You and him always arrive to parties late (his fault) and leave parties early (your fault). He’s the center of attention every goddamn time, telling stories to people he just met, his arms slash through the air, people crowd around him, laughing, gasping at every exaggerated detail.

But when he sees you sitting on a couch not too far away from him (for him it feels like miles away), sipping on your drink while you stare at his ass, he shushes all the people, announcing that he has to go back to his partner because he can’t function well without you. 

“Oh my god, Tengen,” you say, with a flustered laugh because you could hear him perfectly. He’s already sat by your side, arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I want to,” he says, close to your ear as he leaves kisses on your cheek. “I love the look on your face when I talk about you.”

“You scream about me,” you remind him, squeezing his arm and laying your cheek on his shoulder. 

He notices your little sigh and how your body relaxes when he’s pressed to you. He draws little patterns on your arm, letting you a few moments of physical contact before saying: “Do you wanna go home? These people are boring.”

You lift your gaze, blinking slowly. “You were laughing a few moments ago, Tengen.”

“I was laughing at my own jokes, let’s get out of here.” He grabs your hand, lifting you easily and pulling you across the dancefloor. 

He always knows when you’re done for the night, and when you’re done, he is too.

Tengen has this burst of love and intensity where he lays on top of you, purposefully trapping you below his body because he’s way taller and stronger that you and makes you look straight into his eyes while he tells you: 

“I would die for you,” he declares. “I would burn down entire cities, shatter the heavens themselves if it meant keeping you safe. You are my goddess, my everything. Without you, I am nothing but noise in an empty world.”

You lie there beneath him, used to these sudden storms of his affection. Your hands rest calmly on his back, fingers tracing slow circles over his muscles as he keeps talking, eyes never leaving yours.

“Every breath I take is for you,” he continues, voice rising with passion. “I worship the ground you walk on. You calm the chaos inside me. I would kneel for you, fight for you, live every second like it is my last just to see you smile. My love, my partner, my only peace. Tell me you know how deeply I adore you. Say it.”

A warm flush creeps up your neck and across your cheeks, he is so intense, so extra, turning a simple moment on the couch into something epic and overwhelming. Yet you cannot help but adore him for it.

You meet his eyes without looking away, your voice soft and even. “I know, Tengen. You tell me every day.”

He groans dramatically, burying his face in your neck for a second before pulling back to trap you with his stare again. “Not enough! Words are never enough for what I feel. I want to shout it from the rooftops until the whole city knows you own me completely. You are the silence I crave after every battle. I would lay down my swords, my pride, my life for one more moment like this with you.”

You smile quietly, sliding your fingers up into his silver hair and tugging gently to settle him. Even pinned under his massive frame, you feel safe, loved in the loud, all-consuming way only he can give. “I love you too, by the way,” you whisper into his hair. “Even when you’re loud as fuck.”

He lifts his head fast, gasping and leaning to fill your face with kisses. You burst out laughing because it tickles, “Tengen!”

“Mm, I love you tooooo,” he sings, now licking your cheeks between kisses.

“Ew! Tengen, you’re gross!” You try to push his face away except you’re not really applying any force, you’re just giggling as he hugs you tighter and kisses you slower, now trapping your lips in a soft and wet kiss.

────⋆୨♡୧⋆────

@ kamislop || masterlist ◦ Ko-fi ◦ commissions ◦ requests ◦ taglist

┊┊taglist: @tentypos, @braunrot, @ibbybelle, @spagheettoo, @ac0n1tum, @trilxogyyy, @theemoong1rl, @unexistancial, @skybluesskin, @ryomenempire, @simbaruto, @somethingwebs, @strwbrrysatoru, @27-awesome-ham-sandwiches, @nightmarenyxx, @vlinzoi, @updownandbatty, @levertons, @zmbkats, @esiiart, @lonelyfooryouonly, @abadbitchblogs, @hairiane-ari, @plutooowo, @mo072806, @taintedsturns, @xoxocelestial, @da1ntyli1ly, @mamashima, @v4mp1r3b4tzz, @bitchycoffeellama, @love-d-luxe, @riotsgrl, @moviecritc

Suddenly, all the lectures, all the warnings, and all the lessons that the adults in your life had taught you about ‘bad words’ flew out of the window.

“Fuck you!”

It's no secret that the rivalry between you and Gojo Satoru continued throughout Junior High and into High School; many students were aware of the bickering between the two of you. Classmates often teased you both about it, claiming that you would end up together eventually.

That idea sickened you.

