Aizawa's baby girl

The smirk widened at the sight of your pretty blush, your flighty eyes lowered to the stone floor as you murmured gently, “I had a car accident…”

Sukuna hummed, brows furrowed in sympathy.

“Bad luck, huh?” he said, his voice a deep rumbling in his chest, fond and affectionate as he watched you squirm.

“Yeah… that sounds about right,” you agreed with a soft cute sigh, eyes heartwrenchingly dejected.

“My lord, shall we move on to her judge?” Uraume cleared their throat and looked down at the scroll of all of your records. 

This time, Sukuna fully straightened up with a nod, receiving the scroll with one of his four, meaty hands, noticing your eyes on them with a silent smirk.

Uraume started to list off very minor crimes you have done in your life, which all made Sukuna chuckle amusedly as he caught onto your embarrassed blush on your face. In the end, he judged you to go to heaven, chest warming as he saw your face relax and you sighed softly.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, bowing to him. So polite.

“Mm, of course,” Sukuna grinned. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

You were taken away by some of the guards, and his smirk widened, pupils dilating as he saw you glance back at him, smiling shyly. Once you were gone and the next dead person was just about to enter, Sukuna straightened up. 

“Uraume,” he said, voice booming as a grin curled on his lips. “Can you—”

“I fail to understand how that’s appropriate, my lord,” they replied with a sigh, rubbing their temple in their usual stress.

Sukuna raised a brow at them before scoffing. “Don’t argue with me. Get that girl out of the judging process.”

“Oh lord.”

༊·˚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You’re sprawled across the enormous, mahogany table, your white robe stripped away to reveal your skin, glistening with the humidity.

Sukuna softly cursed at how soft and small you looked underneath him, so delectable as he dove to the crook of your neck to lap at the small bead of sweat collected at your collarbone. His deep hum vibrated against your body, and a smile spread across his lips against your skin once he felt you shiver.

“Come on, doll. Let me make you feel good.”

Your doe eyes stared up at him as you nodded coyly from under your lashes, breathlessly replying, begging, “Yes please.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. Laying his large palm flat underneath your thigh, he lifted your leg to press them by your sides. Without any hesitation, he dove in between your legs, down to your pussy, his adam’s apple bopping as he slurped, swallowed and gulped down on your sweet juices. 

“Hahh, ngh—”

“Fuck, ‘m so thirty. You taste so good doll,” he groaned, pushing his nose against your clit, lapping at your juices desperately with insistent licks like a mutt. He let out a pathetic moan as your hands flew to his head, gripping at the pink strands of his hair to move it up and down, up and down to ride him better. “Hahh—”

His hot breath panted against your glistening folds, giving attention to your clit by slurping it, suckling at the adorable nub and flicking his tongue against it. Your moans got louder, sweeter, making his head incredibly dizzy and he couldn’t resist from pushing his thick knuckled finger into your puckering hole.

“Aghh, Sukuna—!” you gasped, eyes bulging out as you tried to squirm your thighs away, trying to wrap them around his head, only to feel his calloused hands insistently pushing harder against your chest, folding you easily.

“Yes, doll?” he snickered, pulling himself away from your pussy monetarily to look down at you, his chin slobbered with your slick—even the roots of his hair were damp, sticking to his forehead and temple. He mercilessly pumped his single finger inside your pussy, stretching your tight hole that tried to clamp down on him adorably.

“Please…” you begged, babbling his name darlingly as your thighs started to quake from how he started to flick and massage his finger tip against your wall.

“Please what?” he taunted. He pressed himself against you, his thickkkkk belly tongue lolling out to lap at your clit and your pussy around his finger to slobber with his spit. “Love your manners, sweetheart, but you gotta tell me what you want properly.”

“I—” You let out a surprised scream as he inserted a second finger inside your cute hole, pumping faster-faster-faster to slap his knuckles rudely against your swelling folds.

“Can’t, heh, hear you from all of the sound your pussy’s making,” he grinned. “So wet, sucking me in, so fucking greedy. Can you hear her begging my fingers to stay?”

Splat, splat, splat—

“At this point, I should just throw you to hell since your pussy’s so greedy and wants the king of hell to keep fucking her,” he laughed crudely, pussydrunk just from eating you out and fingering you, the sensation of your walls around his skin enough to have him reeling. “Or maybe to Samghata Hell, since you’re such a filthy slut…”

He added a third finger, swirling his thick digits inside your pussy.

“Gonna cum, cum-cumming!!”

“Mm, go ahead, doll,” he purred, cackling as he slammed his fingers roughly. Stars burst out behind your eyes as the tight coil of your belly finally being released, and you convulsed around his fingers, coming hard. Sukuna fucked you through it, helping you chase your climax, watching you with heart eyes as he saw your face contort in pleasure.

One of his other hands found your clit again to rub them generously, making you whine pathetically from the overstimulation. Pulling his fingers out of your pussy, he brought them to his pink lips to roughly suck on your juices collected at the crevices of his skin. His eyes rolled back, a deep hum rumbling from inside his chest as he tasted you. Noticing your hazy eyes staring up at him, he smirked and made a show of lapping at his fingertips—filthy. 

Pushing his spit covered fingers into your small mouth, his pupils dilated black as he watched you suckle on them, hollowing out your cheeks.

“Actually, nevermind,” he murmured, rudely taking his hand away from your mouth to roughly kiss your lips instead. A soft, delighted sigh whisked out of you as you kissed him back, suckling on his tongue, making his lips tugged into a satisfied smirk.

Tugging your lower lip with his teeth, Sukuna’s four, heavily lidded eyes watched your glassy look on your face, feeling your breathless pants against his lips as his thick belly tongue started to pump in and out, in and out inside your pussy. “T-Too much, ‘kuna, hahh…”

“Yeah? Well, I changed my mind,” he murmured fondly. “Should just hire you to sit prettily on the Mountain of Needles. Have those dead losers try to have their hands on you, have them hurt themselves as they desperately try to climb up those needles… Then”—At the same, Sukuna pushed his fingers back inside your hole, this time adding another fourth finger to fist out your tight little pussy, the schlick-schlick sound of your wet pussy echoing across the hall—“I’ll fuck you on top of the mountain, have those motherfuckers watch you take my cock like a good girl, stretching your pussy out for my fat cock like the slut you are. You like that?”

“Yes yes yes!” you whined, tossing your head back, clenching your walls around his fingers tantalisingly.

Fuuuck.

“So cute, doll. So sweet for me,” he purred, leaning in to kiss your jaw. His nose nuzzled against your neck, and the scent of your sweat and aroma hit his nostrils like a damn truck. His cock twitched and convulsed, feeling too tight in his pants.

“Fuck me baby,” he groaned, toppling his weight on top of you. His lips peppered the shell of your ear with soft kisses. “You ready for me to fuck you properly?”

“Mmm, fuck—! Yes please, please…” Your blabbers went on, slurred at the end of your vowels. “Want you so bad, please!!!”

“So fucking well-mannered. Such a cute little pup,” he cooed, licking your cheek with a slowwww glide of his tongue against your adorable fat. Sukuna giggles when he hears you laugh softly at the dog lick.

Slowly, he allowed himself to lift his weight off of you, heading down to kiss your neck, collarbone, then your tits, suckling your nipple while his other hand grips your other tit. Finally, he took his lips off of your skin and stood up to his full height.

You watched him through your hooded eyes in anticipation, the tip of your mouth collecting drool as he hooked his thumbs on his waistband, all the while two of his lower arms held your thighs open. As Sukuna tugged his pants down, your eyes widened as a pair of fat cocks sprung out and you reflexively tried to clamp your thighs shut, only to be met with his strong hands forcing your legs to open up more.

He smirked down at you cockily as you tried to squirm away from his grip. “What’s the matter, doll? Thought you’ll let me take care of you.”

“B-But… you have two?” you pouted, tears forming in your eyes, especially when Sukuna gave you a lazy shrug. “It won’t fit…” 

“Shhh, it will,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss just below your eye to wipe the tear away before grinning down at you. “Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about it.”

Sukuna bit his lower lip as he tapped-tapped-tapped his cock against your clit, swivering the tip against your nub, mesmerised by how his precum and your juices mixed together, seeing how your pussy drooled and trailed down to the sleek surface of the table. Two of his hands stroked his thick shaft, and he snickered as he saw you eye the veins on his arms.

Swiping his thumb on his slit, Sukuna shoved the finger into your drooling mouth, chuckling as you smiled around him to suck his pre.

“Heh, gotta have you suck my dick off under this desk,” he groaned. “Make the judging hours good for me…”

You hummed around his thumb, nodding eagerly.

“Next time,” he chuckled. Holding his lower dick, he teasingly glided it up and down your pussy lips, from down to your hole to up to your cute clit. Sukuna gripped your thighs tightly, bracing himself before he slowly sunk into your tight hole. “…Fuck.”

His tip smooched your opening before squeezing into your pussy, your gooey walls clamping and squeezing him tightly, making his eyes roll to the back of his head and his mouth to part, panting.

“Ah— shit…” He pushed into your hole a little more, making you mewl and hands flying onto his shoulders, nails digging into his tough skin. A laugh rumbled out of him, crazed and hazy, as he started to rock his hips slowly. Every thrust pushed deeper into you, his thick veins massaging every nerve lovingly and his tip teasingly approaching closer to your cervix. His other two hands found your hip, his thumbs caressing your skin and fingers digging into your plush ass to pull you in, bottoming out.

A scream tore from you, the voice echoing and bouncing across the large hall, followed by the squelch-squelch of his balls slapping at the wetness of your skin.

“Ah, fuck-fuck-fugck—” Sukuna roughly slammed his hips against yours, growling with a boisterous laugh, watching your eyes roll back to your skull. “Feel good, yeah? You, agh, feel so good, doll. So, so good—”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you desperately pulled him closer, lips flushedly brushing against his chapped ones, panting against him, “Feels good, feels good, Sukuna. Don’t stop—!”

Bringing a hand down to your pussy, he stacked his other dick on top of your folds, pressing his girth on your clit. Your lips parted into a soft ‘oh’ as you felt his thick cock rub against your clit every time he thrusted his hips against your. Your nails raked down his back as you held onto him tightly, whining and moaning as you felt his weight crush on top of you from the mean mating press.

Sukuna tossed his head back, slapping his heavy balls against your ass as he roughly thrusted. Hooking your knees on his arms, he hugged you tightly, folding you impossibly tighter than it was possible before nuzzling his nose against your neck.

“Never fucked a pretty little dead ghost before, but… shitt, feels so good,” he rambled on, so so pussydrunk. “You’ll be my pretty girl, won’t you? Warm my bed for the night, we can bathe together in the night before we go to sleep. We’ll fuck every morning, lunch and night— heh, wonder if I can even knock you up…”

Sukuna felt your walls clench around his cock at that, making his cheeks flush bright pink, head dizzy and so fucking hazy. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

You had the audacity to look shy at that after everything, cheeks prettily mirroring his blossoming hue, eyes darted away as you nodded bashfully. Sukuna felt his heart throb and race and without a thought, he pulled you against his chest and hauled you up. Kissing your cute yelp away with full on tongue and teeths, he had two of his hands cradle your face reverently then the other two to spread your legs more, holding you as he stood to his full height.

Now you truly couldn’t escape from the pleasure, because his fat tip was punishingly smacking your cervix, then that special spot that made your eyes roll and only see white, desperately gasping for air. 

Sukuna found it too adorable how you held onto him tightly, whining against his ear like an adorable little pup as he had you bounce on his chubby cock while his second one continued to rub against your clit roughly. You keened cried out when his belly tongue lolled out to lovingly lap at your clit around his cock as well.

“Hahh, I’m close, ‘kuna.”

“Then cum, sweetheart,” he moaned, picking up speed. “Cum on my cock.”

With a cry, you came undone, your body and pussy spasming around his cock. He settled you back on the cool mahogany table, weight crushing on top of you as he panted and kept pistoning into your pussy, chasing his high.

“Shit, shit, shit!"

With a loud grunt, he gave a final thrust, heaving in effort as he came inside, painting your walls in white.

"That was good,” he breathed heavily, peppering your jaw with kisses. He watched you with amusement lighting up in his eyes, seeing your eyes glazed over, staring up at the ceiling blankly, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, blissed out. “You good?”

You blinked then nodded absentmindedly.

Chuckling, he scooped you up to hold you against him as he sat back onto his large chair, running his large palm across your back.

He silently promised to himself that he would never have you escape him into heaven. No, you’re going to stay with him, true to his words for the rest of eternity. A cute little dead ghost warming his bed.

Yeah, that sound better than heaven.

taglist (open)! @daflex, @moonlightbunnies, @brightbriefs

It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).

At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.

"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."

"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.

"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."

Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."

An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.

After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.

Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.

Or… didn't want to?

***

One basketball match changed everything.

"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.

"Geez, finally, where have you been?"

Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.

"There was a line!"

"Huh? What?"

"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"

She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."

Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.

"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.

"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.

"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"

Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.

Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.

Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.

"Who are you gawking at, huh?"

Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.

You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.

Your hand fell limply to your side.

"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"

The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."

Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.

The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.

But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.

Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.

"This is for you."

He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.

Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.

Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.

You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.

A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.

Gojo found you later, at the party.

You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.

"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"

Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."

"They both are, actually."

A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.

He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.

A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."

At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.

"You think so?"

"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.

Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.

No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.

His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.

"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.

Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.

"You are?"

"Yeah".

The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.

You already missed its warmth.

"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."

You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.

"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.

"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."

"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"

You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."

"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"

You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."

A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"

Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."

A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"

Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.

Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.

He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.

You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.

Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.

The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.

Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.

"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."

A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.

"Of course."

Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.

"I love you."

Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?

And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.

For you knew that night would be your last one.

Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.

A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.

"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.

The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.

"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."

A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.

"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"

Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."

"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"

You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.

"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."

He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."

His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.

And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.

"I love you. And I am so sorry."

***

You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.

"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."

"I think we should break up."

Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."

Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?

"I said we should break up."

That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."

"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."

The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.

"Care to explain why?"

A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."

All of them lie, of course.

So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.

"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."

The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.

"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."

You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.

The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.

"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"

"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."

His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."

Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."

You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.

He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.

And never would.

Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.

"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"

Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.

"What?"

A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."

"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"

"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"

"And as I said, I don't care — "

"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.

"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."

Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.

"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."

Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.

He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."

"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."

"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"

The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?

But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.

"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.

Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."

You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.

"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."

You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.

"Is that what you want?"

"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."

The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.

After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.

Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.

"Satoru."

His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Yes?"

That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.

"I love you."

Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.

***

These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.

You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.

Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.

What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.

Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.

What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?

The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?

Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.

You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...

A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.

You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.

You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.

"Satoru? What are you doing here?"

Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.

But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.

"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."

The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.

"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.

"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.

"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.

You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.

"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."

That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."

His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"

Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.

Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."

"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."

He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.

But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted?  To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.

"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."

That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.

Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.

Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.

After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.

"Get in."

Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.

"Yes, ma'am."

The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.

You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.

"Whoa, marshmallows."

"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."

Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.

Damn those puppy eyes.

Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"

He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.

Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.

"Not so good."

You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea ​​buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.

Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

"I am sorry, but —"

Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.

That was all because of you, right?

Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.

You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?

"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."

You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"

He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.

"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"

You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.

" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."

Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.

Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.

"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."

A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.

"What have you done, Satoru?"

He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."

"Oh —"

"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."

You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.

"Have you fucking lost your mind?"

Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.

"Are you an idiot?"

Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."

"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All because of me!?"

Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.

"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"

"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"

"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"

Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.

You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.

He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."

You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"

Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.

"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."

Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"

Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?

Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.

"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."

You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.

"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."

"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"

"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."

A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.

"Where do you live now?"

"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "

Your smile slowly disappeared.

" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."

"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.

"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"

Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."

"Where?"

Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.

"Eh…France."

He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"

Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.

"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."

Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.

"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."

"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"

What about me?

"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."

"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."

"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."

As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.

Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.

"What about Nobara?"

Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.

"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."

"Huh?!"

"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."

Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.

The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.

He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…

He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"

Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."

Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?

Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"

"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."

"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."

Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?

One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.

"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."

You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.

"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?

It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.

So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.

You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.

Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"

Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.

"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."

"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."

As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."

"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."

A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.

"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.

"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.

"Oh, fuck."

Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.

"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."

Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.

Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.

After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.

You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.

You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.

You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."

Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.

"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."

"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.

"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.

"It's okay, you can laugh."

The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.

"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"

Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."

Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.

"Were you serious?"

He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"

The next words came in a hesitant whisper.

"Moving with me to France."

Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"

You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."

"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."

You couldn't fight with that argument.

"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."

And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.

"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"

You wordlessly glanced at him.

" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."

His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.

"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"

Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.

"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."

You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.

"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."

"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."

"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."

Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."

"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."

Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.

"So…we are really going to France."

Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.

"We really are."

***

The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.

A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.

"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."

Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"

Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.

"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.

"Ah, Satoru…"

When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.

Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.

Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.

"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.

"Satoru…"

"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."

You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.

"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."

With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"

Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.

Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.

"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."

You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."

Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.

"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"

With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.

"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.

Wrong move.

Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.

"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."

Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.

The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.

Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.

"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "

Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.

"I love you."

Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.

"I love you more."

You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.

"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"

"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."

Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.

"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"

"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."

"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.

"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."

Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.

Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.

"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."

She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.

"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."

You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…

"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.

"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"

"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."

"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.

"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"

In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"

So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.

"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.

And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.

Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.

You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.

You were worth everything.

“I got you a coffee,” you offered, your short little pencil skirt riding up your thighs as you chased after your boss through the lobby of his fancy office building in the center of the city. 

“Thanks,” he grinned at you, grabbing it just to place all the papers he’d been holding in your hands instead, pushing even more on top while you awkwardly opened and shut your mouth to stop yourself from saying anything. 

He took a small sip, scrunched his nose up while Toji struggled not to scoff out loud from where he was pretending to read a magazine in the corner next to the other waiting clients, all of them eagerly hoping to meet with the not-so-great Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not sweet enough,” Gojo criticized, masking his attitude with playfulness, acting like a child while you apologized to him as if you’d done something wrong by thinking of him. 

He wasn’t listening. Just kept moving towards the elevators, pulling his phone from his pockets to make a phone call to some other prick, probably. 

You scrambled behind him, folders stacked up in your arms, the coffee cup precariously balanced on top of the pile. 

God, what kind of fucking loser didn't carry his own stuff? 

His pretty little assistant he used more like a pack mule. 

It didn’t take long to find out your name. 

From there, everything else was easy. 

Finding out where you lived was as simple as following you from your car to your shitty little apartment, poorly paid and scraping by while your boss lived in his luxury penthouse on the opposite side of the city. Figuring out what foods you liked from what you spent too long looking at in the grocery store before you sighed and tossed a bag of rice in your cart instead. Snapping photos of you from afar like a fucking secret admirer through your window once you got back home, time stamped and saved to a special folder on his laptop, watching you shed your coat and clothes, trading them in for t-shirts and pajama pants. 

Toji wasn’t a stalker though.

Of course not. 

He was just doing what he was paid for. 

And what easier way was there to get to Gojo than through his cute, clueless assistant? 

You weren’t even aware when he trailed behind you on the street, head trained forward, always in a rush, scampering from place to place without stopping. Running errands for a man who couldn’t care less about you.

And in this city, you might be the only person as alone as him. 

Toji couldn’t put his finger on when studying you had become less of a chore and more of a habit. Day four? Week two?

Watching and waiting for the right time to approach? 

For all his expertise, his ability to move through the world unseen, unnoticed, it worked against him for once when you ran straight into him trying to leave your usual coffee shop, turning when he hadn’t expected it and smacking into his chest at full speed.

The coffee – something cold and sugary and sweet – splashed over both of you, your white shirt soaked through to see a pale pink bra underneath, your face flushing for the wrong reasons as you immediately started rattling off apologies.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to use the few napkins you grabbed to dab at his t-shirt, rubbing uselessly despite the fabric already being black. “I wasn’t paying attention, and-” 

“S’fine,” he grunted, yanking one from his hand to wipe off your shirt instead. 

You didn’t stop him. 

Just froze, standing completely still as he dragged the napkin over your chest while it heaved, listening to you suck in a sharp breath. 

When was the last time you’d even been intimate with a man if him cleaning your shirt had you practically pressing your thighs together in that prissy skirt of yours? 

Admittedly, there was a distinct disgust churning in him at the image of you being intimate with someone else, despite how quickly he rejected it.

It wasn't like you were more than a mark to Toji.

He squinted, eyes narrowing as his attention shifted to your face just to find you openly gawking at his broad chest, lips still parted mid-apology. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” you practically squeaked, looking up at all with big, surprised eyes.  

“Whatever,” he tch-ed, digging out his last ten dollar bill from his wallet and holding it out despite the urge to just toss it at you to see what you’d do. 

You shook your head, oblivious to the fact he was well-aware just how strapped to cash you really were, biting your bottom lip. “I can’t, I mean, that was really my fault, and-” 

“Don’t make me put it in your purse, doll,” he huffed at you, even if he almost said bra. Tempted to tuck it in, wondering if you’d let him. 

Did you even have it in you to stand up for yourself? 

How the hell did a pretty thing like you survive so long on your own like this? 

“A-are you sure?” You stuttered, glancing back over him again. 

His pride took a fucking hit at your uncertainty. 

Did he seriously look like he couldn’t spare a ten dollar bill? Was it the sweatpants? 

He showered this morning, bothered to spritz on cologne when he usually couldn’t give a shit. Toji ran his fingers through his hair, jaw locking as his eyes narrowed.

“You got a pen?” He grumbled, wagering that you definitely did. Maybe he hadn’t seen the inside of your purse, but he’d been watching you long enough to know what its contents were. 

In a not creepy way. 

“Yes?” You blinked, somehow cuter when you were confused. 

Still though, you were obedient, anticipating him asking for it and just digging it out from your bag to hand to him. The tip of it had been bitten, another little hint of how nervous you were by nature. 

He took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against your much softer ones, a jolt of electricity traveling up his arm at the simple touch, the soft way your breath paused. You had to feel it too. 

Toji scribbled his number down. 

His personal cell. 

You were beaming before he even finished writing the last number, standing up straighter, sticking your chest out more. 

“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” he grunted, giving you the pen before the dollar, holding it out over your head, your stare flickering from his face to the money. “Text me.” 

He wanted you to reach for it. 

To chase him. 

But three more days passed – and he hadn’t heard a peep. 

Toji knew what you were up to, tracking you instead of his target, taking notes on everything you did instead of texting him. You stared at your phone at home though, left the dollar bill sitting on your kitchen counter, running your fingers over his writing as if you weren’t sure what to do. 

He supposed he’d have to help you figure it out then. 

Especially considering Shiu was starting to get on his ass about getting the job done. 

Because that was what this was supposed to be about – a means to an end. 

Faking a name tag was easy. Digging up the old utility overalls he’d seen some of the other maintenance workers wear at your office, the sort of position no one ever paid any mind to until they were needed for something. He didn't get much sleep, trading in his night shift watching you go to sleep for snooping around your office. And in the morning, after going back to his car to put on some cologne, he walked back in through the lobby like he was supposed to be there, not even getting courtesy nods from your coworkers. 

Toji had memorized your schedule. 

So he knew to be in the third floor break room at ten, pretending to fix something in the ceiling when you walked in to make a cup of coffee. 

For yourself this time. 

He was climbing down from the ladder he stole from a storage closet when you sighed and started cleaning up the mess the last person had left by the coffee machine. You didn’t notice, didn’t even turn until you went to grab a mug from the shelf, frowning when you realized they had all been moved to the top shelf. 

A nice touch, in his opinion.  

Setting everything up to be the one to take care of it for you, stepping behind you, close enough for you to feel his chest on your back as he reached up to get it for you. 

“Here,” he grumbled, and you slowly spun around to face him. 

Stuck between his sturdy body and the cold counter, frozen in surprise at him being here. He wondered if you’d be scared, suspicious. 

It was funny to watch you get so flustered instead, completely frazzled as you tried to find the words to say. 

“Um, you, uh, work here?” You finally managed, and he just raised a brow, the scar over his mouth twitching as he gestured towards the name tag on his belt. 

You blushed again, your attention drifting to something else by it, the bulge he hadn't meant to be sporting. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, a low drawl that made you smile at him. 

It was sunny. You were. Bright, not bitter. Absolutely unaware that the world revolved around you. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, even though you had no actual reason to. Maybe for not messaging him back. Maybe for stealing glances at his dick. 

He paused, a weird strained feeling taking over his chest, constricting his lungs when you tilted your head to the side. 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” you added, holding your breath. 

“I’ve seen you,” he shrugged, and your entire face practically lit up at the idea someone had been paying attention to you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to stifle it. To keep it contained, to make yourself smaller in front of him, like he wouldn’t like you if you weren’t soft-spoken. 

“Do you think you could take a look at the phones in my office? Well, Mr. Gojo’s,” you corrected yourself, toying with your fingers before cringing. “Only if you're available, of course. I put in a ticket but-”

“Sure,” he grunted. 

As long as the actual maintenance guy didn’t come, you’d never know the difference. After all, that was why he’d broken in last night. Disconnecting the phones himself, creating a couple issues with a few of the computers in the sales team downstairs that the real department would be too busy to handle any of your problems. If you ever pieced together he didn’t actually work there, it wouldn’t be until long after he was gone.

He'd prefer it if you never knew any better. 

And Shiu never said he couldn’t have some fun first. 

He followed you back to your office, not hiding his stare, enjoying how you were already squirming, nervously shifting and looking over your shoulder at him every few feet. 

“You didn’t have to do it now,” you mumbled, embarrassed, but he shrugged. 

Rolling his shoulders back to remind you how broad they were, catching the flash of you biting your lip before you faced forward again. 

Everything about you was far more fucking adorable than it had any right to be. 

Toji had never really gotten the appeal of stuffed animals. He never had any when he was a kid. No softness, no warmth, nothing small and sweet to hug. But you reminded him of one.

Or maybe that was just the urge to pick you up and squeeze you hard. 

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” He gruffly asked, gesturing ahead as you hit the button for the elevator to take you both to the top floor. 

“They just ring, and um, nothing happens,” you tried to explain, smoothing down your skirt self-consciously. 

He nodded, like he knew what the problem could be, and he did, actually. Because he caused it. 

The elevator doors opened, thankfully empty. There was something annoying about the idea of sharing you – even for a minute. 

Toji told himself that you were just less irritating than other people. That it had nothing to do with you in particular, just how disgusting the rest of the world was. 

But he was still observing how you pushed the button, how quickly you went back to fiddling with your fingers and picking at your cuticles. Clasping your hands in front of you, maybe just remembering the fact you forgot your coffee back in the break room. Left it by the pot you brewed, your lip gloss staining the rim from the single sip you'd taken and the drink inside growing cold. 

Did you confess? 

Admit you wanted to go back and grab it? 

Nope. 

He knew you wouldn’t. All that meant was another excuse to go back and get it for you himself, maybe make you a fresh one to cement his spot in your good graces, to get your guard down. 

The elevator dinged, opening up to wooden floors and soft lighting. Wall art he had briefly contemplated stealing the night before, although he skipped since it’d be a bitch to sell. 

Besides, he’d have more than enough money to cover anything he wanted to buy soon enough. 

“Um, the phone’s over here,” you shyly said, leading him over to your desk. 

Toji nodded, a low grunt of acknowledgement leaving his throat while he pretended to work on it, messing around with cables. 

You were watching him, taking your seat and clicking away on your keyboard despite your eyes constantly flickering over to his. 

He pretended he didn’t notice. Setting his jaw in a firm line while he unplugged stuff just to put it in different outlets. He considered tapping the lines, just to listen in to whatever you were saying during the day, but then he'd have to justify that expense to Shiu, and he really didn’t fucking feel like getting a lecture. 

His handler would tell him just to take out the target already. Stop wasting his time getting close to a liability. 

But of all the risks Toji had taken, you were the easiest one of all.

Would you let him find an excuse to get under your desk? Maybe catch a peek at whatever pair of panties you picked out today? 

Your personal phone rang – and you were scrambling to pick it up and answer. 

“Hello?” Your voice lilted up, all pure and sweet, and Toji immediately loathed whoever you were addressing. 

It wasn’t anything he could control, just instinctual irritation, a cheese grater to his patience watching you sit up straighter in your chair while you listened to whoever was on the other end. 

“Of course, sir,” you chirped. He had to stop himself from snapping the cord he was holding when he caught how you were subtly twirling your hair. Glancing down at your lap and sucking in a sharp breath before you mumbled, “Sorry, Satoru.” 

Toji had to look down to make sure he didn't somehow electrocute himself when the edges of his vision tinged with red, annoyance rolling into a tight ball of anger. The hard kind that couldn't crack, just rolled around in the pit of his stomach, demanding something be done about it. 

“Okay, see you in thirty.” You smiled. A soft one, biting it back before plastering a practiced expression of professionalism, probably remembering Toji was still here. 

He scowled at the realization Gojo coming back meant he should probably skip bringing you that coffee. Didn't want to risk running into him too soon. 

You hung up, and he shoved the last cord back in the correct place. 

“Try now,” he growled, picking the phone up from the receiver and passing it to you.

You took it from him, your fingertips brushing against his again, all gentle as you cradled it between your shoulder and ear, nails clicking on the keypad. Relief flooded your face when it worked, looking up at him like you were thankful. 

Gratitude wasn't something Toji knew how to receive. 

He was used to the exchange of cash, of cold demands that ended in death. Your warmth was alien. 

What had a guy like Satoru Gojo ever done to deserve it? 

Was this jealousy? Bitter and begging to be addressed, his skin itching at imagining the man getting your company all day long, having you at his beck and call. 

Whatever it was, Toji was going to fucking squash it. 

“Thank you, it was really nice of you-”

“What are you doing after work?” He interrupted before you could finish rambling, making all the reasons why you were easy to take advantage of excruciatingly obvious. You were too sweet. Too nice. Acting like he was a saint for fixing your phone, unaware he was the sinner who broke it to begin with. Who'd break your boss too, the second he got the chance. 

“Um, nothing?” You blinked. Your lips were still parted, but you didn't say anything. 

“Wanna grab drinks?” He grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Toji wanted to lean across the desk, put his palm flat on top of your useless papers and peek at your cleavage, but you were the sort that scared easily. 

The confusion on your face was cute. 

“Like, as coworkers?” You were clueless. “Are other people coming or-” 

Did you seriously fucking think you were just getting left out of some after work hangout? 

“Like a date,” he clarified, struggling not to contain his urge to bend you over your desk and show you just how not-platonic his interest was. 

“With me?” 

You were gawking, but there was an unmistakable air of giddiness to your face, a grin you couldn't suppress even under all that shock. 

“Did I stutter, doll?” Toji gruffly said, walking around your desk until your eye level was at his mid-riff. Your hand tightened around the armrest, slowly dragging your stare up like you could see the truth in his face. 

“Um, sure,” you nodded, still unsure of how serious he was. “If you want to.” 

“I want you,” he easily shrugged, making his point clear. 

He wasn't delicate. Wouldn't skirt around shit like your Satoru did. Being blunt was the only way to get it through that pretty skull of yours anyway. 

“I'll be waiting for you out front at six.” That was when you usually scampered out anyway, frazzled and exhausted from handling a man child's chores all day. 

“Okay,” you spoke softly, betraying your feelings by covering your mouth with your hands, hiding a smile behind them. 

He turned to leave, but he kept his eyes on you all the way to the elevator. 

You watched him too. He might have a job to do. 

Toji was just going to fuck you first. 

Was this how it felt to have a crush? 

Well, one that wasn’t hopeless and unattainable? 

You’d been wasting years wishing Satoru noticed you. And in a matter of days, someone else had snuck up on you. A spilled coffee. A phone number. And now, a date. 

When was the last time you'd even been on one? 

You frowned at your reflection in the mirror, fingers working to undo another button of your shirt and hike up your skirt a little higher. Half of you was disappointed that he hadn't asked you out on a different night, or given you enough time to go home and get changed into something a little more sexy and less like you just stepped out of an investor meeting. 

But the rest of you was just glad he wanted to go out with you at all. 

You tried to tell yourself you had less time to overthink this way. That you wouldn't be distracted for days until the date, waiting for him to cancel. 

