Heyyyy

In all cliché love stories, there would always be a love triangle between the protagonist, the good guy, and the playboy. The protagonist would always choose the bad boy, no matter what, and the good guy would always be there as moral support. That was simply the unspoken 'rule' that posed itself as a trend in all novels.

In your life, you felt that you were definitely not the protagonist. If your life were a movie, you supposed, you would probably be one of those good-natured side characters who appeared in the film from two to four times, maybe even an extra in a story. You know, the kind chef that appeared on page sixteen of the storybook, or the dutiful store assistant who was moving boxes in the back.

Now, you might be wondering who the protagonist was. It was Sawabe Nagi: skinny, fair-skinned, and popular. She was bubbly, well-liked, and beautiful to boot; she was practically born to be the main character. Like the typical protagonist she was, she chose the bad boy, Oikawa Tooru, the dashing heartthrob of Seijoh. The good guy here was then Iwaizumi Hajime, who happened to be the playboy's best friend and childhood friend.

Before the plot was written, the good guy had a backstory with the side character. (Perhaps this story would change the course of the actual story? We would never know.)

You walked into class with your earpieces plugged in as you scrolled through your Instagram feed. As you sat down, you happened to come across a ridiculously hilarious post, something like a text post regarding your favourite band, and you tried so hard not to laugh. The pressure of holding it in was so great that as a result, you snorted out loud. Your eyes widened in surprise and you immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, hoping no one heard it. Unfortunately for you, your desk neighbour Iwaizumi Hajime had heard you, and he threw you a curious glance.

A sudden thought popped into your head: Huh, Iwaizumi really almost never smiles. Almost timidly, you decided to show him the post that had caused your earlier embarrassing outburst. Cautiously, you slid your phone over onto his desk and said, "Look at it."

The tan ravenette looked up at you from your phone, meeting your gaze. You simply tilted your head towards your phone as a response, and he raised an eyebrow at you. He still looked back down at your phone anyway, after angling the device, and looked at the post. Slowly, his lips formed the grace of smile. Shortly after, a chuckle resonated from his throat.

"Seriously, Iwaizumi, you should smile more," you commented casually, pulling your earpieces out of your ears, "It suits you."

"You think so?" Iwaizumi asked, somewhat shyly, handing your phone back to you.

You nodded, taking your phone from him, then tucking it carefully into your blazer pocket.

"I'll give you my number so you can send me more of these, then," he said.

You stopped mid-movement, then you laughed slightly. Very smooth, Iwaizumi, very smooth.

Ever since that day, the two of you would talk, laugh at ridiculous posts either one of you found on the internet or social media, eat lunch, and do usual things friends did. Slowly, through the passage of time, you realised a few small things: how you looked forward to your mini rendezvous during lunch, how you automatically lit up whenever Iwaizumi smiled, laughed, or complimented you, and how you found yourself wanting to know him inside out and as well as the back of your hand.

The final epiphany settled in: through the passage of time, you had undoubtedly fallen in love with Iwaizumi Hajime.

Your world was filled with endless joy, dizzying euphoria, and pure bliss: you would spend the rest of your remaining high school years with Iwaizumi. There was, indeed, a small part of you deep down that was afraid to come clean with him, to tell him how you really felt about him. However, you decided that it was better to keep him in the dark. You would wait for the right time to tell him everything. Your desire could wait.

That was, until he told you that he liked Sawabe Nagi — that was what burst your unknowingly fragile bubble of innocence. It was as though your ideas of your future dreamlike days with him had simply disintegrated into thin air.

However, you decided to put your friendship first before your selfish wants: you put on a brave smile, hid your sadness and slight jealousy, and wished him all the best in courting Sawabe.

You continued to hang out with him, though it pained you knowing that he never felt the same way you did. It was definitely difficult to feign smiles and speak comfortably with him. You had also once considered putting some distance between the both of you, but your better judgement convinced you otherwise as you did not want to dump your pain onto Iwaizumi like that. It would not be fair to him at all.

One day, after an afternoon of rigorous training, you walked out and was heading to the gate when you spotted someone sitting with their head low under the tree, just near the gates. The figure's silhouette was unmistakable to you; it was none other than your spiky-haired deskie.

"Iwaizumi?" you said as you approached him cautiously, watching his every movement with great focus.

"Oh, hey," he said as he glanced up to look at you, smiling slightly as if — no, definitely — trying to hide his earlier gloomy mood, "You're done with practice?"

You noticed that his characteristically mesmerising deep charcoal eyes were rather red and puffy, with dried tears on his face — a seemingly vulnerable look you never thought you would see on his being. A somewhat glassy look was in his eyes, as if he was looking into the fog, desperately searching for something far away.

You knew that you were not that something he was looking for.

"Were you crying?" you asked as you sat down next to him, eyes still on him, not daring to break away for just a breath.

He knew there was not really any point lying about it, for he knew he was easy to read, especially with you since he spent most of his time with you these days, and he nodded in response. He dropped his gaze to his hands, which were balled into fists on his thighs.

"What happened?" you asked, then added hurriedly, "If you don't mind telling me. I won't judge, I swear."

"Sawabe rejected me," he said softly as more tears formed in his eyes, the painful words getting lodged in his throat, "She... she told me she was sorry, that she... likes Oikawa instead."

"I'm... sorry to hear that," you whispered, not really knowing how you should be feeling. A part of you was overjoyed by the thought of Iwaizumi not standing a chance with Sawabe, and another part of you was disgusted at yourself for feeling this way. However, one could not stop the heart for desiring what it wanted.

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to envelop him in a hug to console him. Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around you in return and gripped onto your uniform tightly, burrowing his face into your shoulder and staining his tears on your blazer. You rubbed small circles on his back to further comfort him, not knowing what else to say but let him cry his heart out and let time soften his sobs.

"It seems like no one'll fall for me," he muttered in self-hate after he could not seem to cry any longer since his throat was getting raw and his tear ducts seemed to run out of tears, then he began to dry his tears and rest his chin on your shoulder as he chuckled dryly, "Not like it's that surprising, really."

"Are you kidding me?" your outburst was incredulous, with you pulling him away from the embrace and staring at him with widened eyes and furrowed brows, "I can't believe you thought so lowly of yourself; I fell in love with you within these two months, you know!"

Once those rambling words left your mouth, you turned red, slapped a hand over your mouth, and bit your lower lip. You began to berate yourself internally, What a wonderful time you chose to confess!

An awkward silence settled between the both of you, and you decided that he was officially disturbed by your sudden (and inappropriate) confession.

"S-Sorry, I should really get going," you muttered, then mumbled a flimsy excuse and dropped your hand to your side, gathered your belongings up, and prepared to leave. You were very much ready to get home to cry, wallow in your misery, and eat a tub full of ice cream.

"Thank you," Iwaizumi said suddenly which caused you to whirl your head at him, a small yet empathetic smile tugging at his lips, "It made my day."

Suddenly, you had this strong urge in you to say something ridiculous that popped up in your head, something that you knew only worked in Korean dramas, not real-life scenarios. However, it was worth a shot, right?

"Listen, Iwaizumi," you said, choosing your words very carefully, "I know this may sound stupid and one-sided, considering how you got... you know." You waved your hand in the air vaguely, not wanting to verbalise what Iwaizumi had been through a couple of hours ago, then continued, "Anyway, I'm sure I can treat you better than her, and I'm sure I can help you get over it."

There was a moment of silence.

Have I gone too far? you thought, fiddling with your thumbs nervously, Maybe I should just tell him to forget what I just said—

His reply cut you off mid-thought, "Then let's date."

"Seriously, [F/N], if you want to look at videos of corgi butts, do so when you're not walking," Iwaizumi sighed as he sat next to the bed which you were currently sitting on in the infirmary.

You, being hooked onto this never-ending list of corgi underside videos a friend had recommended to you, decided it would be a great idea to watch them while walking towards the indoor sports hall. It just so happened you were walking down a rather steep decline while doing so, did not see that you were about to trip over a sizeable pebble, and went tumbling down the hill. Luckily, you were not too high up the hill, so you managed to not sustain any severe injuries other than a twisted ankle. You were even luckier Iwaizumi was nearby, because he had been trying to find Oikawa who seemingly vanished from his classroom ("Probably to flirt with other girls," Iwaizumi would always say with a massive eye roll).

"You really are a good boyfriend, Hajime," you said with a grin as he simply shook his head at you.

It had been about a month since both of you started dating, and you had been trying your best to help Iwaizumi get over his rejection. The first step in your relationship was to address each other by your respective first names (which was your idea). Both of you were a little bit awkward at the initial stage, but soon got over it and became a second nature to the two of you.

"[L/N]? Iwaizumi?"

The curtains separating the both of you from the next bed was swept open by the school nurse, revealing a very pale Sawabe. Her dark hair made a stark comparison to her unhealthily white complexion. To finish off the staggering look, there was a pair of eye bags circling the bottom of her eyes.

Iwaizumi froze in place, like a deer caught in headlights. You immediately noticed this and contemplated whether you should reach over and squeeze his hand gently as a form of reassurance. After all, his hand was now (fortunately) close to yours.

"I guessed it was you guys judging from your voices," Sawabe added with a little laugh (even though no one really asked her).

You did not take the chance and your hand remained glued to your side. Iwaizumi's hand was now drawn back to his side as he stood up.

"Sawabe? What happened to you?" Iwaizumi asked, walking up to her, an even more concerned expression taking over his face compared to the one he had given you, "Where's Trashikawa?"

"Tooru said he was busy and couldn't come, because he said he had some extra volleyball practice he wanted to put in," the brunette replied, "As for me, it isn't anything serious. Just a couple of things went wrong. I'm fine now."

You averted your gaze from the pair, clenching your hands into fists. You knew it was fine for Iwaizumi got get worried over sawabe since they were friends, but you could not help yourself and felt jealous. The way they conversed sounded as though they were dating, which seemed like a punch to your gut.

This also seemed to further highlight your incompetence in the whole point you and Iwaizumi were dating in the first place. Iwaizumi still seemed to hold a special place for his former love after all.

You then knew, I can't hold a candle to Sawabe.

Slowly, you slipped off the bed and limped to the doorway as quickly and quietly as you possibly could. You wanted to leave while you still had some control over your emotions, before it was too late and you started crying and made both a scene and a fool out of yourself.

Iwaizumi never noticed your disappearance, and you never felt your heart ache so badly before.

After practice, you switched your phone on to see a few messages from Iwaizumi. Earlier, you had turned it off after you fled the scene in the infirmary, not wanting to hear anything from Iwaizumi or anyone, really. Since you had busted your ankle, you could not take part in track activities, so you sat by the bleachers and finished up some of your biology homework. In the end, the coach told you to go home and get some rest.

Tentatively, your thumb hovered over his name in your inbox before you finally decided to read his messages.

Hajime: Are you at practice now?

Hajime: Why did you leave so suddenly?

Hajime: I'm sorry, I won't be walking home with you today. I have to walk Sawabe home since Trashikawa is still practicing and no one's home to fetch her.

Hajime: Text me when you get home, okay?

Kissing your teeth, sighing inwardly, and not wanting to answer, you put on some music and shoved your phone into your blazer pocket. Subconsciously, you knew Iwaizumi would still be worried over Sawabe. Your heart twisted in jealousy at this.

When you arrived home, you decided to switch your phone to aeroplane mode to refrain from any distractions while you were revising. The first exam was coming in a month's time; you could not afford to relax. You put on your Spotify playlist meant for effective studying and locked yourself in your room for a solid hour.

After a good hour of revision, you checked the time on the digital clock which stood on your table: 6.45 pm.

The thoughts of Iwaizumi walking Sawabe back home flooded your mind. Did he really move on, or does he still have something for her? Your eyebrows furrowed as your brain spiraled further into confusing thoughts, everything getting tangled in a chaos.

Not wanting to waste any time thinking about it, you buried your face into your arms as you crossed them on your desk, closing your eyes and willing yourself to stop worrying. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

Knock knock. Knock knock.

The sound of gentle knocking woke you right up. Rubbing your eyes and blinking, you caught sight of someone at your window, fist to your window panels. You squinted at the rather well-built figure hovering by your window before your eyes widened in recognition. 

Iwaizumi?

Quickly, you rushed over (all while limping) and opened the window to let him in. Panic filled your veins as you opened the grilles.

"What are you doing? This is the second floor!" you berated him as he tumbled inside and onto your bedroom floor, "Why didn't you use the front door like a normal human being?"

"N-No one answered when I rang the doorbell, so I decided to climb up instead," he answered, and you noticed he sounded out of breath.

"Why are you breathless?" you asked, "Did you run over or something?"

"Yeah, I ran here since I got worried about you," he answered as he tried to catch his breath after sitting up, watching you carefully, "You left my texts on read and didn't read any of my new ones."

You just let out a soft sigh and said, "Come on, let's go downstairs and I'll get you something to eat."

Iwaizumi helped you down the steps (since you were injured, after all) and to the living room and was told to sit down, only he refused, because he pointed out you were still limping. You did not bother to argue with him and let him follow you.

The two of you then headed to the kitchen to get some biscuits and two glasses of milk, which Iwaizumi insisted on carrying. Both of you headed back to the living room with your snacks and sat comfortably on the sofa, with Iwaizumi balancing the plate of biscuits on his thighs.

After a few moments of hearing the sounds of crunching biscuits, he said, "Hey, let's play a game."

"Alright, fine," you said, reaching for another biscuit, "What do you have in mind?"

"Truth or dare," Iwaizumi replied simply, chewing his biscuit thoughtfully, "Now, truth or dare?"

"Truth," you answered without hesitation, popping the biscuit into your mouth.

"What do you think of our relationship?" he asked, then pointing between both of you, "You know, us."

There was a short moment of deafening silence (not even the prior sounds of biscuit chewing was heard) before you answered with a defeated look in your eyes, "There was never an 'us'."

He raised his eyebrows in curiosity, What do you mean?

"I love you," you proclaimed suddenly, turning your head to meet his gaze heads-on in determination.

No response. He just could not bring himself to say it. The words were lodged in his throat, being barricaded by an unknown force from escaping his lips, which were tightly shut. This silence confirmed your suspicions; this silence was as loud as a lion's deafening roar, an obvious statement of impending heartbreak and goodbyes.

"See?" you said softly, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and you immediately looked away, "That's exactly what i mean."

Quickly, you wiped your tears away, put on your best smile, and said, "Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of his phone ringing cut him off.

"Sorry," he mouthed as he took his phone out of his trouser pocket and glanced at the caller ID (he looked somewhat scared, but of what?), then answering, "Hello?"

"Iwaizumi? Could you come back to keep me company?" Sawabe's voice was unmistakable from the other line, causing you to further shrink down in your seat, "I'm kinda afraid of being alone."

"I'm coming over," he answered without missing a beat before ending the call.

You whirled your head over and looked into his eyes, yours full of hurt and sorrow. Though you knew he had probably never genuinely loved you like a true lover from the start, you never expected him to ditch you for someone else, that someone being the previous apple of his eye.

Though, could Sawabe still be counted as 'previous'? Iwaizumi cared about her; he clearly still had her as his number one priority, it seemed.

Your head started to spin with wild thoughts as you watched him place the plate of remaining biscuits on the table: Was he really going to her? did he never get over her? Did he ever see me as his significant other?

"I'm sorry, [F/N]. I really am," Iwaizumi said, a look of sorrow and regrets gracing his face (the very face you came to love), before giving a slight bow and exiting the house.

You sat there, eyes hollow, head silent, heart broken. You did not know what else to think. The only thing you knew was that you were tired. You were tired of chasing someone who had another goal in their eyes. You were tired of trying to be the missing puzzle piece in someone else's life. You were tired of illusionising yourself that the one you truly loved reciprocated your feelings.

In the end, the joke was on you. You were left alone with nothing else, just you and your broken heart that had been shattered into tiny shards that lay around your feet.

In cliché romance movies, the protagonist gets into a messy love triangle and falls in love with the bad boy.