The teasing slowed as you came to the end of your high school years; classmates matured, and university applications were around the corner, so you couldn't even afford to waste time arguing with that dandelion head. However, it was hard not to have him teetering on your last nerve every other class. Being on the same academic frequency meant you and Gojo shared many classes. And most unfortunately for you, he sat right next to you in Physics.

A sing-song drawl of your name lurched you from your focus, a certain white-haired boy being the source. “Hey, are you even listening? I asked when lunch is, idiot.” He slumped onto the desk, holding his head up by his hand as he awaited your response. You rolled your eyes, “There is a clock right there in case you haven't noticed, four eyes.” Gojo clutched his chest with mock offence, straightening up just to dramatically flop back down again. “You wound me, truly.”

You scoff in response, turning back to your physics teacher who was now droning on about particle accelerators — seriously, what? You sighed; now you were going to have to catch up on whatever you'd missed in the minutes Gojo had distracted you. You were supposed to stay on top of everything in this class so it would be easier to study later! Unfortunately for you, Gojo continued his rambling. “Would you shut it? I'm trying to concentrate.”

Gojo grinned, then, in the highest pitch he could muster: “I’m trying to concentrate, Gojo-san, stop distracting me with your good looks.”

Oh, he didn't.

A gasp tore through your throat before you could stop it, eyes widening and fists clenching. “Stop that! I do not sound like that, and I didn't even say that!” you whisper-shouted at him, glancing around to make sure no one heard. He only giggled in response, using his hand to mimic your talking.

You smacked his hand back down, scowling as you tried to turn your focus back to the lesson, but Gojo had other plans.

You felt something hit the side of your head, you jerked to the side and winced in pain. Turning, you found Gojo snickering behind his hand. “Did you just throw something at me?” You gaped at him in disbelief, eyes glancing down to the pen that sat on the floor as evidence.

He only giggled harder, “Now why would I do that?” He batted his milky lashes, putting on a show of acting ‘innocent.’ You snarled in return, “You did! Ugh, you're such an ass!”

Before he could retaliate, you had swooped the pen off the floor and hurled it back at him; it narrowly missed his ear and was sent flying into the wall with a loud clack. The class went silent, aside from you and Gojo’s continued bickering. “Oh, real mature —” He was cut off by a cough from the teacher.

“Since the two of you seem to work so well together, how about I assign the two of you as partners for the assignment?”

Everyone was staring. Gojo’s ears were bright red, and his glasses began to slip down the bridge of his nose; you could feel the heat crawl up your neck. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole then and there.

You timidly spoke up, “Um, sir… do you mind going over the assignment once more?”

The rest of the class was somewhat humiliating. You had to ask your teacher to re-explain concepts for the assignment while everyone just stared — including Gojo! He hadn't even been paying attention. How was he not as confused as you were? And to make matters worse, he was your partner for the end-of-year project. How annoying.

“It wasn't even my fault! He's the one chucking pens around,” you complained to Shoko in your biology class. She was good friends with Gojo, but she always agreed with you when you'd spew complaints about the white-haired boy.

Shoko groaned, “He can be a real pain sometimes, sometimes I think Suguru likes him so much because they flirt with each other every chance they get. I mean, hey, good for you, but at least do that in another room.” You snorted in response to her words, scribbling down notes while doing so.

“But the thing I don't get is how come you and Geto are nice, but Gojo is like… insufferable.” Shoko’s lips twisted into a smile, “You complain about him a lot, y’know? Makes me think there are some underlying feelings.” You gasped loud enough for the table beside yours to shoot quizzical glances over at the two of you.

“Don’t you ever say that again. He looks like a dandelion with an attitude.”

She snickered to herself, turning back to her notes. You bit your lip as you watched her, fingers drumming anxiously against the desk. “Although… could you give me his number so I could text him about the project?…”

Later that night, you lay in bed, phone held awkwardly in your hands while your thumb hovered nervously over the keyboard. You didn't know why you were so scared to message him; it wasn't like you were doing it out of your own will, it was simply a way of communication for the project.

You sighed, typing out a few words before deleting them, “No, that's too formal,” you mumbled to yourself, brows furrowing as you began to retype.

Hey, Gojo, I got your number from Shoko.

When's a good time to discuss the topic for our project?

Before you could swipe off the app, a typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then reappeared, followed by a message.

Ig we could go to the library tmr at lunch

Wow, for a kid that smart, he didn't seem to grasp grammar all that well.

