan as he devours you, shoving your thighs up.

“Hold them up, now.” His dominance not just shocks you, it ends you, the boy you thought you’d suck, ride, show things to, is a fucking menace when it comes to eating pussy.

No one has ever licked you like this, and he’s got two thick digits deep in your pussy, fuck his fingers are bigger than men you’ve been with, you’re spasming around them as you’re rolling your hips up and down. You’re pausing when he’s suffocating against your drooly cunt, his free hand pressing into your thigh, leaving bruises from his fingertips.

“No, fuck my face, like a pretty slut f’me.”

Yep, you’re done.

You do just that, pulling his hair so hard it hurts, as he laps up every bit of your pretty pussy, you’re closer, closer, he feels it, looking up at you with a glistening chin and lips reddened from drinking you. “Cum, let me drink you.”

“Shit…” He’d chuckle but he’s lost in you, in the girl he can’t stop watching, the girl he’s stalked for so long, just begging for him, screaming out, fucking his entire face, up to the straight nose that he buries inside your cunt. “Choso, I’m gonna… f-fuck I’m gonna…”

He just sucks your little clit in his mouth and hums, shoving two fingers and curling them up, when you’re shattering, screaming his name, and he feels himself cumming then, how can he not. His cum is sticking to his boxers, his jeans even, so much white seed pouring when you’re shaking, twitching, and he’s gasping as your thighs tighten on either side of his head.

“F-fuck… oh m-my god…” You’re weak as he leans up, smirking down at you, stroking a cheek. “Let me…”

“No, I’m not done yet.” You blink in confusion, when he stands. “Give me just a minute.”

Before you can process what’s happening, he’s back from the bathroom, and you’re on your knees, wanting to suck him, but he’s shoved you back down, lapping at you again, and you’re so weak, screaming out his name over and over while his tongue ring flicks your clit and he’s scissoring those fingers.

Choso had cleaned up but he’s hard again, you just do something to him, fuck why do you do this!?

“C-can’t take more… fuck me, please…” He smiles on your thigh, he’ll fuck you soon, but you’re not desperate enough yet, don’t need him enough yet.

“Cum again.” His order is met with him dragging your cunt along his face, and tears start falling with overstimulation, you’re hiccuping, pussy throbbing, so overstimulated. He’s smiling down at you, that sweet smile with dark eyes. “Oh, angel, we’re not close to done.”

“Huh? Choso… I came a lot lemme…”

“Not yet. Been waiting too fucking long.” He’s devouring your pussy again, sipping you up as you keep cumming, your pussy so sweet it’s drugging him, he’s got you bent over, fingers moving in and out as he smacks your ass, but never fucking you, just making you cum over and over with his mouth, his hands.

“C-can’t take anymore… p-please, too much…” You whisper, then he clicks his tongue, pressing kisses to your titties, leaving brutal bite marks all over your chest, thumb hitting your now sore clit.

“You’re even more pretty crying, I knew it.” You’re sniffling, tears, drool all mixing when he kisses you, and you taste your pussy on his lips, as he sticks in three, and you’ve cum so much you can barely move, fatigue dragging you with the force of each orgasm. “One more, f’me, hmm?”

“C-can’t… p-please Choso…” He’s grinning now, brushing your hair back sweetly like he wasn’t three fingers in your sore little cunt.

“Begging me, crying for me, look at you. Do you realize how bad you were today?” You sniffle, nodding, but he’s unrelenting, curling three fingers and making you cry in pleasure and pain. “You’ll get fucked when you act right.”

“Please! Too much… mnh!” Choso’s back down eating you out, he’s lapping his tongue inside your hole, you feel every inch of his tongue, down to the texture as he looks up at the mess he’s made you, you feel the lines of his teeth when he grins, pressing up the hood of your clit. “Ah, ah! M’gonna… pass out I…”

“One more time, you can take it. I need to drink more of you.” You’re shaking your head, but you can’t stop the orgasms he elicits to the point where you’re gasping and clinging to him, to stay tethered, but the last thing you remember before you pass out is violet eyes bright, and a white grin from his face.

Choso laps at you after you’re limp, how can he not, he’s already cum again just drinking your juices, but now you’re so sore even in your knocked out state you’re jerking, hissing. He’s exhaling even, and his breath on your clit with those lips spread, he can watch the poor little thing twitch.

“Oh, you’re so sweet, look at you. So comfortable with me.” He cooes, brushing back your hair as your tears are drying all sticky on your face.

He’s sure the camera caught it, but he can’t help taking some pictures for himself later, while you’re so knocked out you lightly snore, while he brushes the dried tears off gently. He goes to clean his cock off again, coming back to clean you up, dress you once more, your body limp and pliant, just begging for him even in your sleep, but Choso wants your first time with you awake.

He can fuck you in your sleep after.

Curiously he sees your phone text, some guy asking if you’re free for coffee on the preview, and Choso scowls furiously, picking it up. It’s a fingerprint lock, he kisses your hand in an apology before he uses your print, and starts scrolling though, seeing the amount of men that are in your dms. You seem to not respond to many, but this just won’t do!

What if one of them tried to take you?

Choso deletes them all, blocking them one by one, and when he’s done he stands up, tucking you in carefully, brushing a kiss on your lax lips.

“Much better. Sweet dreams, angel.”

*****

“Choso Kamo!” You’re shoving at him that morning, right outside of the office building, he blinks curiously, lids lowering.

“Didn’t eat you out enough? Need more?”

“You- what!?” You hold up your phone, earning his dopey grin. “Where are all my numbers?”

“You have your boss, unfortunately. And me.”

“That’s it aside from like my girls, what the fuck!” He’s scowling down at you now, backing you up until you’re against the wall of the building, where anyone could see you all, his thigh between yours.

“You don’t need to talk to them.”

“You’re not even my boyfriend yet-”

“No, I’m more. You’re more. Everything.” You’re whining as he kisses you, feeling the wet spot on his slacks, while he grips the fat of your ass, pulling you down on him. “You don’t need them.”

“I just-”

“Want me to fuck your pretty pussy?” You gulp now, nodding and looking down, shocked at yourself.

What this man does.

This psychotic man.

How can he look like a kitten but be such a deviant little psycho!?

“Then get in the car. Now.”

“But… work, Choso-”

“Now.” You follow him to his car, and he’s driving insanely fast, for a man that has a damn Volvo, the safest car there is, he’s scaring the fuck out of you, when he reaches  a hand over, pulling you by your hair, kissing you at the light. “You want it, don’t you?”

“I w-want you, yes.” He moans at the words he’s died to hear.

“Then show me.”

Words and actions that seem so foreign, like the sweet exterior of him is peeling back and revealing how depraved he is, how badly he wants you, when you bend over, unzipping him as the car starts, and you’re bracing yourself on his thigh, revealing a pretty, thick cock. Your cunt starts drooling at feeling him inside your mouth, inside your throat, choking him down deep.

“Fuck… why did you have to make me so mad?” He demands, free hand entangling in your hair as you bob up and down him. “Can’t you see I did it for us, for you, to k-keep you… safe… from- mnh…”

Choso whines out as you’re lapping him up, his hand trailing down your spine to find you soaked, his other hand gripping the steering wheel when he comes to another stop. He has never been one to even let women suck him or give him oral very often, but now he finds he wants to wreck your tight little throat, to stop your bratty mouth, the things you do to him.

“Slutty panties, every day.” You should be concerned, worried maybe, but instead you’re soaking them further, as he hits the gas pedal again, forcing your mouth more on him, your tongue tasting the musky, sweet precum coating your mouth. “All for me?”

“Mmhmm…” Is all you can manage, as he continues torturing you over your panties, and comes to a stop, you are lifted off his cock, he swipes the pretty lipstick smeared on your cheek, slamming his lips down furious.

“Don’t drive me so insane, angel. I can’t take it.” He whispers, violet eyes so dilated they look black as he cups your face so tightly you cry out a bit. “I need you to be mine, no one else’s, can you do it for me?”

You nod weakly, body acting against any better judgement. “Y-yes.”

“You’re being so good for me, finally.” He’s smiling all sweet, as if he wasn’t admitting to being insane, and you can’t find any words to complain, when he picks you up in his arms, your arms wrapping his neck, his hands gripping your ass, you barely take notice of his house, aside from when you start seeing pictures of you all over his desk.

“What… is all…”

“Shh, baby.” He’s got you naked in moments, as you look in horror to see your pictures printed and scattered, you blush as you see lotion and tissues. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Psycho, he’s psycho…

But your pussy doesn’t really seem to care.

“Are these my panties!?” You demand, gasping when you see two pairs on his nightstand that look just like the ones you’ve had on, and Choso just shrugs a broad shoulder, arm wrapping around your body, hand slipping up to grip your throat, lips plump against your ear.

“You have plenty, too many really.”

“How-”

“Now.” Is all he murmurs, turning you and unzipping your work dress, watching as the goosebumps rise on your precious skin. “You’ll be all mine, say it angel.”

“H-huh?” He yanks that zipper until you’re completely bare, panting breaths making your chest rise and fall in Choso’s large master bedroom, where you start to see more and more things that are yours.

Missing pony tails, single earrings, a bracelet, how much of you is there exactly you wonder with a gulp, as he’s behind your bare body fully clothed. When he slips an arm around your waist, hand slipping down your tummy, making it tremble in response, your head falls back with how good it feels against any better judgement.

“You knew you did this, admit it angel.” His words are honeyed, you can feel his pout on your cheek, while he’s rubbing your clit with one hand, the other holding your body against his, curve of your back on his chest, when he grips a bare breast, squishing it in his hand and overwhelming you with sensations.

“D-didn’t know… this…”

“Tch, can’t speak already? Try… All mine. Mine, say it. Now.”

“I…”

“Now.”

“Yours.” Choso goes feral then, turning you so you’re looking up at him, and he’s cupping your face so tightly, leaning down as your shaky hands pull at the lapels of his jacket. “Please…”

“Begging, you’re so perfect, sweet like this?” You’re gulping as he steps back, eyeing your body and groaning softly, hands slipping down the sides of your breasts, down to your waist, the jut of your hips, as he drinks in your beauty. “Beautiful.”

One moment degrading, the next looking at you precious, his fingers trailing off while he then slips off his top, and you see him shirtless, his tattooed and buff body, muscles over muscles leaning to a narrow waist. A slutty waist, that’s what he has, with red tattoos along one side of his defined ribs, flat nipples, you briefly register one his pierced as he pulls that shirt over his head.

“God…” You’re trailing fingers down his body, and he turns you, until your knees hit the back of his soft bed, and you’re on your back, throwing you around like you’re nothing, slipping his pants off with your help over the plump of his firm ass, hissing when his cock is free.