And in this film, you were just a side character who liked the good guy, but never had your love acknowledged.

You walked into class with your earpieces plugged in, muting the unpleasant world that surrounded you. Life still went on even though bad things happen, but you can still angrily say "Fuck you" to the world who bestowed empty promises upon you and wallow in self-pity.

In all retrospect, you had been thinking about how your relationship between you and Iwaizumi had been, and by judging the latest (dramatic) turn of events, it was not going to get far in the long run.

Once you placed your books and materials on your desk, you could hear a muted voice saying through your earpieces, "Good morning."

Though it was faint through the loud dance music you were playing, you still knew the voice's owner. After all, it was the voice you had come to love, too.

"H — Iwaizumi," you said simply as you took out your earpiece, cursing yourself mentally for the slip of your tongue. (You cringed inwardly at your second action following your response; you probably looked way too excited when you heard him call out to you. Bad habits were indeed hard to break.)

"I-I'm really sorry about yesterday," Iwaizumi muttered, looking down at the floor with his hands shoved in his pockets, not daring to meet your gaze on him that you were actually imposing yourself to do.

Without saying a word, you grabbed his hand and led him out of the classroom. Class was not going to start until another thirty minutes or so, anyway. You had more pressing matters at hand to discuss with him rather than something that was going to be forgotten in a few years.

You swiftly pushed past the hordes of students who were either gossiping about Oikawa, talking about a weekend party, or some other useless junk, bringing him to the school rooftop.

The school rooftop seemed like a secret haven: free of students' chatter, free of judgement, free of suffocating criticism.

You let go of him and walked a few steps forward, your back faced towards him.

"Are... you okay?" he asked tentatively. You had never behaved like this before, so this was completely new for him.

Without turning around, you said, "I've been thinking a lot since last night."

You turned around and looked into his eyes, hoping that what you were doing was right. You did not want to say it (you never would if you had the option to), but you wanted to spare yourself from the torture and did not want yourself to do this any longer. After all, it proved that your attempts to get him to move on failed. Love can be such a powerful force.

"Let's break up," you said simply, trying to keep your gaze levelled and not let your emotions take control and ruin this any further.

"What?" Iwaizumi coughed out with widened eyes, a little dumbfounded by this twist of events. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect you to break up with him. After all, you were the one who asked to date in the first place.

"This relationship is one-sided, and it's going nowhere," you stated, "So there's really no point continuing it. It's hurting both of us. Besides, it seems like I didn't help you get over her."

You took a quick and deep breath and continued, "It isn't good for any of us. so, let's break up and spare one another."

Feeling tears sting your eyes, you quickly strode past him, not wanting to let him see you break down. You willed yourself not to cry until you made it past that door back into the campus. It was going so well, too, so why—

Suddenly, you felt a warm and larger hand take hold of your wrist. The same hand pulled you back into someone's arms. It was Iwaizumi, of course, bringing you into his embrace, just like how you had done for him when you found him near the school gates being upset over Sawabe's reveal of her true feelings a month ago.

"You did help me," he said gently, "You're very special to me, and you've brightened my life. You've made me see the world in a different light, a different perspective, and for that, I want to thank you."

That was not exactly what you wanted to hear, but it still made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. Before you knew it, you found yourself wrapping your arms around his torso and you leaned further in, your head pressing into his chest and you could hear his steady heartbeat resembling a siren song.

"If you would give me a second chance, I will tell you those three words one day," Iwaizumi said, with sincerity embedded in his words.

"So you're going to force yourself to love me?" you asked, breaking the embrace and looking up at him with a somewhat offended look, "Because I don't want you to. It's not right to the both of us."

"I'm not," he answered quickly, then explained, "I'm unsure of my feelings as of now, but if you would give me a second chance..."

He reached for your hand, encased it within his larger one, and continued with sincerity in his eyes, "I'm sure I won't hurt you again."

You bit your lip as your heart struggled to make a decision. The rational part of you wanted to refuse and say no, to put an end to this tragic tale. However, the lovesick fool in you convinced you otherwise. A second chance would not hurt anybody, and maybe there would come a day where Iwaizumi would really say those three words you longed to hear with a sincere heart.

"Alright," you stepped forward and squeezed his hands, "I'll wait for you."

"Thank you," he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, warmth spreading throughout his body. Moving on will be difficult, but for you, he was willing to do it and free himself from Sawabe's grasp.

In all cliché romance films, the protagonist gets into a love triangle and chooses the bad boy. The good guy supports them and thinks he is unloved, when there is a minor side character wanting and waiting to be with him, for him to extend his hand and accept their love, but never getting their happy ending.

You kiss your daughter's round cheek and smile at the brooding man in front of you, his arms coming out so he can grab the baby from you. You pass her to him and stand back to watch, eyes wide with delight as he lifted her before sliding her into the carrier.

"Come on brat, help me out." He huffs trying to get her legs through the two holes but the baby refused, scrunching her legs up and frowning in her sleep.

Sukuna holds her out and glares at her sleeping form, his twin just as stubborn as he is. He tries again while you hold in your laughter.. and again, and again until she finally gives up and lets him settle her in.

"Was it that hard?" He huffs, placing one hand under her bum and the other behind her head because he refused to put his full trust in the thing.

"So?" You smile up at him and he hates that he can't be annoyed at you when you look at him like that. "What do you think?"

He shrugs and makes a face. "Tch, useless thing."

He wasn't going to tell you this, lest you throw it back in his face, but he couldn't say he minded the baby carrier. It was nice being able to walk around and get things done while keeping his daughter close, but he only ever wore it when you were in class or out with your friends.

He even brought her to practice with him, strapped safe since you were coming down with a cold and could barely keep your eyes open.

He was the captain so he was allowed by his coach to stand on the sidelines and help guide the team, shouting critiques to the men while his daughter was pressed to his chest and looking around with curious red eyes, little earmuffs protecting her tiny ears from the whistles and shouting.

It was surreal for Sukuna's teammates to see.

Their six foot seven tatted captain who routinely made freshmen cry during conditioning, holding a baby that was entirely too tiny against his chest. When one of her fist escaped the blanket, Sukuna reached down and gently tucked it back inside without even looking, eyes focused on the field.

Everyone was dumbfounded but kept running their drills because if Sukuna caught them lacking he'd make them run laps until they puked or passed out.

Sukuna's thumb absentmindedly rubbed slow circles against her tiny back through the carrier, one arm wrapped around her because while he could admit it was practical, he'd never completely trust it when it came to his daughters safety.

He ignored the smile Nanami gave him when he passed by and stopped to say hello to his niece.

You would definitely be hearing about this and he could already hear you saying I told you so!

❦ lisa's note: I missed writing dadkuna so here's a quick oneshot while I finish my gojo and nerdkuna fic

© art creds: su2kuna

you were standing in the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the 24/7 convenience store, a basket hanging from your elbow with an xl pack of condoms already inside.

“what else, what else…”

the air conditioning was too cold, raising goosebumps on your arms, brushing over the sprinkle of scales already adorning your skin. the cool air was combatting the warmth from the outside, but there was a deeper heat slowly coiling low in your belly, pulsing harder and harder, overtaking your very being quietly — a heat that couldn’t be tamed by the artificiality of the cooling device.

you’ve been feeling it for hours. the telltale thrum, the hypersensitivity of your skin, the way your gums ache faintly where your fangs wanted to push through.

ebb day is tomorrow. officially.

you still have a few hours to prepare.

your phone unexpectedly buzzed against your skin, a frantic, continuous tremor that has you fumbling for it. rafayel’s name light up the screen, a silly picture of him trembling together with the vibrations.

you swiped to answer, a teasing remark already on your lips.

“if you’re calling to back out–”

“please.” his voice cut you off, and it sounded wrong. it was not the smooth, sultry baritone he usually wielded like a weapon, articulating witty remarks at your expense. it was breathless, strained, cracking at the edges. “please, come over.”

you froze between aisles, your hand tightening on the phone. “rafayel?”

“i need you.” a low, fractured whine escaped him, and the needy sound went straight to your core, igniting the latent heat into a sudden, roaring blaze. “it’s… it’s early. it’s so early. i thought i had more time but it’s… i need you now.”

you could picture him too clearly.

at his seaside manor, in the vast, luxurious bedroom, with the curtains wide open, welcoming the full moon. rafayel, welcoming you, sprawled on his massive bed, his pale skin flushed and beaded with sweat, his hair a disheveled mess of purple.

you imagined him grasping his phone with a trembling hand, spotted with scales, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in gasps.

fangs peeking through oh so beautifully.

“i’m at the store.” you said, your voice coming out rougher than you intended, your own state suddenly worsening due to rafayel’s intervention. “i’m getting the things. i’ll be there after checkout–”

“no.” he gasped immediately, and the desperation in his voice was loud, a hook that sunk into your chest and pulled you like a fish out of waters. “too long. ugh– i can’t– please. i can’t wait anymore. i feel like i’m burning up. we have everything here, so...”

“i need you. please, please, just ahhhh– come here.”

the plea was a whisper, broken and sweet, and that did it for you. you’ve always been weak for him. in this human form, in your true one, it didn’t matter; he had you wrapped around his pinky finger since you were children, even if he didn’t always know it.

“raf…”

you wanted to say something stubborn, to remind him that you were buying the very supplies he’ll be grateful for later, but another whimper came through the line, and your resolve crumbled to the ground.

“fine.” you heard yourself say, already turning and abandoning your basket on a shelf, condoms and all. “i’m coming right now. stay on the line.”

he let out a soft, relieved sound, and you could’ve sworn a sloshing noise accompanied his tune. “okay. f–fuck– okay.”

you left the store at a near-jog, the warm night air hitting your flushed cheeks.

the moon was almost up, a perfect, luminous circle in the sky, yet too bright, too full. it made your blood sing, your skin prickling with more and more clusters of scales.

you could still hear rafayel’s breathing on the other end of the line, quick and uneven, punctuated by tiny, swallowed sounds that he’s probably trying to hide.

that, and low, wet sounds — most likely his hand moving lazily up and down his stiff cock.

“tell me how you’re feeling.” you said as you slid into your car, your hand steady on the wheel even as everything inside you was starting to shake.

you have to keep your composure for just a little longer.

you also have to keep rafayel in check and make sure he doesn’t tip over.

“hot.” he breathed into the phone. “everything’s s–shit– too hot. my clothes… i took them off already. i’m just in the sheets. i nghnn– keep thinking about your hands.” his voice dropped, becoming that familiar, teasing cadence even through the haze of the heat.

“you have such nice hands. so soft– ngh– i keep thinking about them on ahh– me. groping me, pinning me down. do you think you can do that?”

your fingers tightened on the steering wheel, your knuckles whitening at his request. “rafayel.”

“i want you to.” he continued, his voice a low, needy murmur. the sticky sounds raised in intensity, no longer just background noise. “i need you so bad. i need you on top of me, baby.”

you pushed the accelerator harder, running a stop sign you didn’t even register. the streets blurred under your hazy vision, the city lights smearing into streaks of color. the heat inside you was building up with every word of his, with every little gasp and hitch of his breath.

rafayel was doing a phenomenal job at riling you up.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked all of a sudden, his voice a silken thread that woke you up. “are you thinking about me?”

“yes.” you admitted bluntly, the word torn from you without much effort.

“nhgh… t–tell me, baby.”

“the way you look when you’re between my thighs.” your voice was steady, booming from the speakers of his phone, but your hands were shuddering now. fingernails threatening to elongate into monstrously sharp claws. “the way you eat me out so good.”

he groaned, a breathless, shattered sound, and his hand sped up. the wetness staining his cock was palpable, the sound harsh yet delicate. “f–fuck yeah, i wanna taste your cunt so bad.”

a pause, then his voice murmured a confession once more. “i need to bury my face in you. i need to smell you. ahhhh– bet you’re drenched already, can almost s–sniff it from here.”

he was right. since the beginning of your conversation, the flimsy material of your panties was nothing but sticky. each and every request of his, delving into his nastiest wishes, generated more gooey arousal, effectively coating your panties in a generous amount of slick.

it also did not help that you were a lemurian, normally producing more slick than a mere human.

thankfully, you were pulling through the gates of his estate, the tires of your car crunching on the gravel driveway. you didn’t even bother parking properly — just killed the engine and eft the car where it stopped.

“i’m here.” you said into the phone, your legs carrying you up the front steps without waiting for another invite.

you swung the door open without a second thought.

rafayel was standing at the end of the hallway, and the sight of him made your clit throb.

he was fully naked, his skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, his hair plastered to his temples. his chest was heaving, his pupils so dilated that his irises were reduced to thin rings of purple. but it was the scales that caught your attention — a scattering of iridescent, pearl-white scales along his cheekbones, down his neck, across his shoulders.

painting his skin, lower and lower.

going beyond the base of his aching cock.

the scales shimmered in the moonlight, catching the light like tiny mirrors.

“baby!” his eyes found yours, and he smiled — a beautiful, unhinged grin, all sharp teeth and raw need. “you came.” he breathed, relieved, taking wobbly steps towards you.

he was deeply affected by the rising full moon, hands jumping away from his sides and searching for support onto the walls.

you were soon to be deeply affected as well as your nostrils inhaled the pheromones dominating the entire mansion: the smell was terrifically strong, a pungent odor that lulled you towards primal desires. you almost stumbled backward from the powerful aroma, palm shooting up and covering the bottom half of your face in an attempt to protect your senses.

“f–fuck, the smell…”

you needed to remain levelheaded.

you needed to remain the rational one, since rafayel was clearly indulging fully in the effects of the moon.

but it was hard. you could already feel your fans poking through your gums, could already sense the tremble in your body as rafayel caught up to you.

your entire being was calling for him, just like his own called for you.

his quivering hands clawed at your dress, pulling you fully inside, the door slamming shut behind you two and effectively trapping you in his den. taking advantage of the defensive stance you took, he manhandled you against the closest wall, caging you perfectly, his body a line of burning heat against yours.

“ah, ah, ah, you…” his face instantly found your neck, burying itself in the seductive dip between your throat and shoulder. and, with a loud whiff, rafayel inhaled your own tumbling pheromones. “ahhh– smell so fucking good.”

he did not stop at that, nuzzling further into your skin, dragging the tip of his nose up towards your pulse point, punctuating the spot right behind your ear. with that, he managed to caress a patch of sensitive scales, eliciting a moan out of your hidden lips, forcing your palm to abandon its post to tangle in his messy locks.

“baby, please, pull ugh– my hair, please.” he started to beg as he felt your fingers latch onto the roots of his hair, body curving into yours more and more.

his legs snuck their way between your own, parting your thighs and allowing his knee to dip into the material of your dress and make contact with your clothed pussy. his arms flew away too, finally taking hold of your torso and putting you into a needy embrace.

“raf, i–”

your voice echoed in his ears, blessing him with the delicious shudder of your tone. but something was wrong, he slowly realized between his hazy thoughts — you have yet to make your move, you have yet to show the same neediness he has been carrying for hours.

“i–is something wrong? no, please, baby…”

he removed his face from your neck, abandoning his mission to devour your scent gland in favor of discovering what was holding you back. a strong feeling of anxiety shook his entire body, and memories of abandonment flashed between his obscene fantasies.

changing the atmosphere entirely.

“go on, raf, it’s okay–”

“n–no.”

you couldn’t resist him, especially not now.

he decided to perch his head on your chest, entire body slouched over your own, and look up at you with his lust-filled orbits. the pout on his lips was dangerous, accessorized by his long and sharp fangs. his legs were now practically glued to yours… and you could feel his heavy cock pressing against your thigh.

“do you not want me, baby?”

oh, he was gonna be the death of you.

“raf, someone h–ngh–as to be rational, i can’t give into pleas–”

“we will be careful, like always…” he cut you off enthusiastically, tightening his hold on your midriff to block any kind of escape. worse, he dipped his face lower into your chest, pressing right against your exposed sternum… and sticking his tongue out to taste your sweaty skin.