You thumbs-upped the message, switching your phone off and preparing to go to sleep when a ping cut through the silence. Rolling over, you groaned, picking up your phone and opening the notification.

Why don't we do a coffee shop instead

Yk so ppl don't steal our ideas

Once again, you reacted with a thumbs up, tossing your phone back onto your side table. He better be paying for your coffee, knowing Gojo, he would pick the most expensive and performative coffee shop in town.

The next day, you realised two things very quickly. One, Gojo looked unfairly good for someone who was approaching their final exams. And two, he had, in fact, chosen the most obnoxiously overpriced cafe in town. “For God's sake,” you muttered under your breath as you stepped through the door.

Soft light spilt across the polished floors, the music hummed softly, floating across the coffee shop while tables filled with students and office workers alike rattled on about their days. The menu hung on the wall looked more like your maths textbook than a list of snacks and beverages.

Unfortunately, Gojo was already there, plopped down in a booth at the far corner. His long legs stretched out beneath the table, circular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. An expensive-looking laptop sat open in front of him, along with what looked to be two desserts.

You trudged over, slinging your bag onto the cushions across from him and sliding in. “There you are! You’re late.” He tutted, wagging his finger in your face, “Oh, be quiet, it took me forever to find this place. Next time, pick a known cafe.” Gojo ignored you; instead, he slid over one of the cups, “Got a drink for ya, try it.”

The so-called drink had an abnormal amount of whipped cream, chocolate drizzle and sprinkles. He himself had a similar-looking beverage, except he had a flake. You rolled your eyes, “What is this? It looks like a cup of cavities.”

Picking up the cup, you analysed it, trying to find what on earth Gojo had ordered for you.

Your name had been scribbled across the cup in scraggly writing alongside what looked vaguely like a very angry cat.

“What is this?”

His grin widened, “You like? I drew you from memory.” You blinked at him, “That is not me.”

“It’s angry, just like you.”

You bit back a smile, trying to wrack your brain for an appropriate insult, but your words died on your tongue when Gojo leaned over and took a scoop of your whipped cream with his finger. “Hey!”

He leaned back, smirking to himself, “Hey, you snooze, you lose.”

Despite the usual bickering and Gojo stealing your drink, the assignment discussion started surprisingly smoothly.

The inverse square law wasn’t the simplest of assignments, especially considering how your teacher expected a practical demonstration alongside the written report. Most of the pairs were doing basic presentations like Ohm's law or refraction.

But of course, as always, Gojo had to be difficult. “You know what? We should do a full experimental model —” he spun his pen between his fingers, “— like measuring radiation intensity mathematically by using controlled distances.”

You blinked at him, “Gojo, as much as I’d love to show off, I’d rather work with you for as little time as possible.” He rolled his eyes at you, turning his laptop to face you. “It’s not that hard, don’t be a baby.”

Equations filled the screen, diagrams and notes followed suit. Your eyes widened at his words.

He already planned it? Within what? Two days.

That familiar feeling that settled in your stomach, that awful sensation that you had carried since you were ten. You had spent hours revising and relearning formulas and facts, pushing your brain to its limit while you studied for every test like it was your last. He was the complete opposite. It was like he could just glance at the revision materials and understand them like that.

People praised you for your discipline, the hard work and dedication it took you to get to where you are now, but with him?

He was gifted. That was something you could never achieve, not with discipline, not with hard work or even motivation.

The fact was that Gojo was miles ahead of you, and you would never catch up.

“Hello? Earth to stupid?” His voice snapped you from your thoughts, “Sorry, I was just uh…” Your mind blanked, eyes scanning over his laptop screen once more. “I know, I know. You were trying to wrap that little head of yours around these complex equations.” He reached a faux sympathetic hand out, attempting to grab your hand just to be smacked away, “Dream on, dandelion.”

A faint smile graced his lips, turning the laptop back, “Alright then, where do we find the materials for our experiment?”

Over the next few weeks, the project became impossible to escape. Casual library meetings turned into cafe meetings, which ran on for hours until closing, which meant the two of you ended up walking home together most nights.

Gojo claimed it was because your house was on the way to his; you suspected it was because he enjoyed having someone to talk to.

He continued to be as patronising as ever, scolding you for getting equations wrong, oversimplifying findings, and even teasing you when you didn’t understand concepts. But you also learned a few things about him.

Like how he ate a ridiculous amount of sugary snacks, possibly enough to kill a small rodent, and how he spun his pen in his fingers when concentrating.