But when you walked out of the building at six, leaving a sticky note for Satoru whenever he stepped out of his office letting him know you couldn’t stay late tonight, Toji was true to his word, waiting for you in a beat-up black car. 

It wasn’t sleek, wasn’t shiny and freshly glossed like Satoru’s, but it looked fast. His window was rolled down, his arm resting on it while his defined jaw unclenched at the sight of you standing there and staring. 

“You comin’?” 

Was it wrong to hope he’d make sure you did by the end of the night? 

You scampered over, glancing around to see a few of your coworkers looking your way before you pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. His eyes raked over you, that white scar that ran across the corner of his lips twitching up as he smirked. 

He was broader than Satoru, stockier. All muscles, all man. 

His dark hair was shaggy, not carefully styled, his sturdy fingers running through it as he measured you the same way you measured him. He must’ve gone home and changed, in a dark shirt that clung to his chest, made you take note of his biceps bulging underneath his sleeves, probably big enough to make them burst if he strained hard enough. Wearing jeans, no name tag hanging on his belt now. 

But you already memorized his name. 

Toji. 

It had been on the forefront of your thoughts all day, right there with the rest of his words. He saw you. He wanted you. 

Invited you out like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

You were so distracted by, well, everything about him that you forgot to buckle your seatbelt until he stretched across the center console and did it for you. There was something kinda funny about a gruff guy like him taking care of something so small like that for you, grunting under his breath as it clicked into place. 

Maybe just an excuse to be close to you, to touch you again. 

You didn’t mind. 

His attention was nice. 

You didn’t know what to say though, awkwardly glancing between him and outside the window, wondering what a typical conversation looked like on a first date. 

“So, um, do you like your job?” You heard yourself ask, almost immediately wishing you hadn’t just from his soft scoff, the subtle arch of his thin brow while he pulled out onto the road. 

“It pays the bills,” he shrugged, and you tried to nod sympathetically. You were about to spout out something polite, but then he opened his mouth to talk again, giving you that dangerous bit of side eye that made your heart skip a beat. “But it ain’t so bad. Gotta meet you because of it, didn’t I, doll?” 

And there it was again.

Doll. 

Satoru sometimes called you sweetheart, but that didn’t send a shiver down your spine, didn’t have that low rumble to it that gave you goosebumps. When he said it like that, you wouldn’t really mind being a pretty toy for him to play with. 

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, blushing hard as you tried to swallow your anxieties. 

You were overworked. Exhausted. Barely making it by on caffeine and four hours of sleep most days. But you were here. In a hot guy’s car being flirted with on the way to a bar. 

He briefly looked at you before turning back to face the road, but you could see the satisfaction in the crook of his smile. 

“Relax a little, baby,” he hummed, reaching over – and for a second, you thought he was going to grab your thigh. You hadn’t realized it was hope until he just turned up the radio instead. But with a second flash of that scar and that smirk, you were smiling back at him. “We’re gonna have fun tonight." 

It still took two glasses of wine for you to start to unwind, a pleasant buzz floating around in your chest, coloring your world in warm hues as he leaned in next to you, his barstool dragged close enough for his muscled thigh to be constantly brushing against yours. A massive palm casually resting on your side, pulling you in every time someone got into what could be considered your personal space. 

He didn’t talk about himself. 

Or that much, really. 

He’d ask a few questions, then let you ramble. Sometimes, his expression would shift, his harsh and blunt edges softening when you talked about the future, about how you wanted to quit someday, find a job that wouldn’t burn you out. But it hardened a few times too, scowling when you mentioned Satoru, glaring when a drunk guy bumped into you. 

And yeah, you got it. Your boss was a bit of an…acquired taste. 

It didn’t surprise you that he managed to piss off one of his employees, especially when you spent most of your days cleaning up the messes he made. 

“When did you start?” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject back to him. To get to know him properly. To be the best date you could be – or at least good enough that he might want to take you home. 

“A while ago,” he shrugged, another vague answer as he polished off the last of his whiskey. 

He didn’t even seem buzzed. 

“I feel like an idiot for not noticing you there before,” you admitted, tugging down the hem of your skirt self-consciously, shyly looking up to meet his open stare. 

“S’fine,” he grunted, unbothered. 

You didn’t know what to make of him past the fact he was ridiculously attractive. 

Toji was abrasive. The rough side of the sponge scraping up your silverware, the hard counter edge you bumped into when you weren't expecting it, the sharp rock that sliced open the soles of your feet when you forgot to wear shoes outside. But being around him left you hoping to get cut by him. Fingers crossed that he’d be interested enough to peel you apart and stay long enough to stitch you back together – even if it was sloppy.

After being surrounded by people who only ever plastered on fake smiles and feigned politeness, he felt like the first breath of fresh air you had in forever. Something raw and real in a world full of plastic. 

He wasn’t polished. Wasn’t perfect. 

But you’d never been either. And you were tired of pretending and playing along. 

You took another long sip of your wine, the last drop lingering on your tongue as you pushed your empty glass forward too. 

He chuckled, almost appreciatively. Snagging the drinks menu and sliding it back over to you, letting his fingers linger on top of it like he wanted to remind you how large they were. 

“Pick your poison.” 

“I think I should probably get a water,” you murmured, a little worried he might think that was lame. 

He ordered you one anyway though, chuckling when you wiped away the ring of condensation from the counter after they took your glass away.

“Don’t wanna get drunk with me?” He taunted, butterflies in your stomach fluttering when he cocked his head to the side. “I’m hurt.” 

He wasn’t, not really. But you got the feeling he liked teasing you. 

“I just don’t wanna think this was all a dream tomorrow,” you laughed, forcing it to sound lighter than it really was. You really just refused to let yourself get so wasted that you might black out an entire date or embarrass yourself in front of him. 

His eyes narrowed, like he was the one that couldn’t discern if you were being serious. 

“You callin’ me dreamy?” He dryly mocked, and that pretty jaw of his clenched, like it was a joke.

“I mean, it’s just kind of hard to believe a guy like you wants to go out with someone like me,” you murmured, offering a small smile to the bartender when he pushed a glass of water over to you. 

“A guy like me?” He challenged, and you cringed at your ability to stick your foot in your mouth. You didn’t know if you actually offended him, if that was even possible, but you slipped your hand over his.  

“Y’know,” you drawled, tracing your fingertips over his veins, holding your breath. “Attractive and-”

He snorted.  

“So what does that make you?” He raised a question you’d never really been able to answer. There were labels you assigned yourself, but all those really amounted to was what roles you played for other people. 

Lately, all you felt like was Satoru’s assistant. 

Barely your own person. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Just me?” 

“I like you,” he easily said.

“You don’t know me,” you pointed back out, bringing your water glass up to your lips to take a sip. Maybe he thought you were pretty. Maybe you’d caught his eye. But there was a difference in that and knowing what your favorite-

“You stay late even when you’re exhausted. You think of everyone else when no one gives a shit. Show up with coffee and pastries for other people when you can barely afford to pay for your parking pass. You never take your lunch break-” He was listing facts like he was bored, proving his point with the overhead lights glittering back in his green eyes. You almost choked on your water, and he slipped his hand out from your other one to drag his thumb over your lips. 

It felt scandalous. Like he was just waiting to commit some grave sin with how slowly he brushed it over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to make you wonder what his mouth would feel like, how his taste would compare to his touch. 

But then he let go, dropped his hand down just to make you miss it. 

“You kinda sound like a stalker,” you giggled, unable to stop yourself from grinning at being seen. 

There was some faint alarm bell you knew should be ringing, but your head had been emptied out to make room for more thoughts of him. 

He chuckled, and your chest tightened. 

“What’d you think I was giving you my number for?” He sarcastically asked, dark eyes narrowing under the dim lighting as he brought his own glass up to his lips. 

You stifled another smile. “To pay for my shirt?”

“I was thinkin’ about getting you out of it.”

Toji was shameless. 

And every flirt, every searing gaze of his that stuck to your skin and stoked that fire in your stomach? You were falling for it. For him. 

Would you be a whore for sleeping with him on the first date? 

Maybe, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it mattered. 

You were about to suggest maybe returning to your apartment, but your phone started vibrating, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your disappointment. 

“Hold on one second?” You nervously asked, and he nodded.

“Sure,” he barked, all gravelly, not helping the simmering heat still burning under your skin. You pulled your phone out, glancing around the bar for some semi-quiet spot to take the call. 

You settled on a hallway that led to the bathrooms, heels clicking on the floor as you hurried over, grateful that Toji had chosen a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, one that wasn’t packed with people to navigate through. 

“Hello?” Your voice waivered, face flushing at the mental image of what your boss was probably doing on the other end. Scowling down at the note you left him? 

“The hell are you?” Satoru whined on the other end, apparently not happy at your absence. 

“I’m on a date,” you whispered back into the speaker, just for him to scoff back. The sound of it, even tinny and crackling through the line, fucking stung. 

As if it was actually so absurd that you could be with someone. 

“I need you here,” he huffed. “We’re supposed to be preparing for tomorrow’s meetings.”

You tapped your foot, glancing back to the end of the hallway, picturing Toji sitting on the stool waiting for you. 

“I already prepared all your slideshows. Anything you need should already be labeled and on your desk,” you muttered, doing your best to still sound professional. Collected. Calm. Put-together instead of just a weak-willed pushover. 

Toji wasn’t wrong. You spent all your time thinking of Satoru when he really couldn’t care less. You were just convenient to him. That was what he paid you to be. 

“I can’t find it,” he grumbled. Lied. 

“I also emailed everything to you,” you added, and he didn’t bother to hide his whine of annoyance. 

Irritated that you had a life outside of him. That your existence wasn’t solely devoted to making his easier. 

“Who are you even ditching me for?” Satoru was pouting. You could hear it in his voice.

“If you really must know, he works in the maintenance department and-” 

He laughed at you. 

“Leave that loser.” 

Was that what he thought? That the best you could get was a fucking loser?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Satoru.” You hung up on him. Slipped your phone back in your purse, looking up just to see Toji leaning against the wall across from you. 

Startled, you stepped back, blinking and trying to figure out how someone as big and broad as him managed to sneak up on you.

“He botherin’ you?” Toji grunted, gesturing towards your purse.

“No, um, just work stuff,” you lied. 

You didn’t want to tell him the CEO of the company basically called him a loser. It felt mean, and you were worried he’d somehow think you shared the same impression. 

“Yeah?” He angled his head down to look at you, and his proximity made your pulse race, wild thumps roaring in your head as he took two steps closer. 

“I hung up on him,” you admitted, even though he hadn’t asked. Feeling bold just by being with him, as if you were already getting away with something. 

“You wanna give me all that attention instead, baby?” His voice was deep, a gruff purr that had you nodding. 

Your obedience earned a pleased hum. 

And even better, a kiss. 

The kind that knocked the air from your lungs, his calloused hands cupping your face as he claimed your lips for himself. You kissed him back just as hard, craning your neck up into it, tethering your fingers through his dark locks while you sucked on his lower lip. 

He tasted like whiskey. But his lips were soft enough to make you overlook the feeling that came with wondering if this was a mistake. 

If Satoru would fire you for wanting to get fucked instead of running back to fuss over him. 

Toji wasn’t the sort of guy who’d let you linger on silly worries though. No, his canines were already tugging at you, nipping at the spots you’d bitten out of stress, one of his rough palms travelling down your body, settling on your waist to pull you flush against his hard body. 

You wanted to touch him. 

To pull off his shirt and trace your fingers over all his muscles, map them out and drag your tongue over them. His was busy, already in your mouth, muffling your surprised gasp when his grip on your side suddenly squeezed tight. 

“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, an intangible thread in your stomach pulling taut at the sound. 

He dragged you back inside the bathroom, the employee one, like he wanted the thrill of fucking you in public with less of a risk of being walked in on. 

It was sleazy.

But the exhilaration of his hand now on your hip, the way his fingers dug in and wrinkled your skirt as he pulled you through the door, your back being pushed against the cold sink as his mouth latched onto your throat next, it outweighed any rational thought your brain could conjure up. 

You wanted him. 

The world could wait. 

This was more real than anything else your reality had to offer. His tongue licking a clean line up from your collarbone to your jaw, going back to leave messy hickies, claiming you as his. For tonight, at least. 

Hopefully longer. 

But you kept that thought to yourself, only letting small whines escape as his hand ventured under your skirt, toying with your panties underneath, slipping two fingers underneath it, testing how much the band could give. 

You didn’t want to scare him off. Push him away before he'd even put his dick inside you. 

He seemed like he specialized in one-night-stands. Like he was used to getting who he wanted when he wanted. And really, you were just so fucking sick of being single. 

Of being lonely. 

The hand that had still been on your face moved back, suddenly cradling the back of your neck, squeezing enough to make your head tilt back and give him easy access to more of you. 

There was a vulnerability to it, letting him sink his teeth into your throat, marking you up enough that the bruises would bleed through your concealer tomorrow.

But then Toji was tearing your panties off, easily rolling the flimsy fabric that you truthfully paid too much for, shoving what was left of it in his pocket before prying your thighs apart. 

You spread them further, your lungs freezing half-full of air as you watched him drag his eyeline down to your exposed cunt, already embarrassingly wet after just a couple hours spent in his company. 

He hiked your skirt higher, appreciatively admiring it, clicking his tongue as he shoved a thick finger inside you. Clearly, he’d taken note of how much you noticed them. 

You were gasping before he even made it down to the knuckle. Eyes widening, your hands immediately shifting to claw at his shoulder blades for some stability when you tried to contain your reaction. 

But Toji wasn’t going to let that slide. Refused to let you hide every lewd reflex – shoving another finger inside to join the first just to force out a strangled moan at the feeling of him stretching you open. 

Scissoring you at a tempo that bordered on lethal, only pausing his onslaught of kisses to watch your face when you said his name, all pitchy, almost pathetic. Putty for him with just a couple fingers. 

“Ya’ like that, pretty?” He grumbled, fraying with impatience, already itching to add another – or maybe trade his fingers out for something bigger. 

“Mm, mhm,” you murmured, nodding as you reclined your head back, the cold edge of the counter digging into your skin as he pulled you closer to him just to make you jolt again at the next pump of his fingers. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re runnin’ from me then, doll?” He dared, his eyes dark, his lips pulled into a thin line as you shook your head the other way. 

The intensity he came with was a double-edged sword. Drawing you in one second and threatening to spear you the next. Chasing the high of being fucked full just to run from the burn, the stretch, the pleasure when he pushed you right on the edge of a cliff the next. Finding yourself teetering a tightrope you never meant to walk on. 

“S’too-” You sounded slurred, even though the only thing you really felt drunk on was him. 

“Hm?” He waited for you to finish, stalling his next thrust with his fingers buried deep enough to reach a spot that was a little too sensitive, knowingly swirling against it while you squirmed. 

You were a wreck and he hadn’t even managed to make you cum yet. 

The too much that had been about to leave your lips replaced with a desperate plea for more. 

Your skin was hot, sweat sticking to your brows as he dug his fingers deeper, felt the sinful way you squeezed them, panting as tears started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

There was no running. Being spread and stuffed on a bathroom sink by a handsome man who might as well be a stranger, fingers poking and prodding at all your sensitive spots, readjusting his hand so his thumb could rub over your clit.

“Thought you had something to say?” He wryly mocked, and you were pretty positive you’d forgotten everything except his name. 

“T-Toji,” you whined, body stuck, all your muscles wound too tightly, hips arching up to meet his hand.

He kissed you again, harder, rougher. Crashing into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under, lost between him and the pleasure, being tossed around with each thrust of his fingers. Climaxing without even meaning to, not even a conscious choice, just being pulled into the motions as he massaged rough circles over your needy bud. 

And then you were sucking in air, his fingers pulling back out with a filthy pop! before he brought it up to his mouth and took a taste. Sucking on them and groaning at the second-hand flavor of you on his tongue. 

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” 

You should’ve known making you cum once wouldn’t satisfy him. 

Or twice. 

He had you up against the wall of his shower, your face pressed against the cool tile as his hips smacked against your ass, pounding into it as he continued to leave more hickies. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he grunted, his thick cock throbbing inside you, swollen tip nudging and grinding against your cervix like he owned it. Dragging himself along your walls, making sure you felt every vein, every ridge, warm water pelting both your bodies. “Look how good you're takin’ me.” 

His hand ran over the curve of your ass, softly patting it. It wasn’t a spank, but you wanted it to be. 

You shivered as he bottomed back out, leaning against him, mostly held up by him by now. “M-more.” 

“Greedy fucking girl,” he chuckled, but his voice was raspy too, running his hand back over your ass. “You want me to spank you?” 

You nodded, embarrassed to admit it. 

“Say it,” he groaned, and you squeaked. Surprised at the sudden stall of his cock, feeling yourself squeezing and squirming for him to keep going. 

“Please?” 

His hand came down, leaving a harsh smack that made you clench around him more, a moan escaping that echoed in the cramped space. 

Toji rubbed back over it, his fingers still damp, murmuring something low you couldn't make out under the shower running. But then he was back to thrusting, faster now, like he wasn't finished imprinting the shape of him into you. 

It was all moans, all skin-on-skin, lewd sounds and heavy pumps, his strokes only getting sloppier when his hand slipped over your clit. Intent on making you cum for him again, his jaw clenched when you tensed up. Planting kisses up your throat, teeth marking you with an unspoken mine when you shuddered and finished, white splotching across your vision as your limbs threatened to go limp. 

Toji pulled out, finishing on your back just for the water to wash his cum away. Down the drain with the soap suds. 

He whispered your name into your neck, soft lips tracing back over the mess of hickies he'd left. You were in a haze, brain foggy and chest still full even after your cunt was empty again, leaning against him when he cleaned you up. 

You never would’ve guessed he used the same brand of shampoo or conditioner as you. It was funny how many products you mutually had. Even the hand soap was a familiar bottle, new too, hardly used. 

He dried you off with a patchy towel, wrapping it around you and shutting off the shower. Pulling you back to his bed, half-made navy blankets in a mostly-barren room. The lamp by his bed was crooked, but there wasn't all that much personal stuff laying around. No posters decorating his wall. 

Nothing else to learn about him from his possessions. 

“Tired?” He grumbled, tossing you a t-shirt of his. 

“Mhm,” you yawned, dropping the towel to pull it over your head. No panties, but you figured you didn't really need any to sleep in anyway. 

You still felt nervous getting into his bed, waiting for him to get in with you. He hesitated, staring at you strangely before he grabbed a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled them up his thick thighs. 

Toji got in next to you, stiff, awkward, before holding out his arm, like he was waiting for you to snuggle up beside him. 

Maybe he wasn't as much of a man whore as you initially thought. 

He was acting new to this, holding his breath when you scooted closer, laying your head on his arm. 

You wondered if he’d ever been soft before. If he was capable of it.  

Even now, you were left with the vague impression this…tenderness wasn’t exactly that. An impression. A mask, maybe, something he wasn't used to wearing.  

But the afterglow was warm. Wrapped in the heat his body radiated, his strong arms sheltering you from the rest of the world as you sighed in contentment, resting on his bicep as you looked up at him. 

Your phone started buzzing inside your purse on the floor, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. 

“Sometimes I wish he’d just fucking disappear,” you mumbled, sighing as you tried to push off his chest to answer it. 

“Stay,” he growled, grabbing your waist to keep you in place. 

You pressed your palm flat against him, pushing your lips together in a pout. “I have to answer him.” 

Or he’d throw a fit and make tomorrow hell for you. 

Toji begrudgingly let you get up, glaring when you bent over to fish your phone from your bag, his scar twitching down as he frowned. “You ever think you’d be better off if he dropped dead?” 

You laughed, staring at the name on the screen as you shrugged.

“All the time.” 

You were trouble. 

Fucking you was supposed to make it easier. Satisfy the stupid urges he’d been plagued with since he saw your face. Since he heard your voice and felt your fingers on his skin. 

Instead, it sealed his fate. 

Yours too. 

Because laying in bed the morning after, watching the subtle rise-and-fall of your chest, finding himself tracing shapes on your skin for the excuse to keep touching you, a fuzzy feeling he couldn’t snuff out was suffocating him. 

Smothered in the scent of soap and sex and your sweet perfume. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, sighing at the way his heart beat faster every time you tossed and turned. 

How long had it been since he slept next to someone? 

Shared more than a fast fuck? A quick make-out session that never made him feel anything? 

He snuck out of bed first, readjusting your head to rest on the pillow and pulling up his blanket to cover you before he caught himself. 

What the hell was he doing? 

You weren’t his girlfriend. 

But maybe you could be. If he played his cards correctly. 

And really, was there anything better than making a bet he knew he’d win?

He found his phone in his jeans, a few missed calls from Shiu waiting. He deleted them. Walked out into the kitchen, opening the door to his mostly-empty fridge, staring at the eggs in there, the few cans of energy drinks, before moving to the pantry. There wasn’t much there either. Rice. Ramen. 

Stuff for a single guy who didn’t give a shit about taking care of himself. 

“What’re you doing?” You yawned behind him, all sleepy and sweet, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see you walking over, clutching his blanket to your chest.

“Lookin’ for something to make you breakfast,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest. 

You giggled, like it was fucking cute. 

“Got any coffee?” 

He made it a week of pretending to be a normal guy in a normal relationship before the fractures started forming. 

Donning his fake uniform and driving you to work and to your place, narrowly avoiding being spotted by your boss and undermining all those pesky security systems to set up for what he was really planning. Using a couple of his contacts to get his hands on something that couldn’t be traced back to him. Moving all the pieces into place while playing boyfriend. 

He might’ve dragged it out longer – went another few days, pushed back Gojo’s death date again – but Shiu wouldn’t shut up. 

Toji was supposed to be waiting for you outside, wishing for a cigarette and reading your message that your boss was making you help him with one last thing then you’d be down to get lunch with him when his own handler called. 

“The hell is taking so long?” Shiu scoffed over the phone, almost as annoyed as he felt. 

“Covering our fuckin’ asses,” he growled back. 

There was no way he was risking his fucking neck this time. He wasn’t going to jail for this shit – and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you either. 

“The client expects this done-” 

“I’m handling it,” Toji interrupted him, a gruff growl from the back of his throat.

He had the stuff with him, everything he needed to make you his – and send Satoru Gojo to an early grave. 

“Take care of it.” 

Shiu hung up on him. 

The soles of his boots were heavy on the ground, tapping his foot as he checked the time again. Two more minutes, and he'd call you. The seconds tended to drag by without you there. 

He heard your voice, faint, still far away, but he turned anyway. 

You were walking out the main doors of the building, Gojo walking close behind you, his brows drawn tightly together, scolding you. He grabbed your wrist, but you shrugged him off, Toji’s blood boiling at how handsy that asshole was, touching something that didn't belong to him. 

All the stares of people passing by, coworkers or not, shifted towards the two of you. 

Your sad little pout, your chest puffed out and trying to stand straight, while he glared at you. 

“Maybe I should just fire you,” Gojo scoffed at you, and you flinched. Toji could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, fist clenching while you did your best to bite your tongue. 

But then you surprised him – and Gojo – by beginning to speak up, “I’m-” 

“You’re replaceable.” 

Your face crumpled at how sharply he cut you off. Struggling not to cry, to hold yourself together while he turned on his heel and stormed back inside. Other people pretended to not be eavesdropping, avoiding eye contact when you walked away. Head hanging low, rubbing your eyes, barely paying attention to where you were going until he caught you. 

You didn't even say anything when Toji pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you against him as you automatically hid your face in his chest. 

He was shit at comforting people. Had never really known what to say. How to make anyone feel better. 

But you didn't seem to mind, a few muffled sobs snuffed out when your mouth was pressed against his broad muscles.

“H-he said he’s gonna-” You tried to choke out, but Toji just softly patted your head.

“Don't worry about him,” he grunted. 

He wouldn't be alive long enough to actually fire you. 

Toji didn't say that though. He let you cry in his car, listened to you vent about your latest argument, wiped away some of your tears with the calloused pad of his thumb. 

And when your break ended, and you were supposed to go back to finish off your shift, he walked back in with you. Made up some excuse about putting off taking care of the next maintenance ticket, like he hadn't already disabled all the cameras in the building earlier. 

Usually, he preferred a bullet and brute force. Didn't see the point in a delicate touch and careful preparations. But he'd make an exception for you. 

This one time. 

“I think I'm gonna make him some coffee,” you murmured, still sniffling as you grabbed the stuff you needed for it. 

Like it would be a truce instead of a death sentence. 

You didn't know any better. Just scurried around the break room, not noticing when he poured a little packet of powder into the cup the moment your back was turned. 

“You’re too good for him.” 

You glanced back at Toji, smiling even though it didn't reach his eyes. Not really believing it, but still appreciating the sentiment. 

“You're probably the one person that thinks that.”

You picked up the cup of coffee, pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar in, enough to cover the slightly bitter powder. You even snagged a can of whipped cream from the fridge, swirling it on top as if your efforts would be appreciated. 

Two birds. One stone. 

Or really, two fools and one cup of coffee. That was all it'd take for you to be his and both your problems to be solved. 

And if it didn't?

Well, his gun was still tucked inside the band of his jeans. 

“Are you sure you're not going to get in trouble?” 

Toji had gotten on the elevator with you, his hand still slung too low on your waist to be purely polite, brow arched up at your concern for him slacking off. 

“Just wanna make sure you're alright,” he grumbled, huffing and looking back at the buttons lit-up on the elevator. 

You weren't really sure what he was to you. 

A boyfriend? A lover? 

But you didn't mind. His proximity was nice. His presence in your life was welcome. 

Even if it was causing problems with Gojo – who had made it clear he couldn't stand sharing your attention at all. Hated you having a life. 

You weren't delusional enough to think maybe he'd change his mind if he met Toji. 

But your fingers were still unsteady as the elevator dinged and let you off on the top floor. 

Gojo was sitting at your desk, legs propped up and feet on your paperwork. He was pretty as always, white hair tousled, one of those sharp brows of his casually raised as he glanced between you and Toji. “Is this seriously the guy?”

He laughed like it was an insult. Ignoring your frown when you walked over to hand him his coffee. He took it though, bringing it up to his mouth but not before scoffing again. 

“Satoru,” you hissed out his name, a low warning that he was rolling his eyes at.

He took a long drink, whipped cream sticking above his lips like a mustache before his face paled. The next few seconds slowed, crawling by as you watched him drop the mug, ceramic shards shattering as he choked. 

You were staring, your brain refusing to process what you were seeing, Toji’s voice registering behind you but the words not making any sense. 

What the hell was happening?

Somewhere, the vague thought hit you that something was seriously wrong, that Satoru was dying, but nothing would connect, your body refusing to respond to even the notion of it.

Your mouth fell open, but your scream was muffled by Toji’s hand. Knees buckling, just for him to catch you in his arm, one arm wrapped around your midsection to hold you up. 

“Hey, hey, I'm here,” he gruffly muttered, and you clung to that. 

“W-we need to call someone,” you stammered, your panicked gasps turning into hyperventilating. This was bad. Really, really fucking bad. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed in your ears, turning around so you couldn't see Satoru anymore. Wouldn't have to look when-

You couldn't even finish the thought. 

“Just breathe, baby.”

“I-I can't.” You were trying, but no air would enter your lungs, throat constricting more with each attempt. 

Toji paused, his palm pressing harder against your back before he stiffened. 

“We need to go.”

You let him lead you back out, his hand on your spine still guiding you forward. One step, and another. Focusing on the rhythm in them, the pattern of the elevator carpet, a crack in the sidewalk, whatever was beneath your feet to stop the image of Satoru from flashing in your head. 

Was he dead? What could even cause it? An allergic reaction? Poison? 

Oh God no. 

He led you back to his car. 

Toji had parked it further down the street than usual, opening the door for you to get in and buckling you in again. It didn't feel quite as romantic as the first time.

“Where are we going?” You asked, voice cracking as you forced the words out. All you really wanted was to sleep, to go somewhere that you didn't have to think anymore.

“Don't worry about it, doll,” he casually said, shutting the door behind him and walking around to the driver’s seat. 

“Is he-” 

You couldn't get the question out, and he didn’t answer.

“The cops are gonna think-” You started, only just starting to swallow the bitter pill that you were screwed. 

“They’ll frame you for it,” he scoffed, and you recoiled. Surprised at yourself for forgetting what you already knew about the man in front of you. 

He wouldn't sugarcoat it. 

Make fake promises to you that this would be fine. 

“But I-”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your fuckin’ life behind bars?” He growled, and you hated how much of a point he had. 

You shook your head, fingers trembling as he stilled them with his own. 

Gojo had a lot of enemies. Any one of them would be happy to let you take the fall. 

All you'd done was give Gojo a fucking cup of coffee – and now he was dead.

“There’s cameras,” you murmured, ones that would catch you running away from the scene of the crime. 

“They've been down half the day,” Toji grumbled, and you had no idea if that was even a relief. 

Your feelings were all jumbled, guilt, horror, disgust, regret, even affection and adoration tangled up in there with Toji trying so hard to keep you safe. 

You stared at him, still shaking, and he leaned across to spare you a heated kiss. Grounding you here with him, his calloused palm caressing your cheek as his pretty eyes narrowed. 

“I'll protect you.” 

Toji meant it.

The motel was shitty, far enough from the city you dozed off on the drive, but there weren’t any cameras. No one to watch him carry you from his car and no one to care after he tossed enough cash to cover a room at the strung-out receptionist. 

You woke up still in shock. Reeling from what you’d seen – or rather what you’d done. 

“Someone’s gonna come-”

“No one’s gonna find you, baby,” he promised, and it was one he intended to keep. 

You curled up on the bed, and he crawled in next to you, letting you bury your face in his chest to muffle the faint sounds of crying. Stroking your hair at first, eventually untucking your shirt from your skirt to trace soothing patterns over the bare skin of your back. Maybe you were scared right now, that was natural.

The first kill was always the hardest. 

Once you were somewhere safe, once you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, you’d relax. After the news cycle covering your former employer’s death died off, and the investigation went cold, you'd realize that you wouldn't get caught. 

And if you adjusted better than he hoped, maybe you could be his assistant. 

Or if not, maybe he could leave this life behind. Find something more stable. Part-time work, or something he could do from home to spend more time with you.

You fell back asleep on him, lashes fluttering as he ran over his next steps. 

He'd gotten rid of both your cells and tossed your wallet on the drive, slipping the sim cards out and destroying them when he got gas and paid in cash. Someone had probably found the body by now. He'd need to switch cars to pick up the payment from the drop off point, but that wouldn't be a problem. 

There was a payphone outside, one he could see from the window. He'd call Shiu from it in a few minutes, let you dream on him for a bit longer. 

The pay for this would be enough for fake passports, to buy some place off grid – and install a state of the art security system. To keep intruders or officers investigating out. 

And more importantly, keep you inside. 

There was nothing better than a bonus for a job well done - especially one as pretty as you.

the playdate gets set for saturday afternoon, and sukuna seems pretty indifferent to it or at least he pretends to.

“you’re taking yuji to the park?” he asks while scrolling through his phone.

“mhm.”

“so, who’s the kid— or more like, you know their parent?”

“well.. a little?” you say thoughtfully. “toji fushiguro.. i think?”

“…fushiguro?”

you blink. “hm? you know him?”

“used to run in similar circles.” sukuna looks deeply annoyed already. “guy’s a pain in the ass.”

“well.. he seemed nice?”

“that’s because the guy likes pretending.”

you snort. “you’re dramatic, it’ll be fiiine.”

“i’m serious.”

“baby, i’m going to a playground. not a nightclub.”

sukuna looks at you for a long second, then sighs.

“fine, do what you want.”

which, surprisingly, he actually means— he fully intends to let you have your little park day in peace.

because really.. what could happen?

apparently a lot.

because now sukuna’s standing outside a convenience store a few minutes away while staring at his phone with growing irritation.

he just cannot stay at home while knowing you’re out with that damned black-haired man, so he lasts another three minutes before getting back in his car.

meanwhile, you’re sitting at the park bench while yuji and megumi run toward the playground together.