“rafayel.” you warned through gritted teeth, gripping the base of his scalp and pulling his head back. but he was ready for such an action, simply letting out more length of his monstrous tongue and continuing his perverse ministration across the peaks of your breasts.

“i k–know what will help!” he chirped between licks, and the sensation of his rough, elongated tongue tracing the delicate flesh of your chest made your resolve shake.

you tried to hold firm, to remember the reasons why someone needed to stay level-headed, but he was a master of persuasion: his hands, which had been so needy and clammy, slid down your hips with a slow, teasing pace. and he stopped when he reached the fabric of your short skirt, fingers twitching at the hem.

“just a taste.” he whispered, long tongue retracting from your skin to wet his lips. “i ugh– to taste your pussy, baby. please.”

his voice was a raspy, desperate plea, and the sight of his body — the way he pressed himself against you, precum wetting the ends of your dress — broke something in you. you were supposed to be the rational one, but the pheromones were a thick haze in your lungs, intoxicating your very being.

your own body betrayed you, the ache between your thighs becoming a pulsing, insistent throb. your firm grip on his hair lessened, hand guiding his head unconsciously down your body, moving him in line with your center.

“ah– j–just a bit...” you breathed, your voice shaking now. “but then we m–”

move to the bedroom — he didn’t let you finish.

a submissive, relieved groan escaped him, and he was already sliding down your body. his bare knees hit the floor with a sharp thud, but he didn’t flinch. you tried to steady yourself, but rafayel had other plans — hiking your right leg up his shoulder, spreading you wide open for him. and you were taken by surprise, fingers curling and pushing his head around from the sudden movement.

“f–fuck yeah.”

he let out a sharp, encouraging moan against your exposed thigh, and you felt his lips press a wet kiss on the newly exposed patch of skin of your knee.

his hands shoot up, scattering the hem of your dress. he pushed the material up around your waist, silently prompting you to hold it down and away from him. the cool air of the hallway licked at your exposed thighs, prickling at your scale-scattered skin.

his gaze dropped, and he stared at the sight before him, cock twitching between his bent legs. the wet spot on your panties was dark and obscene, the cotton perfectly clinging to the shape of your pussy. you were absolutely soaked through, arousal escaping the comfort of your underwear in order to stain your inner thighs.

the rims around his blown-out pupils turned a bright blue, and a devouring hunger flashed across his features.

“oh, my baby.” he breathed, the words almost a whimper. “you’re s–so wet for me. i bet it h–hurts so much.”

he didn’t wait for an actual answer as he leaned forward to thoroughly inspect you. his nose pressed into the damp fabric, and he inhaled deeply, a tremble running through his body as he feasted on your scent. he nuzzled against the soaked cotton, his sharp fangs grazing your sensitive flesh through the thin barrier, and your knees nearly buckled.

your hand forced his head deeper instead of pulling it away, a silent surrender to the powers of the moon.

he took the signal with a groan of satisfaction. his tongue snaked out, long and monstrous, and he dragged the wide, flat of it across the dark spot. he licked slowly, savoring you through the fabric, his eyes rolling back from the aroma.

“you ahh– s’ good.” he mumbled against the fabric, his voice muffled by the fabric and his groans.

but he needed more than just soaked panties. so, with a swipe of his tongue, he wrapped the length twice around the gusset of your panties, tugging the material downwards. you felt the wet cotton drag along your sensitive flesh as it was removed, exposing your cunt entirely to his burning gaze.

“r–raf, please.”

he saw everything: your wet, swollen flesh glistened in the dim light, your clit engorged and peeking out from its hood. a fresh glob of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his adam’s apple bobbed at the bodily reaction.

“babyyy…” his breathing hitched, and he slowed down, his entire being focused on the sight and scent of you. “look at you.” he muttered, his voice heavy by lust. “so beautiful, so mesmerizing.”

and before you could form a response, he dived in. his lips glued onto you, and his tongue — still a long, monstruous muscle — latched onto your entire cunt. he licked a wide, flat stroke from your oozing entrance to your pulsing clit, and the feeling of his wet mouth against your slick flesh made you whine.

he did it again, and again, building a rhythm that was ruining you from the inside out. he was starved, licking and sucking and slurping you like an intoxicated man who knew no other flavour.

“rafayel, r–fa–yel!”

you threw your head back, the wall cold against your skull, as you fought for composure. but it was a losing battle: his mouth was too skilled, too curious to discover your pussy. he found every sensitive nerve with the tip of his tongue, swirling around your clit until you were seeing stars, then dropping down to probe at your entrance.

licking up the streams of your juices like they were the only source of water in the world.

you made the mistake of looking down at him. he was on his knees before you, his body trembling with the effort of restraint and desire. his eyes were heavy-lidded, focused solely on his task, and his gills —delicate, slit-like openings on his neck — fluttered slightly as he breathed through them, allowing him to remain glued to you without a pause for air.

he was relentless, dedicated.

he needed you to tip over into your animalistic side.

“i– oh, fuck–”

your voice cracked and morphed into a high, unhinged moan as he circled his tongue around your clit, wrapping it tightly with its length while he sucked the bundle of nerves with his lips. the tip of his tongue dipped lower treacherously, pushing against your greedy hole and effectively overflowing your mushy brain with pleasure.  

your hips jerked forward of their own accord, and you felt your fingers drag through his hair, pulling him even tighter against you, demanding more even as you were overwhelmed.

“hmhmm– ngh–” he moaned into you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your pelvis.

his hands slid up your thighs, thumbs spreading your lips wider, giving him unrestricted access to every inch of your center. he worked on you with a desperate, submissive fervor, eating you out as if his existence depended on your pleasure.

and it was working. the feeling built and built in your tummy, a coil of heat tightened and tightened with every flick of his tongue.

“al’st.” he gasped, pulling away just enough to see the defeat in your eyes. his lips and chin were shining with your wetness, his sharp teeth shimmering as he smiled at you. “cum in my mouth, please.”

your resolve had shattered the moment his mouth had made contact. so you just nodded frantically, a sobbing whine escaping your lips, and he leaped at the signal. his mouth descended again with renewed vigor, long tongue focusing on your engorged bud. he sucked hard, creating a devastating pressure, while he simultaneously probed the back of his tongue against your entrance, massaging the contracting muscles.

“ah, i’m–”

you came with a cry that echoed down the empty hallway, your body arching off the wall as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through you. your hand forced his face deeper into you, and he drank everything, his moans of ecstasy vibrating against your sensitive flesh as he swallowed your release.

and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, easing you through the shaking aftermath, his eyes locked on your trembling form with a satisfied, devouring gleam.

“ah, a–ah, ah.”

when you finally opened your eyes, you had a good look at his needy, disheveled face, still resting between your thighs. his lips and chin were slick with you, his long tongue still lazily licking at your flesh as if he couldn’t bear to lose the taste. his gills fluttered rapidly, and he smiled up at you — temporary satiated by your pussy.

… or so you thought.

“g–go again?” he pleaded, his voice high-pitched and weak. “please, please, please, ple–”

and you knew why he was begging so arduously: gazing downwards at the floor, you soon realized that he also spilled his release, most likely pushed over the edge by your own orgasm. the floorboards were covered in a thick layer of cum, white and sticky substance staining his thigh and your own resting foot.

 “please, baby, one more time– i love your pussy, i–”

you were still trembling from your own climax, chest heaving, gills fluttering on the sides of your neck. but something in his desperate, submissive tone made you sit up straighter, an ounce of rationality still guiding you. yeah, you felt the wetness between your thighs, the echo of his tongue still a pulsing memory, but you knew that you were far from satiated.

the moon’s pull was still in your bones, and his pheromones were a thick haze in the air.

you reached down, took a handful of his wet hair, and pulled his face away from your cunt. the slick was thick, mixed with his saliva, and it created a strong, sticky bridge between his lips and your nether ones.

“m–move…” you commanded, your voice coming out fragmented, tainted by your orgasm and the heat. “bedroom, now.”

his eyes flashed with relief, and he nodded so quickly that his locks flipped against his temples. “yes– yes, baby, anything.” with obedient, trembling hands, he pushed himself up from his knees, his muscular thighs quivering as he rose. he was still weeping, his cock stiff and red, the tip glistening with his own release.

but he made no move to wipe it away, fixated on obtaining you.

before you could step forward, he enveloped you in his arms, both hands sliding under your knees and lifting you as if you were made of feathers. your legs latched around his hips on instinct, your dress riding up to your waist, your naked slick pussy pressing against his abs. he took off with long, hurried steps, his legs no longer staggering.

“c’mere.”

his mouth was on yours before you could process his words.

“so ngh– good t’ me.” he mumbled against your lips, his tongue sharing your aroma. “so beautiful, so perfect– i’m ugh– not deserving.” he kissed you with a wide, open mouth, his sharp fangs grazing your lower lip as he pushed your dress higher with each push.

his words were a stream of subservient praises — celebrating your benevolence in assisting him with his heat — as he carried you through the living room and into the wide, disheveled bedroom. and his mouth never stopped; he fully slurped at your lips, devouring your mouth with the same fervor he ate your pussy.

he loved to caress your fangs with his tongue, grunting between lick as you were finally showing signs of turning.

“ah, ah…”

when he reached the giant bed, he turned and sat down on it, his back leaning against the headboard with a soft thud. he kept you on his lap, your knees straddling his hips, your soaked cunt hovering just above his twitching, dripping cock. his hands were instantly on your body tugging away at the dress, removing it from your body and letting your scale-splotched skin to bask in the full moon.

his sharp digits took a hold of your full hips, nails digging into the soft flesh as he tried to lower your body onto his.

“please, baby.” he breathed, his hips rolling upwards on instinct, his bare cock sliding against your wet slit. “i need to feel you around me– please, i fuck–”

you reached around, your hand finding the nightstand and its drawer, your fingers closing around a square packet. as you were retrieving it, his hands worked all over you, groping your waist, your tits, your thighs with a restless, ravenous need. his cock was jumping against your thigh with each squish of your body, impatient to ease into you.

“let m–me help.” he whispered as he saw you struggle. but you shook your head, at last ripping the packet open with your fangs.

the image made him groan — he loved when you used those fangs.

he wished you’d use them on him.

as you rolled the condom down his length with steady hand, your palm gliding over the latex as you smoothed it down the veiny cock, he gasped, his head throwing back against the headboard, his hips pushing up into your fist.

“fuck– baby, your hand, it’s ngh– so good­, i’m gonna–” his words devolved into a strangled moan as you gave him a last, twisting stroke at the base, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from cumming right then.

his gills fluttered rapidly, and his hands clawed at the sheets, his white-knuckled grip the only thing keeping him grounded.

you left him hanging on the edge for a sweet moment, your eyes locked on his trembling stomach and the way his scales shimmered harder. then, with a slow movement, you raised yourself up on your knees, aligned the tip of his cock with your soaked entrance, and slowly began to sink down.

the sensation was electric. his length slid inside you in a smooth, velvety thrust, the latex making it easy but no less intense. you felt him stretch you, push past your greedy muscles that spasmed around him, and you gasped at the fullness. he moaned your name, vibrating against your chest as he pressed his forehead into your shoulder.

“so fucking tight– so wet–.”

“ah, raf, that’s mhm–”

you took a moment to adjust, to feel him settle deep inside you, to take in the way his tip was kissing your cervix. then you began to move — slow rolls of your hips, lifting and sinking, pulling him out until only the tip remained, then sliding back down to the hilt. your clit slapped deliciously against his muscles, and so did his heavy balls against your behind.

his hands flew to your hips again, guiding you, but he never tried to take control; he merely held you, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your hips with reverence.

“yes, that’s ngh– it, use me.” he implored, his voice breaking into high whinse as you picked up the pace. you rolled your hips in a figure eight, harshly grinding against him at the bottom, and his lips parted on a silent scream. “oh, oh fuck, right there, please, baby–”

you leaned forward, lips bitten, your palms braced against his chest, and you rode him with a ferocious need. every stroke was accompanied by his gasps, the sharp, slutty breaths strung together with your own traitorous ones into a rhythmic chant.

“so good, so good, i’m– please, please, let me cum inside, i beg you–”

his words were slurred, mind so thick with lust he forgot he had a condom on. but he was attentive to you, never taking his eyes off your bouncing body. when you sped up, your thighs burning with the effort, your clit brushing against his pubic bone with every downward thrust, his head lolled to the side in pleasure.

the sensation was heaven for you too: the way his cock hit that sweet spot inside you, vein pulsing just the right way against your walls, the way his hands trembled as they held you, the way his moans sounded like prayers…

“cum for me.” you allowed, your voice raspy and commanding, and that was all he needed.

with a broken whine, he threw his head back, his spine arching off the headboard as he spilled into the condom, his hips jerking up into you with ragged, uncontrollable spasms. his mouth opened in a silent shout and his hands clawed so hard into your hips you knew they would leave bruises.

the sight of him cumming, his face stretched in ecstasy, pushed you over the edge. you rode him through it all, your second climax building and building until it broke. your inner muscles clenching around him as you shuddered through your release.

he whimpered into the air like a mantra: “thank you, thank you, thank you–”.

after a few more seconds, you finally slowed down. with your gills working overtime, your body washed in sparkling sweat, you remained motionless, straddled over him. his aching cock was still inside you, spent once more that night.

but ebb day had just commenced, and a mere fuck was not the solution.

you were still trembling, his overstimulated cock still twitching inside you, when he shifted his hips upwards — a lazy, circular rock which sent a sharp spark through your oversensitive flesh. you whimpered, a needy tune that you hadn’t intended to let out; the sudden trust took you by surprise, hitting your walls in a way that made your whole being shiver.

he did it again, this time with a sharper thrust, his strong hands pushing you down into his cock, and your palms flattened against his chest in a vain attempt to put some distance between the two of you.

“raf– wait, slow d–ah–own a bit.” you gasped, your voice cracking, the overstimulation short circuiting your brain. “i need a second–”

his laugh was low and mean, a strong contrast to the high-pitched moans he freely let out a few minutes ago.

“slow down? why? you’re still aching for more.” his hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs with a brutal firmness. his expression was no longer kind and pliant, the barely-there purple of his orbs changing into a blinding sapphire color.

he tutted at your scrunching face, digging his fingers harder into your skin and dragging you forth against his chest. “no, no, baby. i don’t like that.”

“raf?”

“you’re not gonna fight what you are. you’re a lemurian in heat, just like me… giving in is not a choice.”

before you could respond, he twisted out of you with a squelching, wet pop and shoved you forward onto the sheets. you tumbled onto the mattress, hands and knees catching you as he positioned you around like a puppet. his palm pressed the small of your back, forcing your spine into a beautiful arch, your face pressed into the pillows.

it happened in a blink of an eye, your body going pliant and obeying the desires of the man behind you. you could no longer see him, with your head buried in his cushions, but you could hear the shift of his weight as he knelt behind you, the heat of his body washing over your exposed skin.

shit, he was taking a dominant stance now — the predator inside him most likely no longer pleased by your ‘controlled’ approach to ebb day.

but you had to stay strong. you had to stop him from fulfilling the mating ritual since you were not his beloved. you had to–

“look at you.” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension, blue eyes taking in the sight before him: you, face down, ass up, supple flesh drenched and quivering with arousal. “so fucking wet… and you still have the nerve to tell me to slow down. pathetic.”

his fingers traced down your curved spine, pausing at the swell of your ass. then down to your used hole. with delicate fingers, he touched the gaping rim of the condom still lodged inside you, dragging it slightly out of you. you flinched, back arching even more, hips pushing into his touch unconsciously.

“a condom too… ruining all the fun.” he clicked his tongue, low and mean, but chose to abandon the rubber for now. he decided to reach around to find your clit, his skilled thumb pressing against it with just enough pressure to make you tremble into the sheets.

“you think you’re in charge, hm? you’re nothing but a slutty little whore who needs to be reminded of her place.”

he circled his thumb over your swollen bud, slow and torturous, while his other hand kept you pinned down. you whined, your hips pushing back instinctively, seeking more friction, but he was having none of it: he smacked your ass hard, the sharp slap echoing in the room as it landed on your flesh.