Or how he got strangely competitive, always challenging you to petty competitions like who could finish their food the fastest, or who could recite the phonetic alphabet the quickest.

You hated how fast he was growing on you.

“Hey! Why are you always zoning out? We have a project to finish.” You jolted upright from where you had been absentmindedly staring at him from across the table. “Huh? Sorry, just — uh — tired.” He hummed, unconvinced.

“Just get to work, I’m the one doing everything here.” You snorted at his words, “Seriously? Like, I haven’t been hauling your weight for the past two weeks?” Satoru scoffed, “Well, the deadline is soon, and I work best under pressure.” You kicked his shin under the table, “Ouch!”

A cafe employee passed by and shot the two of you a warning glance, shushing aggressively at you both while doing so. You bowed your head apologetically while Satoru whispered a small ‘sorry’ with pink ears.

You turned back to look at him after the server had left, “Get back to work, dandelion.”

A few more silent minutes passed by as the two of you worked, occasionally catching the other's eye and averting your gaze. Then Satoru leaned over the table towards you, “Let’s ditch this place, I’m bored.” You sighed, eyes staying fixed on the paper in front of you, “No, Satoru, besides, you were the one who said the deadline was soon.”

“Oh, c’mon, we’ve been here for hours.” He whined, propping his chin onto his hand. “Yeah, and seventy-five percent of the time spent here was us bickering over the project instead of actually working on it.” Your eyes finally met his; his bright eyes stared up at you through his thick-rimmed glasses. It was truly unfair how good he looked despite only drinking liquefied sugar.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You quite literally built an entire electrical system out of Lego and dissected chargers for fun,” you countered.

“Yeah, but I’m not a try-hard, like someone.” He grinned at you, lopsided but still holding the same cocky persona. You muttered under your breath, “Oh, go test the law of gravity on the nearest staircase.” Satoru snorted, pushing his glasses further up his nose, “Seems like I struck a nerve, idiot.”

“I’m going to strike you in the face if you don’t get back to work.”

The day for the final presentation crept closer and closer, and almost everyone in your physics class was on edge. Aside from the obvious Gojo Satoru, of course.

Satoru managed to stay relaxed about the entire thing, cracking jokes while he was supposed to be researching and dragging you on walks to ‘refresh your mind’ when in reality he wanted to stop by an ice cream parlour. You wanted to get mad at him, spit snarky comments and berate him like you usually would, but for some reason, you found his interruptions to be surprisingly helpful.

Each passing day, your project became more refined, and with each edit, Satoru’s ego grew; his teasing made that obvious.

‘Hah, I bet you didn’t catch that mistake in the results,’ or ‘you really need to amp up your mathematical analysis, it’s embarrassing,’ were just some of the many so-called jokes he would make at your self-esteem's expense.

Subconsciously, you began to feel inferior to Satoru, not because you wanted to, but something deep down told you that it was true. Years of hard work and dedication only to come second to him every single time, and each loss would mean being berated by your parents about ‘underperforming.’

You tried to push those feelings down, especially since, for once, you and Satoru had actually been getting along. Shoko had commented on it in biology, and since then, you started to become more aware of the growing friendship between you two.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

He approached you after class, just a few days before the assignment was due, “Hey, uh, do you mind coming over after school to go over the final details? I may or may not have gotten grounded.”

You snorted, “Grounded? At your big age? What did you do this time?” The two of you fell into step as he walked you to your next class. Satoru had memorised your timetable by now, using it to bother you in between classes.

“Ah, y’know, I broke an expensive vase while testing projectile physics. No biggie,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, turning his head away to hide the red creeping onto his cheeks from embarrassment.

A giggle escaped you before you could stop it, and his blush only deepened. “Shut up,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll see you after school, then?” You waved him off as you stepped into the class. Satoru watched for a moment before catching the eye of your teacher and scurrying off.

After school, he met you by the gates, offering a cheeky grin.

The walk to his house was surprisingly quiet. Usually, the two of you would’ve started squabbling by now. Maybe you would’ve insulted his haircut, maybe he would’ve teased you about the accessories on your bag. Instead, you walked side by side, comfortable in the silence.

“Y’know,” he said, kicking a pebble along the pavement, “You’re not half bad.” You scoffed playfully, “What’s that supposed to mean, dandelion?”

Satoru rolled his eyes, turning away. “I dunno, I mean we get along better than I thought.” You let out an airy laugh, shaking your head. “I guess, I mean, it’s hard not to get along with someone you’ve spent practically every day with for a month.”