“be careful!” you call after them.

toji sits beside you a second later holding two juice boxes and an iced coffee.

“kid asked me to bring extras,” he says, handing you the iced coffee.

“thanks!”

“don’t mention it.”

for a while it’s easy and comfortable, you talk while the boys play. mostly about school— how both boys have been doing, how megumi apparently refuses to sleep without his stuffed wolf, how yuji always has endless energy no matter what.

“so.. that your kid, right?” toji asks eventually, nodding toward yuji.

you smile. “well no.. but technically my nephew.”

“could’ve fooled me.”

you shrug slightly. “he does feel like my own, though.”

“clearly.”

talking to toji is surprisingly easy, the guys laid back, which is probably why the next thing out of his mouth makes you second guess.

“you single?”

oh..

but before you can even answer, another voice cuts in.

“no, she‘s not.”

you look up immediately.

sukuna stands there behind both of you wearing all black with sunglasses pushed into his hair.

he looks weirdly calm, which means he definitely heard enough to annoy him.

toji glances between both of you once before leaning back slightly.

“oh! what are you doing here?” you say surprised.

“was just getting something to drink.”

“from the park..?”

“eh, crazy coincidence.”

toji snorts quietly beside you— big mistake, because sukuna’s eyes immediately slide toward him.

“fushiguro.”

“ryomen.”

you can absolutely feel the tension in the air.

you look between them slowly. “oh my god.. you actually know each other.”

“unfortunately,” they say at the exact same time.

yuji spots sukuna from across the playground and immediately lights up.

“UNCLE KUNA!!”

he abandons megumi and runs across the grass at full speed before slamming directly into sukuna’s legs.

sukuna just rests a hand on yuji’s head. “now get off me brat, you’re sweaty.”

“we were racing!”

“that so?”

“i won!”

megumi finally walks over, hands shoved into his little pockets.

“yuji cheated..” he says quietly.

“did not!”

“you pushed me!”

you’re trying not to laugh while yuji now clings to sukuna’s arm, and you get up to approach both.

toji watches the interaction for a second, then he looks back at you.

“…damn my bad,” he says finally. “cute little family you got there.”

sukuna goes quiet for a second, then his arm hooks around your waist possessively.

“exactly,” he says. “know where you stand, fushiguro.”

fixing up this series a lil ..

It only took one search to unravel the rest.

When he mentioned he mostly traveled for work? F1 Racing on weekends in championship cups. Which you guessed was what he meant when he said he liked cars. But what man didn't?

Why the fuck would you assume some guy you met at the beach would be the current first driver's seat for fucking Ferrari?

You didn't know shit about the sport. Or well, any sport.

Strangely enough, you still felt almost betrayed, something stinging at the fact he hadn't bothered to bring it up. You didn't think you were special, or that this was serious. But you didn't like feeling stupid either.

"You're glaring," He commented, stuffing his face full of some high protein meal meant to keep his physique up, a black compression shirt clinging to his chest like he'd come from the gym.

"Okay," You shrugged, picking at your own food.

He picked a place with hardly any people today. No one to catch him with a nobody.

"Are you gonna be a brat all night?" He sighed, dropping his fork and scowling back at you.

"Maybe," You shrugged again, glancing away from him to stare at the cash register. Your wallet was in your purse, the temptation to get up to pay for your half and go getting stronger by the second.

"Fine," He grunted, taking one last big bite before tossing too much cash on the table. You guessed he could do that with how much he was getting paid to drive dangerously and toe the line with death. "Want me to fuck that attitude out of you?"

For all his skills, he still hadn't managed to do that two rounds later.

Both of you panting and sweaty, one palm pressing down on the slight bulge of your stomach where his cock was currently thrusting and the other pressing your thighs up higher, folded into a mean full nelson.

"Fuck, you feel me there?" He groaned, biting yet another bruising hickey into your neck while you nodded weakly.

Your limbs ached, feeling more like accessories than body parts by now, a doll for him to fuck, a way to blow off steam before you both returned to your real lives. His cock stretched you out with each searing pump, splitting you open so his kisses and rough reassurances could stitch you back together.

He stalled inside you with his tip smashed against that spongy spot in the back, holding it there just to make you squirm in his arms. His nose grazed against your ear, his breath warm on your skin before he murmured softly, "Stop holding out on me."

"Oh, a-am I annoying you?" You breathlessly teased, and his little huff sent a shudder through you when he tried to push himself in deeper, that extra inch or two leaving your hips struggling to break free and jolt from him, already filled to the brim and about to spill over.

"You keep runnin' from me," He grunted, and in two blinks, he was switching positions, rolling you over on your stomach and pushing your back into a pretty arch before climbing back over you to prone bone.

Shoving his cock in and pinning you to the mattress with his weight, one of his big hands pressing down on the nape of your neck while he bottomed back out inside you.

"S-Sukuna," You gasped, but then he was leaning down and his mouth was on yours, claiming you with a bruising kiss.

"Again," He practically growled against your lips, his canines nipping at them.

"What?" You blinked, the desire still coiling in your stomach and the cum leaking down your legs and even just the scent of his cologne sticking to the sheets starting to melt the confusion from your mind on how you felt about him..

"Say my name again," Sukuna demanded, barely disguising his own moan when he slammed into you. All your muscles were tense, everything oversensitive already, flying so high you were pretty sure you'd crash any moment.

"Ego maniac," You muttered instead, and he readjusted to deliver a harsh spank across your ass, the pain quickly converting to pleasure when you gasped and squeezed around him.

But then he refused to move, buried to the hilt and not budging.

Sukuna didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He was waiting on you.

You were just as stubborn as he was though, biting your lip and hiding your face in the pillow to try to wait him out, counting on him being impatient or getting pissed off. His cock was throbbing inside you, begging to move, your clit aching for relief of it's own.

But you were both two idiots who couldn't admit what you wanted. Even if it was each other.

"I can stay like this all night, sweetheart," He murmured in your ear, dark and dangerous and delicious.

"Me too," You mocked back, adding a fake yawn and cradling your head over your forearms like you might fall asleep in this position.

He bent first. Or maybe he'd convinced himself he could make you break.

And yeah, amidst the blur of blunt thrusts and love bites, you did end up crying his name more than once when he lifted your hips enough to slip one hand under to play with your clit while he used the angle to practically abuse your poor g-spot, slamming into it every time with damn near surgical precision. Chuckling at the way you whined and shuddered, clenching desperately around his huge cock until he was abruptly pulling out and cumming on your back in thick spurts.

You showered together in silence.

Him passing you the soap and you washing his hair, his arms wrapped around your waist for extra warmth. He draped the towel around you afterwards, and you used an extra one to dry off his hair. Falling asleep in bed tracing the tattoos on his face.

In the morning?

You woke up before him, creeping out of bed to get dressed as quietly as possible.

He still hasn't told you about his career. Or anything really about himself outside the barest of basics. You resigned yourself to keeping the biography you'd read through about him the day before to yourself. What was the point of telling him you knew who he was when you wouldn't see him again?

Your vacation was over. Not wasted, but you were leaving more wistful than when you arrived, a deep and uncomfortable knot tangled in your stomach staring at the handsome man sleeping on the bed and the wrinkled sheets and blanket next to him where you should be.

You would go home. Go back to work and sleeping in your own bed and cooking your own meals until maybe you found some nice, normal guy to settle down with.

He'd go back to bigger and better things. Fucking models instead of a random girl he just happened to meet on his break. Too busy to be with someone like you anyway.

"Where are you going?" Sukuna grunted, scowling as he sat up in bed, running his fingers through his soft hair.

"I've got a flight to catch," You murmured, fixing the strap of your dress and hurrying to collect the last of your things you'd left here over the past two weeks of fucking.

"Oh."

You didn't say anything else, shoving an extra pair of panties from under his bed inside your purse, but it meant getting close enough that he reached out to touch you, fingers ghosting over your hip.

"If I paid, would you stay another day?" He asked, and you really had no clue what the fuck to make of that. His dark eyes had softened, shades of purple ringed underneath them, but they weren't harsh, didn't threaten to cut you down.

It didn't feel like the type of casual sex where you couldn't talk about your personal lives when he stared at you like that.

"I have to go back to work," You mumbled, wishing you didn't just as much as you wished you wouldn't miss him.

"I'll call you."

You didn't believe him.

But three days later, when you were curled up in bed and hating how empty it was, how cold it felt, your phone rang.

"Hi," You breathed, answering on the fourth ring after getting over your surprise.

"Hey," Sukuna grunted.

The phone calls became a common thing. Some weeks every day, others where you barely heard from him at all. But he tried though, even if it was just for a few minutes at a weird time. You answered even if it was at one in the morning or afternoon, forcing yourself to stay awake or sneaking out to the bathroom at work to hear his voice.

He begrudgingly admitted what his job actually was after a couple weeks, downplaying it to just racing. If it wasn't for the odd hours and the short calls, you had a feeling he would've tried to skip over the subject entirely. You tried to accept it. Asked if he'd be weirded out if you looked him up or watched his races. Sukuna's whatever wasn't exactly reassuring.

But it was pretty easy to piece together that he lived and breathed racing.

He'd been born into it. Karted as a kid and grown up behind the wheel.

You guessed you were the only thing in his life that was just for himself, outside of all of that.

"You sound stressed," You commented, cuddling a pillow to your chest and suppressing a yawn. There wasn't a real routine to this, but after a few months, you'd gotten comfortable with his calls instead of spending all day nervous and stressed over them.

"Gojo's trying to take my seat," Sukuna scoffed. He rarely talked about this sort of stuff with you, barely brought it up, so you knew it was bothering him much more than he let on. He never opened up, not the way most people did, just dropping occasional bits of information that you had to stitch together with what was publicly available.

Unsupportive family, a more rough upbringing than the rest of his competitors, rivalries that'd started long before he ever qualified for F1. Despite everything, he'd still won the world championship four times in six years, the past two consecutive wins.

"I mean, can he do that?" You asked, unsure how exactly those sort of decisions were made. You knew Gojo was still a couple years younger than Sukuna, but probably his biggest competitor. Rumors had started to swirl about the white-haired pretty boy moving to a different team next year after his contract was up.

"Over my dead fuckin' body.'

A lump too large for you to choke down bubbled up in your throat, a newfound fear you'd recently discovered after looking up clips of him racing in your free time. The idea of his crashing or doing something reckless and getting himself killed had implanted itself in your head no matter how many times you tried to shake it out.

"You still there?" He grunted.

"Yeah, I am," You swallowed hard, doing your best to force those thoughts down too.

"What are you doing?" Sukuna asking sounded more like demanding, but his voice had taken on a different quality now. Darker, more hoarse. In desperate need of relaxing.

"I'm in bed," You admitted, rolling flat on your back in anticipation.

"And?"

"I'm wearing your favorite pair of panties," You murmured, face flushing already.

"And you weren't going to send me a picture?' He tch-ed.

"One second," You muttered, readjusting to open your camera and try to pose, despite how unnatural it felt. You snapped a few photos, then flipped the camera around, pulling up your loose t-shirt to take a couple more pictures of your tits, careful to make sure your face wasn't in frame.

They were immediately marked as seen once they were delivered.

"Fuck," He murmured, and you could hear the sharp inhale he sucked in.

"Do I get one too?" You giggled, heat already starting to pool between your thighs at the idea of him touching himself to you.

He hung up, a request to video chat almost immediately popping up instead. You nervously accepted, fixing your hair and chewing on the inside of your cheek before flipping the camera down to where your panties were clinging to your skin, slipping a hand down between your thighs teasingly.

"Sukuna?" You said, the picture on the other side grainy as it connected before you got the view of him stroking his pretty cock, his huge hand furiously pumping up-and-down over the thick veins, his tip almost as pink as his hair.

"It should be you here," He grumbled, his voice cutting out for a second afterwards.

"Yeah? You just miss fucking me?" You softly laughed, your heart straining in your chest at the rough timber of his voice.

"Wanna see your face," He gritted his teeth, like it was something difficult to confess.

You didn't want him to see you blush, but he was hard to say no to, harder to convince yourself you wanted whatever scraps of him he offered to you.

Hesitantly, you flipped the camera around to your face, and he let out a hoarse moan, his hand working faster, sloppy strokes that didn't match his usually calculated precision.

"Touch yourself for me," He muttered, all gravelly.

"You're gonna talk me through it?" You teased, and the sound he made was half a scoff and half a chuckle.

"Whatever my brat wants."

It was embarrassing how much you wanted to just be his.

You slowly pressed two fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, making slow circles over the fabric just for extra friction.

"Should I flip the c-camera?" You asked, your breath hitching as you increased the pressure, thighs tense as you watched him jerk off, not sure if it was pre-cum or lube making his hands so slick.

"No," He huffed. "Need to see your face when you cum."

A flash of heat washed over you, your inhales starting to get shaky, your fingers twitching as you began trembling with each harsh circle you traced.

You scrunched your eyes shut, reclining your head back against your pillow and struggling to focus.

"Eyes on me, pretty," He chuckled, and you whined, pouting at him when you peeked them back open, barely able to hold yourself together staring at his cock on screen as you picked up the pace. Wishing it was your hand instead of his and his instead of yours, wishing for him to just be here instead of countries away, for him to fuck you the way he had months ago.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" You murmured, his hand twitching and stalling for a second while he made some hissing sound, like he barely stopped himself from finishing them and there.

"Jus' waiting for you first," He growled, and you could practically hear his clenched jaw. Watching the veins of his cock pulse, the way it twitched at every little flicker of your expression, imagining how it'd feel in your mouth or buried deep in your cunt. You gasped a little, the pressure building and teetering on the verge of snapping, your hips arching up to chase the high. "Close, princess?"

His voice shoved you over.

Headfirst and falling hard as you unravelled in front of him, your common sense snapping with it when you moaned his name, murmuring something about how much you liked him and hoping he didn't hear it. He was cumming too, coating his strong, sturdy fingers white.

You were both breathless, coming back down in the same comfortable quiet you shared in person.

"You make a cute face when you cum," He eventually said, and you couldn't decide if it was a compliment or just him mocking you in some casually cruel way.

Sukuna was a hard man to understand. But you guessed that was by design. He didn't want anyone to know him.

"Do I?" You dryly asked, yawning out loud this time.

"Would I say it if you didn't?" He grunted.

"You just like to tease me," You complained halfheartedly, curling back up on your side.

"So?"

You shrugged, too tired to offer a better response tonight.

"I'll get you plane tickets. There's a race I want you to come to next month," He grunted, confident that you wouldn't say no.

"Seriously?" You hesitated, hoping it wasn't written on your face.

"Yeah," He insisted, like he was exasperated he had to reiterate it.

There was another race next weekend, but you wondered if maybe he'd just be too busy for you then. Or what other reason he had to wait for the one next month.

"Okay, sure, I guess. Um, I'll request off from work," You mumbled, a faint fluttering starting to stir in your stomach at the realization you might be seeing him again soon.

"Good."

Somewhere along the way, all the lines between friend and girlfriend had gotten blurred.

In your head, the dim hope that maybe he offered to fly you out was to make whatever this was official.

But when you tuned into watching his press conference the next Thursday for his upcoming race?

You hadn't realized how clearly he'd draw the boundaries back. It was stupid. Him scowling as some reporter baited and asked him a question about if there was a special someone supporting him or cheering for him before he rolled his eyes and said he wasn't in a relationship so they should stop asking.

Ouch.

You didn't watch any of the races. Ignored his two-sentence text where he didn't even apologize for being too busy to talk. Didn't answer his call two nights later.

He sent a bunch of questions marks in response.

Which might've made you laugh if you weren't already crying for getting too attached when you knew better.

The next day you'd send a congratulations message for him winning or placing or whatever the fuck he'd done, giving some excuse for being too busy with your own work to chat.

You went a week without calling. Barely replying to his texts hours afterwards, trying to untangle him from your heart.

Gojo, the guy in the second Ferrari seat, posted photos of them together though, ones that got plastered on a bunch of stupid sports news sites you'd forgotten to turn off notifications for, ones where they were at some club you'd never be able to get into, pretty girls next to them, diehard fans, apparently.

So when one of your coworkers asked you on a date?

You said yes.

Got dressed up, put on your makeup and plastered a bandaid over your heart. He picked you up with flowers in hand, waiting outside while you hurried to put them in a vase before walking back out with a shy smile.

"You look gorgeous," Geto hummed, a warm hand pressed against your back as he lead you to the car.

"Thank you," You blushed, but you couldn't tell if the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering or being stabbed.

Geto was a smooth-talker, all soft-spoken words that soothed your blistered disposition and dreamy eyes it'd be easy to lose yourself in. So why couldn't you?

The date was picture perfect. Not a detail out of place.

But when he dropped you back off, you couldn't bring yourself to invite him inside. You let him kiss you, his lips soft and tasting like wine as he caressed your cheek.

"I'd like to take you out again sometime," He murmured, apparently not put off by your reluctance. "I had fun tonight."

"Yeah?" You asked, wondering if maybe you needed more time to move past the man still lingering on your mind.

"Yeah."

You watched through a window as he drove away.

Changing into pajamas before digging your phone out of your purse, planning on scrolling through videos before you saw two missed calls and six missed texts.

You'd only read through a few of Sukuna demanding to know why you weren't talking to him before he was calling again.

Your thumb hovered over the button before you begrudgingly answered him. "Hello?"

"God, do you know how long I've been trying to call you?" He gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed already.

"Sorry," You shrugged. "I was on a date."

"A date?" Sukina was about to blow a fuse. That one vein that sometimes throbbed on his forehead was probably about to explode.

"Yeah?" You hummed, unbothered.

"That's not funny," He scoffed.

"Good thing I'm not joking," You sighed, walking around to fiddle with the flowers now sitting pretty in your vase, fingers grazing over the individual petals.

"What the fuck?" He huffed.

"Is there a problem with that?" You asked, walking the line between being an asshole and being apathetic. "I mean, didn't you just say you weren't in a relationship?"

"Shit, you saw that? I'm sorry, it's not like that, just look-"

Yeah, shit.

"It's fine, I get it, you play by a different set of rules than the rest of us, right? My fault for thinking I meant more." You accepted the blame because there was nothing else you could do with it.

Everything else hurt.

"It does mean more," His voice was low, like it took all his pride to admit it.

"Uh-huh," You dismissively nodded, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

"Did that prick even treat you right?" He grumbled, having an easier time hating someone else than focusing on his issues.

"He brought me flowers. Paid for my dinner. I had fun," You offered the smallest details, just enough to irritate him. To rub salt in his wound too.

"Are you going to see him again?" He asked, acidic and harsh.

"Maybe."

The silence was heavy this time, thick with tension and crackling with some charge you could feel even when he was in a different country.

"Don't."

"Why?" You genuinely asked this time.

"Give me a chance," He grumbled, before reluctantly murmuring, "Please."

"I'll think about it," You hummed noncommittally.

"Just, get on the plane, okay? I'll take care of everything else." Sukuna was probably scowling even when he was begging you.

The next night there was a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers delivered to your door along with your favorite food, and you didn't need to read the card attached to the flowers to know it was all from him. But you read it anyway.

I'm not letting you go. Sukuna.

You hadn't quite believed it until he'd actually managed to pick you up from the airport a couple weeks later, surely missing some kind of practice or press event, a sign made with your name on it. You almost didn't recognize him when he had on a hoodie and dark shades, probably trying to go unnoticed.

But the second he saw you, he was walking fast over to you, pulling you into him with a crushing hug, like he needed to know you were real.

That you hadn't given up on him yet.

He kissed you the second you got into the passenger seat of his car, his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours, trying to memorize your taste again after so long.

"I was an asshole," He admitted.

"Yeah," You scoffed.

"Sorry," He gruffly apologized. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what? That you're a dick? Or that you don't want people to know about us?" You sarcastically murmured between kisses, and he was hurrying to pull you onto his lap, his hands on your ass and his mouth trailing down your throat.

"That I'm an idiot in love with you," He grunted, and you froze, completely stiff as his sturdy thighs tensed underneath you.

"Don't be stupid," You huffed, refusing to believe him.

"Too late," He chuckled, his teeth sinking in to leave a light love bite above your collarbone. "Gonna show you off all weekend long."

And Sukuna rarely said anything he didn't mean.

His hands refusing to leave your waist when he showed you around the paddock, introducing you as his girlfriend and grumbling when he got dragged into media events.

"So you're actually real, huh?" A cheeky voice teased, aligning an arm around your shoulder while you sipped on an overpriced drink Sukuna had insisted on getting you.

You shoved Gojo off, recognizing him from voice alone.

"I'm Satoru Gojo," He grinned, sticking his hand for you to shake.

You didn't get to shake it before Sukuna returned from talking to their team principal, your boyfriend swatting his hand away from you.

"No touching my girl," He grunted.

"Are you his girl?" Gojo pouted, pushing out a plush, pink bottom lip. "Come on, you could do better, this guy's such a buzzkill."

You thought Sukuna was going to punch him.

"Are you trying to say you're better?"

"Don't fuckin' answer that," Sukuna scowled at him, pulling you back and leading you somewhere else, maybe to show you his real car up close like he'd promised on the way over.

It was prettier in person, a dark shade of red and sleek design. He ran his hands over it, pride glinting in his eyes.

And it kinda terrified you still, to picture him inside that death trap, but you liked watching him in his element, the way it seemed to be a second skin to him.

"Eyes on me out there," He murmured.

You don't think your eyes left him once the rest of the weekend.

In the haze of heated touches or when he was on the circuit, watching on the screen and unable to rip your attention away. He drove with the same control that he lived with - like he couldn't die.

No one was surprised when he took the top spot this time.

What did was him going to you first after he won. Kissing you in front of the crowd and picking you up in a tight hug.

Instead of an after-party, he dragged you back to his hotel room, pulling you back on top of his lap, already tugging your dress up and shoving your panties aside to push himself in after fingerfucking you stupid on the ride over. Your head was a little dizzy from the champagne he popped, your giggle turning into a gasp as his thick tip grinded up into you.

"Easy," You laughed, his fingers squeezing your sides as he guided you up-and-down slowly, savoring each second of being inside you.

"Can't I get my trophy?" He complained with a huff, brows furrowed together as he dragged you back down on his dick, distracting you from the stretch with a long kiss.

"I'm your trophy?" You giggled again, tilting your head back for him to decorate your throat with more hickies.

"My favorite one," He taunted, holding your hips in place and groaning at the way you squeezed around him.

He wasn't used to taking anything slow, but he was trying for you.

"What'd you think?" Sukuna asked as you tangled your fingers through his hair.

"Of what?" You hummed, relaxing into his touch.

"Everything. Did you like it?" He cocked his head to the side, leaning back against the bed's headboard and pulling you closer. The VIP lanyard still dangling around your neck bounced with the force, but you laughed. You were still nervous, still anxious and unsure of how it'd be to adjust to long-distance and what life with him meant. But the past few days had been a high you didn't want to give up.

Sukuna was someone you didn't want to give up.

His hands settled on your waist instead, enjoying being ridden for once instead of in the driver's seat.

"I like you."

Perhaps expected considering that the two of you had met just a few weeks ago; you’d announced to your council that you were ready for marriage. And they’d then presented you with a list of all the potential candidates for husband—every eligible bachelor from the Kamo clan to the rather obscure Fujiwara clan. The list had gone on and on with their names and ages.

And at the very end you’d spotted—

Zenin Toji—Age: 38 (once divorced). 

As soon as the elders had noticed you focusing on that one name, they’d dismissed you with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, that’s just Toji. Ignore him, he’s just there out of obligation-”

“But why would I ignore him?”And that had effectively shut them up.

Although what you really wanted were more answers.

Toji.

Toji.

Most of the other candidates ranged across their twenties, and they were names you’d heard of in mere passing during those stuffy clan functions. Toji, however, was beyond that age range and once divorced—and you’d heard of him almost too well. You knew him without ever knowing him.

You’d heard of the newly-appointed Zenin clan leader as he fought against every single elder to claim his rightful title as head - the first one since…ever without a speck of cursed energy.

You’d heard of the terror of the Zenin clan - or so they whispered - who could bring down battalions with a single swipe of his cursed weapons. He didn’t need cursed energy—and what they feared above all was the power of raw humanity underneath it.

But…you’d also heard of the merciful man. The first Zenin clan leader to grant his wife a divorce when she wished for it, thus leaving him printed once more upon a paper listing jujutsu society’s bachelors. 

Leaving him impressioned in your mind.

Zenin Toji was an enigma you wanted to understand.

And you laughed at the expressions upon your elders’ faces as you announced that the sole candidate you were interested in was none other than the notorious Toji. You could count on one hand how many had readily agreed to your union with the older man—and that would be exactly zero fingers. 

However, the meeting had proceeded as tradition dictated. Your council of elders reached out to the uptight council of the Zenins - and they’d reached out to re-confirm thrice that the man you were really looking for was Toji. Wasn’t he much older? Wasn’t he fearsome? Wasn’t he difficult to understand?

You waved off their worries and met him over a fragrant tea ceremony. 

To be quite honest; there wasn’t much talking between the two of you - although the Zenin elders kept up a constant stream of chatter with the elders of your own family. Meanwhile you simply looked at Toji over the rim of your ceramic cup—and—watched—

And he met your gaze just as intensely.

By the end of the tea ceremony, you nudged your elders to proclaim your approval for a union.

And Toji nodded his own approval.

The wedding preparations were accomplished in a week. It was a wedding for the history books - you heard that your council of elders were pushing to get it written in already - and it ended off with a lavish banquet that lasted into the long, long hours of the night. 

As sunlight started seeping into the horizon, you and Toji got up from your seats at the head of the table. And you made your way to the master bedroom—where rows upon rows of elders sat outside in preparation for the consummation.

They were here to hear you-

“Fuck.” You can’t stop the sudden whimper that escapes you at the feeling of Toji hiking up one of his muscular thighs. He still had his wedding robes on - dishevelled upon his frame, the graze of expensive Zenin cotton n’ silk makes you shiver—

And as soon as you do, you feel one of his large palms settle at the base of your spine.

Toji keeps you pinned down - deliciously helpless - once he reaches that upright leg forwards and rests his heel atop your scalp. Stepping on your sweaty crown. Keeping you pinned in one place as he fucks you- with a sheer audacity that makes your jaw drop.

“Careful.” Toji’s low tone trundles out. You’re bent into such a shape that it makes his cock thicker- stretchin’ out your snug channel with a sultry squeeeelch! “Keep your mouth open like that and you’ll catch flies.”

Leaning down as far as he could, he then spits.

“Or you’ll catch me.”

A few more vicious strokes that leave you gaping.

A few more changing angles- Toji was the type to not just straightly thrust. He was stirring his cock ‘round in somewhat circular motions of his hips as he pummeled inside, managing to hit eeeeevery single nerve-ended spot inside you. “And- hah, and we wouldn’t wanna explain that to those old toads, heh?” Asking you. And then…not you. “Isn’t that right, fuckers?”

There’s restless murmuring from outside. 

“W-well, maybe if you—fuuuuuck.” Just as soon as you’re mid-sentence - as though Toji had been waiting for this exact moment - he reaches forwards and slams! his ruddied tip into you hard enough that you can feel him in your damn throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

“Loud.” Scoffing. “Though I bet they already know what’s happening- hah.”

You were in utter shambles. 

Toji’s cock was sensually curved towards the right - the perfect angle to spot those areas where you were most sensitive and stimulate them until you were crying. “Y-you’re so shameless—!”

With a roll of his forest-green eyes, the clan leader crouches his body further forwards and accelerates his pace. His heel pressing down even harder.

With this position he had you in, Toji couldn’t keep his palm glued to your drivelling maw anymore. And he was letting it aaaaaall out—the more n’ more pretty moans that were leaving you, the more he’s speeding up his hips. Purposefully thumping his blushin’ red tip down your most precious spots. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, he’s using his free hand to sift apart your stuffy pussy. Pressin’ aside your folds and getting a good eyeful of your entrance - getting flooded with his rock-hard inches, and then emptied out for him to do it all over again. And again. And again and again and—“And who was it that decided to marry me?”

You don’t know what’s hitting you harder: the shock of being called out, or the sudden wad of saliva that he’s spitting between your legs. “Well…me…”

Toji nods. “Pretty young thing like you…for what reason could you want to marry- me-” Every space between his words was punctured with a targeted strike to your g-spot. “Money? Name? Power?”

Your head’s getting foggy - you don’t even realize that you’re drooling before Toji looks down and tuts. He watches as a slick puddle formulates underneath you—“Did you wanna marry this ol’ clan leader for power, doll? S’that what you wanted?”

As much as you could, you’re shaking your head- difficult, given the way he still had the heel of his foot on you.

“No? Then what?” Toji pretends to think. “Hmmm, could it be that your clan elders pressured you into this, doll?” And just at that moment, he stops- even though it seems as if he wanted to say more. “I’ll kill you all if—”

It wasn’t targeted towards you. 

But you’re vehemently denying—“No. No. Not at all…” Sobs and sultry moans strangle in your throat, and your poor, poor hips are driving back into his as much as you could. “Please- oh, I j-just wanted—”

“Let me think.” Now that he’d started his vigorous pace up again, your eardrums were crackling with the constant pap-pap-pap! of Toji’s toned hips hitting yours. He was just so large - in every possible way, it was as though he was engulfing you with his massive body, with his shaft stretchin’ out your insides in ways you’ve never experienced before. “Is it because- haaaaah…” Toji breathes, the cloud of his heated breath wafting down your arched spine. “Is it because you knew that those other- boys couldn’t fuck you as well as I could?”

Your jaw drops- “Fuck.”

But it seems that Toji had found his footing. He drags you even harder against him - the ramming of your two bodies almost violently shaking the flooring beneath. “Is it because you knew that- mmm, this pussy would always be satisfied with me?” Whatever little jostling you’re experiencing at his movements, he’s considering it a nod. “Is it because you’d been greedy? Because you’ve been yearning-”

Somehow, he’s tipping his head backwards and managing to perfect a stream of spit down onto your stuffed cunt.

“-for someone more mature. Someone that knows how to handle a pussy, doll?” Voice dipped in lust. “Have you been yearning for Zenin Toji to fuck you properly?”

“Y-yes—” You pitch out softly. Sniffling. Seeing stars behind your eyelids. “Toji, m’so close…”

“So cum, then?” He snickers, as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “What’re you waiting for? Permission?” Leaning back and projecting his voice - though, not for you. “Just so y’know, I’m gonna make my wife cum.” 

“Oh-oh my god—” The words crackle in your throat as a final bash to your syrupy-sweet spot leaving you careening into your high. Stars of pleasure burst behind your shuttered lids - and you’re dragged through wave upon wave of white-hot bliss. 

It overtakes you like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

And Toji was only more than happy to prolong them using his length. Hitting you right when your peaks were at their highest - and if you were in the right state, then you’d wonder how he even managed to time them - and making your veins feel molten within. Making you whimper and thrash into him. Thrashing and thrashing—fucked like you’ve never been before through your orgasm.

You’re so hazy afterwards that you barely even register the shuffling outside the bedroom - as the elders started making their way back to the banquet. Mission accomplished, you suppose.

And Toji takes his foot off your head. 

“Haaaaah, fuck.” He hisses. “Want to give them an encore, my wife?”

You couldn’t nod faster.

Before you know it, he’s tipping his head back and calling out - at the elders—

“Get ready for an encore, fuckers.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Parent-teacher DATING?!

“Ms. Teacher…” 

Itadori’s sweet, sweet voice breaks through your conversation with one of the parents; and you’re looking down to see him clasping one end of your flower-patterned apron. Pink brows furrowed. Chubby cheeks puffed. And how could anyone resist that face?

So throwing an apologetic smile at the parent, you’re leaning down slightly so that you could hear the little boy better. “Yes, Yuji?”

He cups a hand over his mouth then leans in towards your ear as if to whisper. “I have a secret to tell you.” And he does not whisper.

Still, you bite back a giggle and ask. “Oh, really? How exciting. Do I get to know that secret, Yuji?”

He nods.

Then leans in once more-

“My papa has a big, big crush on y-”

“Yuji—!”