“don’t you dare act on your urges now. you’ll get what i give you, when i give it.” he warned as he increased the pressure on your clit, his movements forming teasing figure eights. you writhed against the sheets, tried to push back and speed him up, but his hand on your spine kept you arched and immobile.

“p–please.” you whined, your voice pitching high, now mirroring the state he was previously in— flushed face, dilated pupils, consumed by the urge to be used. “raf, i need–”

“you need to shut up and take what’s given.” he cut you off, his tone cold and superior. he removed his thumb without warning, and you whimpered in loss, eyes bubbling with tears from his cruelness. “see? that’s what you get for being impatient. now be a good girl and wait.”

wait?

for what?

he reached down, fingers curling around the rim of the condom still inside you. with a slow, torturous pull, he removed it. the sensation of the latex sliding out making you shiver, hole gaping in dissatisfaction. your cunt was practically begging for the rubber to return, for something to be inside it once more.

“greedy pussy.”

he pinched the tip of the condom, dangling it above your stinging flesh, and, with his thumb and index finger, he pressed and dragged out... letting the thick, white semen spill all across your ass. throwing the empty rubber away, he then smeared his cum over your cheeks with a rough, possessive stroke, making sure to dip his fingers over your asshole and the perineum.

the warm, sticky sensation made you cry out, and he laughed again.

“you like that, don’t you? being marked with my cum?” he rubbed the cum lower, into your slit, working it into your wet folds until you were dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his seed. “you were so dumb for putting on the condom.”

and with that vitriolic remark, he positioned himself behind you once more, the mushroom head of his engorged cock prodding at your slutty entrance. he rubbed it up and down, teasing the flesh without pushing in, controlling his urge to breed you for the sake of hearing you beg.

and you began to sob, pleas leaving your bitten lips with ease.

“p–please, raf, just fuck me, i need it so bad, please–”

“aww, look at you now — beg harder.” he purred, his tip still tracing slow circles over your hungry hole.

“please! please, rafayel, i beg you, just put it in, i’ll be good, just fuck me–”

“there it is.” he smirked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “but oh, i’m sorry, baby– i think we’re out of condoms. what a shame.” his tone was condescending, and he rolled his hips just enough to press the head inside.

before pulling back. “i can’t–”

“i don’t care.” you babbled, your mind now a blur of heat and hunger. your previous carefulness was entirely wiped by your animalistic desire to be mounted and taken by rafayel. “j–just do it, fuck me raw! i need your ugh– cock inside me, please, raf–”

“finally.”

without other comments, he thrusted in one sharp, brutal motion. you screamed, but not in pain — the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled without any barrier felt heavenly. his hard cock, littered with scales, plowed into your soaked cunt until his hips smacked against your ass, his balls swaying against your swollen clit.

“yes.” he groaned, his voice now raspy with his own need. “this is where you belong: spread open for me, taking my cock like the cockslut that you are.” he pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, the squelch of your juices and his cum making a loud, obscene sound.

“fuck, you’re so warm, so wet, so fucking good.”

he set a ferocious pace, his hips jutting into you with the starved intensity of an animal in rut. each thrust hit that spot inside you, making your spine curve into him more and more. and you were kept in that deep arch by his strong arms, your voice reduced to a stream of moans and whines as it got drowned out by the pillows.

“ngh– baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tight.” he grunted, his hand snaking forward to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back. “greedy girl, sucking me ah–  so hard.”

“tell me you’re mine. tell me this is what you wanted.”

“‘m y’rs.” you gasped, the words tumbling out in stutters as you squeezed around his rugged scales. “gods, yes, fuck me harder, please–”

he released your hair with a satisfied moan and doubled his efforts, his strokes becoming messy and unhinged. he was so deep inside you that you could feel his cock throbbing against your walls, the tip kissing your cervix with every slam. his length seemed to grow inside you, expanding and stretching your sensitive walls in all dimensions.

you were completely affected by ebb day now, your pleasure so strong you could no longer separate where your being ended and his began.

but the night has just begun, and so did rafayel.

you felt it before you saw it: a second pressure, a new sensation against the flesh of your ass. another cock, thicker and more brutal in its proportions, had emerged from the base of his first and sprung upwards, settling directly between the sweaty valley of your cheeks.

it was a monstrous thing, wet with its own pre-cum, rocking against your asshole in tune with his other cock.

“is that– ugh–”

with every slam of his hips into your soaked cunt, this second cock rubbed relentlessly against your tight, untouched asshole. the friction was addicting, a blunt force that glided over the twitching rim of your second hole with every forward push.

you could feel the ridges of it, the scales that dragged across your delicate skin, and it made your eyes roll back from the pleasure.

“you feel that, baby?” he grunted into your ear, his voice a condescending purr. “my other cock, itching to breed that pussy too. you’re so fucking soaked, i am sure it will ngh– slip right in.”

you couldn’t respond. you were beyond speech, your face buried in the sheets, your voice reduced to a high, siren-like whine that filled the room.

the way his second cock humped against your asshole, the way his first cock was still plunging into your cunt — it was a sensory overload that threatened to spill all over. you clenched around him, trying to drag him deeper, and he groaned, leaning over your arched body.

“can’t even fuckin’ answer me.” he snarled, his pace slowing for a moment as he leaned down, lowering his sweaty chest against your back.

his sharp mouth found the juncture of your neck and shoulder, your pulse point, and he opened his jaw wide. his fangs grazed your flesh, a heated, demanding pressure falling over your skin.

he was…

“you want this so badly, don’t you? you want me to claim every hole.”

going to bite. he was going to mark you as his mate.

panic lashed through the fog of your lust. you were not lovers: you had agreed to this arrangement solely to protect his future beloved from the primality of the lemurian heat. so your arm shot up before you could think it over, your forearm wedging itself between his lips and your neck just as his jaws clamped down.

“ah.”

his fangs sink into your flesh with a wet, ripping sound. the pain was sharp and immediate, a burning sensation that made you scream into the pillows. you felt the hot trickle of blood cascade down your arm, and he let out a surprised, muffled groan around your limb.

his cock slid out of you during the chaos, leaving you suddenly empty and weak.

“n–no!” you cried, your voice a shaky mess of pleasure and desperation. “not that! rafayel, we aren’t– we’re not lovers! you can’t mark me like this. you have to save yourself for your chosen one, you know that.”

he froze — he stayed still, his fangs still embedded in your forearm, his breath hot against the wound. then, slowly, he released you. his jaw unclamped, and he licked the blood from his lips with a slow, seductive swipe of his tongue. but his eyes had changed. the lust was still there, but now it was underlaid with something far more dangerous: a cold, rageful possessiveness.

“you dare...” he said, his voice dropping to a level of condescending fury that made you shiver. “you dare tell me who to save myself for? you dare speak of a ‘chosen one’ when you’re the only one who has ever made me feel this?”

before you could respond, he moved with unnatural speed. his hands gripped your hips and with a brutal twist, he flipped you over like you were no more than a rag doll. you landed on your back, the sheets cold and damp against your sweaty skin. he was on top of you in an instant, his legs knocking yours apart as he settled his weight between your thighs.

his first cock pressed against your soaked entrance, and his second one rested heavily against your clit, both of them drenched in bodily fluids.

“you foolish woman.” he snarled, leaning down so his face was inches from yours. his eyes were gleaming blue, his scales catching the light like the facets of a gem. “there is no other chosen one. there is only you. you’re the one i want. you’re the one my body and my soul demands.”

“r–raf?”

“and i will not be denied.”

he thrusted forward, sheathing his bottom cock inside you in one single, devastating move. you were so wet, so inviting; there was no resistance, only a lewd, obscene squelch as your fluids started to froth at the juncture between your bodies.

you whined out a broken approval, and he groaned in triumph above you.

“that’s right.” he confirmed, rolling his hips harder and harder to pick up his previous pace. “your body knows the truth, even if your mouth lies. you’re mine.” he began to pump into you, his strokes sharp and possessive as he, once more, descended closer to your face.

“you can beg all you want for a different fate, but you will never escape this. you will never escape me.”

and with that, he sealed his lips over yours.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pounded you into the mattress. your legs wrapped around his waist, pushing him deeper, traitorously consenting to his declaration even as your mind spun with lust. he leaned forward more and more, trapping you under his massive frame, and he kissed you brutally, tangling his long tongue with your and forcing you to taste your own blood.

“say it out loud.” he demanded against your mouth, his pace never faltering, his mouth carefully traversing lower to your pulse point again. “say you’re mine. say it and i will fully take you, my mate.”

“i’m yours!” you wailed, the words torn from your very soul as his fangs scratched your skin in warning. “i’m yours, rafayel! please, just don’t stop, don’t you dare stop–”

a prideful, predatory grin spread across his features. he slowed his pace as his jaw opened once more, trying to time his movements to offer you the most intense pleasure. pulling out almost all the way, his tip snagging onto your hole, he stuck out his tongue to wet your skin as his hand lowered to his cocks… pressing his second length snug to his other and preparing it for penetration.

“ngh– raf– ah–”

as he plunged his fangs into your neck, finally marking you as his mate by drawing blood, he also rutted both cocks into your hungry cunt. the immense quantities of arousal lubed everything, allowing his two dicks to press deep into your without much difficulty.

and his timing was perfect, getting you to orgasm with a perfect o on your lips as he rocked your whole world.

“that’s right.” he purred, moving his head to nuzzle at the bloody bite on your skin, licking the wound with soft strokes of his tongue. “you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.”

and as he spoke, he picked up his pace once more, the slap of his balls against your skin filling the room, his resolve renewed. you were cushioned beneath him, a trembling mess, a willing partner to desire, and as he watched you fall apart beneath him — your eyes rolling back, your moans a constant chant — he too was pushed over the edge once more.

unlike last time, his thrusts stumbled into a rhythm that was clumsy but deep, as if he refusing to let go of you. unlike last time, you felt a swelling at your entrance, the way his top cock, the one that had been pressing against your clit moments ago, now grew in thickness.

the sensation was overwhelming. your walls were stretched further, and you could feel his cocks throbbing deep inside, ready to spill.

“breed.” he groaned against your neck, lips bloody, voice raspy. “let me fill you. let me breed your sweet cunt.”

and he did.

his top cock began to inflate at the base, the tissue swelling into a something that locked him deep within you. you whimpered in pleasure as the first shiny, pearl-white ovoid passed through his urethra and into your hole —a smooth, rounded glob that stretched you to the fullest before it settled inside you.

then another, and another, and another. each one leaving a trail of warmth as it popped through his cock and deposited itself in deep inside you. his hands stopped flat against your stomach, to keep you from moving away, and he felt the bulge begin to rise.

the eggs were gathering together with his thick cum.

“yes, yes.” he murmured, his tone a mix of wonder and satisfaction, eyes glassy with lust. “so many eggs already. and there’s more for you.”

he kept pumping, each thrust squeezing another round egg into you, and with it came wave upon wave of thick, pearlescent cum that filled every remaining crevice. your tummy bulged more and more, the skin stretching tight until you could feel the weight of his eggs sinking low inside you. you were so full that you couldn’t tell what was cum and what was ovoid; you only knew that he was still pumping, still depositing, still claiming.

“r–rafayel, i w–will ugh– i can’t hold– nngh!”

your protests were swallowed by another orgasm as he rutted his final drops into you, the bottom cock twitching inside you as it added its own thick semen to the swelling pool. your tummy was now a pronounced curve, the skin taut and shiny, and you could feel each individual egg pressing against the walls of your tummy.

“yes.”

finally, he stilled, his body shaking with the last spasms of release. he remained inside you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your sweaty skin. then, with a small whine, he pulled out: first the bottom cock, then the top one, releasing the lock on your pussy. you felt a gush of warm cream follow him, and when you looked down, you saw the mess he had made of you.

your pussy was ruined, swollen, hole gaping as thick, white cum started to drool out in hefty treads, pooling on the sheets beneath you.

he moved down your body, his hands sliding over your blooming skin until they rested on your swollen belly. he pressed gently, and you felt the first egg pop out with an obscene sound. the smooth, pearly ovoid rolled out onto the sheet, shining with your combined juices. then another, and another, each one escaping as he pressed firmer, each one making you whine from overstimulation.

your tummy slowly deflated, but not all the eggs were out yet — you could still feel a few resting high inside, near your cervix.

“shh, i’ve got you.” he said, his voice suddenly soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the brutality from moments ago. he shifted his hand from your belly to your swollen clit, his fingers gliding through the wetness with good intent.

“you’re doing so well, baby. let me help the rest out.”

he began to rub circles around your hyper-sensitive bud, while his other hand pressed firmly on the top part of your pelvis. the overstimulation made you sob out, but his sweet expression (his soft, purple orbs, the blush on his face, the cute smile on his lips) kept you grounded.

“that’s it, sweet girl, let them out. you’re so brave for taking all of that. now just one more– yes, there it is.”

with a particularly deep press of his palm and a swirl of his thumb, the last egg got out with a sultry plop, rolling to join its siblings on the sheet. your body shuddered violently, another spasm of climax racing through you, but he never stopped the gentle ministrations of his hand.

he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your belly, his lips tracing your skin as you orgasm again into his palm.

“such a good girl.” he whispered against your skin, his tone full of adoration and gratitude. “you took everything so perfectly, my partner.” he lifted his head to look into your hazy eyes, and there was nothing but contentment in his gaze. “let’s rest for a bit.”

at last, he removed himself from between your legs, allowing you a moment of respite as he lounged next to you on the bed. cradling your spent form into a delicate side embrace, he guided your head onto his chest, petting your wet hair away from your face.

“my sweet baby.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

Fuck this. 

If he’s moving on, you’re going to as well. 

You force your focus back to your date, who has been nothing but attentive, polite, and seems actually interested in you. So you eat your steak tartare and tell him stories too. You tell him about your job, your best friend, about Nori, that you like to paint whenever you can. But you don’t tell him about your fear of airplanes, that you’re allergic to bees and always get jittery when there’s one nearby.

You don’t tell him you love the summer but there’s something special about a rainy day when you have nothing to do. The way you fall asleep with the pellets as comforting sounds. 

He isn’t privy to those.

Out of the corner of your eyes you see Hajime’s date lean closer, taking a bite out of his entree with her own fork. You clench your jaw because eat your own fucking plate, he doesn’t like that. Hajime’s eyes meet yours immediately as she does, and he doesn’t seem surprised to see you looking. He looks down at his plate, then at you like “did you see that?” 

You saw. But you don’t find it as amusing as he did. So you huff slightly and look back to your own plate. That’s when you decide to continue with your plan. You take it a step further, leaning forward to thank Ren for the date by placing your hand on his forearm, which isn’t nearly as attractive as Hajime’s but that’s not why you’re doing it. You smile and wait a few seconds before checking if he saw.

He definitely did. 

He gives himself away by clicking his tongue, stabbing a piece of food and looking away. 

Serves him right. 

Your plan kind of backfires when Ren takes your move as freedom to do whatever he wants so he brings his hand up gently and takes a strand of your hair, playing with it. Which ew, who does that on the first date?

You smile through the cringe and when he drops it, excuse yourself to go to the bathroom because you could never control your facial expressions and you don’t think it would be polite to gag and make the staff think the food is bad.

“Shit.” 

You curse under your breath to yourself as you stand up because the bathroom is, of course, past the happy couple’s table. You can do it. You’re badass, you’re hot and fuck them. So you wipe imaginary dust off your skirt, square your shoulders back and begin to walk, letting your hips sway a little deliberately, but not too obvious.

It’s a feat that you don’t look at him, but when you walk by and you get a scent of his cologne, the one that hasn’t changed in three years, your eyes flutter for a moment. 

Fuck. 

Fucking fuck. 

Can he not be hot and smell so heavenly? 