“No one else can ever touch you.” His words are batshit, but your pussy is drooling, tummy clenching when he lines his blushing tip, all reddened and sticky with precum, right between your glistening folds. “No one can, right? I can’t hear your cute little mumbles.”

“F-fucking… shit…” He’s smiling a bit, yanking up one of your thighs high, positioning himself at your soppy entrance, whimpering as your hot gummy walls now engulf his tip.

“Need to hear you, words, pretty.” He’s acting all sweet, like he doesn't have his huge cock right against your hole, like he doesn’t have a screen watching your room, apps on his phone now to keep track of you, plenty of rope to keep you from leaving if he needs to, no he looks sweet.

“No one but you.” He exhales, shoving his cock inside you then, you hiss at the burn, nails digging into the strong muscles of his back as you arch up.

“G-good girl… fuck you feel perfect, I knew it.” Choso is lost then, your pussy is so tiny, struggling to take him, gushing down his veiny length to accommodate, but he’s already too far gone, he’s thought of this too much, far too much. “So fucking tiny compared to me aren’t you?”

You’re whining pathetically as he fills you, stretches you with several inches, too fucking many, your thighs tremble on his hips as he grips two of your wrists, pressing sweet kisses as he pushes them over your head, sinking in deeper and earning your hiccup of pleasure. “Choso!”

“There it is…” He’s whispering in wonder, you thought Choso would be passionate certainly, after he’d eaten you out until you literally tapped out, but the feral grin on his sweet face when he eyes you is overwhelming. He lets your wrists go to spread your thighs, moaning as he watches your tummy. “Look how big I am inside you, hmm?”

You blush as you see it, your tummy bulging and moving, he’s enamored by it, while he slows his movements, now a hand is touching your tummy, pressing just a bit to feel it. “Too much… it’s…”

“No, baby you can take it, hmm? Just like last night?”

“I passed out!?”

“You’re so pretty like that, in your sleep..” You gasp as he leans over you further, shoving your thighs up against your breasts, until you’re folded in half. “I’ll take care of you even in your sleep, you don’t have to do anything angel.”

“Choso w-what?” He’s lost now, tip slamming your cervix, pounding your pussy so deep while you’re convulsing around his length, cumming with one more slam so deep, and he moans at the sensation.

“I’ll keep fucking you, don’t worry beautiful girl. Wanted this so fuckin’ long, you know? How long…” Your eyes roll back in your skull, body struggling to keep a hold of any sense as your climax rocks through your body, as Choso’s hands press into the backs of your thighs. “God I can’t wait to fill you over and over…”

“Mnh! Too m-much…” It’s too good, when he grinds and rolls his hips, black hairs on his pelvis grinding into your engorged clit, you’re gripping those blankets, sobbing with a trembling lip as he works you, losing himself in you.

“No, you can keep going f’me, huh baby? Nod for me.” You manage a weak nod, and he’s grinning again, leaning back to spit on your clit, in a thin long trail of saliva, rubbing your clit again while sinking in your fluttering walls. “There we go, need you to take all this cum, can you?”

“Y-yes… ah m’gonna-”

“Cum, milk him baby. So good.” You’re cumming as if on command as his rough thumb and spit hits that spot, and you can’t see anything but black spots and the glow of his violet eyes and his brows contorted, when his hand leaves your clit, to press your thighs up higher. “Ready for me to fill her?”

You gulp, nodding weakly as Choso loses himself finally, in your perfect face, covered in those tears that just make him pulsate more as he finally busts his hot, gooey load so deep in your pussy, which is sucking it in greedily. You feel him everywhere as his white ropes fill your hole, coating your contracting walls, while he’s drunk off you.

Drunk and whimpering in your ear while he has your little frame folded right in half for him, your pussy so eagerly taking all he gives, so wet and messy as he kisses your swollen lips. He tastes the salt of your tears, letting your thighs fall finally, one hand entangling in your hair, pulling your head up as his tongue plunders your mouth, the other slipping down your waist, leaving goosebumps.

“God you took so much, you’re so good f’me, look at you.” You’re whining as he pushes deeper, white drizzles falling down his cock, and you blink into focus, to see his face is soft again, sweet again, like your little work bestie. He even has the audacity to blush just a bit when he leans up, caressing your face. “Perfect, pretty slut for me.”

“For you…” You should hate that, but it just makes your pussy clutch his cock, he moans then, easing out with a suctioned wet pop, his heavy cock making a sticky mess as cum starts pouring from your puffy lips. “Ah! F-fuck…”

“Look at all this, don’t you want all my cum baby?” He asks with a pout, shoving two fingers back in your pussy, watching the cum disappear with a smile.

“Too s-sensitive- you’re c-crazy…”

“You haven’t seen it all yet, baby.”

Choso has you bent over, ass in his face as he’s eating you out from the back, while you’re gripping his sheets, headboard banging on the wall when he’s back inside you, deeper like this. He has you cumming again and again, eventually tying you right up to the headboard, ropes digging tightly in your skin as he looks down at you, covered in him.

His cum, his handprints, his bites.

His, you’re his.

“I need some pictures, pretty, just a moment?” You’re delirious as you shake your head, tugging at the knots he has you in, but he’s already up, and for a brief moment you take in the surroundings, of all the things he’d stolen.

You panic momentarily when he’s back, and he’s smiling with a lidded gaze, caressing your cheek gently, down the curve of your neck. “Choso?”

“I’ll untie you, I won’t just leave you like this. Well…”

“Choso…”

“I won’t, don’t worry pretty.” He’s thinking of it, of never letting you leave the bed, he could just feed you right, keep you tied at the wrists when you needed things- 

Nah.

He shouldn’t.

Right?

“You won’t leave me now, hmm?” He’s pressing kisses on your forehead so sweetly, as you sniffle just a bit, shaking your head, earning his exhale relief. “Just a few pictures.”

Choso’s snapping them then, dark messy hair falling over his brow, adding them to the collection of photos of you inside your home, from out your window mostly, along with those from last night, of course he’d printed them. He’s positioning you just so, pressing sweet kisses while he snaps away on his phone, finally releasing your wrists, rubbing them so gently.

“Are you alright, angel?” He is frowning, so concerned like he didn’t have a growing collection of your things, you just nod a bit, as he sees where your vision heads, sighing. “I’ve had a… crush.”

“A crush?”

“Well, a really big crush. I’m in love with you.” He’s cupping your face now, smiling down at you. “Maybe I was a little shy?”

You blink before bursting into laughter, you’re losing it, you may just die or be trapped here, but you’re too fucked out to comprehend it. “Shy?”

“Yeah. You’re just so perfect, I needed the right moment. But you were bad, weren’t you? Made me so jealous.” He’s glaring, hand tightening around your throat as he kisses your lips so tenderly, thumb on your fluttering pulse. “You won’t make me jealous again, right baby?”

You shake your head, letting him kiss you now.

Choso has no intentions of letting you go, it’s the next morning and you can barely walk as he’s grinning at you, shirtless and handsome, cooking up pancakes and all sorts of yummy things. Your tummy growls in response, trying to forget the horror as you’d seen you were his pc background even, his phone background, finding more and more things all over.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He comes to you, flour on his cheek which you brush off with a trembling hand. “You should skip work today.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, don’t worry. It’s for the best, that's all, you can stay here.”

“Choso, so soon?”

“I can’t have you working, I need you home, our home. Eating good…” He’s forking a bite of pancake into your mouth, as horror mixed with the sweetness mixes in your body.

“I mean, just a day off?”

“Sure, a day.” He’s smiling brightly, as if he hasn’t already sent your boss a video of your cum pouring out of your pretty hole.

He’s sure he enjoyed it, but maybe not the not so friendly message associated with it.

But you won’t need that job anyway!

“Okay, a day won’t hurt.” You sit down and wince, sore from the endless amounts of times he’d stuffed you full with his cock.

“You need tylenol and coffee!” He’s quick to grab them for you, sitting next to you, brushing your hair back as you swallow the pills so quickly, he brushes back your hair gently, oh he’s so proud of you. “Good girl, hmm? You’re gonna feel better soon.”

Choso is BATSHIT in this my god ahaha, I cracked up writing the donut scene AND the end- TYSM again for 9k followers I am so glad you all enjoy my bullshit lol. Love you all and see you in the comments hehe <3

You know your daddy ain’t the best of men. A liar and a cheat. Hell, he’s nearly shot every boy who’s dared to step on your doorstep ever since you turned eighteen. Not because he’s not eager to get rid of you, it’s because he doesn’t intend to give another man access to the gold on his land, nor to anything else he owns. 

You wonder if that gold is what drew the visitors in last night. 

You weren’t meant to be awake. The hour was late, moon hangin’ high and pale, its light strained thin through cottoned windows. Still, you sat perched at the top of the stairwell, bare feet tucked beneath your pale nightdress, listening in as two well-dressed gentlemen occupied the parlor across from your daddy. 

You couldn’t see their faces from where you were - only fragments. One had the silkiest hair you’d ever laid eyes on, gathered low at the nape of his neck with a ribbon of worn leather. Fresh-ink dark. His voice slid out, smooth and indulgent, a sinner’s purr that had your heart thumpin’ in your chest. He had a broader frame than the two, shoulders stretching the fabric of his dark as night shirt taut, the cloth shifting with each movement. A practiced man. A smooth talker. You’d never seen your daddy so rapt and willing to listen. 

The other man was leaner, sharp in a way that made your skin prickle, hair white as a winter’s frost, posture lax, legs sprawled wide like his ma never taught him an ounce of manners. You wonder if they existed at all in his eyes. 

You shifted carefully, nudging your nightdress out of the way so you wouldn’t stumble when you stood. The floorboard, damn thing, needed a fixin’, betrayed you away. The sound was hardly more than a sigh - but it was enough for someone with the hearing of a hawk. You caught the gleam in the white-haired man's eyes. No one else seemed to notice. Your daddy didn’t pause, and the dark-haired man never broke the rhythm of his speech. Just a tap on his knee. It would’ve been easy to blame the noise on the house itself - old bones settling, or that wicked wind woryin’ in the eaves. 

But the white-haired man had seen you. 

You watched his mouth tilt, just barely forming into a knowing smile before his gaze slid away, attention folding back into the conversation as if nothin’ had happened at all. You finally released a breath, you never realized you were holdin’. 

They felt familiar, the pair of them. Not in a neighborly way, but in the sense of somethin’ you’d seen once before, like some movie poster or something from a newspaper. Not some outlaws that the folk in town had been whisperin’ about. Yet, no decent man ever smiled like that when they thought no one was watching. 

You decided not to test your luck too much, easing yourself back to your bedroom, careful of those old rickety floorboards. You thought that’d be the last of them, a one-time investment of some sort. 