You didn’t have to look up to see that it was none other than Nanami Kento, Itadori’s father, pushing past a few gossiping parents and kids playing jumprope- heading in your direction. He quickly clasps Itadori’s arm and gently tugs the boy away, “I am so, so sorry—I have no idea what’s gotten into him-” Nanami pinches the top of his nosebridge with a sigh. “He seems to have gotten it into his head that I have f-feelings for you, and…”

You watch, almost astounded, as the ever-stoic Nanami’s ears burn bright red.

“A-and I sincerely apologize if he made you uncomfortable in any way-”

“Oh, no.” You’re raising your hands up and fervently shaking your head. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. Did you, Yuji?”

“Yup!” Those tufts of pink hair atop his head bounce as he nods as well, beaming - happy to see that you were on his side, at the very least. He then turns back to Nanami. “I didn’t make Ms. Teacher uncomfortable, papa. I just told her what you told me-”

“Sunshine…” Nanami grumbles, though with less panic in his voice this time.

And you’re biting back a smile as you look between the handsome father and his son; it’d been two years since Nanami had adopted Itadori, according to what the man had told you when he’d first enrolled the boy in Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary. Since then, you’ve had the privilege of watching over the father-son duo as they become closer, as they found family in one another, as they opened themselves up to both the school and you. 

And although you knew you shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher - you can’t deny that one of the best parts of your day was seeing the two. 

Yes, the two.

It didn’t quite help that Nanami Kento was the talk amongst the single ladies and men at pick-up. Tall. Tender. With his broad shoulders and his blond hair—always slicked back, not even a single strand out of line. 

Nanami was the type of man to hold doors open for students, other parents, and teachers alike - he’d happily stand there for half an hour as an entire grade passed by, if he had to.

Nanami was the type of man to not worry about what anyone thought of him as he let his energetic son paste stickers all over him, or use the play make-up he’d snagged from Kugisaki.

Nanami was the type of man to buy you a large bouquet of roses for Teacher’s Day- roses. And he’d apologized for at least fifteen minutes about not meaning any sort of innuendo, and he’d completely understand if you didn’t want to take them—you’d cut him off then n’ there by taking them with a gracious thank you. Even if others at pick-up shot you knowing smiles. 

So could you blame yourself if you happened to form a crush on the man?

And hearing what Itadori had to say about it now…

“I wouldn’t mind, y’know.” You speak once you’d ushered Itadori to play with some of his friends—Fushiguro and Kugisaki had just been dropped off. And Nanami was still standing next to you, watching as his son scampered off after causing perhaps the most chaos he’s ever experienced in his life. 

But ah…your voice was low enough that it couldn’t be heard by anyone around you two. Perhaps not even Nanami himself- but of course, he heard.

Of course, he heard.

He turns to you with widened eyes, “I uh…I- excuse me?”

You turn back to him with a grin, “How about coffee sometime this week?”

“I have a better plan.” As soon as the first bout of shyness wears off, he’s clearing his crackling throat and answering you. “How about dinner?”

.

.

.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuh-fuck.” Nanami wrenches between clenched teeth. His hot breath sticks against the side of your throat; and every single puff makes your skin erupt with perspiration. 

Which worked for him—it just let the movements between your two ravenous bodies proceed even faster, slipperier, sloppier. Nanami has you pressed flat against his neat mattress, in a bedroom that was humble and meticulously organized - and with Itadori at Fushiguro’s for a sleepover, the two of you could let those ancient bedsprings creak as much as they liked. 

Nanami could fuck you as hard as you liked.

He’s grinding that golden happy trail into your front; both palms pressed flatly atop your inner thighs to keep them open. To keep you stretched as faaaaar apart as you could go—because fuck- Nanami’s cock was thick enough that he had to pin you down n’ squeeeeeeze his inches inside as far as they could go. 

Rubbin’ his prominent veins along your walls. Entire body tensing up whenever you clench-

“Fuuuuuuck.” With a heavy sigh, he’s letting his head tip backwards. And honestly—you don’t think you’d ever seen a more attractive sight. 

You’ve always known that Nanami was ripped underneath those office button-ups of his - but this was damn-near Herculean. The way his shoulders were defined and pulled taut as they closed in on you, the way his chest was absolutely luscious—you almost wanted to take a bite. And you’d guessed that with energetic Itadori as a son, he hadn’t had the time to hit the gym lately.

Because there was a layer of thickness over his muscles that left Nanami softer and stronger- the soft curve of his belly pushes down on your core. 

Jostling your body back n’ forth with every honed thrust.

Banging at the back of your cervix and your throat- “Fuck. It feels so good, Kento.” 

“S-soooooo fucking good.” And you wonder which one of you two was more gone on your syrupy cunt: you or him. Nanami struggles to keep his damn head up- collapsing into the crook of your neck and letting out botched groans- every single time his sensitive tip slid uuuuuup your channel into its deepest depths. He almost sounded as though he was in pain as he wept—“F-forgive me, darling.”

Perking your head off the plush pillows, “What for, Kento?”

“Well it’s just…” And his foggy glasses were still on his face - which Nanami pushes up his nose bridge. “I haven’t felt this good in—forever. So forgive me if I’m a little…”

And then he’s surging his hips forwards and giving you a good thwack! with the rounded end of his shaft. Enough to make stars appear in your vision-

“-rough.”

And then it’s like the floodgates have opened.

Because Nanami’s grip on you grows hard enough to leave fucking nail marks, his sweat splashes with the urgency of his movements. “And I wanted to f-fuck you all niiiiiice and slow like this pretty pussy deserves.” Those strong arms keep manhandling you open as he shovels straight into you. “W-wanted to show you that a mature man like me could- hngh, make you feel the best you’ve ever felt.”

“But I already do…” You huff out, arms thrown needily around his neck. 

Yet Nanami doesn’t seem to hear—he doesn’t even seem to register. At least, the only acknowledgement that you get of your response is the way his body flinches ever-so-slightly at the mere sound of your voice. “And yet…” Those hazel-brown eyes of his widen as they run down your body, ultimately resting where your pussy was bloated all ‘round him. “And yet, one kiss of these pretty lips and I’m done for.”

“D-done for…” You repeat - mostly because you don’t know what else to do.

Don’t know what else you’re capable of doing other than wrapping your weak legs around his waist. Your hamstrings stretch and scream; and you’re sobbing yourself as his pace seems to accelerate.

“I can feel myself…” Nanami speaks through a watery mouth. “-getting fucking addicted—shit, like some hormonal punk. I should know better. A man my age…”

“Oh- oh, Kento.”

“I should know better- I should fucking know better.” He admonishes himself - though that doesn’t stop or even slow down the feral pap-pap-paps! of his pelvis hitting yours. Through scrunched-up eyes, he’s gazing upon you. “C-can’t believe you got some old man like me-” Despite your instant protests. “-to finally break.”

After a few more sudden strikes - almost animalistic - you’re managing to string together enough syllables. “But…I don’t mind, Kento.”

And that—that might just be the one thing that makes him falter. “Pardon?” He blinks up at you with glazed-over eyes.

Nodding, “I promise I don’t mind.” In fact, you’re tugging him in with a fistful of his blond strands between your fingers. “I- ngh! want you to go even harder…if you can-”

“Of course I can, my love.” The both of you are startled by his instant answer. “I-I mean, if you know that it means I might leave a few marks and—even more marks.” Perhaps most notably on your spongy cervix, welcoming his bashing thrusts.

But you don’t mind. Like you said.

You’re nodding even harder, “Yes, please.”

So polite. How could he ever refuse?

And in the blink of an eye, the blond-haired man leans over to clasp that patterned tie draped over his bedpost. It’d gotten thrown there sometime after the frenzy of getting home - quite convenient for when Nanami wanted to throw it loosely over his clammy neck and give you the other end to hold onto—

“Don’t be afraid to pull if it gets too much.” He puffs out at you in a breezy breath.

“Too much?” You ogle up at his handsome face. You half-jokingly wondered whether the bed - and perhaps you - would be in one piece by the time that Itadori gets home tomorrow. It was going to be a never-ending night…

“Mhm, because this is going to be rough, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Controversy.

WHO IS ROCKSTAR HEARTTHROB GETO SUGURU’S GIRLFRIEND? HOW CAN WE BE HER?!

GOLD DIGGER?! BASSIST OF 6EYES SHUTS DOWN MALICIOUS RUMORS SURROUNDING BEAU: SAYS THEY ARE ‘BULLSHIT’. 

DILF OFF THE MARKET: GETO SUGURU CONFIRMS RELATIONSHIP OF ‘YEARS’ HE SAYS. 

Everyone knew of Geto Suguru. Or so it seemed when they were screaming his name and cursing yours—everyone wanted to be with him. 

Or be him.

Who wouldn’t? Thick rings. Grey-black hair. Feline smile.

A 6’2, long-haired dreamboat that just-so-happened to be the bassist of the hottest rock band on the charts right now: 6Eyes. They’d been discovered quite early on - when they’d just been out of high school, actually - and had maintained a steady presence in the music scene ever since. Shattering record after record and filling stadium after stadium. By the time you’d gone with some of your college friends to one of their concerts, they were already titans in the industry—and you’d been an instant fan. 

So imagine your surprise when your friend announced that one of the security had invited your group backstage. 

That was the night you’d met Geto Suguru - you’d locked eyes and the both of you had just known.

You signed that NDA. You met for dates under disguises. And you’d even met his young adopted daughters- oh, you adored them.

Several months later, when TMZ or some other site had broken the story of Geto secretly dating a fan over ten years younger than him - and that was when scandal ensued. The fandom was rabid—and you understood.

Though Geto, who was rather used to biting headlines and speculation, told you that the whole thing would blow over soon enough- you holed up in your shared penthouse. You turned off your social media notification. You tried not to turn on any celebrity news channel. 

And you decided: the very least you could do is make a good first impression…

“Easy now…easy there…” Geto holds the recorder in one hand n’ the side of your hips in his other. You’re maddeningly aware of both the rolling tape and the way his puckered, pretty tip is getting guided to your entrance—“Don’t strain yourself now. Trust Suguru.”

Just the very first inch of it slipping lusciously between your pussylips and easing inside.

Geto was always so thick, donning numerous veins that creep up the sides of his shaft in zig-zagging patterns. And the sheer girth of him intruding is enough to make you gasp-

“Mmm, that’s good.” The older man murmurs with a smile- long, greying hair forming a curtain around the two of you. “Let’s try again. A little louder this time.” Before he reels his hips back the mere inches he’s squeezed inside, and then rammin’ right back in again - it sounds the loudest squelch! as you’re taking even more of him. “Ohhhh, that’s good. Maybe I can use that as the outro, heh?”

“Maybe just use it for the entire ch-chorus.” You hiss.

“Trying to take my spotlight?” Geto leans down to kiss your swollen lips- or so you think. He’s pressing his pierced mouth against yours and gnawin’ down on your lower lip.

“Scared of- mmpf. Scared of being ousted by the young new talents?”

The edges of his lips curling upwards. “A rock veteran like me? Oh, I don’t think I have anything to be scared of…”

And you can only moan straight into his greedy, greedy maw as you’re jostled back and forth. Geto’s thrusts were oh-so-merciless and puncturing deeeeep into your womb—using the smooth Prince Albert’s piercing atop his flared tip, he’s torching every hidden spot and nerve-end inside. Mazin’ around your walls and pushing into those little ridges that just made your back arch into him-

His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles. 

“Hey hey-” The only thing snapping you out of your frenzy is Geto’s sharp tuts. He stalls your restless hips by hooking his fingers into your thighs and throwing them over his broad shoulders- dragging you back into him. “Don’t run away, gorgeous—the studio session’s not over yet.”

“I wasn’t running away.” You huff.

“Sure seemed like it to me.” He grins - that silver piercing of his glinting in the dim lighting. It was the type of Cheshire-cat grin that you knew wouldn’t bode well for you…and as soon as you’re thinking about it, Geto opens his sensual mouth and spits—straight between your lips.

The wad lands softly on your tongue.

And Geto himself reaches a second ringed hand up to close your jaw- to urge you to swallow. “Remember to keep those vocals hydrated, gorgeous. We’re getting to the good part now.”

You think you could gasp at the audacity—but what’s leaving you instead are a series of long, lewd moans. Mewls. Pleas. 

He’s drawing them out over and over again by hiking your thighs up his shoulders and pressing you into a mean mating press- lunging his body down into yours. Crushing your pliable self underneath him. Slashing your cervix with loooooong thrusts and his ropey precum puddling sweetly at the back of your pussy.

“Yeah- yeah, louder now.” Pushing the recorder even closer. “Louder, girl.”

“I am—oh.” With the way he was fucking you like he almost hated you - though it was rather the opposite - your sentences warble with hiccups and gasps. The lines of his veins were somehow massaging the exact hidden spots that drove you wild. 

“You got this.”

“Fuck-”

“Louder. S’just you and me.” This was exactly what he wanted to hear - his favorite melody was you. “Just a bit of chopping up n’ remixing- this is perfect. Gonna sound so fuckin’ pretty to my bass.”

“Fuh-feels so good-”

“Mhmmm, I know, gorgeous. Now let the listeners know.” 

Making your noise pitch upwards in volume. 

After a few more strokes, he bores down at you with a thoughtful expression. “Now…why don’tcha try calling me ‘Sugu’ for the recording?”

“You want me to be sappy? Okay, rockstar.” You’re unable to bite your tongue fast enough- though your snapping only makes him even more excited.

Amethyst eyes glistening. “Oh, don’t be a diva just yet, newbie.” The older musician brings the audio recorder closer to catch your every breath, “Trust me. I’ve been in this industry for a loooooong time- c’mon now. Listen to your- heh, vocal coach—say ‘Sugu’.”

How you loved riling him up just as much as he did to you. “Then give me something good to moan for, baby.”

“Don’t test my patience, superstar.”

Though he does as you say. 

You should have expected it all the same; the rockstar had mapped out every single good spot inside you. And it was with a near-photographic memory that he’s inching his length backwards- until it was just his lavish red tip lickin’ up your entrance.

Just for a second…just for two…

Before slamming into your g-spot so hard n’ suddenly that you almost sob.

Making your cunt mold to the exact texture of his circular piercing- hitting your sensitive area first, before then pushing his smooth tip into it as well. You’re feeling every bit of him—and you’re making sure that your future audiences can hear it, too. 

“S-Sugu—!” You’re thrashing in his arms- and he’s crashing and crashing his hips into you. Gluing the heated, stinging pink skin of his pelvis against yours so ferally that you can’t keep up with his pace no matter how fast you’re attempting to buck and bounce.

“Oh, that one’s going in the intro for sure.” He titters. 

“S’fucking mean.” You whimper as he pushes down on your lower half - purposefully, so that his scruffy happy trail scratches your clit.

“Sugu knows best.” So sweetly, he kisses your forehead—and you wonder whether the loud smacking sound that he leaves behind is more for the recorder or to make you squirm. Shy, much? “Now how about I fuck you pregnant n’ we just announce the baby on the album?”

You pause for a second - before a smile twitches at your lips. “A rockstar baby? You read my mind.”

He reciprocates. “Always knew you were made f’me.”

The headlines were sure to love this.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - MY UNCLE’S GF?!

Someone had suggested playing two truths and a lie:

You weren’t a lot older than Choso- at least in his eyes. That didn’t matter to him.

Choso has always wanted you.

He’s over that now, though.

Choso’s palms are sweaty ‘round his lightweight beer as he utters the words; words just a little louder than he intended them to be. Maybe that was the pre-game finally kicking in—but he couldn’t blame it on that, either. Had it been called three truths and a lie, then Choso would have also confessed that he was stone-cold sober as he murmurs two of his deepest secrets to the little circle of drunk college kids. 

And you.

You…you’re looking at him like you’d already guessed he’d say that.

Had he really been that obvious? Choso first met you three years ago, during his sophomore year in college, when he’d gone home for the holidays—and discovered that, this year, Sukuna had been dragged home, too. Except…his uncle hadn’t come alone this time.

He’d brought along- you. 

You were the one to greet him at the door—and Choso remembers his breath catching in his chest. He remembers feeling his heart bang against his ribcage. He remembers his eyes widening- and his mouth gaping stupidly as you introduced yourself.

So caught up in you, he’d been forced to ask Sukuna for your name again-

“Back off.” His uncle had scoffed, crimson eyes narrowing. Honestly - Ryomen Sukuna was the only person alive that could make cotton candy-pink hair look intimidating. “Don’t think I don’t see the way yer looking at her.”

He’d probably stammered something intelligible-

“Look all ya want- if she feels uncomfortable, she’ll thump ya herself. But you can’t touch.” Sukuna set his beer bottle down. “M’actually serious about this one.”

And Choso could see why - you were the first person that Sukuna had ever brought into the Itadori family home. You were smart. You were funny. You weren’t afraid to put the pink-haired man in his place. You were fucking gorgeous—

And…you were Sukuna’s girlfriend. Ten years older than Choso.

Which is why - no matter how badly you made his heart flutter - Choso had vowed to never, never so much as even think to act upon his feelings for you. 

He just had to grit his teeth and avoid prolonged conversation with you during every family function and gathering you attended with Sukuna- of which the man was making an appearance at every single one now. Almost as though to provoke him even more. 

And Choso was forced to make peace with the fact that he’d never make peace with his feelings.

That is…until the two of you broke up.

He’d heard news about it just a few weeks ago, actually- his father had said something about Sukuna being down in the dumps after you’d broken up with him. Something about not making enough time and drifting apart—Choso hadn’t heard the details, he’d been too overwhelmed with the guilty glee that’d shot through his body and made his heart pound. And then just tonight - oh, how he wished he could kiss whoever was looking down at him (but no, that was saved for you…) - Choso just-so-happened to run into you at the bar he was attending with his friends.

So of course he had to invite you over to their table.

Of course, he had to ignore your protests about being older than them all. None of that shit mattered. 

Of course, he had to sit right opposite you on the table and divulge his greatest secret - one he’d been keeping to himself for three years now.

You’re just opening your mouth to respond-

When Choso’s feeling a harsh smack! on his back and one of his friends crowing in his ear. “Atta boy! You never struck me as the type to like MILFs, man.”

“Technically I’m not a MILF yet.” You giggle, fixating your gaze upon him. He almost flinches. “But you’re right…I never thought you’d be the type to like older women. I’m ten years older than you, Choso, you know that right?”

Choso mumbles almost too quietly to hear. “Th-that doesn’t matter to me…”

“Yeah- and you’d probably like that ‘ma’am’ shit, eh?” His friend guffaws, making the now-bashful Choso - whatever courage he had liquified - duck his head. “Oh- sorry I didn’t mean—”

“No, no.” You dismiss the babbling college boy. “I’m not offended at all. In fact, you might be right.”

The table bursts into wolf whistles-

And it’s a blur until you’re ragging with the banter a little more - before discreetly excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. Choso’s staring up at you - totally not admiring your back like some pathetic lovesick fool - before catching your gaze and your pointed wink.

And then he’s scrambling right after you. As discreetly as a sledgehammer.

.

.

.

Nose buried into the crook of your neck. Mouth gaped wide open- letting out the sweetest crackling moans into your skin. 

Choso had you pushed against the bathroom stall - clean, don’t you worry - with his arms wrapped around your body n’ his cock shoved between your legs. Dragging in and out in a way that was so messy—he’s roverin’ around his globules of cum with that fat tip of his, and then reeling his hips rapidly backwards to spray it down your walls over and over.

He’d cum as soon as he’d put it inside.

And it wasn’t his fault.

Honest! 

“Oh- oh.” And now he was panting desperate breath after breath between thrusts—“I’m sorry…the condom broke, baby.” Choso’s lower lip cutely trembles as he speaks. “Can’t help it. And then your pussy’s just so warm and welcoming a-and…”

His breath hitches as he hits that one gluttonous spot that makes you clench.

“-and I just- can’t- when you’re squeezing me like that.”

Basically hypnotized, Choso’s slender fingers dip down between your legs. And so swiftly - that you’re almost surprised at his nimbleness - he pulls out of your wet hole n’ clasps his hand around his barely-wrapped length. The rubber condom had been too tight around him, and it’d shattered into a million pieces—Choso looks up at you through his doe-like lashes, and waits until you’re nodding.

That’s when he’s wringing off his broken condom and squeezing out whatever wetness it held. Pushing out the cum back onto your pussy. 

Making such a mess. 

Those pure-white droplets that end up splattered back down on your pussy- warm and utterly unwholesome. A sinful cover. He wasn’t leaving a single ounce wasted. “Sh-shit.” Choso’s mouth gapes wide open. “It’s all your fault…”

Just the cutest trickle of saliva makes its way down his lips - and you’re reaching upwards to wipe it away. “Awwww. Ever done it raw before, Cho?”

After a brief bout of hesitation, he shakes his head.

“I’ve never done it before.” He confesses. Your eyes widen, so he was a virgin…

“Then are you sure you can handle it, baby? No need to push yourself if-”

“No.” He gasps. Sharp. Shot-through. It leaves his lips before he even knows what’s happening- and then you’re clenching again in a way that makes his brows twist together, and his fingers dig into your waist. “No, no, no, no-” Eyes frenzied. “We don’t have to stop f’me, baby. We don’t even have to slow down—”

Cum-coated; his thickened cock gets sandwiched between your lips then jerked back and forth a few times. By now he was so wet with slick n’ sap that it was making him slip a few times before he’s actually managing to get it in again—and that, too, with your help. 

You reach down to help grip Choso’s raging-hot erection, and guide it inside your cunt: an action that leaves the other man blushing down to the roots of his hair. Even his tip throbs just a little harder—“Th-thank you, ma’am.”

Your brows raise in amusement- and it only hits him then. So he was into the ‘ma’am’ thing.

“I mean- baby.” He sounds so utterly ruined. “Thank you, baby. Promise I can handle it now, m’kay?”

And oh…you can’t deny that it was just so fun to tease him. “Hmmm…I dunno, Choso-”

Chocolate-brown bangs sticking to your skin, he’s lurching his face away to bore straight into your eyes. “I-is it because I’m younger?” He asks with a hint of desperation, and your lips part as your ex’s hot nephew keeps steamrolling away with his pussydrunken mouth. Poor, poor Choso. “Because I promise I can handle it. I can fuck you- ngh, the best. Promise m’gonna make you feel sooooo—”

Choso’s hips were hammerin’ away at a pace you’d never have suspected- and his hips end up crushed against yours. So close that the scruff of his happy trail scratches your clit raw.

“-g-good.” A single tear track runs down his face - you’re unsure whether he’s talking about you or himself.

“Easy there, tiger.” You’re pushing back on a stray lock of his hair- darker now with perspiration. The sweet gesture makes Choso huffs. 

It wasn’t doing him any favors, however, as that only made him look even cuter. You’re craning your neck and planting a chaste peck on his bubblegum-pink lips—only for Choso to take control of the kiss and softly bite down on your bottom lip. “Baby-” He rasps. And with just how sweet Choso had always been to you, you could’ve almost forgotten how strong he was- how easily he could bounce you down on his cock- how needy he was for you. Feral. Even though you had him wrapped ‘round your finger, he was jostling your pussy’s inside like craaaazy. “Don’t do that. Don’t baby me- I need to be taken- ngh, s-seriously by you, m’kay?”

“Oh…” You’re letting out a heated breath as his tip empties out at your cervix.

And to prolong that sensation; Choso claws his hand up and pushes on the lower part of your stomach. Right beneath where your cunt was expanding and contracting with his cock. “Feel how big I am?” He doesn’t stop putting pressure on that spot until you’re nodding - “How hard? How much I’m leaking?” Just on cue, a splatter! of precum leaks between your pussylips.

And with something like a broken whimper- Choso snakes his fingers down to push the leakage back up your channel. 

“O-oh—this pussy’s so fuckin’ wet. And I can handle it- I can handle it.” He utters more to himself. The more he’s speaking, the harder and longer he’s fucking you, the more ruined he sounds. “M’not as innocent as you think, baby.”

“Oh? Do tell.” You smile.

Such a gorgeous, gorgeous smile that he almost hesitates wiping away with a roll of his thumb - stimulating the nerves of your clit. But it makes you break out into the prettiest lewd expression that leaves him rutting his hips even harder, “Do you have any idea how fuh-fucking long I’ve waited for this? How badly I’ve wanted to- ngh, stuff my cock and fuck you like an animal?” As he trails off, he feels his stinging tip start to twitch even more wildly. Dangerously. “Fuck—”

“H-how long?” You’re asking with a smug smirk.

Choso’s blinking a few times just to let the question register- and finally muttering. “Even when you were dating- him. Ever since I first saw you…” And then he rubs his thumb at an even more steadied pace, matching it to the pushes of his spearing cock. “You were wearing that red dress of yours- hah, and I could see the strap of your pretty pink bra peaking out…the one with the bows on-”

That makes you gasp.

Which Choso takes advantage of to plaster his lips against yours n’ suckle on your tongue. 

“And then-” Barely managing out through kisses- through stabs of his length- through the pleasure. “And then you called me ‘baby’ as you were getting ready to leave, and I- ngh, knew you were teasing me for being younger—fuck, I h-had to run to the bathroom just to jerk off.”

Rovering his mushroomy trip straight into your nerve-ended g-spot; you’re arching into his chest as you feel Choso lose his grip on his sanity.

Already having been so loose.

He’s babbling as he cums long and hard, and oh-so-deeeeeply into your cunt. Mouth ajar. Body collapsing against yours - caging you even further against the bathroom wall. “Baby- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Shit, so much…” Just feeling the ribbons upon ribbons of creamy-white sap he was emptying out. Hot. hypnotizing. Every stroke managed to hit your best spots, and every push meant your pussy was getting overloaded with his cum. The inches of his shaft were curved just perfectly enough that he’s managing to slip aside your walls and use his tip to circle and circle those webs of cum at the very base of your pussy. All over. 

Soon enough, you’re feeling a layer of it make its way down your inner-thighs—and Choso still didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon. You moan, “H-how can you cum this much- mmpf.”

He captures your lips in another sloppy kiss. “Must be the stamina of a younger guy.”

“Choso you’re pussydrunk.” You’ve never heard him sound so drawling and dreamy.

“Hmmmm…” He’s nuzzling the crook of your neck, leaving bite marks that will be entirely too difficult to explain when you’re going back outside. “Did you cum? Promise I can- ngh, make you cum, too…” Grazing your skin with his lips.

“Prove it, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 6…9?

“It’s a fuckin’ pandemic, isn’t it?”

You’re looking at your boyfriend over the rim of your book, “Excuse me?”

Sukuna was seated on the armchair in the corner of your bedroom; just having finished a video call with his brother and his nephew. The bright chatter (at least from their end) had died down some minutes ago, and they’d bid your boyfriend goodnight—which was rather the same routine for these biweekly calls. Despite how much the two of you visited, Itadori Yuji always found it too hilarious to put strange filters on his grumpy uncle.

Except, tonight…Sukuna had sat in the armchair for a few minutes longer.

Usually; he would join you in bed.

Usually; he would grumble - though with a fond smile on his face - about whatever Yuji had been chattering about before. 

He was practically an honorary father to the boy, and it always made you smile to see. 

Usually; he wouldn’t look up at you as expressionless as if he’d seen a ghost- as if his soul had wafted away. And ask you about some…pandemic? Did Yuji put something in his head again?

At the confused expression on your face, Sukuna was heaving out a sigh—pushing up those glasses that were totally, most definitely not glasses and merely a tool he uses to…see…better up his handsome nosebridge. Sukuna was in his late thirties, and silver was beginning to tinge the edges of his pink hair, climbing up his temples. His crows’ feet creased as he frowned at you, “The…67 thing. It’s a pandemic.”

“67 thing?” You gape, your book plopping down on the bed. 

“You heard me.” He scoffs. “I’ve been thinking it’s mass hysteria- every brat at his kindergarten keeps repeating it. But there seems to be no pattern or cohesion. I thought it was just those damn kindergarteners, but the other day I even caught Jin saying it-”

“S-six…seven…thing.” You’re repeating - for no reason other than to confirm to yourself that what you’re hearing was real.

Sukuna straightens in his chair, “See? Now it’s got you—”

“Kuna, like the meme?” You’re shaking your head, “The one from the song? Oh my god, it’s not mass hysteria-”

He crinkles his nose. “The hell is a…meme?”

“You don’t know what a—” How has he been Yuji - of all people’s - uncle but still had no idea? You continue, “It’s basically an Internet inside joke- it’s been over for a while now but the kids are still obsessed with it.” Finally gripping your book once more, you level him a look. “You didn’t seriously think it was mass hysteria, did you, Kuna?”

Sukuna crosses his bulky arms and looks away. “Tch—”

And when he catches you giggling, he barks-

“What?!”

“Oh- nothing.” And from the smile upon your lips - Sukuna knew that whatever was coming out of your mouth next wasn’t about to be anything sincere. 

Which is why he’s raising himself off the sofa and climbing up the foot of your bed.

You continue, “It’s just you’re getting old, Kuna.”

Joking; nothing ever riled Ryomen Sukuna up more than teasing him for not understanding some new slang or lyric. 

And with how much he riled you up sometimes—you had to get back at him somehow, alright?

Soon enough, he’s pinning you down to the bed - with his toned pelvis pressing down on your waist, and his arms creeping upwards to keep your wrists pushed against the mattress. “Say that shit again. I dare you.”

You’re leaning up as though to kiss him. “Old man.”

.

.

.

Sukuna’s tongue was zig-zagging wiiiiildly between your legs- striking the soft circle of your entrance and then swervin’ as deeply inside as it could go. Deeper. Deeper.

No matter how fervently his mouth was glued to your pussy. 

No matter how ravenously.

His hips rut off the bed with every single lick—and that fat, throbbing tip of his kept shovelling n’ shovelling at a synchronized pace with his tongue. 

He had you twisted in sixty-nine with your pussy latched onto his lips. 

Sukuna’s own cock squeezing out heavy volumes of his salty precum near your lips, then promptly pushin’ them inside with his thrusts- Sukuna was so loooong and rock-hard that he was managing to swab across every spot and directly target the back of your throat. Playing with that dangly in the back.

You’re moaning as he squeezes two ringed-decorated fingers into your tight cunt. And he grins as he feels the vibrations—“Ah ah- s’rude to talk with your mouth full.” 

Just then, Sukuna’s planting a smack! on your pussy that makes you pull off of his shaft with a loud pop! “H-hey…”

“What?” He trundles. Reaching his hips up and guiding his needy tip back into your mouth, “Speak.”

All because he knew that you’d attempt to nonetheless- and it would end up with the most lewd noises being muffled into this cock. It would end up with his eyes scrunching shut, his head throwing backwards at the shocks of pleasure. “Th-thought I told you to speak? Hah- not babble. Cock got your tongue or something?”

And…it would end up with you being all huffy n’ puffy. “That’s not even f-fair…”

“Heh- fair?” From where he’d been nipping at your clit, Sukuna pulls off - just to confirm he wasn’t hearing things. He wasn’t. And though you couldn’t see his expression from this angle, you could practically hear the amusement in his tone. “What happened to me being old, huh? You surely don’t need me to go easy on you.”

“I d-didn’t say that…” You’re stubbornly answering him - though the constant drives of his fingers were driving you absolutely mad. Sure. 

“Good.” And then you’re feeling two more consecutive smack-smacks! atop your bloated folds. “Because, babydoll…m’barely even started.”

In no time, Sukuna has you manhandled so that your stomach’s against the soft bed. Your back’s against his thoroughly toned front - so incredibly strong; he was bulky—with a layer of thickness to him that made your skin tingle with want - and his erect cock placed between your legs. He takes a few moments to wetten your core up- because no matter how many times you’ve taken him, you think you’ll never get used to Sukuna’s sheer size.

And before long you’re clawing onto the headboard for dear life—as he damn-near molds your tender cunt to his size. Startin’ at the tip-top of his bloated shaft, and then bouncing you down- down- down so many inches greedily. 

Utterly greedily. 

“Oh- oh, fuuuuuck.” Hands shooting forwards to grab onto more of the mahogany frame.