You reach the bathroom out of utter willpower, bracing your hands on the marble faucet, trying to even your breathing. In and out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. You do that a couple times and get your phone out of your purse, thumbing quickly until you reach your best friend’s contact. You type quickly. 

you: guess who’s here

her: no.  her: please don’t say who I’m thinking of  her: oh no, you’re typing. 

you: hajime

her: fuuuuuckkkk  her: deadass?  her: gtg?  her: i can be there in five minutes if I break some laws  her: maybe your hot friend Daichi can cuff me MHMMMMM

you: down, girl you: im good, just you: he’s on a date 

her: well… so are you babe 

you: i know! 

You start your ranting paragraph as fast as you can so Ren doesn’t think you’d escaped through the window or something. Your breathing gets hard again as you’re halfway through the message.

Some part of you hears the door push open, but you’re too focused to look up and smile politely. There’s another three faucets, you can keep this one. 

“Bored already?” 

Your mouth parts, your fingers freeze, your breathing gets even worse. All because you recognize the voice. How could you not? It’s the same one that helped you through endless nights of English tutoring, that helped your little brother figure out how to pitch a ball correctly. The voice that told you years ago that he’s always loved you. 

But it’s also the one that decided that maybe your relationship wasn’t working out. 

You take a deep breath, look up and there he is. With a smirk on his face like he knew this would happen. 

“You’re in the wrong bathroom.” 

He shrugs, hands on his pockets which makes his biceps stand out. 

“Nah.” 

You snort. 

“No?” 

“No. So, you bored already?” 

“Why would I be bored?”

You turn to the mirror, fixing your lipstick when in reality you need a moment to recover. You see him take a step closer through the mirror. 

“Because instead of being out there on your date,” he says with a little tone, “you’re here, texting your best friend.” 

“So?” You bring the pad of your finger to your lip. “You’re here too and you’re on a date. Are you bored?” 

He pauses for a moment, huffing out a laugh before shaking his head. 

“You’re avoiding the question, sweetheart.” 

“And you’re being a bad date, Iwaizumi.” 

He takes another step forward and gently takes the same stand of hair Ren just had between his fingers. His touch feels entirely different though. 

“Who says I’m on a date? And don’t call me that.” 

You huff, pushing his hand out of your hair with your own and turning to face him. He drops his hand with a smirk. 

“Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’re in a fancy restaurant with a woman who apparently steals food off your plate and laughs at everything you say?” 

He tilts his head. 

“You jealous?” 

“Fuck no.” 

“You are.” 

“No.”

He takes yet another step forward, the space between you shortening with every step he takes. 

“No? You’re so jealous you didn’t even notice who I came with.” 

“Why the fuck would I notice?” 

“Such a brat.” He laughs, shaking his head. 

He brings his hand up slowly, as if telegraphing and making you aware that he’s going to make contact with you. Always giving you a chance, an out, if you want it. 

But you stay rooted in place, eyes on him. His hand gets closer, his thumb reaching the corner of your mouth as if to fix your lipgloss. His touch is gentle, just like with the hair. 

“I’m going to go back out there-“

“Why—“

“Let me finish, sweetheart.” 

His tone is not harsh, not rude, but a little demanding and he knows for a fact you will listen. 

“I’m going to go back out there. On your way to your boring date, you will look down at my table and see who I’m eating with. Then you’re going to sit your pretty ass down and keep acting up. See what happens.” 

“Acting up?” 

He exhales, taking a step back. 

“If you’re truly into him, tell me and I’ll leave you alone. But if you’re not, you will continue your cute little act and see what I mean.” 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You want to argue, to refute, to tell him you’re actually into Ren and that you don’t know what he means by “little act” but he knows you too well. You close your mouth and he smirks, turning to walk out to his “not date”.

Before he leaves, he turns one last time and says-

“See you later.”

Fuck. 

You delete the message and ignore your best friend’s messages asking where you are, if you’re alive, if she needs to come kill Iwaizumi, and leave the bathroom. Your eyes dart to his table immediately and you notice what he meant, who he’s dining with.

It’s his cousin from the Philippines, Isa. You’ve never met, but you’ve said hi once or twice through their facetime calls. 

Well, shit. 

You walk quickly to your table, smiling at Ren, who smiles back politely. 

“I’m sorry, my friend called and needed someone to talk to.” 

“No worries, hope everything is alright.” 

“Yes, she’s fine, thank you.”

He takes a sip of wine, nodding. You do the same, not knowing what to say. 

“I don’t think you’re into me.”

You almost choke on your wine. 

“W-what?” You stammer out.

“That’s okay,” he laughs, “I just noticed you’ve been staring at the table behind me quite a lot. You know them?” 

You deflate a little, defeated and very embarrassed.

“Yeah… he’s my ex.” 

“Oof. Since when?” 

“Couple months.”

He nods in what seems to be understanding. 

“Bad break up?” 

“It was kind of mutual.” 

“Is he on a date?” 

“I thought so, but it turns out it was his cousin.” 

He sucks through his teeth. 

“I’m so sorry, Ren. I was actually having a good time until he arrived. It’s just my first date since the breakup and I was not expecting to see him. Like, at all.” 

Ren nods.

“Don’t worry. I was actually thinking that you’re pretty hot but we might be better off as friends.” 

You laugh. 

“That's just a thing people say, no?” 

He laughs too. 

“Yes, but I truly mean it. Your personality reminds me a little of my sister so that’s a big no in dating for me.” 

It’s your turn to cringe. 

“Yeah… that’s not great.”

“Yep. So how about we finish our dinner as friends, without worrying about impressing each other and then you can go jump your ex’s bones.” 

“No!” You laugh. “I don’t want to do that.”

He stares blankly at you. “As your new friend, I can tell you that you’re full of shit.” 

You close your eyes. 

“Is it that noticeable?” 

“Uh, would you feel better if I said no?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then no. You’re good.” 

“Thanks, Ren. You’re a good new friend.” 

Now you’re actually enjoying dinner and your glasses of wine but you feel Iwaizumi’s gaze on you the entire time. You sneak a couple of glances too, and now that you know that the person across from him is actually Isa, you feel insanely better. 

You shouldn't.

Ren excuses himself to go to the bathroom and you take the chance to check your phone, texting your best friend everything is good and that you’ll call her later. Your heart skips a beat when a new notification pops down. 

Haji, it reads. You never changed the name or deleted his number. 

haji💛: he’s not your type 

You bite your lip

you: maybe my type has changed 

haji💛: you’re pushing it

you: i’m not doing anything. 

haji💛: you haven’t told me to leave you alone

you: no, i haven’t. 

haji💛: will you? 

You look up and he’s already looking at you. You shake your head. His eyes darken. He types something without even looking down at his phone, his eyes fixed on you.  

haji💛: knew it. 

you:  who’s the jealous one now? 

haji💛: never said i wasn’t

you: we’re broken up, remember? 

haji💛: trust me. i remember

Ren returns to the table with a smile, but it’s a little forced now. 

“Tall, dark and handsome is killing me with his mind.” 

“Ignore him.”

After a few minutes, you look down at the finished dessert. 

“That was so good. Thank you for bringing me here, I didn’t know this place.” 

“Oh, no problem. It's one of my favorites.”

“You mind if we ask for the check? I'm kind of worried for Nori.” 

“I took care of it.” 

You look up. 

“You what?” 

“I asked you out, so I took care of it.” 

“But we’re friends! you didn’t have to, Ren.” 

He waves you off. 

“We’ll split the next one.” 

You sigh but nod. 

“Alright. Actually, you have to meet my best friend. You two would get along.” 

“Sure. I’m in.” 

He stands up, taking the napkin from his lap and setting it neatly on his table. Then he stretches his hand out to you. 

“Let’s go, I’ll walk you to your car and you can get back to your newborn son.” 

You laugh, accept his hand, and get up easily. He drops your hand and pushes your chair in. You walk to the entrance beside him, but just before you step out, you look behind your shoulder to an already staring Iwaizumi. You mouth- 

“See you later.” 

Just like he did in the bathroom. 

You say goodnight to Ren as he walks you to your car, thanking him again and saying you’ll talk soon, actually looking forward to being his friend. 

You drive to your house, half-expecting a text from Iwaizumi, but there’s nothing, so you shrug it off and occupy your mind as soon as you get home.

You shower, do your night routine and cuddle next to Nori on the couch, putting on the tv show you’re halfway in. You text your best friend that you’ll call her tomorrow. She whines and argues, but gives up after you send her a selfie to assure her you’re fine. 

Twenty minutes later, a knock on your door snaps you out of the trance the tv show has put you in and you stand with a sleeping Nori in your arms. You open the door. 

Hajime is standing there with a frown on his face, it softens a little when he sees Nori, but then it snaps back into place. 

“Is he here?” 

“Who?” 

“The blond fucker. Is he here?” 

“No.” 

“Good.”

“Good? You come to my door in the middle of the night, ask me that and just reply ‘good’?” 

“Yes. What else do you want me to say?” 

“God, Hajime! Literally anything else.” 

Nori’s ears shift in his sleep, and you curse slightly, walking back to your couch and setting him there gently. You walk back to where Hajime still stands, hands in his pockets and a slight furrow between his brows. 

“What do you want me to say?” He says lowly, eyes hard as he looks at you. “That I wanted to walk up to your table and interrupt your date? That I hated every second of it? From the moment I first heard your laugh to the moment I saw you leave with him. I fucking hated it. And I have no right to, I know.” 

You’re speechless, but he’s not done. 

“I had to come. I had to know if he came over, if you’ve moved on. If you’re happy.” 

That triggers you. 

“You had to come?” 

He flinches at your tone, but doesn’t answer, letting you continue. 

“That’s the first date I’ve been on since we broke up! Of course I'm not happy! Are you?” 

“No.” 

“You were the one who suggested we break up!”

“You agreed!”

“Of course I agreed! Because you didn’t want to be with me! I wasn’t going to be in a relationship with someone who didn’t want me, Hajime!” 

You feel your eyes tear up, you fight them. He takes a step forward. 

“Of course I wanted you! I still do! But you deserved better than me. Better than late nights, my long hours of work, my travel schedule with the team, all of it.” 

“Did I ever tell you I wanted anything different?” 

“No. But-“

“Then what the fuck?” 

“I thought it was for the best!” 

“Did you ever stop and think what I thought? I loved you! All through the late nights, the long hours of doing what you love, the travel schedule and the fact that you came back to me and told me everything. Did I ever complain? I have loved you since high school, Hajime. Why would I ever stop?!”

Your chest heaves up and down as you finish your confession, your breathing is ragged, your eyes let escape the tear you’ve been trying so hard not to let go. But you can’t help it, any of it. Part of you is glad for this liberation. Hajime takes another step forward. 

“You love me?” 

“You’re such an idiot.”

He takes another step forward, stepping inside your home with a tentative step. 

“And you’re a brat.” 

He steps in fully, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. 

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Please. Say it again.” 

His eyes shut as he closes the space between you, setting his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, breathing in his cologne, taking in the familiarity of his touch, it’s comforting but at the same time it heats you up inside. 

“I love you, Hajime.”

He exhales shakily. 

“God. I love you. Always have, always will.”

He finishes his sentence and proves his point by taking your face between his hands and slamming his lips to yours. You bring your hands to his forearms immediately, kissing back with the same urgency but needing the touch to ground you. To assure you this is real and not a figment of your imagination.

He sighs into the touch, into the kiss the moment you return it. You squeeze his forearms, then move your hands to the back of his neck, he moves his to your waist. 

The kiss turns from urgent to borderline desperate. Hajime turns you around and makes your back hit the door, you arch to reach him, his hands slide down, cupping your ass.

You groan in unison, all because you missed all of this so much. The teasing, the tension, the touching and kissing, but still, it’s not enough for either of you. 

You tug the small hairs at his nape, knowing his weak spots more than you do yours. He groans and it’s heavenly, a sound you’ve missed too much. He uses his strength to bring your legs smoothly around his hips, like you weigh close to nothing. He uses the moment to catch his breath. 

“Fuck. Missed this. Missed you.” He breathes out, his voice is rough, low and aroused. 

“Fuck.” You echo, leaning down and kissing him again. He hums and walks, still carrying you, through the living room and into your bedroom. He knows the steps by heart.

He sets you down gently on your feet, close to the bed, and takes a slight step back, just enough that the kiss is interrupted but you’re still close. You can’t help but whine. You’re desperate. It’s been way too long and now that you've had a taste again, you can’t help but want more. 

You crane your neck and take a step forward, eager to resume, but Hajime grabs both your cheeks with one hand gently. 

“You think you deserve it?” 

You open your eyes to find him looking down at you with a smirk. You nod. He mocks it, nodding too, but with a fake pout. 

“Aww, you think so? Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me why you think you deserve it.”

Another desperate whine escapes you, you pout and it’s exaggerated by Hajime’s hand still squeezing your cheeks together. He huffs a laugh and releases you. 

“Stop teasing, Hajime.” 

He tilts his head. 

“Teasing? I’m just asking a question. Teasing is what you did back at the restaurant, didn’t you? You wanted to make me jealous, right?” 

You shake your head, but your uneven breathing and flushing neck betray you as he takes a step forward, taking his hand and placing it on your jaw, angling your face higher and bringing it closer to his. 

“You’re a brat.” 

Your eyes flutter shut and you feel your brain turning into mush from the closeness, the teasing, the dominance and how his perfume is making you dizzy with need. 

“‘M not, Haji,” 

“Aww baby, back to Haji is it?” 

He leans back in and teases you by brushing his lips against yours making you burn all over. He lets go of you and takes a step back. Your eyes widen. 

“You want a kiss, baby?” 

You nod. 

“Admit it, then. Admit that the moment you saw me you were more focused on getting my attention than you were on your date.”

You nod because of course you were. 

“Use your words.” 

“Fuck you. Yes. I admit it.”

He smiles fakely sweet and it’s almost predatory. His eyes turn hard, his steps towards you are tentative, like you’re the prey he’s been stalking all night to catch. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“Hajim—”

He cuts you off by smashing his lips into yours, right hand landing gently on your throat while the other grabbing your ass so hard you moan, your back arching into him. It’s heaven, hell and everything in between.

You’ve missed this so much you’ve been wet since that moment back at the restaurant bathroom. 

He takes advantage of your moan and slips his tongue easily into you, groaning as you let him in so easily, like you’ve always done. Then he surprises you by pushing you to the bed, not aggressively because he would never be, not unless you ask him. 

You sit back on your elbows quickly, not wanting to get your eyes off him ever again. He smirks as he looks down to you.

You check him out, biting your lip at the unmissable bulge straining his black pants. You look back to him and his pupils are blown wide, more proof of his arousal. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Take me out.” 

You nod eagerly, pushing yourself to sit on your knees at the edge of the bed where you’re now face to face with his button and zipper. Your hands come up to them, eager to see, to taste, to have him close. You look up at him through your eyelashes and notice his breathing has turned harder. Good. 

His hand comes up to your face slowly, reaching your cheek with his thumb darting out to trace your bottom lip gently. His touch and the way he’s looking at you, they’re almost reverent. You blush at the attention. 

You continue with your task, fingers working quickly with the button and the zipper, tugging down the pants to reveal a pair of tight black briefs that always made your mouth water. The way they sculpt his strong tan legs and his perfectly round ass. 

Your hands go to the waistband, but you don’t pull them down yet, instead leaning forward and pressing your lips to the hard dick print. His hand caresses your hair, pushing it back slowly. Your pecks turn to lingering kisses all over. His breath catches and his touches become a little more pressing on your head. 

“So good.” He breathes out. 

That sets you off and you push his briefs down. His cock is as big and beautiful as always, standing proudly. You sit taller on your knees, hands shifting eagerly to get his shirt off. He gets the message and helps you.

Your nails rake softly through the rigid plane of his abdomen. 

“Off, sweetheart. Let me see you.” 

You nod, sitting back and taking off your skirt slowly, his eyes follow every movement, not wanting to miss a thing. Your blouse is next, you throw it to the side without a second thought. 