Another wave of silence passed over the two of you.

You let out a shaky breath, “Do you think we’ll score high enough?” Satoru stared at you as if you had two heads, “Come on, you idiot. When have I ever come second?” His words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest, a feeling you knew all too well.

Before long, you had reached the grand entrance to his house. Tall, pristine white gates circled the property, similar to the gates surrounding nearby houses.

“You’re such a liar! We didn’t even pass anywhere near my street.” Satoru shifted uncomfortably, “Yeah, well… I take a different route from the cafe. It’s quicker.” He nudged past you, punching in the code for the gate.

You followed him in. “This is ridiculous. Why is your house so big?” The garden alone was huge, rows of pretty flowers accompanied by the greenest grass you’ve ever seen, topped off with large trees. Satoru shrugged, unlocking the front door and stepping inside, “My family’s the one who chose it, not me.”

The house itself was beautiful — and even that was an understatement. Although you couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was.

His room, however, was the exact opposite of the rest of his neat, modern house.

The walls were plastered with Spider-Man posters, small figures of what looked to be those Digimon characters he always rambled on about. Your eyes wandered over to a bookshelf which was practically overflowing with textbooks, comics, and what you assumed to be collecting card binders.

His desk was cluttered with Lego projects and half-built gadgets. You walked over, poking at an unfinished Lego set, “Do you ever clean up after yourself?”

Satoru launched himself into his chair, “Nah, we have cleaners who come by. Besides, they’re not allowed in my room in case they mess up my projects.”

You gave a puzzled look, “Girls won’t want to come over if you live like some slob.”

“You’re here, though.”

You felt your body heat up, “I don’t count!” Satoru gave his signature grin, sitting up to pull out the materials.

The next hour passed with the two of you revising and reviewing the final report. At first, everything was going well. Neither of you had made a petty comment, and the assignment had seemingly gone well.

Towards the end of the paper, Satoru frowned, “Hm.” You turned to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing, but your analysis is kinda weak. You should rewrite this; it isn’t up to my standard.” You felt your jaw clench, “Your standard?” He nodded, “I mean, it might be okay for you, but I don’t think it matches the pace we’re setting.”

Your shoulders stiffened. “I think it’s well written.”

That familiar feeling bubbled in your chest. That feeling you tried to ignore all these weeks.

“Honestly, no wonder you missed that,” he laughed playfully. You tried to remain composed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I caught it first.”

You felt something deep inside of you snap.

“Yeah. No fucking wonder.”

He looked up, “Huh?”

“I said: no fucking wonder. No wonder I’m always behind you because even at my best, I’m still not enough to beat you.”

Satoru stared at you, blue eyes widening in a mix of shock and confusion.

You continued, “It’s just easy for you, isn’t it? You can just be smart, but I’m not like you, Satoru! I’m not naturally like that. I work so, so hard and I still come up short.”

The room fell silent, and the air felt thicker. You felt tears prickle in your eyes from the overwhelming jealousy coursing through your veins.

“What are you talking about?” He said quietly, tilting his head as if it would help him understand better. You stood so quickly that a few of his figurines clattered off his desk.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

His brows furrowed as he stood up, carefully repositioning his figurines before facing you once more.

You felt years of anger — jealousy — resurface.

“I spend hours — days or weeks even — studying, revising, just trying to be better.” You felt the tears fall before you could stop them, “I go over my notes over and over until my eyes sting, I pay attention in every class, I barely take days off even when I’m sick!” You sniffled, “Y-Yet somehow you’re always ahead of me. Every damn time.”

You couldn’t stop the frustrated words that continued to pour out, “Do you know how infuriating that is? To have all your hard work thrown down the drain because someone is so effortlessly smart?”

A small hiccup escaped you, “I’m so jealous of you, Satoru, and I hate myself for it.”

Satoru’s expression slowly changed, his eyes softened as he took a step closer.

“I wish — I wish I wasn’t always runner-up every single time.” Your voice cracked slightly as you spoke.

You suddenly felt small in his all too spacious room, and the air felt warmer than it did ten minutes ago. “I hate it, and I wish I could hate you for it too.”

For the first time in years, Satoru didn’t ridicule you. He didn’t crack a single joke at your expense; instead, he took another step closer, until he was staring down at you.

“You’re wrong, idiot.”

You scoffed at the juxtaposition of that stupid insult during this time.

Your eyes met his. “Well, you are right, but not entirely.” He reluctantly held onto your wrist, “I only really try when I’m up against you. You give me a real challenge.”