But Sukuna stops you right then n’ there by wrapping his right arm around your neck; like a wreath, your pants are immediately cut off. And his muscles bulge as they tighten—the defined ridges of his biceps pushing against your throat - it’s sensual enough to make your mouth water…“And where’d you think you’re going, huh?”

“Nowher- mmpf.” Cut off immediately by the tightening of his muscled restraint. 

“Lying’s not a good look, brat.” Then his second set of fingers snakes down to spank! your stuffed pussy- right atop your bloated folds. The shockwaves that run up your spine are enough to make you buck and whine—and enough to make him drag you back into him. Again and again. “Wasn’t stuffing this mouth earlier ‘nough to teach you a little lesson?”

So stubborn. “Not at all-”

He’s spitting straight between your lips.

And when Sukuna’s fucking you; it’s with harsh, pointed jabs - scouring deeeeep into the bottom of your pussy and leaving the mark of his cockhead. That rounded bruise you feel throb-throb-throbbin’ away every time he repeats the action—he fucks you like he hates you.

And he’s only growing faster, harder by the second.

Only tightening his headlock and wrenching your body back into his. Again and again.

Over and over.

Until the globes of your ass were stinging with impact, and you’ve memorized the pattern of his happy trail. It’s practically a part of you. 

Sukuna’s rugged cock knew aaaaall the right spots. Making your pupils roll around in the whites of your eyes, and leaving you wondering just how he had this much stamina still…“Awww, c’mon now.” His low voice trundles in your ears. “Get your act together, girl. You don’t wanna be this cockdrunk for someone so old, huh?”

“I-I—”

“What was it you called me?” He growls, sharp canines nipping at the shells of your ears. “Huh? What was it you called me? See, this fossil ‘ere has some trouble…remembering-”

Every syllable of his was punctured by a thorough glide across the velvety channel of your pussy- “Ummm, then in that case, I didn’t say anything?” You try your luck.

“Nice try.” Sukuna grins. “But m’not that geriatric yet.”

Another spank. “Please-”

“What did you call me?”

“I-I just meant-”

And another. “What did you call me?”

“An…old man.” You feel embarrassed just letting the words slip between your lips.

You didn’t think he could get even rougher with his movements - his shaft was throbbing, and his pelvis was smack-smack-smacking into you. So hard that you’re propelled forwards by the sheer force; and Sukuna roughly lurches you back with his headlock. “I might be an old man- cheh. I might not know all these…damn Internet memes- but I do know how to fuck this pussy right.” To prove his point, he scours in-between your pussylips to squeeze your pretty clit. “Look at her- she’s in love with me.”

“O-oh—” Eyes fluttering shut. 

“I know how to make her cry with pleasure. I know how to make her- mmmngh, squeeze like she doesn’t want me leavin’…heh.” He continues muttering into your ear as his hips grow more fervent. “I know how to make her feel so good—”

Your teeth grit. “Shit.” And you recognize the twisting sensation at the pit of your stomach. “K-Kuna, I’m gonna cum-”

“And even better.” He chuckles. Gnawing at the top of your ear shell, before moving down to bite the tender crook of your neck - like a wolf catching his prey. “I might not know those fuckin’- memes like the youngsters do. But I do know how to make this pussy- cum.”

“S-sooo close—don’t stop.” You’re bouncing n’ bouncing back into his pistoning hips. 

Feeling the pleasure well up. Feeling your head start to spin a little as you near your high- 

You’re crashing past your tipping point. And Sukuna gives you one, two, three good strokes to fuck you through the bursts of white-hot pleasure running through your veins - before he’s suddenly setting you free of his headlock and letting you drop straight into the plush pillows. 

Reeling his damn cock out.

You don’t know what’s louder: your disappointed groan or his rough cackle.

“What? Wanted this old man to be nice in bed or something?” As soon as you’re looking over your shoulder, you’re met with Sukuna’s priggish grin—his sharp canines peaking out at the edges of his lower lip. 

Grumpily, you nod. “Yes? What- can’t last or—oh.”

Another smack. “That’s not gonna work on me again- sorry, babydoll.” And before you know it, you’re being flipped right over - getting your legs thrown over his shoulders and pushed into the meanest mating press you’ve ever experienced. “Because m’not letting my bratty girl properly cum until I’ve had a good few rounds to blow off some steam. And m’sure you can keep up- heh, if not…”

“And um- how many rounds might that be exactly?”

Sukuna smirks. “67.”

“I hate you.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - “M-mommy!”

AITA for seducing the HOT rich MILF (40’sF) that I (23M) pool-clean for while her ex-husband and kids were away?! In my defense, she’s reeeeeally hot.

You freeze.

Ino freezes.

The world itself seems to freeze; all except for the ruby-red tip of Ino Takuma’s cock. Shoved deeeep inside your cunt - deep enough to leave a permanent bruise there - and throbbing away wildly—he’s cumming with that particular title escaping his lips. 

And then his lower lip wobbles once- twice- before he ducks down and attempts to hide his face in his arms. 

“Hey hey-” Swiftly, you reach down to push his hands away - you’d be disappointed not to see his pretty expressions as you fucked him even further. All pouty lips and doe-like eyes—Ino Takuma was so pretty, and perhaps that’s what drew you to the younger pool cleaner in the first place. “What’s the matter, Taku?”

“I-I didn’t mean to call you that- honest!” He stammers out.

To which you’re cocking your head with a sly smile- time to try something. “Call me what, Taku?”

“Y’know what it is…” Ino grumbles, huffing. And when you simply continue to stare at him in slight confusion, he’s rockin’ up into your wet cunt as he speaks- “The way I c-called you—mommy- oh.” Just as you’d predicted, his velvety length jolts at the mere utterance of that title. Excitedly spurting out a few creamy-white wads of cum that glue to your cervix.

So messy. He was so fucking messy.

How ironic, considering that his entire job was to clean your pool.

You’d been introduced to Ino through one of your friends - those networks of older rich women with far too much time and money on their hands. Juggling kids and businesses. And you’d just been complaining to them over a gold-flaked brunch that your last pool cleaner had moved towns, and with your kids now entering middle school, the pool was left without use and starting to gather leaves. 

That’s when they’d shared Ino’s number with you—a reliable pool cleaner. Just graduated college, and so easy on the eyes if they did say so themselves…

You’d huffed that you’d tell their husbands- meanwhile you on the other hand had just recently gotten divorced. One too many nights of your husband coming home with a cloud of mysterious perfume around him, or a lipstick stain on his collar - at least you’d gotten a good chunk of everything in the divorce!

But that was all in the past- maybe love just wasn’t for you.

You had your kids. You had your gorgeous hillside mansion. You had your hobbies and friends- men just weren’t…for…

Fuck, that’s when he’d showed up at your door. 

Bright and early. Beaming with all his gorgeous pearly whites; the sweetest smile on such a killer body. Ino showed up in nothing but an unbuttoned flowery shirt and swim trunks—their lightning-yellow color perfectly complemented his slightly-tanned skin and messy brown hair. Slightly tawny from the Sun.

“Er, I hope you don’t mind.” Ino had said, a sheepish smile on his face. “I thought I’d get changed for the job before I got here.”

Mind? Mind?!

In simply what world would you mind—it took every speck of reason and rationality in you to dart your eyes away from the plane of his chest, his washboard abs. Sultry shoulders. Slender waist. There was a scattered happy trail that ran between his six-pack and- beneath his swimming trunks. 

Fuck. 

Instead, you focused on the tight necklace of shells around Ino’s throat. “C-come in.”

On the first day, you stayed inside - only peeking out occasionally from your bedroom window - as Ino cleaned your pool. You tipped him heavily.

On the second day, he’d told you that it was completely okay with him even if you used the pool whilst he was cleaning—and you took that as your sign. You donned a bikini you hadn’t gotten the chance to use in years, and sprawled yourself out on the nearest sun bed - making occasional conversation with him almost as an excuse to ogle him.

And if you weren’t mistaken, you’d say that he ogled you too. 

But you really did discover that Ino was a sweetheart- and made you giggle like a schoolgirl, too. How embarrassing you felt admitting this!

And a part of you was almost relieved when your kids arrived home from school - escorted by their driver - so you could resume your mundane lavishness. But a bigger part of you was already yearning for when you’d see him again…

And so continued the third day.

And the fourth day.

And so on to the fifth and the sixth.

Before you knew it, Ino had been employed as your pool-cleaner for at least a month—and he’d quickly grown to become someone you and your kids were quite fond of. Even your driver had caught on, and shot you a knowing smile every time you asked him to escort Ino back to his downtown apartment. Perhaps feeling jealous of such an occurrence, your ex-husband had showed up with tickets to an amusement park - already having planned a day trip for your kids.

They’d, of course, begged to go. And so you’d agreed.

Leaving nobody inside this vast mansion: but you, Ino, and the growing tension between you two. 

The only thing was, right before he left, your ex-husband had the audacity to stop Ino and snipe at him. Low and threatening. “Touch her and I’ll make you very, very sorry.”

So, of course you’d fucked Ino as soon as they were out of the house. 

Squeezing your robe-covered thighs ‘round his waist—just so perfectly curved to meet your embrace. “W-we really shouldn’t be…I mean- I’m old enough to be your-”

“Works just fine for me, pretty.” He’d cut you off. Pulling on the gauzy material of your robe to let your tits spill out- fuck, he was in heaven.

Enough so that it’d taken just putting it in for Ino to cover your luscious inside in his sap. To watch the satiny liquid seep between your pussylips and leave his pelvis gleaming with a sheen. To wrench out the most pathetic calls of your name—and one particular title that made him want to get swallowed up by the Earth.

Again and again.

Ino’s cock was longer than you’d expected - and all this time, you’d been wondering where the hell he’d been hiding all that in his swimming trunks. Just reaching over six pretty inches. Just smooooth and leaned ever-so-slightly towards the left. It’s making his bulbous tip drag across every sweet spot inside you, and your thighs quiver as you take him.

Every single inch. You’re arching your back and mustering up your strength to grind your hips forwards and back, forwards and back.

Milking him—

“C’mon, baby.” You’re cooing down at the handsome man. He blinks his teary eyes open- and you just can’t help but lean down n’ kiss them away from his cheeks. “Call me ‘mommy’ again?”

“C-can’t…” Ino blushes down to the roots of his chocolate-brown hair. “It’s embarrassing-”

“But it gets me so wet, Taku.” You pout—and his eyes widen at your admission. You watch as his pupils shift down- as if making sure. “Pleeeeeeeease? Just once?”

And in response, you smush your thighs harder around him. You’re sure you leave red, red welts on his skin - but that wasn’t registering in his mind right now. Nothing was. Nothing but the smooch of your soft velvety insides embracing his cock, and the sensation of cum sploshin’ around inside you. “Fine…but only because I wanna impress you…” His breath hitches. “-mommy.”

You shiver. “Oh, I liked that—”

And he does, too, because your cunt’s just suctioning on his length as if you were trying to take his soul. His fucking soul. 

The thing is- Ino would have gladly given it to you at this moment.

“It feels good- it f-feels s-sooooo good.” Tears begin to crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and Ino’s fingers dig into the sides of your hips as he bucks upwards. “Fuck, it should be illegal for it to feel this good- mommy.” And he can’t fucking help it—it echoes before he can stop himself. 

“Taku, I think you like saying that more than me.” With a soft chuckle, your dominant hand ends up wrapped around his throat. “C’mon now- a little faster for mommy.”

“Sh-shut—ngh.” No matter how hard he attempts to regain control- it doesn’t work. He pushes upwards into your soft, syrupy cervix as though marking it.

After a few desperate thrusts, he asks you- “Is this okay?”

“Hmmmm…” You pretend to think - and the ruined expression on his face is oh-so-completely worth it. “How about a biiiiit faster?”

His jaw drops- but he doesn’t complain. He’s grabbing onto either side of your thighs now, and plunging straight into your deepest depths—multiple thwacks! every second, it feels like. “H-how about-”

“Just a little faster.”

Doubting himself. “Is that even possible-”

“But you’d do it for- heh, me won’t you? You’d do it to make me feel good?”

Nodding and nodding. “Yes, mommy. A-anything for you mommy—” Broken moans and pleas cycle at the back of Ino’s throat, and he’s planted his feet flat on the mattress to push himself up ravenously. “M’just here for you to use me.”

Your eyes widen - your smile grows.

“Just use me-” He gasps, face reddening as he follows your instructions. “Fucking use me like a toy. Use me- fuh-fuuuck—”

“A liiiiiittle bit—” Your head tips backwards as he’s entering the perfect pace - rapid enough to leave your thoughts stupidly muddled, but still steady enough that you’re feeling every single ridge, vein, and curve. Giving your walls such a good massage—“Th-that’s perfect, Taku.” You squeeze his pretty neck tighter, and you’re hearing him let out a little hiccup of a sob. “Mommy’s so proud of you.”

Oh, and you thought that he was ruined enough already?

You thought that he was reaching his limits?

Because after that particular sentence - oh, you’re evil for that - Ino digs his digits into the flesh of your thighs and rams deep into your womb. His pistoning cock resting there for a brief few split-seconds as he sputters—“L-let me make you a mommy all over again.”

Your breath catches. “Do you even know what you’re asking for, Taku-”

“Fucking yes.” His glazed tip twitches dangerously in a way that told you he was oh-so-close to cumming again. Again.  “Yes, please- fuuuuck, let me get you pregnant. Let me make you a mommy for the third time. I-I promise I’ll be the best- ngh, dad and nothing like that asshole. I’ll take care of you and cherish you and-”

You kiss him to shut him up.

“But of course, baby.” You hum. “But you have to be quick before my ex-husband finds out.”

He’s never cum harder in his life. 

Verdict: NTA (drop the fucking tutorial, OP).

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sugar, sugar…

Gojo Satoru wasn’t technically a DILF - but he was a sugar daddy.

And they called you a gold digger.

Gojo called you business-savvy.

It was a rather unique situation: the relationship between the two of you had started out as a regular sugar daddy-sugar baby relation. You met Gojo Satoru at some stuffy ol’ business function when you were the arm candy of some other businessman—one who’d been ignoring you in favor of one of his business associates the entire night, of course.

Whatever.

You’d gotten used to this routine by now - and so you’d drifted by the grazing table with microscopic clean cuts and cheeses you couldn’t even pronounce. 

And that was exactly how your knight-in-shining-suit had sidled up next to you.

With two champagne glasses in-hand and a flirtatious smile upon his face, he handed you one of the drinks. Then you gestured at the businessmen you’d arrived with- and Gojo had the audacity to roll his eyes and pretend to retch. That was when you knew you’d get along.

Tall. Toned. With twinkling blue eyes—and just the slightest bit of silver creeping into his already-white hair. Gojo Satoru was as handsome as he was rich—and considering that both aspects occupied a fair share of the conversations tonight, you were rather flattered to be in his presence. Though the CEO of Gojo Corporations didn’t waste time: “Y’know, if I was lucky enough to arrive with an angel- I’d never leave her sight. Why waste time with some geezers over such a gorgeous gal?”

You smiled.

And you left that night with Gojo instead.

From the boxes of jewelries and flights around the world - to the tabloids and online speculation that couldn’t get enough of you. 

CEO of Gojo Corporations finally finds love?!

Gold digger or gold-hearted: All we know about Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend!

Is it sugar baby season? The newest IT Girl’s best red-carpet looks so far—

But of course, there was always some truth to those headlines. Perhaps. 

You were Gojo Satoru’s sugar baby. You were in a transactional relationship- though he never laid a hand on you. Not unless you initiated it.

So…what was it really?

You got your answer a few months into this limbo of lust—the two of you finally started dating. 

And to be quite honest; it wasn’t that big of a change at first. The two of you went out for romantic dinners either way. The two of you dodged paparazzi and rumors every step. The two of you bantered and teased as much as you did anyways- the only change would be that Gojo Satoru finally let loose when he fucked you.

Though, at times, he still did like to let his sugar daddy side peek through…

“A-awwww- just look at you.” Gojo’s hands were rubbin’ furiously down his length - from those curls of white cozily decorating his base, up to that poor, pretty tip that just wouldn’t stop cumming. Up and down. Up and down. 

Salty-sweet heaps of cum were pouring out of his cockhead and splashing down your front- your stomach, your inner thighs, your cunt. He watches as it creates a little waterfall effect—and Gojo reaches down to pat your stuffed pussy with his long fingers. “No matter what pretty trinkets n’ expensive lingerie you wear- you always look the prettiest covered in my cum, sweetheart.”

“S-Satoru—” You’re squirming underneath him. Hands clasping the silken sheets.

Your fingers were decked-out in diamond rings. Your lacy lingerie was tugged n’ pulled aside for access. 

Around you were bracelets upon necklaces upon every piece of jewelry that your heart could desire - Gojo had taken it upon himself to empty out Tokyo’s luxury stores earlier. All for you, of course.

All to drown you in—whilst he attempted to do the same with his fucking cum-

“I fuckin’ loooooove it when it covers you like this.” He hisses- nose scrunches in a feral way as he glides his fingers across those splatters. Those smears. That ruinous mess. His favorite was to see you like this: pull out game, who? You often scoffed whenever Gojo claimed that his was unmatched. “Love the way it looks like your pretty pussy can’t keep it in-” Just another light tap on your cunt. “Love the way it looks so pretty on your skin like this—mmm, you’ve got me obsessed, girl.”

Your thighs were shaky- but not shaky enough to stop you from attempting to pull him even closer. They’re wrapping around his waist, and careening him close ‘nough to kiss your puffy pussylips with his throbbing tip. His length doesn’t stop sensitively twitching for a single second—“O-oh…greedy for more, my girl?” 

“More.” Just barely managing to wrangle out. “W-want some more—”

“Fuuuuck.” He whispers underneath his breath - something so ragged in his tone. That blushin’ tip of his was twitching in excitement already, and Gojo probably doesn’t even realize before he’s slotted his still-erect length between your legs and his rockin’ away at a slow pace. “You seriously want more?”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation of him intruding your hole- seemingly only growing bigger every time he feels you clenchin’ around nothing. So needy. 

“Yes-” You’re nodding furiously. Perhaps had this been any other time, then you’d have been almost embarrassed at your unabashed eagerness. “B-but this time, I want it inside, Toru.”

“Inside?” Gojo’s pale brows fly to his hairline. “But you’re already stuffed so full, my sweetheart.”

And then he’s smearing his fingertips between your bloated folds- teasin’ them apart and taking a good look at your entrance. He can’t help himself - he’s spitting straight into that puckered hole—and watching at the glossy wad slips down your crevice and only adds to the mess he’s made previously. You’re shivering as he runs his nimble digits up n’ down your slit and presses on your clit.

“Yes, but—” You keen, arching into his firm core. “But you never really came inside, Toru.”

“Oh…” Those glossed lips of his part.

And you’re taking the opportunity to throw your arms weakly around him- “And I want it inside this time.” Though Gojo loved teasing you with his creamy-white sap—making you beg for it at times, he’s never properly cum inside.

He always thought it’d be too soon: you were younger, after all. And a pregnancy at this point might derail your plans-

“But I want it.” Had he been babbling this entire time? The sheer determination in your eyes sends a jolt of dark-black need through him - far more primal than he ever thought possible. Far more. Gojo’s blue peripherals glaze over as he clasps his cock even tighter, as though afraid he’s so hard now that it’d fucking fall off.

“Shouldn’t fall off now.” He whispers breathily.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Gojo quickly amends. Before he uses the pointed tip of his shaft to web up those dollops of cum he’d spurted ‘round your thighs and folds—it creates a gloss of white that he thinks would suit the insides of your pussy so well (did he mention that he was the one to pick out your lingerie colors?) ‘Round and ‘round.

It devises the most sinful sounds between your legs. And your breath catches in your throat: “A-are you gonna cum inside or not, Toru? Hurry-”

“So impatient.” He’s tutting. Voice low and husky. “I hope you know that if I fuck my cum inside—then m’gonna fuck you pregnant, sweetheart.”

Goosebumps scatter across your skin.

But Gojo doesn’t let you squirm, he doesn’t let you move about restlessly- he’s pinning you down with his hips and rumbling lowly in your ear. “M’gonna make sure it takes.” A rough sliiiiiide of his length sandwiched between your cushy pussylips - drooling for him by now. “M’gonna stuff you so full that you won’t even be able to walk—” Another rough slide. A thrust. “M’gonna give you the most precious gift of all - in my eyes.”

“P-please—!”

As you’re letting your head tip backwards, Gojo reaches his hand up to and clasps your gorgeous, gorgeous face. Smushing your cheeks together in a way that was so pathetic - “Are you okay with that, pretty baby?”

You’ve never heard him sound so serious.

And you’ve never yowled an affirmation faster in your entire life—

In the next few seconds, Gojo’s stuffed rawly all the way to the hilt and is messin’ up your insides with determined strokes. Once. Twice. Thrice- he punctures through your clingy walls and hits all the best spots - memorizing your g-spot and running his flared tip along it. 

And honestly, it doesn’t take much - the two of you were already so overstimulated already - before you’re feeling the wave of euphoria start to build up in your stomach already. Almost as lewd of a sensation as the clear twitchin’ mess that Gojo and his length had turned into—babbling, gasping, sobbing as he runs his fat cock raw on your velvety walls. Fucking raw.

You were going to make him an actual DILF.

“Y-you’re gonna get it now…” It’s the last thing he’s getting out before a flood of white sap enters your tight cunt. Getting absolutely drenched from the inside. “When have I ever forgone you of a gift, my girl?”

“Never—” You’re keening out. Rushes of pleasure start up between your legs- before crackling through your veins and ultimately ending up at your brain.

Hazy and startling at the feeling of him fucking you through both your highs. Thrust after thrust. Gush after gush of both pleasure n’ his milky-white cum. 

Underneath the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm; you can feel his spurts of cum start to trickle between your legs. It was just as warm as your skin was getting, and creating a little puddle beneath you that Gojo takes one looks at and gasps- 

“Now now, are you wasting your gift, sweetheart—?” He cocks his head, genuinely ruined. 

“N-no?”

“Or do I just have to- heh, regift it to you again?”

“Shut up.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Ms. Babysitter.

“We have to be quiet, angel- fuck. Fuck.” Higuruma’s voice sounded ragged—

Ruined. Nothing but carnal desire creeping up into the edges of his tone; giving you a jolt, considering that you’ve known the older man to be nothing but utterly calm and collected.

He was one of the best parents that you babysat for. 

One of your college friends had recommended you for the job - the hot lawyer in your neighborhood needed someone to look after his young daughter whilst he worked long nights? You were agreeing before you’d even heard the hours, you can’t deny—and despite how hasty of a decision it had been, you thoroughly enjoyed working under Higuruma Hiromi.

And being under Higuruma Hiromi…though that didn’t come until a few weeks after you’d been employed. 

The first night, you’d barely seen him. Dark hair. Dark circles.

The main thing you remember was that he looked exhausted—and some strange part of you was actually enticed by the hard-working man. Especially when he was such a gentleman…

Fuck, that suit fit him so well.

He addressed you oh-so-respectfully; unlike some parents who were tempted to treat you like a live-in server. Hands behind his back. Jet-black eyes to himself as he gave you a two-minute tour around the house- you’d been thoroughly enjoying yourself admiring his broad shoulders in that suit, when a sudden call from the office meant your tour had to be paused. 

Higuruma had pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. He’d sighed.

And he was out that door before you could even confirm bedtime- which hadn’t been too much of a problem, to be honest. His daughter was extremely well-behaved and didn’t hesitate to let you know. 

She also didn’t hesitate to let you know that her dad was very, very single.

You let her stay up just a liiittle past her bedtime. 

And then the second night, he’d apologized for his hastiness - telling you that a recent case had them fighting to prepare before the court deadline, and there’d just been so many fucking tax audits to go through.

You nodded like you understood. But what really intrigued you was when he’d told you that his daughter had just loved having you over. Though a part of you was simply satisfied that you did your job well (buttered popcorn and K-pop Demon Hunters wins again!), you can’t deny that it made your heart…flutter hearing it from the older man like this. 

It made you realize that you had a little crush.

So of course, you made him a regular.

And the pay was so good that you were able to weed out your other clients to focus predominantly on Higuruma and his bizarre babysitting schedule (some nights he worked until 3AM…)—you guessed the overtime was paying off. 

Though your interactions were limited mostly to the brief conversations before and after- though you never did cross your boundaries. That all came to a head when one night - about a month or two into your babysitting gig - Higuruma suddenly perked up after a late night at the office. It was 3:31AM when he quietly let himself inside the house, sighing as he finally tugged off his tie.

It was 3:32AM by the time you got up off the couch and offered him some cookies you’d made with his daughter in the morning.

3:40AM when he suddenly remembered- and suggested resuming that house tour you didn’t get to finish. And though you’d been a bit hesitant—for nothing other than the fact that you might wake his sleeping daughter up, he promised that the two of you would be quiet.

Then, finally, 3:47AM when he was telling you to be quiet in bed-

“Wouldn’t wanna wake her up, hm?” The prominent outline of his nose runs down the side of your throat - and it makes you shiver. Fuck, you always have thought that that was one of the most handsome parts of him. 

A soft moan strangles in your throat as he slots his thickened tip between your folds—feeling it like this, your mind’s reeling with the question of how the fuck he’s going to fit like this.

Higuruma always did strike you as the type of man to be big; but this was enough to make your mouth water and your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull. From here, you were feeling at least seven or eight inches of his erection, furiously hot, wrapped in throbbing red veins and having the most luscious precum dripping out from top. He seemed hard enough to fucking ruin you - just how you wanted it. 

And as if reading your mind, Higuruma runs his slippery wet tip down your pussylips, and trundles in his low tone. “Are you sure you want to do it? We don’t have to rush into anything if you don’t want-”

“I do.” Cutting him off mid-sentence.

Although by the way that Higuruma’s stern lips were quirking up ever-so-slightly—you’re taking it to mean that he didn’t exactly mind. He keeps one hand underneath your ass, so that you can be pushed up into his roverin’ hips, and his other one caresses your cheek softly. “Hm, is that so…? Then I guess what I meant to say is…can you take every single inch, sugar?”

You gulp. Your eyes dart down nervously to his twitchin’, throbbing length. “Yes.”

And you’ve never been more sure of anything.

Higuruma merely horses out - “Then buckle up, angel.”

Before you know it, his round, ruddied tip is probin’ inside. Sifting your gluey walls from side-to-side before spreading you up so maddeningly open.

He spots your sweet areas with a few dollops of pre- as soon as Higuruma found himself inside you, he was fighting back whimpers of pleasure. The older man’s achin’ cock doing all the talking for him as he shovels his way in—

“Sh-shit.” Your eyes sprint to the back of your head as you take him. “Shit, you’re so big-”

The way you’re moving your hips around as though confused whether to buck right down or make him ease up- it’s just so cute. And he plants a reassuring hand on the side of your waist, “Easy now.” Higuruma hushes out, “Eeeeeeasy, angel. You can take it for me.”

“Right there—” You keen out as his flared tip rubs along your g-spot.

And although he knows what you meant, that doesn’t stop Higuruma from throwing you a ravishing smirk. Letting his second hand run down your core- “No, sugar. Right here.” He pushes down right where he knew your womb would be - that soft pressure making your walls clench around him wildly, until you could feel every throb of his engorged tip even in your brain. “And you’re gonna take it f’me, right?” 

Jostling you hard with every thrust—so that you’re nodding away. Almost pathetically. 

“Mhm…exactly what I thought.” He coos - so lovingly thrusting away between your quiverin’ legs. Higuruma’s skin slap-slap-slaps against yours at a steady pace, “Just a few more inches now—keep quiet, please.”

“I’m t-trying.” Gnawing down on your lower lip. “How many more?”

“Ah, just one inch…two…” And after a prolonged thrust- so deep that you swear you’re feeling it in your throat, Higuruma cracks a grin. “Maybe more.”

Five more?

Five more?

And you were already on the verge of being fucked absolutely stupid? You’re letting a groan escape you—lewd and louder than you intended- and before the realization hits you, Higuruma himself swiftly reaches over to where his work tie had been dangling off the side of the bed. Bunching it up, shoving it between those pretty lips - he couldn’t have anyone waking up now, could he?

And that’s exactly what he’s telling you: “C’mon, angel…” Shoves getting deeper and longer. Rougher- as he rams his thickened inches past where you don’t think anyone’s ever gone before. And throughout it all, the older man was so steady with you—“C’mon- c’mon. You can do this—fuuuuuck, you can do this. This pussy’s gonna take all of me, right?”

Nodding and nodding.

“Yeah? Because you’re my goooood girl, right? Taking me so well.” He continues rasping - tone pitching higher and higher as he goes on. “My good- fucking- girl—”

“O-oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“You’re my goooooood fucking girl, huh?” The stubs of his five o’ clock shadow rub up against your skin. The deeper he thrusts, the hotter his body seems to become on top of yours. More and more. “Can you count how many inches m’putting in you?”

Tears flow down your eyes, “Y-yes- mmpf.” Somehow managing past the tie. “Ah- four? Five. Six.”

Higuruma’s eyes widen.

“Seven—” Your voice seems like it’s on the verge of cracking. “Eight.”

It’s just too adorable how you’re sweetly attempting to respond to him even with the gag in. And Higuruma can’t help himself as he leans in and kisses you through the tie.

It’s hot and it’s messy.

And it ends up with him smiling against your stuffed lips, “Finally bottomed-out.”

Hazily, you’re blinking a few times. It clears your vision enough for you to jerk your head down and see that it was indeed true, Higuruma had stuffed himself inside your pussy until his thick base was kissin’ your pussylips. Just the most innocent peck.

“And now…” Except…fuck, except he was reeling right back again. “-for the fun part.”

Right back until that rounded tip stretched your hole out.

Right back inside-

“Makes me wanna put a baby in you- I swear. Taking me like this.” 

A/N. TONY’S BACK.

gojo and geto, who were sitting at the table enjoying cereal, only shrug; both as equally confused as choso. "did u lace his shit or something?" gojo asks, mouth full of cereal and practically spraying it everywhere, causing geto to reprimand him. "don't speak with your mouth full, idiot." gojo merely ignores him and continues to speak as he eats, "shut up, mom."

choso ignores their regular bickering and answers, "he hasn't gotten anything from me in a while, actually."

geto suggests, "maybe it's just one of those moods. y'know how he gets."

the three of them try to shrug it off, oblivious to the real reasoning behind toji's sour mood. toji has always made it a habit to keep an eye on you, especially at parties, and from his observations, he has come to the conclusion that you have the biggest, fattest, most annoying crush on choso. everytime you were at parties with him, you always asked if choso was going to be there; "where's choso?" "do y'know if choso's coming?" "i need to ask choso something!"

in truth, you only ever asked for choso because recently, you had started helping him out with his selling. especially win finals were beating everyone's ass, more and more people wanted something to take the edge of. he was the most well known source on campus so it was only natural he had more people but he could not keep up with the orders, or really anything, for the life of him. so you helped him track everything and whatnot. plus, choso gave you freebies in return so it was a win-win!

honestly, if you weren't as cute as you were, toji would've found you infinetly more annoying. and as much as he wants to hate you, he knows he can't fault you for some crush on his friend.

so instead, he'll hate choso.

it started out as little things, such as trying to avoid him. but eventually, his jealousy and resentment festered into something harsher, and even more annoying to deal with for the frat. and especially for choso.

"listen man," choso starts, "i don't know what i did for you to act like this but this shit's getting old. what the hell did i do to you?"

"not a damn thing," toji practically spits out. on his way out of the frat house, he purposely bumped his shoulder against choso's, causing the latter to falter slightly before toji leaves, letting the door slam behind him.

choso curses under his breath in annoyance before falling onto the couch in exhaustion. it had been more than two weeks of this behavior and toji still won't tell anyone anything about why he suddenly hated choso's entire being. sukuna walks into the living room after hearing the loud slam. he sees choso sprawled on the couch in exasperation and puts the pieces together.