Yet that one-time visit quickly became weekly visits, visits that got the town talkin’ because your daddy had been awfully sweatin’ this past month. Stressed beyond sin. Drinkin’ and smokin’ more and more before the two gentlemen’s visits. 

You weren’t sure why, but they always came with gifts. Flowers for your mother’s table. Suguru - the dark-haired one- always insisted on bringing you a new thing to wear. A broach for church, a new ribbon, sometimes a piece of jewelry. One time, you almost asked him where he got it from, such an expensive piece of rubies and silver, but the lead on your tongue was telling you not to ask such a thing. Not when his smile seemed so pure, but that gun on his hip said otherwise. Anytime he gave you a new necklace or two, you’d have this feeling to wash the piece because who knows maybe red rubies are actually white diamonds stained with something sinister. You found yourself prayin’ before bed a little harder that night. 

Satoru - the white-haired tease - seemed to favor sweets. 

Anytime he visited, he’d whistle for you, passing along a little bag of candy: sometimes taffy, sometimes a caramel or two, or if you’re lucky, a rare hard candy you’d never had the luxury of gettin’ your hands on before. Always with a note tucked inside: for my little sneak. 

He’d whistle the second he stepped onto the porch. 

“C’mon now, sugarplum,” he’d croon, loungin’ back like he owned your ma’s parlor, one boot - splattered dark along the white leather - propped right atop the nice coffee table your daddy paid a pretty penny for, bought from a man from foreign lands. “You been hidin’ from me all mornin’? Heat gettin’ to ya?”

You’d frown, your gaze settling on the stains along the side of his boot. Could be animal blood, you suppose. You’d heard a gunshot earlier that morning - folks said the coyotes got into the sheep again last night. Still, the teasin’ only deepened your scowl. 

“I ain’t hidin’,” you muttered. “Just don’t like bein’ whistled at like I’m some dog.”

“Couldn’t be no dog,” Satoru murmured, his eyes tracking every inch of you, teeth worrying at his lower lip when he noticed your fists bunch tight in the frill of your dress. “Dogs bark. You darlin’? You’re the purrin’ type. Takes a while to coax you out - more like a cat.”

Suguru only laughed softly, lifting his teacup for a slow sip. Always warm - he never bothered with ice. His fingers toyed with a strip of wood and a knife, carving something careful and precise. Your eyes could never settle on him; he was always too pretty. Yet it seems wherever he was, he was always focused on you, too. Like a wolf stalkin’ prey. 

“Be nice, Toru,” he cooed, his voice gentle in a way that reminded you painfully of your mother’s, back when you’d cry yourself into hysterics, “We’re guests, remember?”

“Ah. You’re right.”

Satoru’s grin stretched wider as he leaned forward, catching a loose strand of your hair between two slender fingers as you sat beside him. His crystalline gaze locked onto yours, voice drawlin’ low. “Forgive me, sugar. It’s just hard to behave when you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like temptation. Almost makes a man wanna settle down in the next town over.” 

When you sat with him in the parlor that late afternoon with the bugs buzzin’ in the fields, you tried not to look at the blood on his boots resting carelessly on your ma’s nice table. A man with no manners whatsoever. 

And your daddy - for all the beast he could be - never once told you to stay away from them. Perhaps he couldn’t because of things you’d never be able to understand. 

You noticed, though. Every time your daddy’s eyes landed on you talkin’ with them, or when Suguru leaned close to tuck a wildflower into your hair, your daddy’s gaze would dart straight to his boot tips, as if the snake embellish was far more interesting than your conversation. His hands would fidget, restless and unsure, fingers flexin’ like he wanted to reach for a gun that wouldn’t do him a lick of good. 

Your ma was no use either. It seemed the moment those men started comin’ around, the doctor began prescribin’ her a tonic - to ease her nerves, your daddy said. All of it started after you heard glass breakin’ between the two of them one night when you should’ve been on your knees prayin’ before bed. 

Now, she just lingers in her rocking chair on the porch, the slow creak of the wood the only sound she makes anymore. Her embroidery lies untouched in her lap, thread gone slack between her fingers. Her eyes were glassy, dulled over, like she was lookin’ clean through the world instead of at it and its wonders of what’s to come. 

You found yourself curlin’ up beside her more and more, the way a child would. Layin’ with your head in her lap, guidin’ her hand back into your hair whenever it slipped away. Sometimes she’d stroke it absentmindedly, fingers movin’ on muscle memory alone. 

After a long while, she speaks. 

“Used to be my daddy’s land,” she murmured, voice thin and distant, like she was talkin’ to someone long gone. “Mama’s before him, too. Every fence post, acre, tree… I know it all by heart.” 

Her fingers stilled in your hair. 

“Funny how easy it is for somethin’ to stop bein’ yours,” she added softly. “All it takes is the right kind of man.” 

You didn’t know if she meant your daddy - or the men who’d come after. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

A few months pass, winter comin’, and your daddy grows more hysterical than usual - frayed thin, like a rope used too long.  

He keeps himself cooped up in his office now, pacing restless grooves into the floorboards and grinding his boots into the rugs you scrubbed clean on a warm Saturday afternoon. All that careful work ruined, fibers darkened and worn. His guns - polished to a dull, obsessive shine - hang heavy on his hips even inside the supposed safety of the house. He checks them often, fingers lingering too long on the grips, like cold steel might make up for everything that’s already slipped out through his hands. 

He doesn’t come to supper anymore. No matter how hard you try. Not even now, when you’re the one cookin’, stretchin’ meals thin since he fired the maids in one sharp, liquor-soaked rage. He’d muttered then about money bleedin’ out, about gold vanishing like smoke, somethin’ about trust bein’ a fool’s currency.

Plate sittin’ cold on the table, untouched. You eat alone more often than not, with the house echoing hollow around you. Once filled with life, now with none other than you and that beast of a man.

You haven’t seen much of your two wolves lately, either, not that you minded. Though the company would be nice. 

Their visits had grown scarce, then vanished altogether. No whistle cuttin’ through the porch air. No flowers laid gentle on the table with rose thorns already trimmed - not even your mother’s grave tucked quietly and unmarked on the edge of the property. Your daddy never put up a headstone, nor a cross. Said stone was expensive and nobody ain’t got the time to carve wood. Said names didn’t matter once the dirt had settled. Only God needed to know where she lay. 

No sweets slipped into your palm. Not even a careless grin. No folded note you’d later feed to the fire watchin’ the ink curl and blacken into nothin’. 

You tell yourself it must mean they’ve finished the work they were hired for. That the land is secure now. That whatever bargain your daddy struck - however crooked it may have been - has been settled and closed. 

But late at night, when the house creaks and sighs like it’s rememberin’ better days, you hear him mutterin’ behind his office door. Words whispered sharp and brittle - owed, soon, can’t - each one cracking under the weight of panic. 

And still the house feels watched. 

Like somethin’ patient is lingerin’ just beyond the fence line, breath slow and steady, waitin’ for a man to realize he’s out of gold and only got flesh left to offer. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

The bank came by in the early spring, when the ground was still soft, and the air smelled like thawed earth and old promises. That if you survive the winter, you can somehow pay off your debts before the law gets you. The man spoke politely, but firmly, his hat held tight in his hands as he explained your daddy was overdue on his credit. Said papers had been filed. Said a sheriff from the next town over would be stoppin’ by soon enough to collect what was owed - one way or another. 

You tried talkin’ to your daddy after. 

You pressed your forehead to the office door, the wood warm from the fire with the sound of pacing on the other side, and you whispered like it were prayer. “Daddy.. What’s goin’ on?” 

What came back wasn’t an answer. More like a bark from a dog. “Get.” 

The word cracked through and straight to your chest. You didn’t ask again. 

You stopped showin’ your face at church after that. You weren’t goin’ to walk there either after Daddy sold the horses. You knew - even with the tough hide you’d grown over the past year - you wouldn’t survive the looks, the murmured scripture, the quiet cruelty sharpened behind their tight smiles and frilly fans. You could already hear their words, feel them like welts before they landed. 

They’d say your daddy bled himself dry. That he hired unlawful men and mistook wolves for guards. Let them drain the land down to bone and dust. 

They’d whisper that your daddy was the reason your ma lay in the ground without a stone. Whatever broke her started long before that tonic ever touched her lips. 

And maybe, alone in the quiet, with nothin’ but the creak of the house and your own breath for company, you wondered if they were right. 

They didn’t come like wolves that night. 

They came like men collectin’ a debt long overdue. 

Suguru stood easy in the lamplight, posture relaxed, hands folded loose as if this were a cordial visit instead of a reckoning. His voice carried smooth and measured, silk-soft but edged sharp beneath the polish. “Now, now,” he murmured, tone mild as warm tea. “There’s no need for all that noise. We’re only here to settle things.” 

Your daddy stalked the length of the room, boots grinding against the scuffed floorboards, breath coming hard and uneven. His fingers twitched near the holsters at his hips, knuckles pale, eyes wild and bloodshot. 

“You think I don’t know what you are?” he snapped, spittle flying. “You ain’t law. Ain’t got no badge. Ain’t got no right to be standin’ in my house -” 

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head just so, dark hair slipping loose over his shoulder. A fox considering a trap already sprung. 

“Law’s a funny thing,” he said softly. “It listens closely to money. Guns do some persuadin’, sure - but money…” His smile curved, slow and knowing. Already winning the game. “Money does most of the biddin’ around here.” 

His gaze drifted then, unhurried and thorough. Over the stripped shelves. The overturned drawers. The safe yawning open, empty as a mouth with teeth pulled clean. 

Something like sympathy flickered across his serene face. As if practiced. 

“Looks like you’re in a bit of trouble,” Suguru added gently, almost kindly.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

You awoke - just like the first night they came - just this time to shouts and hollers tearing through the house. 

“You ain’t no sheriff!” Your daddy screeched, glass shattering on the floor, the sharp crash echoing loud enough to rattle the walls. You figured it was the last of his liquor, flung empty and desperate. 

You stayed in bed, frozen beneath the quilt, breath trapped in your chest as your hands fumbled for the letter opener tucked inside your bedside drawer. Anything for a lick of protection. You held still like a child waitin’ for a storm to pass.

Another voice slipped through the walls - far too calm and amused for anything good to come of it. 

“Oh, but I am now,” came the lazy drawl. Satoru’s voice, thick with smugness, a grin folded right into the syllables. “Sheriff of that sweet little town downriver. Ain’t it funny how quick folks’ll hand you a badge when you clear out a few problems for ‘em?”

You could hear him move then.

The sound of his boots - always light on his feet - crossing broken glass. Unhurried. Confident.

“They even asked kindly to help out this shithole of a town,” he went on lightly. “Seems there’s been a bit of an issue between you and the bank.”

A pause, you could hear the teasin’ lilt behind his voice, that cocky grin of his burned into your mind. Somethin’ you think a little too often, sometimes unholy things. 