“Help me?” You pout slightly. 

He huffs, but leans down, reaching back to the clasp of your bra, his olive eyes moving quickly from your eyes to your lips, and down to your breasts as the bra falls off. 

Both of you move naturally, your thoughts and bodies attuned to one another. He brings both legs up beside you hovering on top of you as you slide further up the bed so you’re both comfortable. His hands trace your breasts slightly, making you shiver as they continue their path down. 

He leans down and finds your right breast, giving it a soft kiss before latching onto it completely. Your back arches and he takes advantage of it and removes your panties in the same movement.

His hand finds you immediately, he separates from your breast with a pop and groans. 

“You’re soaked.” 

You nod. “Mhm. Have been since I saw you.”

His fingers are torture as they slow down, but it feels good anyway because they’re his hands. He teases your clit, circling once. 

“Oh yeah? You sat there with your pretty outfit on your date all while you were this wet for me?” 

You nod, swallowing back a moan as he circles once more. 

“Poor guy never stood a chance, huh.” 

“No, no.” You shake your head quickly. “Please, Haji.” 

“Please what, baby?” 

You writhe, hips moving as you search for his touch, but he keeps pulling his hand back as you get closer. 

“Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“Touch me, please.” 

“So polite. Good girl.” 

His thumb is mercy as he resumes touching you, he knows you too well- the pace you like, the spots that make you moan, the ones that make you whine- he remembers.

He teases your entrance with one finger as the other one stays on your clit. He does this for a few seconds until he slips it in slowly. 

You moan, Hajime groans as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you. 

“Fuck, Haji.” 

He leans down and sucks your left breast, tongue darting out to your nipple. The dual stimulation feels too good, your brain turns to mush as your moans turn louder, higher. 

“That feel good, baby?” 

You nod, eyes closing. 

“Eyes on me.”

The demanding tone always does it for you, so you obey, eyes opening to find him looking down at you. 

“Beautiful.” 

He slips in another finger quickly and it feels even better than one. You feel the first orgasm of the night creeping in and it makes your whining turn desperate, which Hajime of course, notices. He kisses a trail up your neck to find your earlobe, so warm as he says—

“You close? Let go, baby. I got you” 

That does it. You close your eyes as the pleasure erupts. You feel it from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, the shaking that makes you feel so good. Hajime groans as he feels you arch your back, his fingers never stopping but slowing down, helping you ride it out. 

You open your eyes as you feel Hajime’s fingers leave you, ready to whine at the feeling of being empty. But all that flies out the window when you see him bring his fingers to his mouth, sucking you off of himself. 

He moans slightly, smiling as he brings his fingers out. 

“So good. Wanna taste?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, he leans down and kisses you roughly, tongues dancing with each other as he makes you taste yourself in his mouth. You moan in sync. Your hands begin to wander all over his body. They go from the back of his neck to his broad shoulders, down his back and over his abs, reaching down to his happy trail and finally until you find he’s still hard. 

He groans as your fingers close around him. Your thumb circles over the tip slowly, teasing, he has to break the kiss to take a deep breath, which comes out uneven and shaky as you repeat the motion.

“Let me suck you, Haji.” You say, to which he looks into your eyes and nods. 

You give him a soft kiss and bring your hands up to his chest to switch positions. He follows the movement and lays down, not breaking the kiss. 

You’re now straddling him, kissing down the length of his neck, which he even cranes back to give you more access. You continue the path down his chest, his abs, the happy trail you’ve always loved and when you finally reach his cock, it twitches at attention. 

You smile, looking up at him. His eyes are closed shut, directed at the ceiling. You give his tip a peck before saying—

“Eyes on me, Hajime.”

He obeys, eyes opening, wide pupils looking down at you, you give him a kiss as thanks before you take him in properly, deeply, rolling your tongue around the tip and further down as you do.

The whines he lets out are music to your ears and you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each one. 

Your eyes flutter as you take him in deeper. It’s been a while and Hajime is so big that it feels like you need to get used to it again. 

When you’re ready, you bob your head up and down, using your tongue to give him the dual stimulation you know he loves. His right hand comes up to your hair, picking it up into a makeshift ponytail as he holds you, not forcing you. You lean back, mouth popping as you break contact for a moment. 

“Fuck my throat.” 

He looks down at you, panting. 

“You sure? It’s been a while.” 

You roll your eyes.

“I don’t care.”

“Brat.” 

He pushes your head down in a swift movement and you choke for a moment as you feel him at the back of your throat. You love it. He pauses, letting you get used to it.

You tap his thigh to signal you’re okay and he starts slow, thrusting his hips, his cock up and down. The sound is filthy–wet sounds echoing in your room. 

“Oh fuck. So good, sweetheart. Missed fucking your mouth.”

You moan and roll your eyes at both the dirty words and the speeding up. You let him use you. You like it, being out of your own head and letting the only thoughts in your head be Hajime, Hajime, Hajime. You love placing your trust into the man you love because you know he would never hurt you. 

“I’m so close. Just a little more” He groans out before his thrusts become a little more uncontrolled, his moans a little more like whines as he gets close. You feel his thighs tense under your hands and you know he’s about to come. 

“Fuck!” 

His movement stops, hips up and his hand keeps you there as he comes, so much it fills your mouth. You swallow and he lets go, slowly taking his cock out as you close your eyes and take a gasping breath. You steady your breathing, squeezing his thighs until you open your eyes, looking up at him, smiling softly. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

He says, taking your hand from his thigh and tugging you softly to him. You let him help you up as you follow. When you reach him, he kisses you softly, smiling into it as you kiss back. 

The kiss is sweet, hands gently caressing each other as you both come down from the high. You sigh into it, feeling his strong hands feel you up. It’s a minute before you both reach back for air.

“Give me five minutes and I’m ready to go again.”

You laugh, setting your forehead on his chest. 

“We’ve got time, Haji.”

he doesn't say anything else as he fiddles with the electronic screen above the doorknob. it beeps after a few taps, unlocking with a click. the second it opens, he gestures to you. "come in." he murmurs, waiting on you to walk in first.

you step over the threshold, cold air washing over you the instant you do. shuddering, you burrow into the coat wrapped around your body.

with a single glance, you notice how his home is clean and tidy, a sharp contrast to the outside world. it may be safer, but the air inside is stifling, and each breath you take is a bitter and icy prick in your lungs.

it doesn't feel lived in at all, but if there was anything that stood out, it would be the flower pot sitting on a nearby window sill. it housed a single jasmine bud, pure white, not yet ready to bloom.

it seems even this zayne likes jasmines.

somehow, you didn't want to ask why he liked them so much. you were afraid of what his answer would imply.

"here." zayne hands you a pile of clothes and a towel, forcing you out of your head. "wash up."

you look up at him, reluctant to leave, nervous about the thought of being alone. especially after finally finding some comfort from this man.

will he disappear once he's out of sight? will you suddenly end up someplace else again?

those thoughts haunt you, and while you worried about it, he held your gaze. it was possible he didn't fully understand what you were going through, but he remained an unwavering and steadying force, looking at you and only you. that was enough to soothe some of your worries.

"thank you…" you say, for many reasons.

he nods, quiet as he brings you to his room. he's at his bathroom door within seconds. he opens it and stands to the side, patiently waiting on you. you offer him another grateful glance just before walking in.

you turned the water warm and stripped of the burnt clothes barely clinging onto your body. uncertainty still haunted you, but you willed yourself to relax under the gentle downpour of water on your skin. you don't know how long you've been standing under the water, but the moment you step out, you feel like a pretty decent amount of your fears have been washed away.

stepping back into the living room, you find him sitting on the couch. you approach him slowly. "thank you for the clothes," you say in a small voice.

zayne turns his head to the side, catching a glimpse of you before facing forward again. "the undergarments are from the convenience store. do they fit well?"

"mhm." you sit down on the couch beside him. there's a holographic screen in the room, playing some sort of show that's vaguely similar to something you've watched in the past.

you pull away from the screen, staring at the man's side profile, studying the similarities and differences. "are you really not zayne?" you ask. your question disturbs his focus and brings his attention back to you.

"you look just like him." you whisper, awestruck.

"i'm not the dr. zayne you're familiar with." he responds, his head shaking slightly. "the only thing we have in common would be our name."

"and face," you stubbornly add.

he gives you a once over.

his reaction brings a small smile to your face. the moment it appears, it vanishes without a trace. you sigh again, "you know, this really doesn't make any sense."

"i don't know how i got here or why." you turn to him for answers. "is this really not linkon city?"

"it's not linkon city." zayne grabs the screen's remote on the table, pressing a button and switching to a news broadcast. you watch and listen, slowly taking in the fact that this really might not be your world.

you did your best to ignore that idea from the start, avoiding the thought of it until zayne had you face the truth. it was unbelievable. you wanted to refuse this new reality, too uncomfortable in a world completely unknown to you, someplace that seemed more dangerous than you're used to. it was too much to take in. too much to accept.

zayne stiffly pats the top of your head. "don't cry."

"cry?" you blink rapidly, realizing that there were tears in your eyes. a frown presses onto your face and you can feel your cheeks flush with mild embarrassment.

"you have always hated crying." zayne thumbs away at the tears clinging to your eyelashes. "you said it makes you feel too much like a child."

you sniffle. "how do you know that?"

"i have… dreams." he admits, stuck in your eyes. his gaze grows cloudy, like he's losing himself in his thoughts. "dreams where i witness dr. zayne's memories. it's how i came to know of you and—" he cuts himself off, most likely out of consideration. he's probably thinking about your outburst from earlier.

you exhale through your nose and brush his hand away from your face, willing yourself to ignore the embarrassment burning hot in your chest.

"i need to find a way back home," you murmur, "but my watch stopped working a while ago. i don't know what else to do."

"please," your voice falls so quiet it breaks, "is there any way to go back?"

you refuse to look away from him, desperately waiting for an answer. it's a bit selfish to put all your hopes onto him, you're aware of that, but you still can't help but ask. maybe, just maybe, he has all the answers and more.

"i'm afraid i can't answer that." he says, turning away from the disappointment that's quick to take shape on your face. "there are many things that i don't understand about this world, and your presence only confuses me further."

your lips quiver, the corners of your mouth hung low. you can feel your eyes grow hot, hopelessness bringing up fresh tears.

"however," he continues, pressing his cold hand atop yours, "you've proven it's not impossible."

"if you were able to transport here, it's not wrong to think you can return." he keeps his voice quiet, almost like he believes you're a small animal that startles at the faintest of noise.

"do you really think so..?" you ask, swallowing back the sob that was just about to escape. "do you really think i can find a way back home?" you twist your wrist and lock your hands together.

he nods at you. "i do," he hums. as if shy, he awkwardly pinches at a stray thread on the side of his pants. "if you need my help…" he trails off, his words coming to a halt.

"yes," you say, accepting his offer without even the slightest bit of hesitation. "please help me," you beg, tightening the grip you have on his hand.

he doesn't respond with any words, his silence deafening, a kind of quiet you're not entirely used to. he then nods at you, blinking calmly until his attention is back on the screen. he slowly becomes immersed in the drama, leaving you to watch him instead.

the moment passes and time ticks by. after staring at him for so long, you begin to think you have overstayed your welcome.

"i should go back." you let go of him and stumble onto your feet. "i still have a lot of questions, but i'm so exhausted. i want to sleep and then try again tomorrow—"

"stay." zayne gets up as well, looming over you, rooting you in place.

"what?"

"stay here." his hands twitch in your direction before settling against the sides of your arms. "you don't know how dangerous it is out there. it's safer here."

you tilt your head, trying to get a better view of his face. "safer with you?"

his mouth opens, then shuts, like the question has stumped him.

"not exactly." he mumbles.

"huh?" you laugh in mild disbelief. "why do you say that?"

you jokingly ask, "do you kill people or something?"

he falls quiet again, and while his quietness disturbs you, you firmly believe he isn't some sort of serial killer. that's what you tell yourself, at least. even if he is, it wouldn't be too bad to die by his hands.

cold, cold fingers bring you down from your playful little thoughts.

"what is it..?" you whisper as he cups the side of your face, his touch delicate.

you can hear it. the sound of your heart pumping loud beneath your chest. the zayne you have been friends with since childhood, the one you silently longed for, would have never touched you like this. never with this kind of consideration. it was hard to look him in the face without your own growing red and warm.

"stay." he repeats, his palm like an ice pack against your flushed face.

"okay…" you agree, easily, like a fool.

somehow, it's difficult to turn away from him. he may not be the man you've spent many years chasing after, but you see it. an overlap. the faint idea that they're the same, but not entirely. perhaps they share the same soul, one less icy than the other.

the line between this zayne and the other zayne is blurry. it confuses you and your heart.

"ugh…" your head throbs at all the thoughts running around inside your head.

"you've gotten in your own head again." zayne fixes some of your hair to the side, clearing your line of sight. he probably doesn't know how intimate his actions appear, or how dr. zayne would never do these things with you.

"you seem to know me quite well," you grumble, slightly self-conscious.

"i've seen you in many of the doctor's childhood memories." he studies you for a moment, recalling and comparing the details tucked safely away in his mind, all things related to you. "moments beyond childhood, too."

you frown. "oh, right. all those times i stuck to him like glue." you fall back down onto the couch with a groan. "it's no wonder he's grown fond of someone more deserving," you huff under your breath.

slowly, zayne sits back down beside you. "something has happened between you and the doctor." he carefully states, inadvertently prodding for details.

"no, nothing happened." you shake your head and hands side to side. "dr. zayne is as kind and considerate as ever. he didn't do anything wrong."

zayne stares at you, waiting, but you refuse to elaborate.

"i'm tired." you hang your head low, a pathetic attempt to disconnect.

the way you pull away and retreat into yourself is a sight zayne has seen only a handful of times. always at random moments, something he disliked, a sight that often left him with a pit in his stomach. exactly like how he feels at this very moment, uneasy. unsure.

he can't find the right words to say. none of the scenes from his dreams have ever included you finding solace from dr. zayne. despite being so close, he knew very well that there was still an invisible wall between the two of you. he had nothing to work off of. nothing to aid him in helping you.

that's when he feels it— the hesitant brush of your hand against his. a subtle plea for help, something he's sure you're not even aware you're doing. he swiftly scoops your hand into his, squeezing tighter than necessary, but not enough to hurt.

your body relaxes, shoulders flushes together, your head lolling towards him. "sorry," you mumble. "i'm tired… really tired." your eyes flutter in an attempt to stay awake.

"rest." zayne's arm curls around you.

"mm." your eyelids hang heavy.

"zayne..."

he pauses for a few seconds, hesitating before answering. "i'm here." he responds, his voice like a soft lullaby. you fall asleep just seconds after hearing him speak.

he feels your body slump against his side, your breath evening out. he wastes no time and carefully maneuvers you into his arms, mindful as he carries you to the only room in his apartment. he lays you on his bed, stopping to stare for only a moment.

seeing you outside of his dreams is surreal. he never would have imagined something like this happening. never would he have thought that you would be here, in this cruel world, with him.

he's apprehensive about keeping you close, afraid that he might hurt you, because that's what he's best at. above his fears, however, is a desire to help you. maybe you can be the one person he truly saves in this world.