"toji again?" sukuna asks. choso only grunts out a response before he fumbles around in his pocket for a pre-roll and lighter. placing the stick in his mouth, he fights with his lighter until sukuna comes up to him and lights it for him with his own lighter. choso mumbles a "thanks" and inhales before blowing the cloud of smoke away from sukuna.

"and you're sure you didn't lace his shit?" sukuna jokes.

"i wish i had," choso grumbles, already fed up with the entire situation.

"y'know if him and yn broke up or something?" sukuna asks, taking a seat on the couch as well.

"didn't even know they were dating. where'd you get that from?"

"maybe they aren't then. you would think with the way toji eyeballs her during parties that he's made it official by now," sukuna replies. "but she's probably your best bet to getting to the bottom of this. he's pretty much obsessed with the girl so maybe he told her why he's soo pissed at you."

choso looks almost shocked that sukuna's plan was actually kind of good. "y'know if she's coming to party tonight?"

"should be, she never misses these parties," sukuna says.

just as they thought, you show up at the party fashionably late and all dolled up. you greet all of your friends and was about to head over to toji, who you saw towering over the crowd of people in the distance, before choso approaches you.

from toji's perspective, choso is yet again cock-block of the year. he was standing a fair distance from you with sukuna with choso blocks his view of you and pulls you out of the crowd and, ultimately, away from him. toji grips the can of beer harder, enough for the crinkle of the metal to be heard. sukuna, who saw the entire thing and the way toji reacted merely chuckled before taking a swig of his own drink. so that's what this is about, sukuna thinks to himself.

"why don't you just talk to her," sukuna offers. "you haven't seen her in a while right?"

toji is gruff in his response, "exam season's a bitch. she's had back to back finals so i haven't had a chance."

"here's your chance then, romeo," sukuna laughs, elbowing his friend and urging him to catch up to you. "yn and choso are just friends. i think everyone but you knows that she has a crush on you."

"shut up, man," toji says in annoyance, chugging the remainder of his drink.

"it's true. in fact, im so certain that you should go and tell her everything. and give choso a break, damn. i haven't seen that guy so stressed out since his kid brother got shipped off to that charter school."

the two laugh at the memory, it was a while ago when choso found out that yuji itadori was getting sent to some technical school for highschool. choso seriously thought he was never going to see him again since it was some fancy abroad program. poor guy was practically pulling his hair out in stress.

in truth, toji felt bad about the whole thing. choso was one of his closest friends and he knows it was petty of him to be going to such lengths just because of some wack hypothesis. as much as he hates to admit it, sukuna was right. he hands his friend his empty can before heading off to the direction you went it. toji was going to apologize to choso but first, he was going to ask you out on a real date.

݁⋆⭒˚.⋆

choso pulls you to the back patio where it was more quiet, with only a few people out there but there was still music playing so no one could hear your conversation.

"hey cho! what's up?" you ask.

"have you talked to toji recently?" choso begins, "has he told you anything about me?"

you hum in thought, "in all honesty, i haven't seen him in a while. our schedules havent been lining up recently. but why do you ask? did something happen between the two of you?"

choso lets out a sigh, "i wish i knew. the past two weeks he's just been on my dick for no reason."

you can't help but giggle at that, "well that does sound like him."

the dark haired male shakes his head. "this is different than those times," he disagrees. "he's like, actually pissed off at me. usually whenever he gets like this, he's over it within a few days. but it's been going on like this for way too long for it to be something simple."

this catches your attention; yes, toji had his moods and would often just ignore it before it ultimately fizzled out and he was back to normal. but more often than not, these little mood swings of his would last no more than a couple days. it was unlike him to ignore one of his closest friends like this.

"i'll go find him and see if i can get to the bottom of this for you, cho," you tell him. choso visibly relaxes in relief and pulls you into a hug in grattitude. you return it easily and rub his back, reassuring him that this would blow over. from your position, you looked up to see toji a good few feet away with an unreadable look on his face. you pull away from choso with a smile and go to wave toji down only for him to turn away with such a furious look it almost made you flinch. choso turns around just in time to see toji rushing off and he also pieces the entire situation together. he drags his hands down his face in frustration just as you excuse yourself to go hunt down toji.

you push and shove past the sea of bodies trying to find toji. by the time the crowd parts just enough for you to squeeze through, you see toji at the makeshift bar making out with a girl. you don't know why your chest hurts to see the way he grips her waist and pulls her even closer. you had no claim on him, you knew this. but some part you—some stupid, idiotic part— had thought that you would be fine with that. you could have toji even if it wasn't officially. though, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the ache in your chest just wouldn't fade away.

808 AD, Spring, 9:43 A.M.

Pretty. Really pretty.

At least that's what you thought.

It was the last lesson of the day, poetry. Kiyoshi-sensei was out sick so her class had joined with yours, which meant the room was fuller than usual and Masaru-sensei was in one of his moods about it. The kind of mood where he read aloud from scrolls with the energy of a man who resented every single person in the room including himself.

It was a little misshapen, a bit stained like it was made by dirty hands, the tips bent where it wasn't supposed to, but it had character. It was so…him. So unbelievably and undeniably him.

A dreamy little sigh was pulled from your lips as you fiddled with the origami bunny. "Young miss, put your trash in the bin and focus!" grunted Masaru-sensei, he was standing in front of the class holding up a scroll, pausing his reading aloud to scold you. When you looked up everyone was staring,but that was the last thing on your mind at the moment. How dare he? Does he even know how much this is worth? more than the charm that hung from the cords of his robe life and dank toupee. Reluctantly, you stuff the bunny origami in your robes and join in on the lesson while you thought several things you would never say out loud because you were a well raised young woman.

Lunch was under the matsu tree, same as always.

The air was warm with a breeze moving through it and fat fluffy clouds drifting across the sky above you. Hotaru was already eating, which she had somehow started before anyone else despite being the last to sit down. Masanori was complaining about something. Ume was listening to Masanori complain while also reading, which was a skill you had always admired.

You were holding the origami bunny again.

You hadn't noticed you'd taken it back out.

"Hey." Masanori knocked your knee with his. "You good? You've been all distracted since this morning. you keep touching that horribly done origami."

You looked up slowly, dazed. then down at your hands. Then back up. Horrible? What was with people today.

"Excuse you Masanori, my Pinky—"

"I made it for her." Ume cut in smoothly, not looking up from her book. "craft project."

Masanori squinted at the origami. "It's terrible. Looks like a disfigured duck that got spat out by a pig."

"Thank you." Ume said.

You caught Ume's eye over Masanori's head. She gave you a very specific look. You gave her an apologetic one back. This was the third time this month you had nearly exposed yourself and each time Ume had caught it before it became a problem. You were slacking and you knew it and so did she. She had started calling you 'gooshy' which apparently meant you had no poker face anymore when it came to him. you couldn't even argue. she wasn't wrong.

But she also wasn't there two weeks ago when it happened. So she couldn't fully blame you.

two weeks ago.

Ume had been covering your back since she found out and you had been endlessly grateful. On this particular day she had run interference with the guards while you slipped out during music to go to the food carts near the east road. You were going to get Ryo a new treat, you had been promising yourself the fish skewers and sweet potato dumplings for weeks now and today was the day.

Except when you got there most of the stalls were closed up early and the ones that weren't were packing away fast. The old lady who ran the fish cake cart muttered at you to leave the moment she saw you, "you shouldn't be here girl, a curse has robbed ol' Hikaru, took all his paper and tipped his cart over just for the fun of it. the thing laughed and ran off. A menace i tell you. G+o on now, shoo."

you went.

Pinky Pie what have you gotten yourself into now, was your first thought as you redirected toward the meadow. you had no treats and limited time but at least you could see him.

you were slightly out of breath when you made it through the trees into the meadow and what you found there stopped you mid stride.

tufts of pink hair catching the breeze, eyebrows pinched in concentration, the tip of his tongue just barely visible between his lips, and four arms each holding a different colour of paper. he was sitting cross legged in the grass with the focused energy of someone doing something that required their full attention and had absolutely no idea anyone was watching.

you stood there for a moment and just looked at him.

he had gotten bigger these past few months. taller. something about his arms was different too, like there was actual definition there now, lean muscle that hadn't been there at thirteen. you were trying very hard not to think about this. you were failing to not think about this. the thought had kept you up half of last night, you lying on your futon in the dark staring at the ceiling and then burrying your face in your sleeve and making sounds only a very dramatic fourteen year old makes.

"Ryo." you announced your presence loudly, still breathing a little hard from running. "what are you doing? i heard you robbed an old man."

he turned around immediately, all four arms moving to shield whatever was in his lap from view. "you're not supposed to see yet." he said, scowling. "go away."

ooooh.

a surprise.

how completely, devastatingly adorable.

you sat down in your usual spot right in front of him and stared at his back with a smile on your face. you could see the tips of his ears from here. pink. the tips of his ears were pink. it was not helping your situation.

"okay." you said. "i'll wait. i love surprises."

a grunt. then silence. just the sound of paper folding.

all this focus for you. all of it just for you. you were going to have to lie down when you got home.

"okay." he said eventually, still not turning around. "i...uh." he stopped. there was a pause where you heard him exhale once. "i never made it before. i saw someone doing it at the market."

before you could say a single thing he turned around and shoved something into your hand, and in the same motion his head whipped to the side in the world's least convincing display of nonchalance.

you looked down.

a small origami rabbit sat in your palm. pink paper. he had used pink paper. a bit lopsided, one ear slightly longer than the other, the body a little squished on one side. it looked like someone had cared very much about getting it right and had also been learning how to do it while doing it.

you sat very still for a moment.

"Ryomen." you said.

"it's just paper." he said, to the meadow.

"Ryomen."

"stop saying my name like that."

"it's the most beautiful thing i've ever seen in my entire life." you said, completely sincerely.

the back of his neck went pink to match his ears. "it's lopsided." he said.

"i know." you said. "i love it."

he said nothing. he was very busy looking at a patch of grass to his left. you looked back down at the little rabbit in your palm and felt something so full it almost hurt sitting in the middle of your chest.

you had been carrying it with you every day since.

"spill it." Hotaru's burp, pulling you back to the present.

she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked between you and Ume with the calm directness that was just how Hotaru was, no build up, no softening. "the beans. we want all of them. just because we get lower marks than you two in languages and poetry and art and—" she paused, counting, "yeah, basically everything, doesn't mean we're stupid. we've noticed you two being all secretive for months now. so. spill."

she said the last part with a full mouth of stew.

you and Ume looked at each other.

"i made an origami bunny." Ume tried.

"Ume." Hotaru said flatly.

Masanori was looking between all three of you with the focused suspicion of someone who had been waiting for this conversation and was glad it was finally happening.

you looked at the origami rabbit in your hands.

then you put it carefully back in your robe.

and you folded. completely and immediately. under zero pressure really, you could have lied your way out of this easy, you had been doing it for months. but you were tired. genuinely tired of carrying it in a box and only being able to open the box with Ume. you wanted to put it down somewhere and breathe.

so you told them. all of it. every single bean out of the can. it took up the rest of lunch, your food going cold beside you because you kept forgetting to eat. Ume filled in the parts you forgot, which told you she had been waiting to tell this story for a while and had it memorised.

Masanori went through several visible phases during the telling of it. confusion, then disbelief, then something that looked like he was doing complex maths in his head, then a long moment where he stared at a fixed point on the ground processing that this was all about the ghost boy from the shed at the edge of the meadow, the one the whole town walked around without meaning to, the one whose name the priests didn't say out loud. then something that might have been the very early stages of understanding, not full understanding, just the beginning of it.

Hotaru practically melted. she pressed both hands to her cheeks and made a sound in the back of her throat that was very similar to the sounds you made alone in your room at night. she and Ume immediately began comparing your situation to their favourite romance narratives with the enthusiasm of people who had been waiting for something to apply them to.

you ate your cold food and let it happen.

after a while Masanori looked back at you. he was still a little uncertain, you could see it, the weight of everything the town said and believed sitting somewhere in his face. but he was looking at you, his actual friend, and whatever was in your face when you talked about Ryomen was apparently doing some of the convincing for you.

"okay." he said finally. "okay. so what's the plan."

Ume looked up from her romance comparison. "we were hoping you'd ask that."

the plan was simple enough. Masanori would cover the school gate on days you needed to leave early. Hotaru would handle any curious adults with her very convincing innocent expression. Ume would continue being Ume, which was already more than enough.

what none of them could fix was home.

your father had kept the guards close since the ceremony and that hadn't changed. two of them, always. thorough men. the kind who took their job seriously and didn't leave many gaps. you had gotten creative, Ume's interference, the garden gate, the window in the poetry room, but some days there was no gap and you went home without seeing him and the next day you were tired and distracted and apparently gooshy enough that Masaru-sensei felt the need to comment on it.

the day after the lunch confession you woke up to a quiet house.

your mother was asleep, one of the slower mornings. your father had left for the courts early. the maids were moving through the house doing their work and everything was calm and a little too still in the way it sometimes got when both your parents were unavailable at the same time. you got dressed, ate something small from the kitchen, and took your snacks out to the engawa that looked over the garden.

the garden in spring was genuinely lovely. the plum tree had finished but the wisteria along the far wall was going properly now, purple and heavy, and the grass was the bright green that only happens for a few weeks before summer comes and tires it out. you sat with your legs tucked under you and ate and watched a bird do something complicated on the branch of the garden pine.

the two guards were doing their round on the far side of the garden. you could see them moving at the edge of the path, slow and methodical.

you were thinking about nothing in particular when the air changed.

it wasn't a sound. it was just that shift, the one that had been happening since you were twelve, the one your body had learned to recognise before your brain caught up with it. you looked up from your snacks.

he was sitting on top of the garden wall.

just sitting there, comfortable as anything, one leg hanging over the edge, two arms resting on his knees. his pink hair was doing its usual thing. he was looking at the garden like he was simply taking in the view.

you stared at him.

"how did you get past the outer gate." you said, keeping your voice low so it didn't carry.

"there's a gap in the stone near the east corner." he said, the same volume. "been there for years. your people should fix it."

"i will absolutely not be telling them that." you said.

something moved on his face that was close to amusement. he looked at the wisteria along the far wall. "your garden is too big." he said.

"it really is." you agreed. "we don't use half of it. my mother keeps saying she wants chickens back there but my father says absolutely not."

"chickens." he said.

"she really wants them." you said. "i support her."

he looked at you then. properly looked at you, all four eyes, the direct kind. "how is she." he said. "your mother."

you looked at your snacks for a moment. "slower lately. she's sleeping more than she was a few months ago. the physician came last week and my father went very quiet afterwards which is never a good sign." you paused. "she made a joke at dinner two nights ago that made my father laugh so hard he spilled his tea, so. it's both things at the same time."

Ryomen was quiet, listening the way he listened, actually there.

"some days it's heavy." you said. "i don't really say that to people. but some days it just sits on me and i can't put it down."

"i know." he said. simple. not trying to fix it, just acknowledging it, which was somehow exactly right.

you looked up at him. "do you ever miss them." you said. "your parents. even after everything."

he thought about it for a moment, which you appreciated. he didn't just answer fast to get past the question. "sometimes." he said. "not them exactly. i don't know them well enough to miss them. just the idea of them. what it could have been." he looked at the wall beneath him. "it passes."

you nodded slowly. you sat with that for a moment, both of you quiet, the garden around you doing its gentle spring thing.

"Ryo." you said.

"hm."

"i'm glad you came."

he looked at you again. his jaw did the thing it did when he was carrying something carefully. "i was in the area." he said.

"you're never just in the area." you said. "you know exactly where the gaps in our walls are and you know where the guards are and you came anyway." you weren't saying it to make him uncomfortable, just saying it because it was true and you were done pretending it wasn't. "so i'm glad."

he looked away at the wisteria. the tips of his ears had gone pink. one of his hands, the one closest to you even though you were several feet below him, opened and closed slowly on his knee.

"the guards are about to change direction." he said after a moment.

you looked toward the far path. he was right, you could already see them starting to turn. "same time next week?" you said.

"i make no such agreements." he said, and stood up on top of the wall with an ease that was honestly a little unfair, balanced perfectly, and looked down at you for just a second longer than he needed to.

"eat the rest of your snacks." he said. "you always stop halfway through."

then he dropped down off the other side and was gone.

you sat on the engawa and looked at the wall and ate the rest of your snacks.

best afternoon of the week, easy.

808 AD, Summer, 10:26 A.M.

it started at lunch. again.

Masanori sat down under the matsu tree practically twitching. he had news. how did you know? because Masanori had three tell tale signs when he was carrying something. first came the twitching. then the sweating. then the interrupting everybody mid sentence before he eventually just crumbled and told you anyway. you had known this boy since you were eight years old. you could read him like a book.

exhibit A.

"okay so." he cut Hotaru off mid sentence about something, already leaning in like someone was going to overhear him in an open field. "you know Ryomen right."

"we know Ryomen." Ume said without looking up from her book.

"there's a new rumour."

you put your rice cake down.

"Kenji Fujimoto." Masanori said. "big house near the west road. anyway Kenji was cutting through the meadow two nights ago after dark, which first of all, stupid, but that's not the point. the point is he ran into Ryomen. and he says when he tried to go around him Ryomen's eyes went completely white and Kenji felt all the warmth leave his body at once." Masanori paused. actually paused for dramatic effect. "and then Ryomen smiled. and apparently when he smiled he had too many teeth. way too many teeth. and then." another pause. "he disappeared into the ground."

Ume choked on her water.

not the polite kind. the full body kind, the kind that had Hotaru abandoning her lunch to pat her back while Ume held up one hand to communicate she was fine while very obviously not being fine yet.

you on the other hand were trying extremely hard not to laugh because you knew, you personally knew, that Ryomen Sukuna did not disappear into the ground. Ryomen Sukuna took night walks because the days belonged to other people and Kenji Fujimoto had probably stumbled into him in the dark, panicked because he had panicked, run home, and let his imagination write the second half of the story.

too many teeth.

into the ground.

you and Ume looked at each other. you both looked away immediately.

"and that's not it." Masanori said, completely unaware of the silent conversation happening across from him. "old man Daichi from the rice stall says last month when he tried to wave Ryomen away from his cart the sky went dark. thirty seconds. just thirty seconds of complete darkness in the middle of the afternoon and then normal again."

"the sky." Hotaru said.

"went dark." Masanori confirmed.

"for thirty seconds." you said.

"thirty seconds." he said.

Hotaru looked at you. quick and quiet, the kind of look only Hotaru did, the one that saw more than it let on. you looked back at your food.

because here was the thing. it was funny. you knew it was funny and Ume knew it was funny and honestly even Hotaru's face was doing something that suggested she found Kenji Fujimoto deeply unreliable as a source. but underneath the funny part was something with edges to it. because Kenji was going to tell that story at his dinner table tonight. and his family was going to tell their friends. and by the end of the week it was going to be bigger and darker and more ridiculous and there was nothing, not a single thing, you could do about it. you couldn't say actually i know him. you couldn't say he made me an origami rabbit. you just had to sit here and eat your rice cake.

you had stopped eating your rice cake.

Hotaru picked it up and put it back in your hand without saying a word. you ate it.

"i mean obviously it's exaggerated." Masanori said, looking at you, because he did know, they all knew. "i'm just saying what's going around."

"i know." you said. "i know you are."

"Kenji Fujimoto." Hotaru said, in the tone of someone delivering a verdict. "once told everyone he saw a river dragon near the east bridge. turned out to be a very large fish."

Ume snorted. Masanori laughed. you smiled, small but real.

it helped. not all the way. but enough to finish lunch.

afternoon lessons were fine. Ume walked with you to the gate after and bumped her shoulder into yours once without saying anything. you bumped back. that was the whole conversation and it covered everything that needed to be said.

the guards took you home.

the house was warm when you got in. you could hear your mother before you saw her, her voice coming from somewhere down the corridor, and the sound of it did what it always did, loosened the thing in your chest that had been tight since lunch.

dinner was all three of you. good dinner. your mother was sharp and funny and picking fights with your father about small things purely for entertainment, which meant she was feeling good, which made everything feel better. your father pretended to lose the arguments while clearly enjoying them. you ate and watched and felt both happy and something unnamed underneath the happy.

and then your father mentioned the east garden.

completely ordinary. something about trees and wall foundations and maintenance. your mother said she had never liked the plum tree on the east side anyway, too messy, she wanted something cleaner.

"what about a sakura?" your father suggested. "something with colour."

your mother made a face. "pink." she said, the way you say the name of a food you have never been particularly fond of. "pink has never been a favourite of mine. too sweet. too much."

the conversation moved on like nothing happened. your father agreed. your mother mentioned some pale purple tree she had seen near the temple road years ago, much more elegant.

you sat there with your chopsticks in your hand and stared at your food.

pink has never been a favourite of mine. too sweet. too much.

they were talking about a tree. you knew that. a perfectly ordinary tree for the perfectly ordinary east garden. this had nothing to do with anything else.

except you were fourteen and you had spent the last two years watching a boy be called too much by an entire town that had never once actually looked at him. and today you had sat under the matsu tree and listened to people add more stories to the pile. and now you were sitting at your own dinner table listening to pink get dismissed like it was nothing and something in you that had been sitting quietly for a very long time just stood all the way up.

"PINK HAS NEVER DONE ANYONE ANY WRONG."

both your parents stopped talking.

you were standing. you had not planned to stand but here you were. chopsticks in hand. voice loud enough that the attendant near the door went very still.

"pink is a good colour." you said, with the total conviction of someone who had been thinking about this for longer than tonight. "it has feelings. it has a heart. it deserves to be appreciated and not written off just because people have decided without looking properly that it's too sweet or too much. maybe the problem is that people don't actually look. and if they did they would see that it is one of the best colours that has ever existed and i am not going to sit here and listen to it be spoken about like it's nothing."

silence.

complete silence.

your mother had both eyebrows somewhere near her hairline. your father had set his chopsticks down carefully. the attendant near the door was staring at a fixed point on the wall.

you set your chopsticks down. bowed slightly. said "excuse me" in a voice doing its best impression of composure and walked out.

you went to your room. sat on your futon. put both hands over your face.

from down the corridor, clear as anything, your mother's voice. "that child has the most passionate relationship with colours i have ever witnessed in my life. she gets her weird from you."

and then your father laughed. the big warm real kind.

you heard both things.

later, lamp low, origami bunny in your hands, you lay on your futon and stared at the ceiling.

your mother thought it was funny. you knew she did. and your father had laughed, which was something.

but you had also seen him set his chopsticks down before you finished. quiet and precise. your father was not a foolish man. you had always known that. smart men noticed things even when they filed them away for later instead of saying them out loud.

pink has never been a favourite of mine.

they were talking about a tree. you knew that.

but the good days, the ones where it felt like the world was just the meadow and the ginkgo tree and nothing else had weight to it, those weren't the whole picture. the whole picture had dinner tables in it. rumours. a town that had already made its decision. a father who loved you in a way that had started to feel like a wall being built around you one careful brick at a time.

you tucked the origami bunny under your pillow.

outside the summer night was warm and loud with insects. somewhere across town he was probably walking. empty streets. no one looking.

you hoped he was eating.

you fell asleep thinking about pink paper.

down the corridor your father sat on the edge of the bed while your mother settled in.

she was talking about something, some small funny observation from dinner, but he was only half listening.

"you've gone quiet." your mother said.

"i'm thinking." he said.

"about the tree?"

"no." he said.

she looked at him with those eyes that had always read him faster than he liked. "she's fourteen." she said. not unkindly. just a fact.

"i know how old she is." he said.

"then you know fourteen year olds have feelings about things." she said. "loud dining room standing up from the table feelings."

"it's not the feelings." he said. "it's what they're about."

your mother was quiet for a moment. "she'll be alright." she said finally. "she's ours."

your father looked at the lamp.

"yes." he said. "i'm going to make sure of it."

809 AD, Late Winter, 13:27 P.M.

talking.

he had never really been a fan.

he was more of a listener. especially when it came to her. she had this way of going on and on and on about the most random things with the energy of someone who had seventeen cups of tea for breakfast. exhausting honestly. where did she find it? he was never quite sure. last tuesday she had shown up with mochi, the strawberry kind, a wisteria flower tucked behind her ear, and had proceeded to talk for two solid hours about something that started as a complaint about her dance instructor and somehow ended up being a full lecture about the migration patterns of birds. he had not said much. he had eaten the mochi and listened and at some point noticed the flower was slightly crooked behind her ear and thought about fixing it for about three seconds.

it was nice though. the flower. pretty almost. on her specifically.

anyway.

unfamiliar footsteps were coming through the meadow.

not her. he knew her footsteps without trying to, the same way he knew the sound the shed door made in wind, just from time and proximity. these were different. lighter. whoever this was led with the wrong foot and swung their arms differently.

this wasn't his—

it wasn't her.

he looked up.

Ume.

she walked up to him with the energy of someone who had somewhere to be and had decided this was it. no hesitation. no checking if it was okay. she dropped down into the grass directly across from him, right in the spot, the specific patch of flattened grass that had been flattened by the same person sitting in it every tuesday for three years.

"that spot's taken." Ryomen said. looking at her with all four eyes. flat.

Ume looked at the spot. then at him. then back at the spot. "what do you— oh." she snickered. "ahhh i see you. your girlfriend sits there."

"she is not my anything." he said. "what do you want, girl."

"Ume." she said, moving to a different patch of grass without any particular hurry about it. "my name is Ume. and i want to talk to you." she settled herself. "so. Ryomen."

"so." he said.

"she talks about you constantly." Ume said. "like genuinely constantly. at lunch, after school, in the middle of conversations about completely unrelated things. last week Masanori was talking about his uncle's farm and somehow within four minutes it was about you. i don't even know how she did it. it was impressive actually."

Ryomen said nothing.

"you don't seem surprised." Ume said.

"i'm not." he said.

"cocky." she said.

"realistic." he said.

Ume looked at him for a second. "okay fair." she said. she picked a blade of grass and turned it over in her fingers. "we never believed it you know. the rumors. me and the others." she said it casually, like she was talking about the weather. "i always thought they were exaggerated. people in this town are dramatic, no offense."

"some taken." he said.

"she thought they were mean and stupid." Ume continued, ignoring him. "from day one. you know what she said when we were twelve and the other kids were going on about the ghost boy in the shed? she said she felt sorry for a lonely child wandering around. that's it. that's all she got from the story." Ume shook her head. "she acts like she's all bubbly and whatever but she's soft. genuinely soft. gushy all the way through." she looked at him directly. "so don't go breaking her heart or i will gut you like a fish."

Ryomen looked at her for a long moment.

"she cried on my shirt for two hours." he said. "under a sakura tree. in winter. i didn't leave."

Ume stared at him.

he looked back at the meadow.

"okay." Ume said quietly. "okay yeah." she filed that away and moved on like a professional. "alright new segment. i have questions."

"i'm not answering questions." he said.

"cool." she said. "what do you actually do all day. like genuinely. what is a typical tuesday for Ryomen Sukuna when she's not here talking your ear off."

he looked at her sideways. "why."

"because i'm doing my due diligence." she said. "she has terrible judgment when it comes to herself. somebody has to check."

"she has fine judgment." he said, slightly faster than he meant to.

Ume's mouth did something. "right." she said. "so. tuesday."

he looked at the sky. "i walk in the mornings. check the shed. get food." he paused. "fix things when they need fixing."

"fix things." Ume said. "like what."

"the roof. the wall on the south side. the well near the east road has a loose stone." he said. "things."

"so you just. wander around fixing things." Ume said.

"yes." he said.

"alone." she said.

"yes." he said.

"hm." she said.

"stop doing that." he said.

"doing what." she said innocently.

"the hm thing." he said. "you do it when you're thinking something you've decided not to say. its annoying."

Ume looked at him with a new expression. something between surprised and impressed. "she said you were perceptive." she said. "i thought she was being biased."

"she's a lot of things." he said. "biased isn't one of them."

"no." Ume agreed. "it really isn't." she looked at him properly then. the full direct look. "okay last question. and i need you to actually answer it."

"i haven't agreed to answer anything." he said.

"why her." Ume said. "out of everyone who could have walked into that shed."

the meadow was quiet for a moment.

"she looked at me." he said finally. "just looked. no verdict in it." he paused. "i didn't know that was unusual until i'd seen enough of the other kind to compare it to."

Ume didn't say anything for a moment. she just sat with that.

then she stood up and smoothed her robes and looked down at him with an expression he couldn't fully read. "you know what." she said. "you're not so bad at this friend thing, kid."

Ryomen looked up at her. "i'm not your kid." he said. "and i don't do the friend thing."

"sure." she said. "see you around Ryomen." and she turned and walked back through the meadow like she'd come, unhurried, done with exactly what she came to do.

he watched her go.

then he looked back at the meadow.

friend thing. he didn't do the friend thing. he had never done the friend thing. he didn't need the friend thing. people were exhausting and complicated and the verdict they carried around with them was more trouble than the company was worth. he had decided this a long time ago and it had served him fine.

he thought about the last hour.

Ume had sat down without asking. had called him kid. had interviewed him like he was applying for something. had threatened to gut him like a fish with a completely straight face. had made him explain himself in full sentences and somehow it had not felt like pulling teeth. she had dry humour and a calm face and she had said we never believed it like it was just a fact she was reporting and moved on without making it a whole thing which was exactly the right way to handle it.

he thought about the old man. blind eyes and patient silence and a straightforward decency that didn't require anything. the only person before her who had just let him exist without making it complicated.

and now there was her. and apparently also her friends who showed up in meadows with dumplings and interrogated him about his tuesdays.

he looked at the flattened patch of grass where she always sat.

i have friends?

the thought arrived with the particular confusion of someone discovering something that had apparently been happening without their knowledge or consent.

he sat with that for a while.

then he ate the rest of the dumplings and did not think about tuesday.

(he thought about tuesday the whole time.)

809 AD, Early Spring 18:51 P.M.

it started as a normal dinner.

that was the thing. it started completely normally. the table was set, the food was good, the lamps were lit warm and low the way they always were in the evening. your mother was having a good day which meant she was at the table and sharp and picking at your father's opinions on small things for entertainment. Ichi was there again, which had become a semi regular thing over the past few months, him showing up for meals and conversations and fitting into the space your father had clearly decided he belonged in with the ease of someone who had been told he was welcome and had believed it.

you had gotten used to Ichi. that was the honest truth of it. he was easy to be around in the way that genuinely decent people are easy to be around. he never said anything cruel. he always included you in the conversation. he had a good sense of humour, dry and quiet, the kind that landed without announcing itself. if you had met him in different circumstances, if he had just been a person and not a person your father had selected and arranged and placed at your dinner table with a specific purpose, you thought you might have actually liked him.

but he was not just a person. he was a plan. and plans made by other people for your life without asking you had stopped sitting quietly in your chest a long time ago.

so you ate your food and you were pleasant and you waited.

you were not sure what you were waiting for. you just knew it was coming.

your father put down his chopsticks.

"i have something i'd like to share with the table." he said.

your mother looked up. something in her face changed, just slightly, a tightening around the eyes, like she had heard this sentence before, or something very like it, and had not enjoyed the way it ended.

"Ichi's family and i have been in discussion." your father said, in his comfortable measured voice, the one he used when he had already decided something and was presenting it as information rather than a decision. "we feel that the time is right to formalise things. Ichi will begin courting formally. with the intention of arrangement by the end of the year."

the table went very quiet.

Ichi sat across from you with his hands folded and his pleasant face doing its best impression of calm. he glanced at you once, brief and genuine, and in that glance was something that looked almost like an apology, like he too had not been given much say in the timing of this.

your mother stood up.

not slowly. not with the elegant measured rise she usually deployed when she wanted to make a point. she stood up fast, her chair scraping back, her composure going somewhere else entirely.

"no." she said.

your father looked at her. "Hana—"

"no." she said again, louder. her voice had an edge to it that you had heard exactly twice in your life and both times it had meant something in the house was about to change. "you told me you were going to speak to her first. you told me that. i sat in that room and i listened to you tell me that you were going to give her time and speak to her and now you're sitting at this table making announcements over dinner like she's not sitting right there—"

"this is not the moment—" your father started.