“’Course, they didn’t ask too many questions about how we went about fixin’ things,” he added lightly. “Guess givin’ the people peace over a mongrel like you is reason enough to want you dead.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” your daddy choked out.

You heard him scrambling, boots skiddin’ uselessly across spilled liquor and broken glass, breath hitchin’ sharp and wet like he couldn’t quite pull enough air into his lungs. A gun clicked, loud and naked in the space, the sound trembling with the same panic that cracked his voice.

“My daughter,” he blurted, tryin’ to save his skin. “Yeah? You took an interest, didn’t you? You both did?”

That was when you slid from your bed. Almost like a cue that things are about to get bad. If your daddy was savin’ his skin. You should be, too. 

Bare feet met the cold floor, slow and careful, every step calculated as you crept toward the door. Your fingers clenched tight around the letter opener, its thin blade biting into your palm, useless but comforting all the same. The house groaned softly around you, old wood complaining under the weight of what was about to happen.

A low whistle cut through the hall.

Not playful like Satoru’s. A sharper sound. You knew without seeing him that it belonged to Suguru.

“Sellin’ off your daughter?” Suguru said softly, voice smooth as oil, touched with something almost like amusement. “When you haven’t even paid us for all that work we did for ya?”

You pressed closer to the door, heart batterin’ your ribs like an untamed stallion, fingers clenched white around the letter opener. The house felt too small, walls closing in, the air thick with the coppery tang of fear.

“We slaughtered every man in those mines,” Suguru went on calmly, like he was recitin’ figures from a ledger. “You think that’s easy on the mind?”

A beat passed. You wonder if your daddy was a stammerin’ mess and you just couldn’t hear it. Beggin’ and pleadin’ like a sinner in church. 

The only thing that broke the silence was Satoru with a long and dramatic sigh, like a bored child denied a treat from the general store down the road.

“Aw, c’mon,” he whined lightly, voice sing-song and wrong in the middle of all that panic. “Can’t we just kill him already?” You could hear him shift his weight, boots scraping lazy circles through broken glass. “We were gonna take the girl anyway.”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of that. There was a wet, choking sound from your daddy, something between a sob and a prayer gone unanswered.

Suguru didn’t answer right away.

You imagined him standing there in the lamplight, considering it, head tilted, expression thoughtful, as if Satoru had just asked a reasonable question instead of sealin’ a man’s fate to be hung.

“…Toru,” Suguru murmured at last, gentle but firm. “Don’t be rude.”

The pause stretched. Suffocating.

“But,” he added smoothly, “you’re not wrong.”

The words settled heavy in the air, pressin’ down on your chest until your breath came thin and sharp, each inhale scraped raw against your ribs.

You had choices. Not real ones, only the kind that are ugly and desperate when the world has already made up its mind for your fate. 

You could run.

Bare feet slapping against warped floorboards, the skirt of your nightgown gathered tight in shaking fists as you bolted into the night. The spring air would bite cruel and wet, the last of the frost still meaning business, stiffenin’ your joints and burnin’ your lungs as you fled toward town. You could pray your legs were faster than theirs. Pray the dark loved you enough to hide you.

You could stay quiet. Melt back into the house’s narrow bones, wedge yourself into some forgotten corner and hope the men who’d stalked mines and slaughtered towns somehow overlooked a trembling girl and her ragged breath.

You could beg. Fall to your knees and offer tears where gold had failed. Hope mercy lived somewhere behind sharp smiles and even sharper eyes.

You could even fight - rush them with the letter opener clenched white-knuckled in your fist, blade flashing, desperate and small. Save your daddy. But the thought soured before it could settle.

You knew, deep and certain, that he’d sell you again in a heartbeat if it bought him one more breath. One more chance to crawl free.

The house groaned softly around you, old wood sighing as it had already accepted what was coming.

So you ran.

You didn’t care that you were still in your nightdress, thin cotton clingin’ uselessly to your skin as it snagged and tore against brush and fence wire. You didn’t care that the cold bit straight through you, numbin’ your legs even as they burned, muscles screaming with every frantic step.

You didn’t care about the gunshot that cracked the night wide open behind you - too loud, too close - nor the sound that followed it: bright, childlike laughter, sharp and delighted, chasin’ after you through the dark. Boots struck the dirt hard and sure behind you, unhurried, like they knew you’d tire long before they would.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and blinding, streakin’ your vision until the world smeared into shadows and silver moonlight. Your breath tore ragged from your chest, each inhale shallow and panicked, throat achin’ like it might close up entirely. You stumbled more than once, heart a hammerin’ so violently you swore they’d hear the wretched sound poundin’ in your ears.

You didn’t care if wolves or coyotes were out tonight, teeth gleaming somewhere beyond the fence line, hunger sharp enough to rip you apart. You’d grown up on stories - whispered warnings about girls who were alone with no protection, about what happened when they were caught by men worse than beasts.

You weren’t goin’ to be another one of those stories. Not to be another cautionary tale at church. Not another girl laid in the dirt without a marker to say she’d ever been here at all.

You ran and ran until your foot caught on a fallen branch, and you hit the ground hard, cheek scraping against bark, blood already trickling warm down your knee. You scrambled, breath hiccupping in your chest, draggin’ yourself through leaves and rot until you found it: a hollowed-out tree, just wide enough to crawl into.

You curled tight, knees pressed to your chest, the letter opener shaking uselessly in your hand. Blood streaked across the white of your nightdress. An unforgivin’ color. Adrenaline spiked too high for you to even consider the pain. Your feet throbbed. Frost crept up your spine like ghost fingers from those stories you’d share at the bonfire. 

And still, you heard them coming. Satoru’s voice rang out first = sing-song, giddy, off.

“Just like a cat, Sugu!” he cackled. “Dogs’ll come runnin’ to a whistle, but this one? She’s got claws.” A pause, boots crunching closer. “We’ll have to get her a bell.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, chest heaving, hot tears streaming past your fingers. Every breath you took was laced with pine and blood and terror.

Suguru didn’t laugh at that. You could picture him hummin’ at the thought. Like he could pick you out a nice ribbon in town just for a soft bell to lay against your throat. You only heard his soft whistle, a tune of sorts. A lullaby for prey. Not hunting. Just waitin’ to see if his trap worked.

“Play nice, Toru,” Suguru’s voice slipped through the trees, unhurried, almost affectionate. “She just lost her daddy. She’s gonna need a couple of strong men to take care of her now, hm?”

You shoved yourself deeper into the hollow, splinters biting into your back. Your hand slipped in blood. Your lungs ached. Tears wouldn’t stop streamin’.

“Boo!”

Satoru exploded into view like a firework, crouched just inches from your face, his grin feral, unhinged, too wide for his face. Eyes glitterin’ with wild delight, pupils blown wide, frosty hair disheveled from the run, cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“There you are,” he panted, breath hot in the cold air, fog curling from his lips. “God, you run so cute. Sugar, sugar, sugar - look at you! All scratched up and sobbin’. Good thing we’re here to patch ya up!”

He reached for you, fingers blood-slick and shakin’ from all the excitement. You’d never seen a man so joyful until he grabbed your ruined knee. You cried out, sharp and pained, as he dug his blunt nails into the open wound, thumb pressing into torn skin like he meant to keep you there by the bone.

“Oh, sugarplum,” he cooed, and that grin didn’t waver. “Don’t cry like that. You’ll make me worse.”

His other hand slid up, knuckles brushing your face, smearing a tear across your cheek. His eyes didn’t blink - just drank you in, tremblin’ with the high of having found you.

“You look so pretty when you’re scared.”

Satoru dragged you from your hiding place like it was nothing, hauling you out into the cold dirt and pinning you there beneath him. He loomed over you, all long limbs and feverish energy, his knee wedged firm between your thighs to keep you still. His sky‑blue eyes drank you in, bright and blown wide, alight with the manic thrill of finally having you right where he wanted.

Suguru’s voice followed, low and indulgent, drifting in like a cruel comfort.

“Sorry about him,” he cooed gently, “He’s been waitin’. And waitin’. Took a long time to get here to you.”

Bile burned up the back of your throat.

Suguru’s presence settled closer, not touching, not needing to. His shadow stretched long and deliberate over you, causing you to fold into yourself more. Like prey. 

All you could shake out between hiccupin’ sobs was a string of, “Please let me go,” and “I won’t say nothin’.”

“You ought to think about what comes after,” he said gently, voice low and patient, like how your ma would be when you were throwin’ an awful tantrum. “A young woman found alone. Nightdress torn. No father left to speak for her.” His violet eyes traced the ruined hem of cotton, the scraped skin, the trembling in your hands. “Two men with her.”

Men carried weight. Finality.

“Towns don’t care for truth,” Suguru continued softly. “They care for stories. And stories rot quicker than bodies.” A pause, almost tender, you watched his silky hair in the night shake with his head as he pondered what could come of you if they let you go. “No dowry. No family. No man lining up to marry what folks already believe has been spoiled.”

The forest felt closer then, branches crowding, shadows thickening, the air gone damp and cold as if the night itself were closing ranks.

“Best case,” he went on, mild as a sermon, “you’d be passed from place to place on pity alone. Worst case…” He let the silence finish it. “There are houses for girls who don’t belong anywhere else. Places you’ll have to pay without money. Awful places.”

Your breath shook, whether it be from the cold or the way Satoru straddled you, sittin’ right on your torso, barely putting his weight down but enough for you to struggle. 

Satoru shifted above you, restless energy finally finding its shap. Hands searching, finding place on your cheek or under your nightdress. Thumbs brushing over your hardened buds in awe, you could see the drool on his soft pink lips as he drew himself to you. He really was a man with no manners. His touch wasn’t hurried. It was hungry. Lovesick. As if he’d waited his whole life to feel you breathe beneath his palms.

“That’s why I fixed it,” Satoru added on quickly, almost breathless. “Took care of the law part. Nobody gets to decide things about you anymore.” His voice wobbled with something like relief, eyes shining too bright in the dark. “I couldn’t stand the thought of them touchin’ you. Talkin’ about you like you were already gone.”

He leaned closer, forehead nearly brushing yours, devotion cracking through his grin. All you could stare at was how his blue eyes seemed to have matched the moonlight glow tonight. “We’re keepin’ you safe,” he insisted softly. “That’s what sheriffs do. That’s what I do.Suguru will handle the church, and I’ll handle the law.”

Suguru smiled then, his hand moving to pet your hair like your mother would, blunt nails against the scalp, slow movements like calming a frightened animal.

 “We’re the only ones who love you enough to stay,” he murmured. “The world isn’t kind to girls left alone.”

The woods stood silent around you. No lantern light. No roads. No witnesses. Just dark trees, damp earth, and the distant, lonely sound of something howling far off.