—

you've been stuck in this nameless city for a while now. zayne says it's only been two months, but it feels like forever. especially when you spend every hour of every day scouring for information, anything that could lead you back home, no matter how big or small.

zayne has been watching over you this entire time, refusing to let you wander off alone. he trails after you like a baby duck, often three steps behind you and never fully at your side. you could tell he was anxious about you being in this world, like he couldn't bear the thought of you falling victim to its cruelty.

you would be lying if you said you were against how much he cared. it felt as if he was looking at you. not the girl that dr. zayne seemed smitten with, but you. this man's attention tickled your silly heart, something formless growing without you even knowing. you'd acknowledge it later, but for now, you wanted to review what you've learned about this world.

from what you have observed so far, this world is rampant with wanderers, all of which are completely foreign to you. not a single wanderer in this world resembles the ones you've fought, nor any in the H.A. database. you found the wanderers in this world to be intense, strong, and cruel. you couldn't blame people for preferring to stay indoors.

the dangers of this world made you wonder what the government was doing. the H.A. didn't seem to exist, and if it did exist, then they were completely useless.

the only one really doing anything was zayne. you watched him obliterate the monsters that haunted the streets and hid in the corners of neighborhoods. and when he rushed off, in the dead of night, dressed in all black, you assumed he was saving the world again in the only way he knew how.

you admired his efforts, and you didn't want to doubt him, but you couldn't shake off this unusual feeling that weighed on you. whenever he donned an outfit that one would wear in times of mourning, you spotted a shift in him. the tiniest bit of humanity he showed you would vanish without a trace, and his heart would freeze over. what could he be doing that required him to disconnect from himself?

you secretly followed him out the next time he slipped on that dark coat. the path he took was dizzying. he was fast on his feet like his prey would escape him if he didn't hurry. you were nearly breathless once you finally caught up to him, desperate to catch your breath while also trying to remain hidden.

"kill me!" a man screeches in the dead of night, his voice warped with pain. peeking out past the wall, you spot a stranger staggering in place, his flesh bulging, as if something is soon to burst from beneath his skin.

"please! kill me— agh!" within a split second, monstrous tendrils bloom from the man's back, violently plunging towards zayne. you gasp, unconsciously stepping out of your hiding spot.

as you fully face the scene, your eyes blow wide.

zayne, with no remorse and absolutely no hesitation, launches shards of light in the man's direction. methodically aimed, striking with each wave of his hand. you watched as a final shard struck the man in his crystal-corroded chest, ending the grisly battle. all that remains is dirt drenched in blood and scattered blue fragments.

"zayne…" you whisper, swallowing the knot in your throat as you approach him.

he doesn't turn around. it's like he's unwilling to face you.

"you shouldn't be here." zayne says after a long and uncomfortable pause. you can barely hear him under the faint hum of the night. even your own breathing was louder than his voice.

you take in a deep breath. "you were being sneaky."

"for my own reasons." he gestures to the remnants of the fight.

"i fail to see how it's any of your business."

the line he's drawn is clear and you're anything but dense. it's obvious this isn't a step you should take, nor is it a weight he wants to share with you. he seems perfectly content bearing the burden of his actions alone, and that doesn't sit right with you.

"how is it not any of my business?" you take that step towards him anyways. multiple steps, in fact. just enough to find yourself standing right behind him. "you're all i know in this world. isn't it only natural for me to be worried about you?"

"…"

in the moment of silence, you hesitate, time standing still around you. he looks too cold to touch, like you won't be able to pull away the instant your skin touches his. the desire to reach him is lodged in the space beneath your chest, poking and prodding at your heart. you want to cross the line, but he isn't making it easy.

he keeps his back to you, a clear sign of rejection. whatever you have to offer, he doesn't seem to want it. that's what he is desperate to convey and you refuse to accept it.

"zayne." his name escapes you carefully so as to not startle him. "look at me."

he doesn't react.

"please?" you beg.

only a few seconds pass until his shoes shift against the ground. he slowly turns to you, his face dark, sleeves soaked with a mysterious liquid you can't discern with full certainty.

"zayne…" you whisper, realization dawning upon you.

fear. there's fear in his gloomy hazel eyes. you see it twitching in the corners, his gaze unsteady.

"you shouldn't be here," he murmurs, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly in an attempt to escape the hold of your eyes.

you continue to look straight at him. "why shouldn't i be?"

the man in front of you pauses, a habitual 'it's dangerous' response teetering on the tip of his tongue. the words don't make it past his lips. five seconds, ten, fifteen— time ticks by and yet you and zayne have become frozen in place.

you sigh, disappointed by how he keeps his answers to himself. "give me your hand."

his fingers flinch. he almost reaches out to you, but he seems to change his mind just before he does, his hands remaining glued to his sides.

you bite back another sigh. instead of being patient and giving him a choice, you grab his hands, unwilling to let this go on for any longer. you aren't always kind and considerate.

"you're frozen solid." you grumble, frowning deeply as you hold onto him. you make no comment about the blood smeared on his pale skin.

"you don't need to do this." his hands squirm against yours in an attempt to pull away, but he doesn't try too hard. he appears unwilling to refuse the warmth of your hands.

"i want to." you insist. "i can't have you freezing yourself to death. you're the only person i know here."

he shakes his head. "i'm not the man you know."

"i know." you groan. "how many times do you need to tell me that until you're satisfied?"

he falls silent, and so do you. you focus on defrosting his poor hands with practiced ease. you've helped dr. zayne the exact same way many times in the past, before he returned to that bright and lovely girl.

you wonder, in this brief moment of silence, about your world. about whether or not dr. zayne is worried about you at all. is it too much to think that he's looking for you? or is he much too busy with the girl he holds close to his heart?

"that's enough," zayne whispers. one of his hands slips out of your grasp. you expect him to pull away completely, but he doesn't.

he raises his hand to your face, his thin, pale fingers ghost against the skin of your cheek. it's a bold gesture for him. for someone that pushes and pulls away every time you get too close, he closes small gaps without you even noticing.

you blink slowly, your eyes raising to look up at him, thoughts escaping you. you should probably say something, question him and his actions, but you don't.

"thank you." his other hand, the one that is still flush against your own, squeezes gently.

you quietly exhale and nod your head. there isn't much to say. questions get you nowhere. you're determined to squeeze the secrets out of him eventually, but not today. what little he's offered you, the small distance he subtly closed, is more than enough.

"let's go home." you whisper.

he stares at you.

home. not his home, but home. something you share. it does something to him, you notice.

his eyes waver and the flat line of his lips quiver. "okay." he murmurs.

you take the lead before he could, tugging him along like a dog, and he lets you.

—

"zayne? what's wrong?" you ask into the phone, holding it close as if that will help you hear better. "are you okay? are you hurt?"

"i'm fine." zayne responds in his usual low and stable voice. he always takes a few seconds to answer, so you jumped a bit after hearing him. "give me a few minutes. it's messy over here."

relief coaxes a sigh out of you.

"send me your location so i can come pick you up.

"no. just stay where you are."

"zayne."

"…"

the phone in your hand vibrates after a few seconds. glancing at the screen, you're happy to see that zayne actually listened to you for once. "you're that far away?" you ask after memorizing the location he had sent you.

"mm."

"i'll be over as soon as possible." you enter a nearby alleyway. "you probably overused your evol, didn't you?"

zayne chooses to remain silent.

you laugh, "be a good boy and stay put, okay?"

you hang up the call after hearing his quiet response, and just when you pocket your phone, you hear someone step up behind you. you slowly turn half of your body, narrowing your eyes in confusion as you're met with an unfamiliar middle-aged man.

"um, can i help you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at both the man and the gun he's pointing towards you.

for some reason, you can't sense any real malice from him. there's an inexplicable atmosphere around him. as if he's only trying to understand the bigger picture of an invisible puzzle.

"don't move." the man warns, his voice loud enough to echo through the walls of the alleyway.

you slowly raise your hands up into the air. "i don't have any weapons on me," you tell him. judging by the man's weapon of choice, he doesn't appear to have an evol. not one that can be used to attack, at least.

"if you're companions with dawnbreaker, you're still dangerous" the man's gun remains locked on you.

"dawnbreaker?" you repeat the name. it feels a bit silly on your tongue.

it was only recently that you found out about zayne's reputation with law enforcement. they feared him and his actions, none the wiser to the truth hidden in plain sight. ever since the night you uncovered zayne's secret, you've become more aware of his intentions. he wasn't killing just to kill. there was a reason behind it, and perhaps it wasn't as selfless as you had thought, but he was doing more good than anything else.

"keep your hands where they are." the nameless man demands. he narrows his eyes as he hesitantly takes a step in your direction. "you're under arrest for aiding dawnbreaker in his murders."

"i haven't killed anyone." you calmly retort.

"cut the bullshit." the man's forehead creases as he glares at you. "i saw you with my own two eyes. you're much less secretive than dawnbreaker."

"that's because it doesn't matter if i'm sneaky about it or not." you stare deep into his eyes. "they weren't human."

"what are you saying, you monster?!"

ignoring his outburst, you ask, "who exactly are you?"

"i thought you guys stopped investigating dawnbreaker?" that's what zayne told you, at least. it took a bit of prodding before he told you about his latest encounter with law enforcement, but you were under the impression that they would turn a blind eye to him.

"i don't need to explain myself to you." the man's aim doesn't falter.

"i don't need to, either." you shrug.

"don't move—"

a sea of blue flames circle around the man, stretching up to his waist. caught off guard, his finger flinches against the trigger, prompting the gun to go off. it sends a single bullet in your direction.

you avoided it, your heart thumping loudly in your throat.

"you…" the man stares at you with eyes the size of saucers. it was obvious he hadn't meant to fire that shot and that's all you need to know.

"instead of looking into dawnbreaker, you should get to the root of the problem." you walk past the man, calm enough to know he won't shoot his gun again. "this world will be in big trouble if we don't focus on the right thing."

"wait a moment. get back here, you…" the man's voice fades into obscurity as you leave him at the scene.

once you have gotten far enough away, you carefully release control of your evol, freeing the man. you spot him running out onto the street from afar, searching for you in a hurry. seeing him safe, you slip into the shadows and continue on the path you were previously on.

falling into a different world was already hard enough to wrap your head around, but knowing that a version of zayne was acting as a vigilante in order to save the world… it was comically unexpected. you would have never guessed that he would be playing superhero in another lifetime.

somehow, it fits him.

he saves lives as a doctor in your world, and saves lives in this one as well.

he really is the same no matter what.

"why," zayne clears his throat as you approach him, "why do you look like that?" he can't seem to keep his eyes off of your sweet smile. in a way, it's as if he's trying to carve the sight of it into his memories.

"why do i look like what?" your eyes crinkle into crescent moons as the apples of your cheeks rise.

"you're smiling."

"it's only because—" you cut yourself off the moment his face enters your sight.

he's pale. abnormally pale. the skin of his cheek is covered in black frost, and from how his chest rises and falls so quickly, you can tell he's having trouble breathing.

"you, zayne, how—" you reach over and grab his hands, slipping the black leather gloves off in two swift motions. "how could you let it get this bad?" carefully, you spread the warmth of your evol through his hands and over his body. it barely seems to help. like he's frozen in layers.

"it's nothing." he murmurs, his voice even, devoid of emotion.

the skin between your eyebrows wrinkle together. "this can't be considered nothing, zayne." you say in a tone similar to a plea. you fail to understand how he could be so reckless with his own body.

his hand is still so cold regardless of how much you press your evol into his skin. you're a fool trying to defrost an iceberg the size of a mountain and it feels like your efforts amount to nothing.

"i wish i could resonate with you," you shakily whisper. "i'm sure it would help more than this…"

zayne shakes his head. "this is enough."

"you're just saying that," you snap. "if she was here, you wouldn't have to suffer like this."

"you're here, not her."

your bottom lip disappears beneath your front teeth, helplessness washing over you in relentless waves.

to you, it's not unreasonable to assume that she would be more useful to him. her evol is special. magical. she is a permanent fix where you are a temporary solution. more than that, her existence is incomparable. healing to the soul. and as envious of her as you may or may not be, you care more about his well-being than anything else.

she should be here with him, not me.

"you think too much." zayne suddenly says, smoothly removing one of his hands from your tight grip. "i can't imagine how tiring it must be." the cold tips of his fingers hesitate against your cheek. a second later, his palm is pressed to your skin, and you can feel yourself sinking into it.

"tiring is a very light way to put it," you mumble. "i feel like my head is about to burst from the thoughts running through my head."

"what are you thinking about?"

finding his eyes, you laugh through your nose. "care to guess?"

"is it the doctor?" he tries. there was a brief flash in his eyes. something lively, playful, as if he knew his guess was wrong.

you snicker, "nice try."

"i'm thinking of you," you admit. the curve of your lips drop slightly. "i'm worried about you. this world is cruel to you, zayne."

"it's normal," he says, a pitiful attempt to comfort you.

"your definition of normal is questionable."

zayne can't find a response. not one that would truly mean anything. he keeps his lips together in a thin line, staring at you and the unwillingness on your face. seeing you get angry and frustrated at the world on his behalf is different. new.

he isn't quite sure what to do with the odd sensation burning in his chest.

"are you hurt anywhere?" you shift your head to the side, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. the way he looks at you makes you dizzy. the zayne you were familiar with had never once stared at you with that kind of intensity. it's hard to get used to.

"not at all." his hand falls from your face, leaving you feeling somewhat regretful.

"the blood isn't mine," he assures you.

you inspect the black fabric of his clothes, taking note of the dark splotches spattered all over the front of his coat. you hadn't noticed it until now, but his sleeves are drenched with a mix of what seems to be blood and remnants of his evol.

seeing him so accustomed to blood and the violent terrors of wanderers makes your heart ache.

"home," you croak, your throat dry with a mix of many emotions. "let's go back home," is a suggestion you make all the time. it's a catchphrase at this point.

"there won't be any threats for the next few days, right?" you hold his hands closer. "you've killed so many of them these days. there's hardly any left to deal with."

zayne shakes his head. "that's not how it works."

"well, that's how i say it's going to work." turning around, you tug him along, walking through blue fragments and unmelted shards of ice.

"the wanderers…"

"no." you squeeze his hand tight. "you need a break."

"you can't be the only one fighting against them, zayne. you just can't." you glare at nothing as you ramble, huffing and puffing as you make your way up and down familiar alleyways.

"but—"

screeching to a halt, you face him quickly, directing your harsh glare at him. "no." you repeat with more force. "if you don't rest now, then you'll collapse later. what if you need to expend energy you don't have?"

"i know my limits."

"do you really?"

zayne opens his mouth only to close it shut. he has many years of you in his head, and he's certain you won't let this go unless he agrees. so, he's left with only one option: to nod his head up and down like an obedient child.

his compliance, although squeezed out of him, brings a big grin to your face. "there you go." your hand's grip loosens, becoming less of a chain and more of a choice.

"we should stop by the store and buy ingredients for dinner." you say, prompting a lighter discussion. "i genuinely don't know how you can eat those nutrient drinks."

"they aren't that bad," he quietly retorts.

you raise an eyebrow at him. "the lack of flavor is weird and you know it."

"or is it that you don't like my cooking? is that why you're defending your poor nutrient drinks?" you have to hold back a smile while you speak.

the first time you prepared food for him, he had eaten it in a hurry, like a starved man. it was almost concerning how he had basically devoured the dish whole. thanks to that memory, you were confident that he didn't dislike the food you made.

"i never said that." zayne, in something akin to a panic, tightens his hand's hold against yours. "the last meal you prepared was… unforgettable."

"right?" your cheeks rise from how your lips widen.

"i'll make you something just as tasty tonight," you promise.

"how does rice porridge sound? or maybe curry? it's quite cold tonight. something warm and filling would be perfect for a night like this…" you thoughtfully trail off, making a list of ingredients in your head.

before you could get too lost in your thoughts, zayne pulls you close, your name falling from his lips in a low and hurried tone.

"zayne..?" you glance up at him.

he scans the area, his eyebrows furrowed. he appears worried about something. that's not a good sign at all.

"the energy in the air." he pulls you closer. "something isn't right."

"what…" your heart skips a beat, dread and uncertainty swirling all around you.

you can feel it. the raw, raging energy of metaflux.

"zayne!" you shriek, "we need to leave! now!"

it's too late.

a gust of wind swirls into a rift, and from it three huge wanderers appear. monsters that look oddly similar to the ones that you fought against hover in the air a few steps ahead of you. they look too similar to the wanderer that you fought against on the day you were taken away from your world. it was shocking— as if a clue has presented itself right before your eyes.