"THEN WHEN IS THE MOMENT." your mother's voice cracked through the room like something breaking. "when exactly were you planning on giving our daughter a moment? after the arrangement was signed? after the ceremony? when?" she was shaking, you could see it, the particular trembling that happened when she pushed past what her body wanted to give and demanded more of it anyway. "she is fifteen years old. she is our child. not a piece on a board you move around when the timing suits you—"

"i am doing what is best for this family—"

"you are doing what is best for YOU." your mother's finger came down on the table. "what makes YOU feel safe. what makes YOU feel like everything is under control. and you are dressing it up as love because it's easier than admitting you're afraid."

the silence that followed was the loudest thing you had ever heard.

your father's face had gone very still. the kind of still that meant something had landed somewhere real and he was deciding whether to acknowledge it.

your mother looked at him for one long moment. then she picked up the vase from the centre of the table, the small ceramic one with the painted plum blossoms that had sat there for as long as you could remember, and she threw it against the wall.

it shattered.

then she walked out of the room without another word, her footsteps sharp and certain down the corridor, the sound of her getting smaller until it was gone.

nobody moved.

Ichi was looking at a fixed point on the table. you were looking at the pieces of the vase on the floor. the painted plum blossoms in fragments across the wood.

your father cleared his throat.

"i apologise for that." he said to Ichi, with the smooth composed recovery of a man who had spent his whole life knowing how to present himself in rooms. "she has strong feelings."

Ichi nodded. said nothing. he was looking at the floor too.

and then your father went back to talking. just like that. about the arrangement, about the timeline, about the families involved, like the room hadn't just had something shatter in it, like you weren't sitting three feet away completely frozen, like you weren't there at all.

you sat at that table and you went somewhere else.

your brain had left the dinner and was running without you.

this was it. this was the thing. it was happening, the thing you had been feeling approach for months like bad weather you could see on the horizon but couldn't outrun. formal courting. arrangement by the end of the year. you were fifteen. your birthday was in two days. you would be sixteen and arranged and by this time next year you would be—

ichi. you would be Ichi's.

a life you had never wanted laid out in front of you like a table your father had set without asking what you were hungry for. lessons and duties and a husband chosen for his family name and his steady manner and his completely genuine decency and it would be fine. it would probably be fine. it would be the kind of fine that looked like contentment from the outside and felt like a room with no windows from the inside and you would spend the rest of your life being fine in it.

and Ryomen.

the thought of him arrived the way it always did, without asking, right in the centre of everything.

no more tuesday afternoons. no more evening walks or garden walls or mochi on a cloth with the cloth being his but neither of you saying so. no more forty five seconds on the shrine road. no more sitting in the grass until the light went gold and neither of you wanting to be the one to say it was time to go. no more any of it. because a formal arrangement meant guards and attendants and a life that got smaller and more watched and more arranged every day until there was no gap left in it for meadows or ginkgo trees or boys who tucked hair behind your ear and then looked away fast so you couldn't see their face.

you were going to lose him.

not because he left. because they were going to build walls high enough that you couldn't reach him anymore.

okay. okay. you needed a plan. you could fake an illness, you had faked minor ailments before, nothing dramatic, just enough to buy time. or you could— no. or Ume could— no that wouldn't work either. or maybe if you spoke to Ichi directly, explained, he seemed like a reasonable person, he had looked at you like an apology during the announcement, maybe—

"my little blossom."

your father's voice. gentle. warm. the voice he used when he was being your father and not the Dainagon.

you looked up.

he was looking at you with that careful loving face, the one that had been looking at you your whole life, the one that had kissed your forehead before ceremonies and sat beside your futon and told you stories about fireflies.

"are you alright?" he said softly. "would you like some water?"

something snapped.

not loudly. not all at once. just a clean quiet snap, like a thread pulled one too many times.

"no." you said. "i would not like some water."

your father blinked. Ichi went very still across from you.

"i would like." you said, and your voice was doing something you had never heard it do before, steady and sharp and coming from somewhere below your chest, "to have been part of this conversation before it became an announcement at a dinner table."

"we can discuss—" your father started.

"we ARE discussing." you said. "right now. this is the discussion you should have had with me weeks ago." you put your chopsticks down. they made a sound on the table. "you sat in this room and you made a decision about my life. about who i will be and who i will belong to and what the rest of my years are going to look like. and you did it without asking me a single question."

"i am your father." he said. still measured. still the Dainagon voice. "it is my responsibility to—"

"to what?" you said. "to decide? to arrange? to move me around until i end up somewhere that makes you feel better?" you could feel your voice rising and you didn't stop it. "i am not something that needs to be placed, father. i am not a piece on a board. i am a person. i have thoughts and feelings and a whole life happening inside me that you keep making decisions over the top of without ever once asking what's in it."

"i know what's in it." your father said, and something in his voice had shifted, the measured quality cracking just slightly at the edges. "that is exactly why i am doing this."

"you don't know." you said. "you think you do. you have decided you do. there is a difference."

"i know that you are fifteen years old." he said, and now the crack was more visible, something harder underneath the warmth. "i know that you are headstrong and brilliant and you have your mother's eyes and her way of seeing things and i love every part of that but i also know that you are fifteen and the world is not the meadow, do you understand me? the world is not whatever happens in that meadow!"

the room went still.

you looked at him.

he looked back at you.

he had said it. not directly. not with a name. but he had said it and you both knew what he had said and the space between you felt suddenly enormous.

"the meadow." you said quietly.

your father said nothing.

"you know about the meadow." you said.

"i know a great deal more than you have given me credit for." he said. low now. careful again, but differently careful, the careful of someone who had been carrying something heavy for a long time and was finally putting it down. "i have known for a long time. i have waited. i have been patient. i have tried to give you time and space to come to the right decision on your own because i did not want to force your hand." he leaned forward. "but you have not come to it. and i will not watch you walk off a cliff because i was too gentle to tell you it was there."

"he is not a cliff." you said.

"he is not safe." your father said. "he is not—"

"he is the best person i know." you said, and your voice broke on the last word, just slightly, just enough. "he is the most honest and real person i have ever met in my entire life and you have never once looked at him. you have looked at what the town says about him. you have looked at what he is not, what he does not have, where he does not come from. you have never looked at who he actually is."

"i don't need to look at who he is." your father said, and his voice cracked too now, properly, the warmth and the hardness breaking against each other. "i need to look at what he is to you. and what you are to him. and what this town will do to both of you if this continues. i need to look at that because you won't." his jaw was tight. his eyes were bright in a way you had never seen them. "i need to protect you. that is my job. it has always been my job. from the moment you were born it has been the only thing i have cared about getting right."

"then GET IT RIGHT." you stood up. your chair scraped back the same way your mother's had. "getting it right means asking me. it means trusting me. it means believing that maybe, maybe i am capable of knowing what is good for me and what isn't." your voice was shaking now and you didn't care. "you gave me a necklace. you told me it was a birthday gift and the whole time it was a weapon. you put it around my neck with your own hands and told me to wear it always and it was a weapon, father. against someone you had already decided to hate before you ever met him."

your father flinched.

it was small. barely visible. but you had been reading his face your whole life and you saw it.

"i took it off." you said. "the same day. i took it off and i put it at the bottom of my chest and i have not worn it since and i am not going to wear it. not for you. not for anyone." you looked at him across the table, across all the years of firefly stories and forehead kisses and warm laughs at dinner and the slow quiet growing distance of the last two years. "i love you." your voice broke again, worse this time. "i love you so much and i know you love me and i know you think you are doing the right thing. but you are not. you are doing the frightened thing. and i need you to know the difference."

the room was completely silent.

Ichi had not moved. had barely breathed.

your father sat at the head of the table and looked at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before. not anger. not the Dainagon. just a man. just your father. looking at his daughter across a table covered in the remains of a conversation that could not be untaken.

you picked up your robes.

"excuse me." you said.

and you walked out.

you made it to your room before you fell apart properly.

you sat on the floor with your back against the futon and your knees pulled up to your chest and you pressed your face into your arms and you cried, the ugly shaking kind, the kind that had been building for months and months and had finally found its way out.

after a long time you heard footsteps in the corridor.

they stopped outside your door.

they didn't come in.

after a moment they went away again.

you sat on the floor for a long time after that.

then you reached under your pillow and found the origami bunny and held it in both hands in the dark and breathed

809 AD, Spring — 810 AD, Summer

somewhere between the dinner table fight and the first day of summer, the house changed.

not all at once. not dramatically. just the way houses change when something important has been said out loud and nobody quite knows what to do with it yet. it settled into the walls and the corridors and the careful way everyone moved through the rooms, like the air itself had been rearranged and everyone was still figuring out where things were now.

your father was not cold. that would have been easier in some ways, cold you could push back against, cold had edges you could find. he was still warm. still your father. still the man who asked if you had eaten and noticed when you were tired and remembered small things you had mentioned in passing weeks ago. but there was a distance in it now that hadn't been there before, a careful measured space between the warmth and whatever was underneath it, and you both maintained that space with the unspoken agreement of people who had said too much and were not ready to say more.

he didn't mention Ryomen again.

you didn't either.

the guards however.

the guards were a whole new situation.

they had gotten serious.

you didn't know what your father had said to them after the dinner table incident but whatever it was had produced two completely different men. these were not the guards who lost you in crowds and let you slip through garden gates. these were focused, attentive, communicating with each other in small signals you couldn't decode, rotating in patterns you had spent three weeks trying to map and couldn't. Ume had tried twice to run her usual interference and both times it hadn't worked and she had come back to you with the expression of someone who had met a worthy opponent and was annoyed about it.

the window in the poetry room had been nailed shut. you didn't know how your father had found out about the window. you had your suspicions, which lived in the general direction of a household staff that had been with your family for decades and were loyal in ways that ran deeper than you had accounted for.

the garden gate had a new lock.

you stood in front of it one afternoon and looked at it for a long time.

then you went back inside.

your mother had a bad week in the middle of summer.

three physicians in five days, which was new, which meant something had changed in the way her body was doing what it was doing and the people who understood these things were trying to figure out what. your father barely slept. you could see it in him, the particular thinning that happened when he was running on worry instead of rest, and underneath all the distance and the careful space and the guards and the locked gate he was just a man who was terrified of losing his wife and you were just a girl who was terrified of the same thing.

you sat with her one afternoon when the physicians had gone. she was having a slow day, the slow kind, the kind where even talking took more than she had. you didn't talk. you just sat with her the way your father sat with her, just being there, because sometimes that was the whole thing.

she reached out at some point and took your hand.

you held on.

neither of you said anything.

you thought about how unfair it was that the world kept asking you to choose. between your family and your freedom. between your father's love and your own life. between staying in this house that was yours and had always been yours and running toward the person who had become as much yours as any of it. you thought about how you shouldn't have to choose. how nobody should have to choose. how the fact that you were being asked to was not something you had caused or deserved.

you held your mother's hand and looked at the garden through the screen door and didn't say any of it.

late summer

he came to the garden wall on a tuesday evening.

you didn't know he was going to. you were on the engawa eating something small you had taken from the kitchen, the guards were doing their far round, the evening was warm and going gold, and then the air changed and you looked up and there he was.

he looked different.

not dramatically. just. more. like the months since you had properly seen him had done something to the lines of him, filled things in, made him more present somehow. he sat on the wall with his usual impossible ease and looked at the garden and did not explain how he had gotten past the new outer gate which had a lock that had defeated you completely.

"how." you said.

"the lock is cheap." he said. "your father should spend more."

you looked at him. he looked at the wisteria. it had gone leggy in the heat, sprawling further along the wall than it was supposed to, purple and insistent.

"i've missed you." you said. you were done being careful about saying things.

he was quiet for a moment. "i know." he said.

"that's not the same as saying it back." you said.

another moment. longer. "i know that too." he said. and then, to the wisteria, to the garden, to somewhere just slightly away from you, "it's been too quiet."

you looked at him.

"the meadow." he said. "it's been too quiet."

you understood what he was saying. you had always understood what he was saying even when he said it sideways.

"i'm working on it." you said.

"i know." he said.

you sat in the warm evening and talked, quieter than usual, both of you aware of the guards in a way you hadn't had to be in the early days. shorter sentences. longer silences. but the silences were the good kind, full rather than empty, the kind you had built together over four years of tuesday afternoons.

he left before the guards came back.

you sat on the engawa after and held the warmth of it carefully, the way you held all of it now, more carefully than before because there was less of it and what there was mattered more.

autumn

the visits were short. sometimes very short. ten minutes at the wall, twenty if the guards were slow on their round. once he managed to stay for almost an hour and you talked until the dark came properly and you could barely see his face and neither of you wanted to be the one to say it was time.

he was different in these visits. you noticed it gradually, the way you noticed things about him, which was slowly and then all at once. he was more open. not dramatically, not in a way he would probably acknowledge if you pointed it out, but you had four years of comparison to measure against and the difference was visible. he asked you things. real questions, not just responses to what you said, actual questions about what you thought and how you were and what was happening inside the house that he couldn't see from the wall.

he asked about your mother a lot.

he asked about your father once, carefully, and you had told him the truth which was that your father was exhausted and frightened and doing everything wrong for all the right reasons and you still loved him and it was still complicated and Ryomen had listened and said nothing and that had been exactly right.

one evening in autumn he had arrived at the wall with something wrapped in cloth and dropped it over the side into the garden without comment. you had found it after he left. persimmons, the good sweet kind that only came for a few weeks in autumn. your favourite. you had eaten one sitting on the engawa in the dark and thought about how he had remembered that, filed it away somewhere in that head of his that noticed everything and said nothing, and gone out of his way to bring them.

you had cried a little. just a little.

winter into spring

the physicians came more regularly.

your father started leaving earlier and coming home later and when he was home he was present in that way that meant he was physically there and mentally somewhere else entirely, doing the maths on something that didn't have a good answer. you had stopped trying to breach the distance between you. not because you had given up but because you understood, in the way you understood most things about people you loved, that he needed to come to it himself. pushing wouldn't get you there. you had pushed at the dinner table and it had cost both of you something that was still healing.

so you waited.

you helped with your mother when you could. you sat with her in the afternoons. you learned which days were which kind and adjusted accordingly and you tried not to think too hard about the fact that the physician's face had been doing something different lately when he came out of her room.

the guard situation did not improve.

Ume had essentially given up on interference and moved to a support role which mostly consisted of her showing up at school with snacks and updates about Masanori and Hotaru and making you laugh on the days when laughing felt difficult. Masanori had started leaving food at the school gate on days he knew you couldn't get out which had made you cry in a completely different way, the warm kind, the kind that came from being known by people who showed up for you.

Ryomen came to the wall when he could.

sometimes that was once a week. sometimes it was less. sometimes you sat on the engawa and the air didn't change and you went back inside and tried not to let the missing of it sit too heavy.

but when he came he stayed as long as he could. and every time he came he was a little more there, a little less armoured, a little more willing to sit in the space between you without filling it with distance. one evening in late winter he had sat on the wall and talked for almost two hours, not about anything in particular, just talking, the way you had always talked at the ginkgo tree except now it went both ways, him saying things without waiting to be asked, offering pieces of himself like he had decided you had earned them and was settling a debt.

you hadn't said anything about it.

butterfly rule.

even now. even after everything. some things you still had to pretend not to see or they'd fly away.

and then it was spring.

your birthday soon.

the house was warm with it, your mother had insisted on plans despite the physician's opinions, your father had arranged things with the particular focused energy of a man who needed something to go right. there would be food and music and people and your mother in her best robes doing what she always did in public which was making everyone in the room stand up a little straighter without knowing why.

it should have felt like something to look forward to.

you sat on the engawa on the evening before the evening before your birthday and looked at the garden wall and thought about how much had changed since you were twelve years old and the world was just a game of hide and seek and a shed at the edge of a meadow and a boy with pink hair who had never expected anyone to follow him out of it.

the air changed.

you looked up.

he was on the wall.

he looked at you and you looked at him and neither of you said anything for a moment.

"three days." you said.

"i know." he said.

"are you going to wish me a happy birthday." you said.

he looked at the garden. "probably not." he said.

"typical." you said.

something moved on his face. the soft fast thing. except lately it was staying a little longer before he covered it. like the covering was getting harder. like something in him had decided the covering was less important than it used to be.

"i'll bring you something." he said. to the wisteria.

"you don't have to—" you started.

"i know i don't have to." he said. and he looked at you when he said it, all four eyes, direct and steady. "that's kind of my whole thing with you."

your own words. from years ago. sitting in the frost. back in his voice now like he had been holding them somewhere and had decided tonight was when they came back.

you looked at him.

he looked at you.

the garden sat between you, warm and spring green, the wisteria starting its thing again along the wall, purple and insistent and completely unbothered.

"same time tuesday." you said softly.

he looked away.

"i make no such agreements." he said.

you smiled.

the guards were coming back around. you could hear them. he heard them too, you knew because he shifted slightly on the wall, preparing to go.

"Ryomen." you said.

he looked at you one more time.

"it's going to be okay." you said. you weren't sure you believed it completely. but you said it the way you said most things you needed to be true, with the particular conviction of someone who had decided to believe it until it was.

he looked at you for a long moment.

"yeah." he said quietly. like he was deciding to believe it too.

then he dropped off the wall and was gone.

you sat on the engawa until the guards came back and then you went inside and went to bed and lay in the dark holding the origami bunny and thinking about tomorrow and the day after and everything that came after that.

three days until your birthday.

three days.

810 AD, Spring, 10:09 A.M. PRESENT DAY

Sixteen, furious at the world and absolutely no one's sweetheart- Sukuna was, to put it plainly, a bear waiting to be poked. The abandonment issues and the judgment he caught for the way he looked didn't help matters either.

That's exactly why your father never understood your obsession with the little freak. The boy was poor and- well. four eyes. four arms. your father shuddered just thinking about it. no daughter of a Dainagon would so much as glance at something like that, let alone lose sleep over it.

So, what does any loving and overprotective father do? He gets his men to discreetly execute the boy. obviously.

One cool night when the sun had long set and moon sat high and mighty- your father, an elegant noble man who loved you very dearly, picked up his pen and jotted instructions down on a paper.

He'd keep you safe. he always has, your pretty little head was too full of butterflies and fuji petals to know any better.

In two days, my daughter's birthday will be held. You, my most trusted soldiers, will go and capture Ryomen Sukuna. Do not return without success.

dispose of the body properly and quietly.

Spread believable rumors to justify the boy's disappearance.

destroy the shed in the meadow.

he read it over once. folded it with the precise unhurried movements of a man who had made his decision and was done deliberating. he stood, dusted his robes, and handed it to his head attendant with a single nod.

the attendant bowed and left.

your father stood in his office alone for a moment. looked at his desk. at the lamp that had burned low while he wrote. at the window where the spring morning was doing its cheerful unbothered thing outside.

then he straightened his collar and went to start his day.

the consultation had started at nine.

you were standing in the middle of your room in your under robes while Miu, the seamstress your father had been using since before you were born, circled you slowly with fabric swatches and the focused expression of a woman who took her work very seriously. she had been talking for the better part of an hour about silhouettes and seasonal colours and what was appropriate for a sixteen year old birthday celebration versus what was appropriate for the formal events that would follow, and you had been nodding at all the right moments while hearing approximately none of it.

the ache behind your ribs had been there since you woke up. not a new ache. a familiar one, the kind that had moved in sometime around last autumn and had been paying very consistent rent ever since. it sat there while Miu talked about sleeve lengths and it sat there while you looked at the fabric swatches and it sat there while you tried to remember the last time you had looked forward to something like this, a new robe, a celebration, the whole event of being dressed and admired and presented, and couldn't.

you used to love these. you remembered loving these. standing here while Miu talked and the colours were spread out and the whole thing felt like something exciting was coming. that version of you felt very far away this morning.

"the deep plum would complement your colouring beautifully." Miu was saying, holding a swatch up near your face. "or if you wanted something softer for the occasion, the blush—"

the door creaked.

you looked up.

Ichi stood in the doorway. he had that look on his face, the uncomfortable apologetic one he got when he knew he was somewhere that was going to be received badly and had come anyway because he didn't have a choice. Miu froze mid sentence. you looked at him with the particular expression you had developed over the past several months for his appearances, pleasant on the surface, pointed underneath.

"what a surprise." you said. "i wasn't aware this was a shared appointment."

Ichi opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.

and then, for the first time in all the months of him being quietly decent and endlessly patient in rooms where he was not entirely welcome, something shifted in his face.

"your father requested i attend." he said. not apologetic this time. direct. clipped. the words of someone who had been holding something for a long time and had decided to put it down. "i didn't get a choice in any of this either." he said. "you're not the only one losing someone because our fathers think we are chess pieces."

the room was very quiet.

Miu had gone completely still, a swatch of blush fabric suspended in one hand, eyes moving between the two of you with the careful expression of a professional who had witnessed family drama before and knew better than to engage with it.

Ichi took a breath. pressed his lips together. composed himself back into the person he usually was, measured and pleasant, like he had opened a door and then thought better of it and closed it again. he sat down in the chair near the window without waiting to be invited and looked at Miu. "i apologise for interrupting." he said. "please continue."

Miu continued. less enthusiastically now.

you stood in the middle of the room and let her drape fabric against your shoulder and thought about what Ichi had just said. losing someone. he had said losing someone. which meant there was someone. which meant Ichi, who you had spent months resenting as a symbol of everything your father was doing to your life, was also a person with a life your fathers had been rearranging without consulting him. which meant he had been sitting at your dinner table all these months being decent and genuine and quietly patient while also carrying something you hadn't once thought to ask about.

you looked at him sideways.

he was looking out the window. his jaw was set. his hands were folded in his lap with the careful stillness of someone keeping themselves composed by choice.

you thought about all the things you had said in rooms with him. all the pointed pleasantries. all the times you had made it clear without saying it directly that his presence was an inconvenience. you had never been cruel. you had been too well raised for cruel. but you had not been kind either.

you were still thinking about this when the sound came from the corridor.

a wretching cough. then a pause. then your mother's voice, low and steady, saying your name through the door.

your mother was already walking away from the door when you came out. you followed her down the corridor to her room, the one that had started smelling permanently of the physician's medicines and the particular incense the attendants burned to cover it. she moved slowly today. not the slow of a bad day, the slow of someone who had something to say and was choosing the right moment for it.

she sat on the edge of her futon and patted the space beside her.

you sat.

she reached under the low table beside her and produced a box. lacquered wood, old, the kind of old that meant it had been somewhere for a long time. she set it on your lap and looked at you.

"your father." she said, "is a hypocrite. a stupid, handsome, strong willed hypocrite."

you giggled despite yourself. the giggle came out of nowhere and surprised you both.

your mother looked satisfied. she reached over and opened the box.

inside, packed carefully, were dried flowers. hundreds of them, small and aromatic, their colour faded to a soft brown gold but their scent still present, something warm and green underneath the dryness. you looked at them and then at your mother.

"do you know what these are?" she said.

"flowers." you said. "old ones."

your mother nodded. she scooped a handful up slowly, careful with them, and brought them to her face and breathed them in. the spring light was coming through the screen behind her and it caught her in that particular way it sometimes did, making her look less like someone who had physicians visiting three times a week and more like herself, the version of herself that had always seemed to take up more space than her body should allow.

"the first gift i ever got from a boy." she said.

you stared at her. "father?"

"your father." she confirmed. a small smile, private, not for you exactly, more like a thing she was remembering that you were being allowed to see. "my best friend was with his friend. we used to all go to the stream together. when those two would wander off on their own your father would carry me on his back and walk along the flower bushes at the edge of the water." she looked at the flowers in her palm. "i would pick the blossoms and set them in his hair before we moved on to the next bush. he never once told me to stop."

"mother." you said.

"hm."

"that is the most romantic thing i have ever heard in my entire life."

she laughed. a real one, the kind that came from somewhere light. and you laughed too and for a moment it was just the two of you on the futon being ridiculous about dried flowers and a boy who had let someone put blossoms in his hair because he was in love and didn't know what else to do about it.

and then the ache came back.

worse than usual. like the laughing had moved something and now the thing that had been sitting quietly had shifted and was pressing against places it hadn't reached before. you looked at the flowers in the box in your lap and felt it rising and couldn't stop it.

"why is he doing this to me." your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "why can't he be like that. like he was then. you chose each other. nobody arranged you. nobody put you at a dinner table and made an announcement." you looked up at her. "i want a choice too. i just want a choice."

your mother looked at you.

then she opened her arms.

you folded into them before you finished deciding to, your face going into her shoulder, her arms coming around you, and you cried. the full kind. the kind that had your shoulders shaking and your breath going uneven and all the months of it coming out at once, the guards and the locked gate and the short visits and the distance at the dinner table and Ichi at the window saying you're not the only one and Ryomen on the wall saying it's going to be okay in a voice that was trying to believe it.

your mother held you and didn't tell you to stop and didn't say it was fine when it wasn't.

after a while, when the worst of it had passed and you were just sitting in the aftermath of it, she spoke.

"i am very sick." she said. simply. directly. the way she said things she had decided to stop softening. "sicker than we have been telling you. the treatments have been doing very little for a long time now."

you went still in her arms.

"two weeks ago the physician told us there is a cure." she said. "a real one. but it would require more money and more time than we have easily available. your father is working on it." a pause. "he is terrified. not just of losing me. of losing you too. he feels everything slipping and he is grabbing at things and not all of the things he is grabbing at are the right ones." she smoothed your hair back from your face, slow and gentle, the way she always had. "i have tried to talk to him. i keep trying. but he is deep in it right now and the fear is louder than the sense." she looked at you, direct and clear. "so if you want your freedom. if you want him to see you properly. then it is in your hands to make him."

you sat with all of it.

the sickness, worse than you knew, the physicians three times a week suddenly making a different kind of sense. the cure, existing, real, possible but not certain. your father grabbing at things, at you, at arrangements and guards and letters written in the middle of the night, trying to hold on to everything at once with hands that weren't big enough for all of it.

you thought about a man carrying a girl on his back along flower bushes at the edge of a stream. letting her put blossoms in his hair. becoming, somehow, the man who had sat in his office last night and written something down on a piece of paper with careful measured brushstrokes.

you thought about how much distance there was between those two people. how much fear it took to travel that far from yourself.

you looked at the dried flowers in the box.

"okay." you said quietly. "okay."

your mother looked at you.

"i'm going to figure it out." you said. you weren't sure exactly what that meant yet. but you said it the way you said things you needed to be true, with the particular conviction of someone who had decided to believe it until it was.

your mother looked at you for a long moment. then she did something she hadn't done in a while. she smiled. not the small private one from the flowers. the full one, the one that had always made rooms stand up straighter without knowing why.

"i know you will." she said. "you are mine after all."

you sat with her for a long time after that.

the spring morning continued outside, warm and bright and completely unbothered, the way spring mornings always are.

810 AD, Spring, 12:34 A.M.

kaze ni chiru, hana no yume...

he stopped dead.

stood completely frozen in the middle of the meadow with his arrow half drawn and his mouth still open from the last note like an absolute fool.

he had been singing. OUT LOUD. to nobody. to the trees. to the bird he was supposed to be hunting who was now staring at him from the base of the cedar with what felt like judgment.

he stood there for one long humiliating moment.

she had been humming that stupid song two weeks ago on the garden wall. just humming it softly to herself like she wasn't in the process of completely rewiring his brain without his knowledge or consent, and now apparently it lived in his head permanently, taking up space alongside everything else she had installed there without asking, coming out of his mouth in the middle of meadows when he was supposed to be concentrating.

he was going to have some very serious words with her about this.

he reset. found the bird again, small and brown and magnificently unaware of how close it was to becoming lunch. he steadied his breathing. drew the arrow back. fixed his eye right on it—

and then something felt wrong.

not a sound. nothing he could see or point to or explain. just a shift in the air, the cold certain kind that skipped his brain entirely and went straight to his gut and screamed at him to MOVE—

he dropped.

all four arms hit the ground at once and the spear buried itself into the cedar tree so hard the bark split and exploded outward and rained down across the back of his skull and somewhere above him the bird lost its entire mind and shot into the sky screaming.

Ryomen rolled. came up onto his feet with his dagger already drawn.

five of them.

good gear. really good gear. not the rattling cheap equipment of the town watch, this was proper armour, the expensive kind, the kind that said someone with serious money had given very specific instructions to very serious people. they spread out around him immediately, smooth and coordinated and utterly silent, the practiced formation of men who had worked together before and had been briefed on exactly what they were dealing with.

they looked at him.

he looked back.

sixteen years old. no training to speak of. and absolutely no intention of dying in his own meadow today.

he pulled his dagger and the first one came.

fast! really fast! Ryomen let him come, waited until the absolute last second, stepped inside the reach and used two arms to knock the blade wide and two to drive the man into the ground with everything he had. the impact rattled up through his bones and the man stayed down, which was good, because the second and third were already moving and they had clearly taken notes on what just happened to their friend, splitting wide to come from different angles at the same time—

and it worked.

he caught the second one across the jaw with an elbow, felt the crack of it land satisfyingly, but the third came through his guard completely and the blade caught him across the ribs and the burn was immediate and vicious and mean and he hissed through his teeth and spun away and caught a fist across his cheekbone from the fourth man that he did not see coming at all and the world went white and sideways and loud for one very bad second.

he hit the ground.

hard.

the grass rushed up and he tasted copper and everything spun and for one genuinely horrible moment his body was asking him very sincerely if maybe they should just stay down here for a bit. and then the fifth man was coming and Ryomen shoved himself up off the ground through what could only be described as pure unadulterated spite and got his feet under him and kept going.

it was not clean. there was nothing impressive or controlled about any of it. it was loud and desperate and ugly, grunting and scrambling and hitting the ground twice more and getting up twice more because the alternative was considerably worse than the pain of getting up. his side was bleeding properly now, soaking warm and dark through his robe. his shoulder had been wrenched in a direction it was never designed to go and was filing a formal complaint about it. there was a ringing in his left ear from the fist to his cheek that suggested it had done more damage than just sting.

but he was Ryomen Sukuna.

and Ryomen Sukuna had been surviving things that should have finished him since he was six years old standing next to a blind old man watching his parents' cart disappear down a road. he had four arms and sixteen years of stubborn that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with never once having had the option of giving up.

when it was finally, messily, exhaustingly over, he put his back against the cedar tree and let himself slide all the way down it until he was sitting in the grass.

he sat there and breathed. great heaving lungfuls of spring air that tasted like blood and dirt and the very specific relief of still being alive to complain about it.

his side throbbed. his shoulder screamed. his cheek was already swelling like it had opinions about what had just happened and wanted to make them known. his hands were shaking slightly which he noticed and filed away to think about never.

he looked at his meadow.

his shed with the crooked door and the twice patched roof. his ginkgo tree. the fire pit he had built himself. the flattened patch of grass in front of it where someone had been sitting across from him every tuesday for four years without ever once being asked to.

someone had sent those men here.

someone with money and specific instructions and the particular kind of desperation that makes people do things that can't be taken back.

and she didn't know.

he was certain she didn't know because if she knew she would have come running in her house robes in the dark before any of this happened, doing something completely unhinged that would have made everything infinitely more complicated, and he would have been furious about it. but she wasn't here. which meant she was somewhere in that house right now, totally unaware, probably talking someone's ear off about something completely unrelated to the fact that her world had just changed this morning without her permission.

he needed to get to her.

a thought arrived. warm and wanting, the kind he didn't usually let get far enough to look at properly.

they could go. just leave. pack nothing, or nearly nothing, and disappear somewhere no one knew either of their names. he knew how to survive on very little. had been doing exactly that his whole life. and she was so much tougher than anyone who looked at her would ever guess. he had four years of very specific evidence to support that.

he sat with it.

then he thought about her mother. the slow mornings and the physicians with their careful faces coming and going. he thought about Ume showing up in his meadow with dumplings and the most unbothered gaze he had ever seen. he thought about food left quietly at school gates. he thought about her, specifically, in rooms full of people who loved her, laughing at something her parents had said, sitting with her mother on slow afternoons just being there because being there was the whole thing.

and then he thought about the shelter he would build. badly. because he had never built one in his life. and the winter that would follow. and her, who had been raised in a house with actual physicians and seamstresses and a father who imported things from distant villages, trying to eat whatever scraggly thing he managed to catch.

he looked at where the bird had been.

still there. same spot. same patch of ground. pecking away completely unbothered by the entire last twenty minutes as if none of it had happened.

he wanted to give her better than a badly built shelter and a hungry winter. he wanted to give her the best thing he could figure out how to build. he didn't know exactly what that looked like yet or how long it was going to take him. but he knew he wanted to try and he knew he couldn't do it from somewhere else.

he pressed one hand against his bleeding side. picked his dagger up off the grass with another. looked at the bird.

reset his stance. drew the arrow back.

i wonder if she likes bird.

the thought arrived completely soft and unguarded, slipping through every single one of his filters without asking, and he let it sit there for exactly one warm second.

then he let the arrow

your father was directing the servants on the birthday decorations.

he moved through the main hall with the focused energy of a man who had found a task and was going to do it correctly, pointing and adjusting and redirecting, a lantern two feet to the left, a knot retied, a table repositioned three inches. the servants moved around him efficiently and you sat on the step at the edge of the hall and watched him and tried to get inside his head.

what was he thinking right now? what was his next move? what would it actually take to make him see you, not the version of you he had constructed and arranged and decided on, but the actual you, the one sitting on this step watching him and trying to figure out how to reach him?

you had been trying to figure that out for two years and you were running out of time.

one of the servants caught the edge of a hanging decoration on his sleeve while climbing down from a stool and the whole thing came down on top of him in an enormous cascade of fabric and a sound like a small indoor disaster. the man stood in the middle of the wreckage looking mortified and your father—

your father clapped both hands over his mouth.

his whole face changed! the Dainagon face, the careful controlled composed one he wore like a second skin, cracked completely open, and underneath it was something younger, his shoulders shaking with the effort of not laughing, eyes bright and wet with it, the laugh coming through anyway muffled and helpless and completely real. he waved at the poor man frantically to say it was fine, it was fine, he wasn't in trouble, while clearly barely holding himself together.

you stared at him.

you thought about dried flowers in a lacquered box. a young man carrying a girl on his back along the edge of a stream, letting her put blossoms in his hair because he was young and in love and didn't know what else to do about it. your mother's voice. he is scared. he is getting desperate. if you want your freedom it is in your hands to make him see.

he had to meet Ryomen.

that was it! that was the whole plan! simple, clean, obvious. not through guards and gates and letters written at night. actually meet him. look at him. talk to him. see the real one, the one who made origami rabbits out of pink paper and noticed when you stopped eating halfway through your snacks and came to garden walls in the evening because the meadow was too quiet.

the only hard parts were finding a way to get to Ryomen, convincing Ryomen to agree, and then getting both of them in a room together without anyone dying.

so basically. everything was the hard part.

you looked at the guards. both of them had been sent on errands over an hour ago and hadn't come back.

you looked at your father, still occupied and cheerfully embarrassed about it, helping the servant gather the fallen decoration with a composure he was clearly struggling to maintain.

you stood up from the step very quietly.

you walked out of the hall.

and then once you were outside and around the corner and out of anyone's sightline you ran.

the meadow was warm and bright and smelled like spring and Ryomen was crouched by the fire pit with two rocks in his hands, and on a rack above the unlit wood was a plucked bird that you were making a very active and sincere effort not to look at directly.

he looked up when he heard you coming, slightly out of breath from running across town in your house robes, and you dropped down in front of him and looked at him. something was different about the way he was sitting but you couldn't quite— actually never mind, you had something important to say.