Satoru’s mouth brushed close to your ear, his voice dropping sweet and thrilled into the quiet.

“It’s okay to holler,” he whispered. “Nothin’ but us and the wolves out here. We’ll make sure you’re still honorable for your weddin’ day.”

Could you even tell the difference anymore? Between the man and the beasts outside? 

Leavin' you prayin' while Satoru’s mouth sucked against your neck and something hard pressed against your bare thigh. The sound of an unbuckle near your head where Suguru sat. Dread lay thick in your stomach. Nothin' but hope that this was all just a dreadful dream. That you were still in the summer heat, curled next to your ma. 

Would've been better to be eaten by the wolves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

He remembers that when he first cut his thumb to swipe his blood along your choker, it took monumental self-control to keep from shoving it past your closed lips and forcing you to drink his blood straight from the source — so that a piece of him would always be part of you. And when you hesitated to cut yourself for a brief moment, looking to him first for assurance, before nicking your finger and giving your blood to his choker, the urge to grab the digit and give it a harsh suck had been almost painful to suppress.

However, even his sick satisfaction with knowing that you never take off the choker, not even when sleeping or showering, isn’t enough to explain what has him so obsessed with the ubiquitous device.

The answer finally comes to him one day, months after his perverse fixation began, when you’re sitting innocently across from him and he’s daydreaming about stringing you up in Tokushin’s net and fucking you from behind, your bonds only tightening with every brutal thrust of his cock into your dripping and abused cunt. You’re complaining about the paperwork Semiu has been nagging you to complete, protesting that as a giver who rarely, if ever, sees combat, you’re ill-suited to filling out reports. You insist that it should be Team Eager’s leader — giving Tamsy a pointed look — that should have to complete them. 

It’s as he gives you an indulgent smile and gently admonishes you — just enough affection and amusement in his voice to keep it from feeling like he’s lecturing you as he says that Semiu is just doing her job as the Cleaners’ receptionist — that he gets to the part in his fantasy where reality crashes down on him with all the strength of a trash beast.

Because in his head, he imagines slipping his fingers beneath the back of your choker and yanking on it hard enough to have your back arching in an unnatural angle, or as unnatural an angle as Tokushin’s iron restraints will allow. But then he realizes that you’re wearing your choker so tightly that he doubts his fingers would even fit between the thick cord and your fragile skin. 

Where everyone else's chokers hang loosely around the base of their necks, roomy enough that they usually leave the hollow of the throat exposed, yours is snugly wrapped around the middle of your neck.

The revelation — because it truly is a revelation — goes straight to his cock, and he’s thankful for how the many layers of fabric that make up his baggy uniform, the table between you that hides his lap, and his unflappable nature all work in his favor. 

In all of his many, many, many fantasies, never once has he imagined that having something tightly wound around your neck — whether it’s his hands, Tokushin’s ropes, his belt, his tie, the hose to his oxygen tank, a seatbelt in the backseat of one of the cars, even his own long, silky strands on more than one occasion — would actually be welcome. 

There’s a small part of him that’s disappointed. Your tears, your choked pleas for him to stop, your nails biting into the backs of his hands, your fingers frantically trying to yank whatever’s around your neck loose, your gulping gasps when he withdraws his cock from your throat that last only as long as it takes for him to constrict your air supply again, and the look of betrayal in your shining eyes as the light fades from them have always been integral to every fantasy. 

But the disappointment is quick to pass because while you clearly prefer having your choker snug, he thinks that if you were ever forced to confront it, you would be left lost and confused about what it might say about you. After all, when he found you, when he saved you, the first thing that you had done was to beg with tear-filled eyes for him to break the constricting metal collar that your captors had welded shut around your neck. 

So his fantasies begin to take a slightly different shape. You’re still helpless beneath him. You’re still desperately trying to loosen the grip on your throat. You’re still crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why. But now there’s an added layer.

Because now, when he dreams of you helpless beneath him, your pussy is dripping with the sticky strands of your arousal. Now, when you desperately try to loosen the grip on your throat, your pussy clenches down around his cock in time with every squeeze of his hands. Now, when you’re crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why, it’s not why are you doing this to me, Tamsy, but instead why do you like it when he does this to you.

He knows it might break you to realize that the symbol of your captivity, when your worth was measured only in a monetary amount, is the same thing that makes you wet. And he hopes for it. 

It’s easy to find you alone, wandering the halls of HQ late one night. It’s no secret that you’ve always kept odder hours. However, it’s not him who finds you but Tokushin, one of its threads silently trailing after you in the dark. The yarn is light enough that you don’t notice it as it slides up your body, closer and closer to your neck. 

You remain so clueless, even as the thread reaches your choker, that Tamsy feels like it’s his duty as a fellow Cleaner to caution you about being more aware of your surroundings. But for now, he’ll reap the rewards of your ignorance as he uses Tokushin to pop open your choker and remove it from your person entirely. 

He watches you from the other end of the hallway with a frown as you continue to walk away, Tokushin retreating towards him, the end of the string wrapped around your choker. You really should be paying better attention, even in the safety of HQ. 

When it reaches him, he plucks your choker from Tokushin’s thread before it rewinds itself around the wooden spindle in his pocket. Anima drains from the object and it becomes a simple distaff once more. 

The choker is warm between his fingers, still carrying your body heat after having been flush with your skin for so long, and Tamsy can’t help but rub it slowly against his cheek with a contented sigh. He could spend the rest of the night just savoring the feel of your choker, but you’re about to enter the stairwell and he doesn’t want to let you get too far. 

He calls out your name and you come to an immediate stop, your foot hanging in midair above the first step down. You look back and when you see him walking towards you, you turn to face him fully, the curious frown on your lips quickly morphing into a cheerful smile. 

“I didn’t realize you were back already. I thought the job was gonna take another day or two,” you greet him. “Did everything go all right?”

He smiles in return with a nod and an affirmative hum, but your attention is quickly drawn away from the topic of his assignment to the choker twirling around his index finger. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You instinctively bring a hand up to your neck, only for shock to light up your features when you realize that it’s your choker that Tamsy is twirling around his finger. 

“You dropped this,” he needlessly points out, both the dark and your surprise providing him with enough cover to keep his gaze trained on your fingers as you rub the bare skin of your throat where your choker usually sits. 

“Yeah, I guess it got loose. Thanks for grabbing it. It would have been so annoying if someone else found it first,” you reply, your nose wrinkling at the thought. “I’d never hear the end of how I’m constantly losing things.”

“It’s a good thing I’m around,” he offers, his tone benign. He gestures for you to come closer and a rush of satisfaction courses through him when you close the gap between you without a second thought. You hold out your hand to take the device from him, but he shakes his head and leans down to meet you. “Let me.”

Your eyes briefly widen in surprise, before hesitation creeps into your demeanor. You slightly curl in on yourself and your hand drops from your throat as you begin to play with your fingers, a clear sign of your nervousness. 

“A-are you sure?” you ask, suddenly extremely conscious of how little space there is between you. 

“Mhmm. This way I can make sure it’s on right,” he explains, entirely rational. He’s already opening it and raising the band before you can protest any further. 

It’s a simple thing — all he has to do is loop it around your neck and snap it shut, maybe give it a gentle tug to ensure the clasp isn’t faulty. But he didn’t orchestrate this late-night run-in to be done with it all in a few quick seconds. 

So, he leans even closer in and takes his time sliding the choker around the back of your neck. He skims his fingertips along your skin under the pretense of trying to guide the band to the exact spot where he knows you wear it. You’ve never had a very good poker face, and even if there weren’t only a few inches separating you, he would never miss the shiver that runs up your spine at the sensation. 

“You know, I’ve noticed that you wear your choker a little tighter than most people,” he remarks absently as he fiddles with the ends. 

He thinks if you weren’t so thrown off by the unexpected turn your night has taken — or if you weren’t so trusting of him — you might think it odd that someone with his skills in combat is taking so long to do what’s essentially an everyday task. 

“Y-yeah, I guess…” you murmur, clearly distracted by the way his thumb sweeps a small line right up the center of your throat. “I haven’t really thought about it. It just…seems like that’s how it should fit.”

When he brings his face just a little closer to your neck, he can feel each one of your exhales on his temple. He’s sure you’re aware of it as well, considering how your breathing starts to quicken. 

“It’s just a little surprising since you spent so long with something trapped around your neck,” he says. His tone is casual, like the observation just came to him and that he doesn’t think much of it. His words are punctuated by a soft click! as he snaps the choker closed, and the noise combined with the abrupt mention of your past has you freezing. “And they kept it tight, didn’t they? I can still see the scar here.”

“I d-don’t…it’s not…” you stumble over your words, unnerved by the reminder of your time in captivity and the collar that you had been forced to wear for so long that it left a permanent ring etched into your skin. 

You can faintly recall how self-conscious you used to be of the scar when you first joined the Cleaners, and how it was only the scar that took up almost half of Tamsy’s face that eventually eased your anxiety. Because, while you don’t know the history of it, if he could wear a scar so prominently on his beautiful face without a care, then shouldn’t you be able to as well?

“Actually, I remember being surprised you took the choker to begin with. I thought I’d have to convince you to at least wear it on your wrist,” he muses with a soft huff of laughter. He continues to fiddle with the clasp, tightening it so slowly that you don’t even notice — like a frog jumping into warm water without realising the temperature is incrementally increasing. 

He’s so close that he doesn’t only see you swallow, but the sound echoes in his ears. Your tongue peeks out as you lick your lips and he has to hold in his sigh of longing at the hint of pink, settling instead for relishing how your wet lips now shine in the moonlight filtering in through the windows. 

What he wouldn’t give to see you drooling around his cock, your spit messily trailing past your chin and down your throat to coat Tokushin’s fibers, your saliva becoming another cherished part of his Vital Instrument. 

“Y-you said it was important for me to wear it. That it connects us,” you finally reply, breathless from the position he has you in and the topic he’s brought up. He glances at you to see the slightly dazed way you’re staring at the ceiling, fully exposing your throat to him, too trusting to be aware of the danger he poses. 

“That’s right,” he hums pleasantly. “It ties us together.”

With your gaze directed up and away from him, he allows his mask to slip for the briefest moment, his lips stretching into a wide, sadistic grin as he suddenly tightens your choker beyond how you normally wear it. Your reaction is instantaneous — you gasp, your body tenses, and your hand makes an aborted gesture to grab onto the front of his jacket, your senses half a second behind your reflexes, before it changes course and reaches up to the choker itself, only for him to bat your hand away. 

“Tamsy! It’s too tight!” you protest, although it comes out as more of a wheeze, your chest rising and falling rapidly as panic begins to build. He’s never heard you say his name with such anguish and it sounds so beautiful, like a perfect melody.