You let out a watery laugh, “Really?” He nodded all too enthusiastically, “Really! Gosh, it’s so exhilarating having someone to compete with for once. It’s not like I study as much as you do, but you put up a fight.”

His voice was quieter now, “Besides, I’ve always been jealous of you, of your determination, your hard work. I don’t think I’d make it very far if it wasn’t for my brains.” He knocked the side of his head awkwardly.

You choked out a noise of surprise, eyes widening at his confession. “I’m jealous of the fact that you’ve worked for everything you’ve achieved, I just… have it.” You felt your chest tighten.

For years, you had assumed Satoru looked down on you, that he always thought of you as lukewarm at best. But now? He’s telling you he admires your drive.

You stared at each other for what felt like minutes before he turned away, his cheeks taking on a pink tint.

“Wow.”

You giggled, wiping away your tears with your free hand, “Wow?” Satoru’s eyes darted around awkwardly, “I think that’s the most emotionally vulnerable I’ve ever been.” You laughed quietly, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Yeah, never do that again. It was so weird,” you joked. He scoffed at you, “I take it back.”

You laughed again, louder this time. Your eyes met his once more, your smiles softening into something quieter, rawer.

His glasses began to slip down his nose, and you moved to push them back up. Satoru’s breath hitched, and his eyes flickered to your lips.

“Satoru?” You whispered.

“Yeah?”

His face burned, white hair beginning to stick to his forehead from the nervous sweat. He leaned in closer, his nose barely grazing your own, “C-Can I…?” It was as if the words died on his tongue.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in an awkward kiss. His glasses bumped your forehead, causing you to wince against his mouth, then you accidentally stood on his toe, making him yelp.

He pulled away with a chuckle, “Wait, stop, I’m going to laugh.” You burst into a fit of giggles at his confession, intertwining your hand with his absentmindedly.

Suddenly, he stopped, “Oh my god.”

“What?” You asked worriedly, scanning your face for any harm.

“You were my first kiss! Ew.”

You punched him in the shoulder, “As if I wanted you to be mine, dandelion.”

“Ouch! Who punches someone after a kiss?” He winced, rubbing his shoulder. “Who insults them afterwards?” You retorted.

Satoru grinned, that same infuriating face. Loud and bright as ever.

And for once, maybe you didn’t mind it.

You stand there with your heart cracking open all over again. This is not the Kyojuro who once held your hands under blooming wisteria and whispered promises of a future filled with laughter. That boy is gone, devoured by whatever turned him into this. You hate how your body still reacts to him, traitorous and raw.

demon!kyojuro rengoku whose instincts scream louder than any memory. He doesn't understand the pull, only that your warmth calls to the cold emptiness inside him. His breathing comes rough, he corners you against the old wooden wall of the abandoned shrine. One clawed hand braces beside your head, caging you without touching. He lowers his face to the curve of your neck and a growl slips out. The heat of his breath makes your pulse jump wildly under his lips.

You want to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Tears sting your eyes because his touch feels familiar and wrong, a ghost wearing the skin of the man you loved.

"Kyojuro," you whisper but he only tilts his head at the sound, pupils shrinking to slits. Recognition flickers somewhere in his animal gaze, buried too deep, and it hurts worse than if he had simply torn into you. Your hands tremble as they hover near his chest, not daring to make contact, afraid the demon will bite and afraid the last piece of your Kyojuro will vanish if you do.

demon!kyojuro rengoku who presses in anyway, body flush against yours in a way that steals your breath. His muscles are harder now, coiled with demonic strength. He scents you again, dragging his nose along your collarbone as a rough sound escapes him, a whine mixed with a snarl. His fangs graze just above your racing heartbeat. He doesn't bite, but the threat lingers, sending unwanted heat pooling low in your belly even as grief claws at your throat.

You ache for the boy who once blushed when your fingers brushed his, who spoke of protecting you with bright eyes and louder voice. This version of him wants you too, but in a feral way that could destroy everything left of the love you shared. Still you do not run. even heartbroken, some stupid part of you hopes that if he stays close long enough, your scent might drag him back from the dark.

demon!kyojuro rengoku whose hands finally settle on your waist, claws pricking through fabric without breaking skin. He holds you like something fragile and edible at the same time, instincts warring inside him. His forehead drops to rest against yours and for one fractured second his brows furrow, the old pain is trying to surface. Then it's gone, swallowed by the hunger again. He needs more of you. he will take more of you, whether memory returns or not. and you, god help you, let him.