"Pinky." you said. "i need your help."

he looked at you. blinked once. went back to the rocks. "okay." he said. "what do i need to do."

you paused. "that's it?? you're not even going to ask what kind of help first?"

"i'll ask while you talk." sparks off the rocks. small and determined. "what do i need to do."

"i want you to meet my father." you said.

the rocks stopped.

he looked up at you very slowly with the expression of someone checking if they had heard correctly and hoping they hadn't.

"your father." he said.

"yes." you said. "i know, i know how it sounds, just listen. he doesn't know you! he knows the version of you the town invented and the version he built on top of that out of fear and rumors and none of it is actually you. but if he just met you, actually met you, talked to you, i really genuinely believe—"

"how." he said. "how would i even get close enough to the man to have a conversation? your house has guards and a gate and a lock your father specifically paid money for." he tilted his head at you. "did you think this through, woman."

"i think through things constantly." you said.

"how long this time." he said.

you paused. "twenty minutes."

he stared at you.

"it's a really solid twenty minutes!" you said. "listen. the guards are both gone right now, my father is busy with the decorations, if we move fast—"

"sneak me in." he said slowly. "into your father's house. the man who has spent two years trying to keep me away from you."

"he just needs to see that he's wrong about you." you said. "and the only way that happens is if he actually sees you. not the ghost boy. not whatever the town has been saying. you. and i know it's a risk, i know it's probably the most terrifying thing i've ever asked—"

"i'm not terrified." he said immediately.

"i know." you said. "wrong word. i know. what i'm saying is i know it's a lot to ask. but Ryomen." you looked at him steadily. "if we don't do something nothing changes. ever. the guards don't go away. the distance between me and my father doesn't go away. Ichi doesn't go away. nothing changes unless we change it." you paused. "and i think you're the thing that could change it. i think if he met you he would understand. i think he's not a bad man, he's just a scared one, and scared men can still change their minds if you give them something real to look at."

Ryomen looked at you for a long moment. the sparks from the rocks had landed in the wood and the fire was catching now, small and orange and spreading carefully through the kindling, crackling to life in the spring morning air.

you scooted back from the heat instinctively and looked up at him.

"and if he doesn't." Ryomen said. "change his mind."

"then we tried." you said. "and we figure out what's next from there. but i need to try. i can't keep doing this." you said it quietly. all the performance gone out of it. just the truth. "i can't keep living in two halves. half here and half there and never fully in either place. i'm so tired Ryomen."

he held your gaze.

then he looked at the fire.

"fine." he said.

"really?!" you said.

"you said trust you." flat. simple. completely certain. "i trust you." he set the rocks down. "give me a minute." he stood. "wait here."

he turned and jogged toward the tree line and disappeared between the cedars.

you sat by the fire and waited.

you were trying very hard not to look at the bird on the rack.

(you stared at it the entire time)

after a while his footsteps came back through the grass and you looked up and—

he was holding flowers.

a bouquet. or the closest approximation of a bouquet that could be assembled by someone who had been in a significant hurry and had also never made a bouquet before in their entire life. the stems were all wildly different lengths. several of the outer leaves were bruised and bent from being grabbed too fast. one of them was facing the completely wrong direction and didn't seem to know it.

but the flowers themselves were something else entirely! a lily shape, gorgeous and unusual, blue at the outer petals fading to a soft pink at the centre, a silky almost luminous texture that caught the spring light and held it. they were extraordinary. they looked like something out of a dream or a painting or a story someone was trying to tell you.

you stared at them.

"for your mother." he said, not quite meeting your eyes. "i was out this morning and i saw them near the tree line and something just— i don't know. they caught my eye and they made me think of her for some reason." he held them out with the slightly awkward energy of someone who had decided to do something and was following through on it regardless of how it felt to stand there doing it. "i thought she might like them."

you looked at the flowers.

then at him.

then at the flowers again.

the tears came without any warning whatsoever.

"Ryomen." your voice was completely wrecked.

"don't." he said immediately.

"i'm not doing anything—"

"your face is doing something." he said. "stop."

you launched yourself at him.

arms around his waist, face directly into his chest, the flowers getting significantly squashed in the collision and neither of you addressing that. he made a sound that was not entirely prepared for the impact and then all four of his arms came around you and he held on properly, all of him, and you stood in the spring meadow in the warm morning air and just breathed.

"thank you." you said into his chest. muffled. genuine. completely meant. "for the flowers. and for trusting me. and for just. being you. specifically you."

he said nothing. but his arms got tighter.

after a moment he said "we should go before someone notices you're gone."

"yes." you agreed, and neither of you moved for another few seconds.

then you did.

the outer gate Ryomen opened in approximately three seconds using nothing but his hands and what appeared to be an insultingly casual assessment of the lock, and you decided firmly that you were not going to ask about that.

getting over the inner garden wall was considerably less elegant. he made a step with two of his hands and boosted you up and you discovered that the top of the wall was significantly less comfortable than it had always looked from below.

"my guards have been gone all morning." you said, hauling yourself over with what little dignity remained. "both of them at the same time. that never happens. it's strange."

Ryomen made a sound below you. not quite a response. not quite not a response either.

"do you think my father sent them somewhere specific?" you said.

"probably." he said. and then he was up and over the wall in one single fluid motion that made your entire effort look considerably worse than it had already looked.

you grabbed the old blanket from the engawa, the one that had lived there through every season for as long as you could remember, and wrapped it around his shoulders and pulled it up as far as it would go. he stood there and submitted to this process with the expression of someone enduring something they have agreed to and are committed to seeing through.

"this is humiliating." he said.

"you look like a very tall servant!" you said encouragingly.

"i look like a person inside a blanket." he said.

"walk like you belong here." you said. "confident. purposeful."

"i am always confident and purposeful." he said.

"then this should be completely easy." you said. "come on. eyes forward. don't make eye contact with anyone."

you moved through the garden, into the back corridor, past the kitchen where someone was making noise and not looking, around the corner, heading toward the main hall—

"dear."

you stopped so fast you almost fell over.

your mother was standing in the corridor in her day robes with a cup of something warm between her hands, looking at you with the mild curious expression of someone who has not yet decided what they are looking at. her eyes moved from your face to the large blanket wrapped shape standing directly beside you.

"who is that." she said. "you know you're not supposed to hug the servants."

from somewhere inside the blanket came a sound. a short, choked, completely involuntary sound. the sound of someone finding something extremely funny against their absolute will.

you elbowed him as hard as you could.

your mother stepped forward and grabbed the blanket and pulled it off. "you are not allowed in our qua—"

she stumbled backwards.

her hand flew up to cover her mouth as she found herself face to face with four scarlet eyes, dark lashed and vivid, set in a face framed by pink hair that was doing its usual gravity defying thing, four arms now visible in the spring light, and the particular weight in the air around him that you had learned to recognise when you were twelve years old in a shed.

"is that." she said. her voice had gone very strange. "is that an angel?!" her hand pressed harder over her mouth. "oh my gosh. am i. this cannot be— i thought i had so much more time—"

"mother." you said, extremely confused on multiple levels, firstly how did she not sense his energy, secondly why is she calling him an angle, weird.... "how are you not— this is Ryomen. Ryomen Sukuna. mother. this is him."

your mother blinked. stared. took one long slow assessing look at the boy in front of her from top to bottom and back again with the thoroughness of a woman who had been reading rooms her entire life. then she let out a very slow breath. "phew." she said quietly. barely audible. "so it's not my time yet."

she collected herself with impressive speed. the composure came back like a curtain being drawn. she straightened up and took one step forward and then another and looked at Ryomen the way she looked at things she was making up her mind about. which was completely and without apology.

"so." she said. "this is the boy."

Ryomen cleared his throat. he reached behind his back and produced the flowers, slightly rearranged from the earlier collision but still luminous and extraordinary, and held them out toward her with a bow that was a little shaky and a lot genuine. "it is a pleasure to meet you ma'am." he said carefully. "these are for you."

your mother's eyes dropped to the flowers.

they went very wide.

something moved across her face. deep and sudden and old, the kind of recognition that lives in the body before the mind catches up to it. she reached out slowly and ran her finger over the pettle and released a shaky exhale, her lips parted and she lifted her eyes back to Ryomen's face and opened her mouth to say something—

"YOU BROUGHT THAT DEMON INTO MY HOUSE! NEAR MY WIFE?"

the voice came from the end of the corridor like a thunderclap and everyone in the hallway went completely still.

you moved first. "father—"

but he was already coming, long fast strides, the controlled fury of a man who had reached the absolute limit of his patience, and before you could get yourself between them his hand was on Ryomen's shoulder and he was wrenching him around.

"Sanetomo." your mother's voice came out sharp and clear and carrying every ounce of the authority she had been deploying her entire life. "stop. look at what he is holding. look at what he brought for me." she held the flowers up between all of them. "let go of that boy. and thank him."

your father's grip didn't release. but it stopped tightening.

his eyes went to the flowers.

the fury on his face did something complicated. shifted. moved sideways to make room for something else. confusion first, sharp and genuine. then something underneath the confusion that was harder to name. his eyes moved from the flowers to Ryomen's face and back to the flowers and the grip on Ryomen's shoulder loosened without him seeming to make the decision to loosen it.

"you." he said. all the thunder had gone out of his voice completely. "where did you get those."

"the meadow." Ryomen said. steady. unhurried. "near the tree line. i found them this morning. i don't know why but they made me think of her." a brief glance at your mother. "i thought she would want them."

your father stared at the flowers for a long moment.

then he grabbed Ryomen by the shoulder again. differently this time. and started moving.

"FATHER!" you stepped forward fast.

your mother's arm came around you. gentle. completely immovable.

"mother let me—"

"no." she said softly.

"he's going to—"

"no." softer still. and she pulled you back against her chest.

you watched your father march Ryomen down the corridor and around the corner and out of sight. you stood in your mother's arms with your heart doing something absolutely terrible in your chest and your eyes already burning.

"mother." your voice cracked right down the middle.

"i know." she said. her arms tightened around you. "i know."

the room smelled sterile and clean the way rooms smell when their purpose is serious. a mahogany desk dominated the centre of it, tools and instruments arranged on shelves with the precision of someone who valued order above most things, a narrow bed pushed against the far wall, a lamp burning in the corner despite the morning light coming through the screen.

an old man sat behind the desk who looked up when the door opened and went completely still when he saw what came through it.

your father pushed Ryomen into the chair across from the desk and looked at the physician. "is that the—" the old man started, eyes already going wide.

"yes." your father said. then to Ryomen, "hold up your hands,boy. show him what you have ."

Ryomen held up his hands. all four of them.

the physician stood so fast his chair scraped back and came around the desk and leaned in close, eyes moving over Ryomen's hands with the intense scrutiny of a man who did not believe what he was seeing

your father let him look for exactly long enough.

then he stepped forward and brought his fist down on the desk so hard everything on it jumped.

the old man stumbled back against the wall.

"you told me." your father's voice was dangerously controlled. the kind of controlled that meant the control was working very hard. "that these flowers were only found near Mount Asama. you told me local sourcing was completely impossible. you told me that was the reason for the cost." he took one step closer and the physician pressed himself further back against the shelves. "you lied to me. you took my money. you sat in this room and you told me there was nothing closer while my wife got sicker and your pockets got heavier." his jaw was so tight it looked painful. "i trusted you with her life."

the physician was stammering. actually trembling, words dissolving before they formed into anything coherent, hands up in a gesture that was half explanation and half protection. hid eyes darted to the bouqet and the boy holding it and a cold shiver ran down his old man spine.

Ryomen was smiling.

not a small smile. not a polite one. a full wide open ear to ear smile, the kind you had genuinely never seen on his face in four years of knowing him, watching your father take the physician apart with the focused satisfaction of someone watching something be done exactly right.

"there are more patches." he said, into the middle of everything, completely calm. "in the meadow. along the whole tree line. i walked past them this morning when i got firewood. there are more than you could possibly need."

the room went absolutely silent.

your father turned from the physician and looked at Ryomen.

Ryomen looked back at him.

the physician made a very small sound in the corner.

your father turned back to him.

what followed did not need to be described in detail except to say that it was not brief and it was not quiet and when it was finally over, when the gurgled whimpers and gasps for air ceased, your father straightened up, picked up a cloth from the desk, and began wiping his knuckles with measured unhurried calm.

he looked over at Ryomen.

Ryomen was studying the physician's swollen face with the focused interest of a scholar examining something genuinely fascinating. then his eyes moved, all four of them, slowly, deliberately, up to your father's face.

"will you do that to me now?" he said. quiet. direct. not afraid. just asking.

the room held its breath.

something happened to Sanetomo's face.

it moved through him slowly, whatever it was, arriving in waves. the fury had burned itself completely out and what was underneath it was something older and more tired and more human than anything he had shown in this room today. he looked at the boy in the chair. this boy. pink hair and four eyes and arms built from years of surviving alone and a face that was so young it knocked something loose in his chest.

he thought about what he would do if someone had done this to his daughter. grabbed her. dragged her. raised a fist in front of her eyes. what he would do to that person.

he knew exactly what he would do.

his eyes were wet. that surprised him. he honestly couldn't remember the last time.

his body moved before his mind gave it permission. down, slowly, until his knees hit the floor in front of the chair. in front of this boy. he reached over and took the flowers gently from Ryomen's hands and set them on the desk. then he took those hands, the two closest to him, both of them, into his own.

Ryomen went completely still.

the only person who had ever held his hands was her. this was different in every way and also, unexpectedly, warm. and the hands holding his were smooth and soft in the way that hands are when they have been cared for, and they smelled like agarwood, rich and grounding. he sat with it and let it be what it was.

"i hate you." your father said. his voice was low and unsteady in a way it almost never allowed itself to be. "i want you to know that. i have hated the idea of you for two years. every single time i thought about you i felt something i am not proud of at all." he looked at their joined hands. "but i hate myself more right now. i sent men to that meadow. i wrote it down and sealed it and i told myself i was protecting her and somewhere underneath all of that i knew. i knew it wasn't only that."

he stopped. breathed.

"she was my baby girl." he said. "she used to chase fireflies for an entire hour and come running to find me just to show me before she let them go. i don't know when she stopped coming to find me. i think i stopped being someone she could come to. and i watched it happen and i didn't know how to stop it and i made it worse instead."

a drop of water landed on their joined hands.

Ryomen looked up.

he had never seen a man cry before. not like this. not a man like this, a man whose presence filled every room he entered, sitting on the floor in front of him with wet eyes and a face that had come completely undone.

"she doesn't hate you." Ryomen said.

your father looked at him.

"she talks about you." Ryomen said. "even when she's angry at you she talks about you. she told me about the fireflies." a pause. "she still lets ladybugs crawl up her fingers. i've seen her do it."

your father closed his eyes for a moment. just a moment.

"i don't think it will go back to the way it was." he said quietly. "and i feel this ache. every time i breathe it feels like something tearing slowly. and all i can think is i'm sorry. i know it isn't enough. this morning i wanted you dead and now i'm on my knees saying sorry like a child and i don't know what to do with that."

Ryomen sat with this for a moment.

then he slipped one hand free.

he reached over, slowly, and patted your father's shoulder. once. twice. the most genuinely awkward pat in the history of human comfort, the pat of someone who had never done this before in their life and was doing it anyway because it seemed like the right thing and he had decided to do the right thing.

your father looked at him.

Ryomen looked at the floor. "you look like her." he said. "your eyebrows. the shape of your eyes. the curve of your cheekbones." a pause. "you also talk a lot."

your father made a sound. startled and wet and completely undignified. an actual laugh.

"her mother says the exact same thing." he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "she says we have a talent for going on and on about things." a small pause. "i think being able to put words to what you feel is one of the greatest gifts a person can have. not everyone can."

Ryomen looked up at that.

something moved carefully across his face. wanting and cautious and trying not to show either.

"could you teach me." he said.

your father blinked. "i beg your pardon?"

"could you teach me." Ryomen said again, steadier this time. and then, before the silence could stretch long enough for the answer to become no, "why did you react like that about the flowers? your wife also looked shocked when i gave them to her. i thought flowers were just gifts."

your father looked at him for a moment. something that was almost amusement moved through the exhaustion on his face. "you walked into my house." he said carefully. "and gave my wife flowers."

"yes." Ryomen said.

"boy." your father said. "are you trying to court my wife?"

Ryomen stared at him with all four eyes.

"i'm joking." your father said. and then, quieter, the amusement fading into something more serious and more tired, "those flowers. i used to find them for her when we were very young. before everything. before this house and this title and all of it." he looked at the bouquet on the desk. "i have been trying to find them for two years. the physician told me they could only be sourced from very far away and that the cost was the cost because of how rare they were locally." he looked at Ryomen steadily. "my wife is very sick. there is a cure. but the ingredient has been, apparently, impossible to get hold of nearby." his jaw tightened slightly. "so i have been working myself into the ground trying to pay for something that has been growing in my meadow this whole time. and the man sitting in that corner has known it."

Ryomen was quiet.

"every late night." your father said. "every argument. every decision i have made this past year and the year before that that i am not proud of. i made all of it from a place of absolute terror. i felt like i was losing everything at the same time and i was grabbing at whatever i could reach and not thinking clearly about what i was reaching for or whether i had any right to it." he paused. "i grabbed at her. i put her in a smaller and smaller space because i thought if i could just control the variables i could keep her safe. and all i did was push her further away and make everything worse and i could see it happening and i could not stop myself."

he looked at the flowers on the desk for a long moment.

"and then you walked in." he said quietly. "with those. from my meadow. all this time."

the room was very still.

Ryomen looked at the floor. then at the flowers. then back at your father.

"could you still teach me." he said. "even after all of it."

your father looked at him for a long moment. at this boy. this sixteen year old boy with calloused hands and pink hair and four eyes that were looking at him with something in them that was not fear and not anger and not any of the things he had expected.

"yes." he said. like the word had surprised him by coming out. "i think i could."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

the knock at the door was soft but urgent.

"come in." Sanetomo said, not looking up from where he was still sitting on the floor, which in retrospect was probably something he should have done something about before saying that.

the attendant who came through the door took one look at the state of the room, at the physician in the corner and the boy with four eyes sitting in the chair and the Dainagon on the floor, and to his enormous credit did not say a single word about any of it. he bowed, deeply, and when he straightened his face was the colour of old ash.

"my lord." he said. "i apologise for the interruption. it's the meadow. the one at the edge of town." he paused. "it's on fire, my lord. the council is convening. they're asking for you."

Sanetomo's head came up.

"what?!" he was on his feet before the word finished leaving his mouth. "the meadow— how, when did—" and then he stopped.

his eyes found the flowers on the desk.

he stared at them for exactly one second.

and then he ran.

not walked. not moved briskly. ran, out of the room, past the attendant, down the corridor, his robes flying behind him, the sound of his footsteps disappearing fast down the hall and out toward the garden.

Ryomen sat in the chair and watched him go.

then something arrived in his chest like a stone dropping into still water.

the fire.

he had left the fire going. small and careful and orange in the spring morning air, crackling under the rack with the bird on it, completely unattended. and the spring grass around the meadow was dry from the last weeks of warm weather and the wind had been coming in from the east all morning and he had been so focused on getting to her that he hadn't—

oh no.

oh no no no.

he was out of the chair and through the door before the thought finished forming.

you had been sitting against the corridor wall outside the physician's office for what felt like a very long time, your knees pulled up, your face doing the things your face did after it had been crying for a while and hadn't quite stopped yet, when the door burst open and Ryomen came through it at speed.

you scrambled to your feet. "Ryo! you're alive, oh thank—"

"the meadow's on fire." he said, already moving past you.

you stared at his back. "what?!"

but he was already at the end of the corridor, already at the garden, already gone.

you stood there for exactly one second watching the space where he had been.

then you watched him clear the garden wall in one single motion that was almost too fast to follow properly, and then he was over and gone and the wall was just a wall again and the spring evening was just a spring evening and somewhere across town a meadow was burning.

the smoke reached him before the fire did.

thick and grey and wrong, rising above the rooftops in a column that he could see from three streets away, and he ran faster, pushing through the early evening foot traffic that was starting to fill the roads, past stalls and carts and people stopping to point and stare, past the shrine gate and down toward the edge of town where the houses got sparse and the road gave way to the path through the grass—

or what had been grass.

he stopped at the edge of the meadow and looked at it.

a good chunk of it was already gone. the fire had moved fast with the wind behind it, eating through the dry spring grass in sweeping orange lines, and the smoke was thick and low and the air tasted like ash and heat. there was already a crowd gathered at the edge, townspeople standing and watching with their hands over their mouths, and pushing through the middle of them, shoving past people who were twice his size without appearing to notice or care, was Sanetomo.

Ryomen watched him push through the crowd.

for a nobleman. for a Dainagon. for a man whose entire existence was built around composure and position and the careful maintenance of dignity in all circumstances. he was shoving through a crowd of commoners in the middle of a burning meadow and he was not stopping for anyone.

he didn't hesitate at the edge of the fire either.

he went straight in through the burning bushes, smoke swirling around him, and dropped to his knees in a patch of grass near the tree line and started pulling.

Ryomen watched him for a moment.

then he went in after him.

the heat was significant up close, the kind that pressed against your face and made your eyes water immediately. the grass crackled and hissed around them and somewhere to the left a branch came down in a shower of sparks. Sanetomo was pulling flowers out of the ground with both hands, frantic, thorough, getting the roots and the dirt with them, his chest heaving from the smoke and the effort, face red, eyes streaming.

"you need to get out of here!" Ryomen called over the noise of the fire. "the trees are going to come down soon!"

Sanetomo did not look up.

continued pulling.

Ryomen looked at the treeline. at the shed, which was fully alight now, the old wood going fast and bright, the flames licking up the crooked door and the twice patched roof and all of it. the ginkgo tree had caught too, the one he had leaned against for four years while someone sat in the flattened grass in front of it and talked and talked and talked. it was burning orange and gold against the blue spring sky and the sight of it did something strange in his chest that he stood with for a moment.

why wasn't he sad?

he waited for it. the devastation. the desperate need to run in and save it the way Sanetomo was trying to save the flowers. this had been his home for ten years. every memory he had of not being completely alone had happened in this meadow. the old man had lived and died here. she had sat in that grass every tuesday and Thursday for four years and left rice cakes between them and refused to leave no matter how many times he hadn't asked her to stay.

he watched the shed burn.

and felt something that was closer to relief than grief. like watching something that had been heavy for a very long time finally being put down.

would the old man enjoy watching it go? he thought he might. the old man had been practical about most things.

a sharp cracking sound came from somewhere above and to the left.

"we have to go!" Ryomen grabbed Sanetomo's arm with two hands. "now! come on—"

Sanetomo fought him. actually fought him, trying to pull his arm back, still reaching for the flowers with his free hand, and Ryomen had to use two more arms to get a proper grip and haul, and then the cracking sound came again, louder and final, and the tree trunk came down directly in front of them in an explosion of sparks and burning wood and Sanetomo lurched forward toward it—

Ryomen pulled him back hard.

they stumbled away from the heat together and Sanetomo immediately tried to go back. tried to push Ryomen's arms off him, tried to get back to the flowers on the other side of the fallen trunk, scrabbling and desperate in a way that had completely abandoned all composure.

"there are more!" Ryomen said, pulling him back again. "i promise you there are more patches, i'll find them, but you are going to get yourself killed and they still need you! she still needs you! come on!"

Sanetomo stopped fighting.

not all at once. in stages, like something going out. the frantic energy leaving him slowly until he was just a man being hauled through a burning meadow, still clutching a handful of damaged flowers in one hand, coughing hard into the smoke. Ryomen got him moving and kept him moving, away from the fire and toward the tree line where the air was cleaner, and Sanetomo let himself be moved, and somewhere in the noise of the burning Ryomen heard him crying. not quietly. the kind that comes from somewhere deep and has nothing left to hide.

great. two of them now.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

you came running across the meadow at a speed rivaling Usain Bolts.

you saw the smoke first. then the fire. then the crowd at the edge of it. then, through the crowd, two figures coming out of the burning grass toward the tree line, one of them being hauled by four arms and stumbling and not walking straight, and the other one—

"FATHER!" you pushed through the crowd without caring who you were pushing. "RYO!"

you crashed down onto the grass next to your father before you'd finished deciding to, both arms around him, face into his shoulder. he was coughing and his robes were singed at the edges and his face was streaked with smoke and he was still holding, somehow, a handful of flowers in one hand that were damaged but intact.

you held on and cried and he held on back and you could feel him shaking slightly.

"mother told me." you said into his shoulder. "she told me everything. daddy i'm sorry. i should have known. i should have been there to help more. there has to be more of those flowers, Ryo said there are more patches, we can—"

your father's hand came up and smoothed your hair back. slow and careful, the way he had since you were three years old.

"i have so much to say to you." he said. his voice was wrecked and quiet and more honest than you had heard it in two years. "so much to apologise for. and some of it i can never make up for and i know that." a pause. just breathing. "you are my whole heart. and your mother is my very soul. my baby. my little girl." another pause. "i should have never doubted your ability. never. and this boy—" he stopped. "he saved my life today. in more ways than either of us know yet."

you pulled back and looked at him. then you looked at Ryomen.

who turned and walked away into the dark of the tree line without a word.

you watched him go. the smoke and the dark swallowing him up until he was gone. you didn't call after him. somehow you knew not to.

"his name is Ryomen." you said quietly, still watching the tree line. "Ryomen Sukuna." a pause. "i knew if you met him, you'd love him like i do."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

the forest was dark and quiet away from the fire.

he moved through it by instinct more than sight, the smoke thinner here, the air cleaner, his lungs grateful for it. behind him the orange glow of the burning meadow flickered between the trunks and the cracking of it carried through the trees but it was distant now, manageable.

he slowed.

stopped.

stood still in the dark forest and let something move through him that he didn't have a name for yet. the shed was gone. the ginkgo tree was gone. ten years of the only home he had ever had, burning down to nothing behind him while a man he had met this morning wept over it in the grass.

her father. who had wanted him dead at breakfast. who had sat on the floor of a physician's office and held his hands and cried and said i hate you and i hate myself more in the same breath. who had run into a burning meadow for flowers because the woman he loved was dying and he would burn with everything else before he let that happen.

Ryomen stood in the dark forest and thought about that.

then something pulled.

not a sound. not a sight. just that feeling, the same one from this morning when he had spotted the flowers by the tree line before his brain had finished telling him to look, like a compass needle finding north and the rest of him just following.

he moved toward it.

there. blue in the dark, catching what little light came through the canopy, a whole patch of them growing undisturbed between the roots of two old cedars, petals like silk, blue fading to pink at the centre.

he knelt down.

pulled them out carefully this time. roots and dirt and everything, the way you pull something you intend to keep. one by one, all four hands working, filling up with them until he couldn't hold any more.

i saved someone...curses dont save people

the thought arrived quietly and he sat with it in the dark for a moment.

then he got up and ran back.

Sanetomo was sitting up by the time Ryomen came back through the tree line, the coughing better, some composure returning in patches, the fire at the edge of the meadow still going but slower now, running out of things to eat. you were beside him, and when Ryomen dropped down and spread the flowers out between all of them you made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and it was the best sound he had heard all day.

the fire crept closer by degrees and eventually the three of you got up and moved, back through the thinning crowd, back through the streets of the town in the dimming golden light light, smoke still rising behind you, and somewhere on the way back through the market district Ryomen stopped at an unattended cart and took a basket off it.

"Ryo!" you said immediately.

"if they didn't want their things taken they shouldn't leave their cart unattended." he said, already setting the flowers down into the basket one by one with more care than was strictly necessary for someone who was simultaneously justifying theft.

your father made a sound. tired and cracked and genuine. a laugh.

he put his hand on your shoulder. then he looked at both of you, his daughter and the boy with the pink hair and the stolen basket with flowers inside, standing in the middle of a market street in the spring evening with smoke still in their hair and absolutely nowhere else to be.

"come on then, kiddos." he said. "let's go home."

ugh they are literally my babies.

can you keep a secret? i wasnt gonna tell, but like oh what the heck, the original ending was the father dying and then like reader is devastated obvi and she cant bare the very thought of Sukuna and that's when he gets all evil and there was this whole long part where hes a yearner and searching for her and he burns the villages he doesnt find her in and then one day he goes to sit under a sukura tree after destroying lives and what not and he sees a tomb stone. readers name is on it. buried under a sukura tree and he just knows its you. and hes falling to his knees when he notices a tomb stone next to yours with Ichi's name on it. and you can put two and two together. but i thought let me be happy and kind so here we are. but i do feel that it was the right choice cause i was crying just thinking about writing all that