His posture straightens as stands back up to his full height, looming over you in the dark, and when he sees the mixture of confusion, fear, and alarm on your face, it’s almost enough to make him groan and shove you to your knees — all that’s missing are streaks of his cum. 

But it’s the desperation he sees in your eyes that will stay with him forever, the way you’re pleading with him because you know that he’s the only one who can provide you clemency. It’ll fuel every fantasy he has of you from that point on. Every time he imagines something wound around your throat or his cock pistoning in and out of your pussy or your knees forced wide open by Tokushin’s strings, it’ll be with the same desperation coloring your expression. 

He turns pitying as he looks down on you. He’s released the choker — it’s tight enough that it stays in place without needing to be held — but his hands are still loosely hanging around your neck. He soothingly rubs small circles on your throat with his thumbs as he shushes you, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal.

“Shhhhh, you’re fine. It’s just a little snug,” he consoles you, every word dripping with condescension as he makes light of your distress. 

“Tamsy,” you beg, helpless to what you believe is his uncharacteristic cruelty, but he just shakes his head and gives you a look of sympathy. 

“I can’t make it looser. It could just fall off again,” he explains, as if he’s telling a child why they need to take their foul-tasting medicine. He almost sounds pained, like it hurts him as much as the choker is hurting you. His thumbs haven’t ceased moving along your throat and he softly gives you another shush. “You’ll get used to it.”

It looks like you’re about to protest and tell him again that it’s too tight. 

“Be good for me and take it, okay?” he breathes into what little space remains between you, and he’s surprised he doesn’t come on the spot with how quickly the fight drains from you at what appear to have been the magic words. 

“These chokers are the only way you and I can stay constantly connected,” he murmurs as he watches how your breathing begins to calm, your tension easing with each rub of his thumbs. “So, you have to be good.”

You nod dumbly in his hold and he lets one of his thumbs trail just slightly down until it’s right above the center of your choker. He waits half a beat and then applies just enough pressure on the middle of your throat for it to be noticeable. He wonders if it’s going to set you off again, especially when your hand suddenly grabs his wrist, but rather than trying to push him away, you simply cling to him — like those pathetic little kittens hanging from branches in those lame motivational posters that turn up every so often in the trash. 

While his expression remains sympathetic, as he takes in the way your lips have slightly parted, how your pupils have blown wide, and how your breathing is picking up again, only this time not from panic, he can hear the resounding cackle in his head as his internal self celebrates the realization of his fantasy.  

He stays perfectly still, allowing himself another minute to savor the moment, before he loosens his hold on your neck, although he refrains from releasing you altogether. Instead, he returns to fiddling with the clasp of your choker, as if he’s checking one final time that it’s secure.

“Now, aren’t you gonna say thank you?” he gently teases you. However, the small, playful smile that tugs at the corner of his lip is belied by the flash of something darker in his eyes. 

It takes you a moment to come back to yourself. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink and your tongue makes a second appearance that evening when it darts out again to wet your lips. 

“T-thank you, Tamsy,” you say in a broken whisper, and he internally scoffs in disbelief over how good his luck is that not only does he have his hands around your throat, but you’re actually thanking him for it.

“Anything for my favorite teammate,” he assures you with a smile so genial that it has his eyes turning into two crescents. He slowly lets go of you entirely. But as he drops his hands back to his sides, it doesn’t escape him how your own hand is reluctant to release his wrist. 

He takes a step back, putting a more appropriate amount of space between you, as the tense and heated aura hanging over you both slowly begins to dissipate. However, he can see how the awkwardness still continues to linger in your form, like you’re not sure what’s just happened or how to act.

“You really should get on a more regular sleeping schedule,” he gently chides, his tone laced with concern. “Don’t I owe you a trip into town soon? How am I supposed to take you if you’re going to sleep just as the day is starting?”

The nagging seems to reestablish the sense of normalcy you were desperately scrambling for because your features scrunch together unattractively. He watches with hawklike eyes as your hand absently reaches up to instinctively adjust your choker before you realize what you’re doing and drop it.

“You’re starting to sound like Delmon,” you grumble, your fingers toying with each other again to keep them busy, and he snorts with amusement. “Fine. I’m off to bed.”

You give him a half-hearted wave as you begin to head in the direction that you both came from. But just as you pass him, he says your name and loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you before you can make it much further. You look up at him curiously only to freeze, because while he’s still wearing the same smile that you’re so used to seeing from him, there’s now something about it that unsettles you. 

You don’t know what it is or why you feel your skin breaking out in goosebumps, your hair standing on end. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about how he’s looking at you, but for some reason, you feel like you’re trapped in the threads of a spider’s web. What confuses you even more is the unexpected urge you feel to squeeze your thighs together.

“You look good with a collar,” he says, looking pointedly down at your choker.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry. Dread pools in your stomach. A small tremble appears in your fingers. 

Not once have you ever thought of the choker you willingly wore — that keeps you connected to the people you’ve come to care so dearly about — as anything similar to the collar that tore your skin and chained you to your captors.  

But is he right in referring to it as just another collar? You’re becoming increasingly aware of how tight the choker feels around your neck all over again. 

“Tamsy…” you trail off, entirely helpless before him. 

He simply smiles in return, as if his words hadn’t sent you spiraling, and lifts a hand back up to your neck, his baggy sleeve sliding down his forearm as he does. He manages to squeeze the tip of his left pinky — the only one he still has — beneath the band’s center, making you flinch harshly. With the finger he’s hooked around it, he gives it an unexpectedly harsh tug that has you tripping slightly towards him, before he releases you again. Your own hand comes up reflexively to rub your throat as you watch him with wide, teary eyes.

“All that’s missing is a little bell, so I always know where to find you,” he teases, but there’s something slightly darker in his tone that makes you think for a second he’s not joking. You forcefully shake your head and tell yourself to forget it because this is Tamsy. “Be good and get some sleep, okay?”

you've been taking care of him for days now—feeding him, tending to the scratches you swore were nothing, making sure he's warm, letting him lean against you while he recovers. each small gesture, each quiet moment together, has built a tension you hadn't fully recognized until now. the way he waits for your attention, the way he studies you in silence—it's becoming impossible to ignore.

you inch away from the couch and he leans against the armrest, eyes never leaving you, voice low and smooth. "don't wander too far. i like having you in my sight."

that's when it hits—you feel it in your chest, in the small hairs on your arms. the way he watches, every glance, every flicker of muscle, like he's memorizing you piece by piece. the heat radiating off him, quiet but insistent, makes your skin hum and pulse in a way you didn't expect.

your movements feel deliberate now, almost instinctive, every shift of your weight pulling him closer. every brush of your fingers along the couch, every tremble in your breath, makes him lean in, pressing his heat against you. the tip of his nose brushes your shoulder. his hands roam—gripping, kneading, dragging along the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your chest. you shiver under his touch, back arching, hips tilting into him without thought.

he murmurs your name over and over, low and wet against your ear, calling you his human as his lips trace shallow kisses down your neck, then biting just hard enough to make you gasp. his hands wander to your thighs, pressing, squeezing, moving you against him until every inch of you aches for more. you grind against him, chest flush, nipples brushing the fabric of his shirt, desperate for friction, for contact, for the way he dominates without words.

when he tips you back, presses you fully into the couch, skin sliding against skin, you're caught entirely but you don't pull away. you let him have you, let him teach you, let him mark you as something beyond just a human who cared for a lost stranger in an alley.

his mouth moves lower. his teeth graze your lower stomach, trailing kisses as his hands hold you steady. you gasp, hips tilting instinctively as his tongue brushes against your slit, teasing over your wetness, tasting you. your back arches as he moans softly, lips sucking, tongue pressing, fingers dragging along your thighs. you clutch his hair, tug him closer, moans slipping past your lips.

"so sweet," he growls, voice low and controlled. "you taste incredible, my human."

you're trembling, thighs quivering as he licks, sucks, teases. fingers curl into your hips, pressing you into him as your body reacts, every flick of his tongue sending shivers, every press of his lips drawing gasps from your throat.

he alternates between sucking and teasing, fingers brushing, tongue curling, every motion deliberate. you moan openly, hips rocking, hands gripping his shoulders.

he pulls back just long enough to line himself up, hips pressing against you, hard, teasing. your body writhes, desperate for more. he pushes inside slowly, letting you feel every inch before moving fully.

"there you are," he growls. "so perfect."

your back arches, chest pressed to his, every nerve on fire. his hands clutch your hips, controlling the rhythm. your moans grow louder, head tipped back, nails raking down his back.

he leans down, mouth brushing yours in a heated kiss, groaning over your lips, jaw, neck. you're trembling, completely lost.

"cum for me," he murmurs.

you do, almost immediately as if he was in complete control now. clenching, shivering, crying out into his neck as he presses, thrusts, holds you tight, milking every sound, every quiver. lips on your shoulder, voice harsh, needy, praising.

he's still inside you, thick and impossibly hot, every thrust slow and dragging out the tension until your body shakes. his hands grip your hips, thumb circling your clit.

"you feel exquisite, so warm…don't make me stop," he says, teasing and commanding.

"yes… don't stop…" you whisper.

he chuckles, thrusting deeper. "that's it… my good human. so perfect, trembling for me."

you moan, hips lifting instinctively, trying to ride him, and he presses you flat.

"you belong to me," he growls. "every sound, every shiver… i feel it all."

his hand cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. "don't fight it. scream if you need to… no one else hears it."

"please— keep going…" you gasp.

he smirks, teeth grazing lightly. "i'm far from done."

you arch, legs trembling, body wracked with pleasure. he presses harder, rolling his hips slowly. you cry out, hips jerking, every nerve on fire as he drags you up the edge again and again, whispering filthy praise into your ear.

"look at you, squeezing me… mine… all mine," he hisses. "cum for me… human, all over me."

and when you cum, it's not gentle. thighs clamp around him, body convulsing, chest heaving, voice raw. he doesn't pull away, grinding slow, deep, circling your clit as he whispers, "good girl… not done yet."

your vision flickers but he stays, moving again, dragging you into the next wave. moan after moan, gasp after gasp, breaking apart in multiple staggered climaxes. he hovers, lips brushing your jaw, murmuring, nipping, reminding you how tight and wet you are.

"don't fight it," he hisses. "finish again… i know you love it."

you cry out, arching, shaking, writhing under him, cumming again, muscles clenching, shivering, and he keeps going, hands pressing, lips claiming, voice low and steady.

finally, your body trembles uncontrollably, mind swimming, vision flickering—but he's still there. still inside. still moving. still claiming. whispering your name, "so good… so perfect…"

your body goes limp, shivers fading… and you feel him continuing, deliberate, a low hum vibrating against your skin, keeping you tethered as consciousness slips.

when you wake, your body is warm. heavy. sore in the best way. your chest rises sharply as awareness comes back in pieces, he's still there, still inside. eyes glowing faintly, gaze fixed on you with possessive hunger. not moving fast. not rough. just slow. steady thrusts, like he never stopped. when your gaze finally focuses on him, his mouth curves.

"there you are," he says quietly.

his hips roll once, deeper, just enough to make you gasp.

"i was wondering how long you'd last."

his fingers slide along your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone—possessive.

"did i exhaust you," he asks softly, "or do you want me to keep going?"

and the way he says it makes it clear—he absolutely will.

The Cleaners definitely think you’re dating. You’re not. Semiu once asked what’s up with you and Tamsy. You only shrugged and hummed. Said you were friends. Tamsy laughed, saying he doesn’t need friends. And you certainly weren’t one. This caused a negative reaction.

You scoffed. Turned around. Walked out with a loud slam of the door. Semiu watched with wide eyes and slowly turned to Tamsy.

“Tamsy, you little bitch. You gon’ lose her if you keep actin’ up like that.”

“I don’t need her.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see about that…Anyway, Corvus called for you just now.”

That evening, you didn’t come to his room like usual. You didn’t call through your chokers. You didn’t even leave a message. Whether it was you cursing him out or whatever, no nothing. He only looked at himself through the mirror of his vanity, long hair draping down like waterfalls—talked to himself.

“She’s gonna come back. She can’t live without me. I’m not the one that needs her.”

But nope, was he wrong. The next day, instead of going on a mission with him as usual, you went with Team Akuta. He saw how Enjin was all over you. Saw how you laughed at one of his stupid and flimsy jokes. Watched the way that you placed your hand on Enjin’s arm while you told him something. Glared at Enjin’s hand that dared to place itself on your lower back where his hand was supposed to be touching.

His blood was fucking boiling. But then again, he didn’t need you. You needed him. You’d come crawling back to him again soon.

Yeah, no. This shit went on for two whole fucking weeks and he’s losing his damn mind.

Knock, knock, knock !

The sound against the door of your bedroom disturbed your sleep. You scowled and ran your fingers through your disheveled hair. Your shirt was wrinkled and was hanging by your one shoulder. Your hair is a mess. And you probably looked like shit too.  Who the hell is it and why the fuck is this bitch knocking at 2 in the morning ?

That question was immediately answered when you opened the door. Tamsy stood there. His long hair wasn’t in its usual updo. He had bags under his eyes. That never fucking happens unless he’s going through shit. You raised an eyebrow. What the hell does he want ?

“What the fuck is wrong with you ?”

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked. Paused. Your spirit literally awoke. Did Tamsy just apologize ? To you ? At 2 in the morning while you looked like shit and he looked majestic despite the restlessness in his eyes ? Yep.

“I- what ?” You laughed breathily. This is unbelievable. In a really shocking way.

“I’m sorry. Do I have to spell it out for you ?”

“Don’t give me that attitude.”

“You’re acting deaf again. You know I hate being like this.”

“What ? Being a decent person who knows how to apologize ?”

“I thought you needed me.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“I’m your bitch.”

“Damn right.”

You both smiled. You opened your arms and he fit right in. Face buried in your neck with his arms wrapped around you tightly. Your fingers ran through the silken locks of his long hair. He sighed in contentment before beginning to press light kisses against your neck and up to your jaw.

“Let me make it up to you ?”

“Be honest. This is what you’re actually after.”

“You know me so well, darling.”

“Fuck you.”

“You don't have to tell me twice.”

The next morning, you’re paired up with Tamsy again. Semiu watches as you’re practically glued together. Or, his hands are all over you. She’s already tired of this PDA.

“Told ya.” Semiu smirked at him.

You raised an eyebrow. Tamsy only pulled you away to get that mission done and have you all to himself.

God, he’s so fucking smitten he can’t even hide it anymore. And he doesn’t bother hiding it. Especially in front of Enjin and all the other wannabes that ogle at you.

You were sent on a commission. A solo mission to be more exact. Corvus said you could handle it, you agreed. Tamsy obviously thought otherwise. Not because he thinks you’re weak. Hell no. But because he doesn’t want you roaming around Ground all alone with all those dangerous people that could jump at you anytime.

Though you’d definitely knock them all out without needing his help.

“I’m coming with you. Who knows what you’ll encounter out there ?”

“Tamsy, I’m a trained cleaner who can take down most members of our org. What the hell are you even worried about ?”

“I’m not worried about you. I don’t like the idea of other people approaching you with malicious intentions. You need your angel with you, darling.”

“You’re the embodiment of malicious intention, Tamsy. Don’t fuck with me.”

“Is that a compliment ?”

You slammed the door at his face as you left your room. Vital instrument in hand. The others watched as you walked through the hall with Tamsy following you from behind. They’ve never seen him like this. And it’s so hard to imagine him being like this. It’s harder to believe that he’s being like this even though the image is right in front their eyes.

“Woah, is that really Tamsy ?”

“He’s usually calm and collected. Now, he looks like a puppy.”

“The effect of being obsessed."

Once you reached the front desk where Semiu was at, she looked up from the magazine that she was reading and raised an eyebrow at the sight of your exasperated expression and Tamsy tailing you like a freak. Which he is.

“You’re not planning on coming with her, are you, Tamsy ?” Semiu asked and sat properly, crossing her arms over her chest

"I am."

“You can’t. Boss’ orders.”

“Who cares.”

“Tamsy, I swear if you don’t behave-” You groaned.

“Make me.”

You glared at him. He stared back. A sly grin on his face. The air between you turning thick.

“Don’t do that shit in front of me. Go find a room or somethin’.” Semiu rolled her eyes.

So, you did.

“You are not coming with me. That’s final. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“And why should I listen to you ?”

“Because I said so.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. He stepped closer. Successfully backing you up against the nearest wall. His head lowered as he gazed down at you. A sinister glint beneath his yellow-hued irises.

“I said, make me.”

You glared. He’d been pestering you since last night. Your patience surely would have run out. You wouldn’t have the energy to tell him off anymore and you won’t have a choice but to let him tag along. After all, you love him too much to leave him here just to follow Corvus’ orders.

But your response certainly made him falter and rethink his thoughts on you.

You pulled him by the collar. Soft lips crashed onto his. Tongue slipped into his mouth as his arm automatically snaked around your waist to pull you closer. Your back pressed against the wall as he kissed you back with the same fervor. But he successfully lost it when you bit down his lower lip to tug at it while looking right into his eyes. He swore he almost fucking came.

“You’re staying right here and you’re gonna wait for me like a good boy.”

“...fuck.”

You ended up going on the mission alone. A victory against Tamsy. Meanwhile, he was left standing in his room with his fingers pressed against his bottom lip. Eyes darkened with an intensity that nobody can name. His breathing, low but ragged. His lips slowly formed a smile. Thoughts filled with you. And the realization dawned at him.

He’s totally obsessed with you and he’s never letting you go.

“But the absence of a tsahìk-”

“Mawey- do slow down.” For not the first time since their trek started, Gojo is turning his head behind him. He might have been a firm leader, but he wasn’t unfair. He watches the Herwi hunters that extend from his feet to far beyond hills of ice and frost - some middle-aged and weathered by the snow already, some fresh-faced and cold with the eagerness to prove themselves. Following them were six-legged canines they called txeylan—powerful hinds pulling sleds piled high with hunt. “The younger ones are having trouble keeping up.”

Gaping, the elder looks between his leader and the younger members near the middle of their group. Flanked by older Na’vi. “But- but olo’eyktan-”

He’s looking up at the irritated sky, “I will see no further talking.”

Though there is an easy smile across his face, the elders know not to cross him. Senior in age—only age. 

They bowed their heads and looked away above all because he is their leader, but below that - deep, deeeeeep below what their prides would allow them to ever admit - because they knew he was stronger. The strongest.

The heir born of a blizzard, Satoru of the snow. 

It was said he opened his eyes during the coldest night of that year. Ice-blue. Bitter blue. Like the pools of crystallized water that the Herwi people would dance their celebrations upon - and that night they held the longest celebrations to date. Arms in arms and singing songs. And giving thanks and giving the young his first taste of snow. 

And though the position of olo’eyktan had an aspect of inheritance to it either way, it was undeniable that the world had just borne their future leader.

He’d grown up taller than other Na’vi his age. Stronger. Stormy flurries wherever he stepped, and a blizzard himself. 

There almost seemed to be a gap between him and everyone else.

Gojo had been sixteen when he was officially granted the mantle of ‘The Strongest’ by the clan. It was only about time, and only because of the elders’ reluctance that it’d taken this long.

And now it was impossible to say whether he was more loved or respected as a leader: the more boisterous of the younger Na’vi certainly loved him, the elders couldn’t stand him, the ones of mating age just couldn’t get enough of him. Though it was all for naught.

In all the twenty-eight years that he’d sifted through these snows - in all the ten years since he’d come of age - Gojo hadn’t so much as looked at another with a degree of infatuation.

Not for a lack of propositions- in fact, if you asked his attendants then they’d tell you that Gojo had a surplus of propositions. At least five Na’vi would stroll up the familiar pathway to his underground hut, calling out sing-song wishes to braid his hair, to walk amongst the ice glaciers together, to mend his fur clothes. 

Hopefuls. 

His attendants were ordered to send them all away with a gift from the olo’eyktan and a firm rejection (though, Gojo finds that that certainly didn’t deter them…)

They just didn’t seem to understand why such a suitable young Na’vi seemed to be waiting…watching…for something even he himself didn’t seem to understand. Always turning his blue eyes to the skies, ever since he was a child, always, always-

Gojo stops in his tracks.

One of his arms raises to halt the procession behind him. 

The Na’vi hunters freeze.

The Na’vi hunters let their tails swish.

The txeylan sniff the air.

Gojo’s long pointed ears twitch in every direction before resting in a single direction up ahead - where the belly of the snow seemed to swell with something. Something that the recent snowstorm had swallowed.

“Olo’eyktan…” One of the younger Herwi behind him whispers. “What is it?”

“Mawey. It might be a dead snow beast.” He hisses, though he knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t uncommon for even the creatures of these terrains to be bested by nature. But something about the figure in the snow was…different from the hounding things they hunted. Much more delicate, much more scrunched in on itself.

Gojo keeps his hand held high in the air and passes on his hunt to the nearby clansmen. Still holding onto his bow and arrows, he edges closer. “Ì’awn- the clan stays here while I investigate.” Leaving no room for a word edgewise.

The wind whips his long hair and kuru as the Na’vi steps closer. And some maddened part of him almost feels that it was as though Eywa, their goddess, herself was trying to get him to stay away.

But an even madder part of him wanted to get closer—needed to get closer.

He was being drawn in.

Making not even a single noise with his padded feet, he’s crouching down before the unmoving figure and using his long skeletal fingers to wipe away those dredges of snow. 

Away from a face—

He gasps.

The rest of the Herwi startles behind him, “What is it- what is it, olo’eyktan?”

“Is it a snow beast? Must we commence the rituals-”

“Cease! Are those fingers it has-”

“Five?”

But Gojo doesn’t answer their queries, instead he’s silently pressing his ear to the swell of the body’s chest and—ba-dump!

Listening to that faint heartbeat.

He’s not sure how this little human was still alive, and he pulls back to look at them- the first he’s ever seen. Gojo has already heard the whispers from other Na’vi clans, of these aliens named mankind whom had settled upon Pandora a few years ago.

He’s heard about humanity’s wits, their machinery, their greed.

He’s heard of the way they’ve hurt his people.

But he’s never seen one up so…close. Were they all this small? How could something so small be so destructive?

Gojo tilts his head down at you and runs one of his cold indexes down the side of your masked face, did they all look so hurt by the cold? He can’t imagine that it didn’t hurt- after all, the only reason that the Herwi had managed to reside in these mountains for hundreds of years was because of its harsh environment. Not human nor animal nor Na’vi wanted to be here—but Gojo always loved this place, as did his people.

He wondered whether it was such passionate love or hate that drew the little human in his arms to climb such peaks. To come this far. 

He can’t help but lean down and scoop the human up into his arms.

“O-olo’eyktan what is the meaning of this-”

“Fnu- shhhh.” Gojo responds in his native language, “She’s resting.”

The olo’eyktan carries the human all the way back the treacherous path to his clan huts.

And every time he looked down, he could see the way that smaller body fell and rose with each faint breath. He could see the flying of human-made coats that did nothing to fight off the cold of Pandora. He could see the pen and notebook stuffed inside it as if they were the most precious treasure of all.

He can see you.

.

.

.

Day #1 in the Herwi village: 

Woke up in what seems to be the healer’s hut, a wide insulated space that is more or less steeped into the underground with a berth of the entrance AS (above snow). Capped dome on top. Walls are composed of wooden planks on the interior flanked by compact ice from the outside, decorated in the thick furs of what appears to be snow beasts. Long book shelves. Kindling lantern of something bioluminescent and emitting heat. Shockingly warm inside. Vents are present but small to prevent an excess of thin air. Separate storage spaces and areas for examination, implications of advanced surgery and medical procedures taking place far beyond what we humans can understand.

Though Herwi healing techniques seem to be similar to that of other Na’vi clans (particularly the Omaticaya) in terms of relation to Eywa and natural resources, it must be noted that Herwi healing makes prominent use of ice for anti-inflammatory and vessel constricting methods.

Sparse presence of herbs and more emphasis on pressure points (for a copy of the Herwi circulatory system diagram see Page 8…), though the olo’eyktan reassures that there are a multitude of flora endemic to the Pandoran heights. 

The olo’eyktan seems particularly eager to give a tour?

With your eyes blinking open…you think you’ve died and gone onto whatever there was afterwards.

It would’ve been just like you to meet your demise during the pursuit of your research- the higher-ups at your laboratory predicted the same thing. The last thing you remember before blacking out was feeling faint - weeks of hiking up this arduous peak and you’d run out of your provisions a few days ago, surviving on only melted ice to fill your belly. At least, until the sudden threat of a snowslide had resulted in you abandoning your tent and bags behind for escape.

From then on it had only been: you, your pen, your notebook with your research, your translator, and your burning passion to find the Herwi.

It was no surprise that you didn’t last long.

But you suppose you just didn’t expect the ‘afterwards’ to be a blue, blue summer sky. 

Oh—how you missed the cloud-frothed ocean of blue down on Earth. It was never quite the same on Pandora, and you’re just beginning to wonder whether heaven was really home-

“Yawne, txen?”

Before your muddled mind realizes that this really wasn’t your sky after all.

What you were looking up into were the eyes of a Na’vi warrior.

He’s leaning his overlarge body above yours, and you’re pressing yourself flatly against a mattress—one that was made of copious amounts of furs and the softest spun wool to make you feel as though you were floating up on the clouds.

But the farther you’re getting, the more he dwarfs you with his curious peering.

Closer.

And the only thing you can do is look up into his handsome blue face- the lightest of blues you’ve ever seen. 

Now, you have to start this off by saying that every single Na’vi you’ve seen was beautiful—every single one of them. 

But you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone like him before: long white hair, blue eyes almost like a Metkayina, and glowing spots scattered like snowflakes across his cheeks. Heavy eyelids. Taller than your average Omaticaya. Perhaps a bit bulkier, as well.

If you tilted your head just past his looming figure then you could take in the tufted fur clothing he wore, slightly more coverage than of Na’vi from the more tropical areas; with patterns of rosettes peaking out wherever his skin was exposed and dotted like a fainter version of a snow leopard’s. From your own planet.

But you were not on your own planet.

Far from it.

You’re realizing with a jolt that he was one of the Herwi clan-

“Are you…” And though you’d dreamed and wished and hoped for this day for so long—right now you find yourself absolutely speechless. “Are you- fuck.”

To which he only beams- “Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey.” His pearly white teeth are on full display, one little dimple crinkling at the edge of his smile. He just looks so handsome like this that you almost lose your breath- no. It must be the hypothermia that’s getting to you. It must be. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that he almost sounds utterly relieved—“Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung?”

“I ah…” Mouth dropping open. Shit—your translator!

Before he can say anything more, you’re digging in your coats- or at least attempting to. It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle behind the thick blankets and realize that you weren’t wearing those humanly thin layers you did when climbing up the mountain. Well-fitted for the Earth’s cold, but not for the harsh ever-winters of Pandora.

Instead you were wearing…a thick woolen coat?

Much too large on you- almost comically so. It had sleeves that reached a few feet past your fingertips, draped down to your toes, and enough space that you could hide at least five of you inside it. 

No translator.

No pen. No notebook-

He sees this smaller figure fluttering about worriedly and tilts his head curiously, “‘Upe lu nga fwew?” Before handing you your notebook and pen from a table behind him.

“Pardon? Ah- thank you so much—!” You beam at him, and he beams back. But looking into his blue eyes once more, you feel a sudden sense of helplessness wash over you. “But I’m sorry, I still can’t understand you.”

At this the Na’vi furrows his pale brows - you’re not quite sure whether he knew what you were saying, but he seemed to have picked up on your emotions. Nudging his large face against yours with a purring sound, “Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga.”

And a part of you somewhat melts- “I said I really can’t- hahah.” You half-heartedly try to push his incessant face away with a laugh, taking particular delight in noting how happily his tail was swishing. Fluffier with more fur than you’ve observed on other types of Na’vi, also covered in pretty rosettes that swayed to and fro.

It’s right now that you wished you had the patience to stay behind and immerse yourself more in the Na’vi language lessons your laboratory had provided. Most scientists didn’t even go out into the field until they were experts - but you were too antsy, too greedy to know. Something seemed to have called you here whether it cost you your life.

Given you’d picked up on some phrases here and there, but it seems that the Herwi had a different accent from the clips played in those listening tests. Slightly softer, slightly more of a whisper.

Like the breath of winter, his words cooled your mask and heated up something entirely different inside of you. “Oe pey ngim krr.”

Before you know it, the Na’vi clasps both your hands in his—and you’re startled by just how large they are, just how cold. You’re analyzing the way his pale fingers hold your own as if it was all that was tender in the world.

Intertwining.

“Ngim krr.” He looks at you with those azure eyes seriously, opening up the palm of your right hand and touching his to yours. Palm against palm. Breath against breath. “Nìt'iluke.” 

You get the feeling that you were missing something very important- “I’m sorry I really wish…I’m so sorry to ask any more of you- I really am. But have you happened to see my translator anywhere?”

“Tìnga’prrnen?” He cocks his head in confusion, trying to mouth the word.

“Erm- yes?” Hoping that he understood you, “My translator—” You emphasize the syllables- “It’s a little device to understand you-”

You’re gesturing between the two of you- and you swear you see the light blue Na’vi pale. “Tìnga’prrnen? Oe?”

“Yes?” You knew that ‘oe’ referred to oneself.

He balks- maybe you were getting through to him? “Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen-”

“Skxawng.”

Before he’s suddenly cut off by a hard smack to the back of his head- and you’re looking up just in time to see another Herwi Na’vi enter the hut. The dimorphism between this particular strand of Na’vi wasn’t anything too prominent, you find - both were tall, both were pale, both had long tails and rosettes scattered across their agile bodies.

The only real difference was that the one at your bedside was more rugged, with even more pure-white beads woven into his hair. Though that you could chalk up to their separate duties within the clan.

She walked inside as though she owned the place, throwing her long loose hair behind her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch as she shuts the other man up—as she brings out a black earpiece from behind her and hands it to you. “I believe this is yours. It was dropped in the rush outside.”

“O-oh!” You’re surprised to find that it was none other than your translating device. Taking it gratefully, “Thank you so so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

At your baffled expression - as far as you knew, the Herwi were the last remaining uncontacted clan of Na’vi, with no knowledge of humankind nor their many languages. “I learned your language from my books-” Gesturing around her - you were right to assume that this was her hut, filled to the brim with ointments and books. Mostly of Na’vi origin, but you could spy a few in English and Japanese. “-sent by friends in the Omaticaya. I find your human stories are…quite amusing.”

“I see.” You breathe.

She gestures at herself, “Ieri Shoko of the heart.” Then at the male Na’vi member, “Gojo Satoru of the snow. I apologize for him, he is our olo’eyktan- also the one that found you.”

“So you’re my saviour.” You’re looking towards him- Gojo once more. He catches your eyes and looks away with a pale blue hue dusting his face. “Irayo nga.” Giving your thanks (one of the few phrases you could speak with complete confidence). 

You’re looking towards him- He shudders, “Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen.”

As soon as he’s saying it, Shoko smacks her hand on her forehead- and you wonder what exactly he means. 

So without further ado, you’re fixing the earpiece onto yourself.

“Idiot.” Shoko’s turning back to Gojo, “You know that’s not what she meant?”

Gojo crosses his arms and huffs- “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if it’s for her-”

“Not even Eywa could make that happen.”

“Getting preg-”

“Hello?” Testing—and if the way both Na’vi jerk their heads to you in slight surprise is anything to go by, then you’d say that the translator was working rather well. It was less an earpiece that translated and more a device to target that part of your brain that communicated and understood foreign languages.

Allowing you to both understand and speak in the dialect of the Na’vi - an invention by yours truly, of course. You’d (as close as) perfected it just last year for this expedition. “Can you understand me?”

Gojo stares at you with wide blue eyes.

With his pretty lips parted.

With his tail swishing back and forth.