"this is no time to be lost in thought." zayne warns, shielding you with an arm.

his other arm is held in front of his body, a hand facing the wanderers. shards of ice materialize behind you before quickly plunging towards the monsters, crisp and routine in their attack. zayne doesn't bat an eye in the face of these monstrous creatures, and his calm demeanor is enough to pull you out of your stupor.

you take in a deep breath and stretch out your own hand. making sure to avoid melting his attacks, you provide him with support, maneuvering your flames to cover his blind spots. the two of you work in unison, but these wanderers are no easy opponent.

they're stronger than the ones you fought in the past. it makes you nervous. the more zayne gets slashed by sharp claws, the more uneasy you become.

and just as you're running out of stamina, zayne manages to land the final blow on the last wanderer. it crumbles into specks of light with one final roar, disappearing from reality entirely. you pant heavily, legs weak, heart still beating loudly against your rib cage as it all ends.

you want to fall to your knees, to catch your breath and calm your raging heart, but one glance at zayne is enough to keep you going. "zayne— you're injured..!" you rush over to his side.

zayne stumbles in place, trying to keep himself together. he doesn't have enough energy to do so, and when you reach out towards him, he slumps, leaning most of his weight against your body. your arms wrap under and around him, steadying him to your best ability.

"don't bother." zayne groans when he feels the gentle heat of your evol pour into him.

you refuse to listen.

"stop moving." you lock him in your arms, flushed against him like you're trying to swallow him whole.

zayne doesn't resist. he doesn't want to fall into the addiction of relying on you, of being too vulnerable, but he's pushed his body to its limit.

but as tired as he is, he is just as persistent. "you shouldn't waste your efforts on this," he mumbles through the small gap of his lips. "i know you're exhausted."

"i am," you huff, "but you being uncooperative won't help either of us right now."

"hm." he sinks against you even more, his face buried in the crook of your neck. he breathes you in, noting the mix of your scent and a faintly bitter and smoky smell.

your arms hug him closer, desperate to warm him up. zayne's body is too cold. if it weren't for his thumping heart, and the cold breaths against your neck, you would have mistaken him for a corpse.

he needs to be alive. regardless of everything else— of the mysteries surrounding your current situation, or what you even mean to this man— none of it matters more than his life.

"why…" you pause to find your voice. when you do find it, it's trembling like a small animal. "why did you take the lead like that..?"

"i can protect myself. i'm a hunter, zayne. i have fought more wanderers than you could ever imagine. i don't need you to shield me like a child," you say in one breath.

zayne sighs, "you don't understand," into your neck.

"the creatures, the abominations… they're different from the ones you've previously fought against." his arms, that were resting limp by his side, suddenly slither around your body.

"you don't belong in this world," he rasps. "the least i can do is protect you from its dangers."

you melt against him. although his embrace is tight and stifling, you feel safe.

"i don't want to be protected." you begrudgingly respond.

"i don't care."

"rude."

as he holds you and you hold him, you can feel his heartbeat against your own. his is a steady thump, relaxed compared to your own. your evol usage is spreading you thin, and your erratic heartbeat is a clear indication of that. you're smart enough to know when to stop, but your concerns about zayne overpowers all reason.

zayne is still frozen stiff. you can feel it in his arms, in the soft puffs on your neck. you need to keep going. keep warming him up until it can rival her evol, then maybe he wouldn't need her anymore.

"that's enough." he releases you, but doesn't fully pull away.

"no, just a bit more—"

he gently pries you from his chest. "i'm fine," he sighs, a gust of cold air against your face. "i'm not dying. not yet."

"you're still cold." you frown. "and you could have easily died back there. you're too reckless!"

wordlessly, he stares at you like he can't get enough of your jutted out lips or narrowed eyes. you don't look happy, no, but you're alive. you radiate a bright light and he refuses to look away. the sight of you may be more healing than your evol. maybe even more than her evol, too.

unlike her, he can touch you. he can reach you. and he does. his hand is cupping the side of your face like a priceless jewel. being able to actually feel you is both a blessing and a curse. if he gets used to touching you, how could he ever go without it?

if he wasn't strong enough to protect you from those unusual wanderers…

you nuzzle into his icy palm in an attempt to catch his attention. "what's wrong now?" you mumble.

"those wanderers…" he thumbs the soft skin under your eye, his tone of voice quiet and thoughtful. "they were stronger than usual."

there's a heaviness in his voice, somber and muddled. it's as if he's afraid of something. seeing him in this state is… frightening.

zayne is strong. stronger than any of the hunters you know. for someone like him to be afraid is definitely concerning.

"it was scary, wasn't it?"

zayne averts his gaze. "not really."

you chuckle quietly.

after a moment, you sigh, his words sinking into you. "they were extremely strong." your head hangs as you fall into your thoughts. "and they looked a lot like the ones i fought before i ended up here…"

"there has to be a connection," you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "i just don't know what it all means. ugh…" you hold your aching forehead, trying to will all the pain and tiredness away.

zayne holds you by the arms. "you're going to faint before you can figure it out."

you slowly lift your chin up, tracing his features with your eyes. now that things have calmed down, you've noticed just how close he is. not in a physical sense, but something more. something intimate. a metaphorical distance has been lessened and he is finally within reach.

since when did he allow you to get this close?

"what are you thinking about?" one of his hands slips from your arm, reaching up to your face instead. he smoothly brushes some dust off your cheek, his touch almost reverent.

"i'm just starting to think," you pause awkwardly, "that this isn't that bad."

he frowns, eyelids twitching. "please elaborate."

"it's nice being here with you."

"no." he pulls his hands away, taking in the implications behind your words. "you can't stay here."

"just listen to me." you make an attempt to grab his hands only to miss and hold onto the sleeve of his coat. "i don't know why i'm here in this world, and there isn't a way for me to go back."

"it's more plausible for me to just accept the fact that i'm stuck here than to keep hoping for something so out of reach."

"don't be so pessimistic." he shakes his head, the corner of his lips arched downwards. "you'll find a way back."

"i'm being realistic."

he repeats, "don't."

you sigh through your nose, shaking your head. "would it really be that bad to stay here with you?"

"you don't belong here." he averts his gaze. "especially not with me."

"i want to be here." you firmly plant your hands on both sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. "am i not allowed to stay?"

"that's… not it." his gaze lands on your lips. he blinks to tear away from it, but you catch it, that unspoken something.

"do you like having me around?" you lean closer, his breath mixing into yours.

"i can't answer that," he murmurs, like the answer on the tip of his tongue could change everything.

"really?"

silence.

his response gets caught in his throat, and he slowly gets lost in the way you're staring at him, at how near you are. you, who only existed in his dreams, in the memories of another man, stand before him like temptation reincarnated. he has never been a man that acted on impulse, certainly not after all these years of discipline and routine.

and yet, you ruined all that he is. a single glance from you tore down his walls, leaving him smaller than he's ever been before. he longs to reach for you. to keep you.

he shouldn't allow this to continue. this unnamed connection is dangerous. it could hurt you. he could hurt you. his head screams to move. to deny what you're offering— to deny you and everything that you are, but in his haze of indecision, his body moves in tandem to his heart's desires.

again, he holds you, this time on the waist. you hear an invisible thread snap, and without realizing it, you're lip to lip with zayne. your chest burns, eyes blown wide, surprised by the suddenness of it all.

he doesn't give you any time to think.

he kisses you with an intensity you didn't know he had. it's almost oppressive. the hand on your waist is tight, his pull bringing your bodies closer together. his cold lips melt and meld into yours. he pushes into your mouth, then pulls back for a brief inhale, only to swoop back in for more.

at the slightest hint of tongue, you bashfully retreat. "zayne…"

he stares at you, breathless. "who are you calling for?" he asks with a hint of doubt.

the question is so silly it makes you laugh. "you."

"i," you breathe in quietly, calming yourself, "i didn't think you would do something like this with me…"

"why do you find it so surprising?" his large hand presses to your cheek. "you underestimate how precious your existence truly is."

you blink rapidly, flustered by his words.

"i…" your expression dims. "i'm not her,"

"you mistake me for the doctor." zayne sighs. "his attention may have been on her, but i have always seen you." he stares at you as if to prove his point. "only you."

his confession has stolen the air right out of your lungs. words fail you, the thoughts running your head a dizzying carousel. you have to turn from him in order to catch your breath.

"please look at me." he whispers your name and guides you back to him.

"no, i, you…" you're hot all over. like your evol is out of control.

zayne calls for you again, the low hum of his voice sending electric ripples across your entire body.

"stop," you plea, the whites of your eyes flushing red. "you… you're too much."

"you're crying." he gently rubs the corner of your eye.

zayne presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. innocent and kind, something new and unfamiliar.

"i'm not," you mumble in defense of yourself. your cheeks feel like they're sizzling. you're not sure you can handle any more of this.

then, you hear a barely audible sound spill from zayne's mouth. a puff of air. not quite a laugh, but something similar. it's a good sound. one that leaves you starry-eyed.

"zayne." you carefully peak up at him.

when he catches your gaze, he leans down and kisses you again.

"wait…" your words disappear in the space between your lips and his.

his kiss is like an never-ending sea, and you find yourself succumbing to the waves, sinking into him like it's meant to be. it makes you forget everything. the unsolved mysteries, the questions seared into your mind, and the longing to return home.

You'd sit in the 24 hour library wearing a hoodie two sizes, too big. Your movements were slow, tired, reaching for your coffee a hand stopped you. For the first time that day you actually pulled away from the world scattered across the table.

Gojo's face was flushes, like he was second guessing every move that led him to this moment. "You look tired and that much caffeine is bad for you."

His eyes shone with admiration and his world spoke with care. Because he does, which is why your cooped up in feeling this way.

Heavy, overwhelmed, every breath felt like a sharp pain. Getting up to go to the bathroom you intentionally avoided the mirror. But after you flushed the toilet you went to go wash your hands.

Keep your head down, don't look it won't help. You lifted your head.

Your exterior looked broken, crumbled into a ball of nothing. Gojo's hoodie swallowed your body. Shoulders drooped low, showing the weight of their words, your words. Your eyes were puffy and baggy. By now you'd ran out of tears.

You observed each feature, wondering how the Satoru Gojo could look at them in a different way you did. All you could see were issues, burdens. Maybe your lashes were too short? Shoulders too wide, hips not wide enough.

Your breathing picked up, you felt sick. You shut the light off walking back to your bed, going to scroll so you can forget reality. TikTok decided to torture you first, showing you flawless girls and everyone says social media isn't real but everyday there's another girl irl you wish you could be for just a day.

Then you open instagram, a self destructive habit. You brushed off as curiosity, right you were curious. That's why you were typing her name. The girl who's wanted Gojo for the longest, the one with the perfect face, perfect body. She was charismatic, charming.

You were awkward and clumsy. Your older sister always told you could be pretty if you'd put make-up on for once in your life. Make-up wasn't you thing, you felt like a clown, a performer, a fake.

If the time were to come and you'd scrub off the facade. Undressing the person they fell in love with. Watching their face shift from warmth to cold.

You didn't even realize you were crying, your brain was moving too fast. You opened your messages, eyes clouded with tears as you typed.

i can't be with you anymore satoru

You blocked him after that and cried yourself to sleep.

───────────────────────────────

A knock landed on Gojo's door, he muffled a weak "Go away." Toji groaned "Come on dude you've been cooped up in your room three days."

He sniffled, "It's been two, idiot." Toji deadpanned "Congratulations you know how to count."

Nanami walked past, stopping once he got a glimpse of the white haired mans disheveled appearance.

"Little lady still hasn't responded i'm assuming"

"No" he stirred a bit, "I just don't understand, she won't speak to me. What if she ran off with someone else..." Nanami and Toji sighed watching his blue eyes fill with tears again.

Geto cleared his throat making his presence known. Digging around in the bed until he found his phone. "Why don't you try calling her. Y'know the first thing you should try."

Gojo pouted, "She already hates me. She's probably in Paris with her french prince who-who swept her off her feet."

"They don't even have a prince-" Toji shushed Nanami, "Shh... I want to see how long he plays into this fantasy." Which earned a glare from everyone.

Gojo phone buzzed in Geto's hand, he perked up. "Is it her? Please tell me it's her."

Geto looked down surprised, it was you. Then his expression shifted into a sympathetic one. "Um...It's her but-" Gojo cut him off snatching the phone out of his hand. "I knew she would never...leave...me?"

From mylittlemoonlight: i can't be with you anymore satoru.

Gojo panicked, his texts weren't going through and you kept sending him to voicemail. His movements became jittery, his breath staggered. He couldn't even think properly.

why would you leave him?

was he not good enough?

did he do something?

did you not love him the same way he loved you?

Geto had to pry the phone from his hands, snapping in his face.

"Hey Gojo... Just breathe...slowly."

It was hard to breathe when Gojo's entire world just crumbled in a matter of seconds.

───────────────────────────────

@kajismp3 🌑 | masterlist

Honestly you weren't doing any better. It took you fifteen extra minutes to get to class now to avoid being in Gojo's line of sight. Behind your glasses were puffy eyes, honestly you could just throw those things away.

You barleybothered to look up from the ground. Ground, notebook, ground, notebook, coffee. Your range of vision routine that you've picked up and perfected over the two months.

You were the one who broke up with him, was it even right to be sitting in the library with his hoodie on? You haven't even washed it not wanting to lose the smell, his smell.

The pen in your hand blue, you never wrote in blue because it look atrocious behind most highlighter colors. It was a pen, nothing more nothing less. That's what you told yourself, not acknowledging the fact when you felt anxious you'd sketch portions of his face with that pen. A reminder that he's there or that he used to be there.

Since the break up you've only seen Gojo once. You saw him and luckily he never saw you.

Sat at one of the group tables in the courtyard. His frat brothers having a good time, girls crowded around them like they were gods. His normal before he was with you. You watched a one leaned in too close, hand on his shoulder drawing circles with her thumb.

He didn't pull away, right. He didn't have to, he no longer belonged to you.

You watched from afar, a few tears slipping down your cheeks with a weak smile. As long as he's happy right?

───────────────────────────────Today Nanami held a can of red bulls while Geto dragged Gojo into the library. "Sit. And act like you go to college for once."

The puppy eyed boy groaned leaning pushing his down in his arms. "Can't I just do this another day-" "No."

Nanami sat the pack of red bull down, "You're not leaving until at least five assignments-"

The library doors opened, Gojo didn't look up too busy moping. Geto watched you walk through the doors. His eyes widened discreetly nudging Nanami to look in your direction.

Damn, you almost looked as bad as Gojo.

Thank god you didn't notice them, they were in the back. Behind the old literature bookcases.

Geto awkwardly chuckled "Y'know what on a second thought... Let's leave!"

Gojo pushed his head up looking more determined than before, "No no, you're right. Five assignments then we'll leave thats the deal."

They looked at each other and sighed, hopefully they can keep you two separated.

Gojo is sad not stupid, it's been about 5 hours, two essays, 10 discussion post, and 1 lab and Geto and Nanami acting like they have a stick up their ass. Like shoved deeply up there.

They wouldn't let him leave, when his pencil broke Nanami handed a new one before he could blink. Geto got every single snack from the vending machine brushing it off because, "Think smarter not harder." Right?

It was smothering and strange. Gojo pushed his chair back standing up and stretching watching those two stiffen at the sudden movement. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Let me-" He cut Geto off, "Alone."

Only walking past a couple of tables, he paused.

Your face smushed against your textbook and a highlighter slipping through your hands. Breathing softly, you were sleeping.

Without thinking he inched forward. Closer, and closer.

You still had on his hoodie, the one he gave you when the wind started blowing too hard. His eyes scanned your face, like he couldn't believe you were there.

But there was a hint of something softer, gentle even. He just wanted to know if you were okay. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the slight twitch of your fingers from too much caffeine. The messy coils on your head, noticing you missed your wash day.

His hands were wobbly, producing more sweat as they reached closer.

Satoru's touch was delicate like he was holding a rare metal. Because he was you were rare, one of a kind. His fingers trembled as he traced your face. The curve of your nose, his forth favorite spot to kiss you. You'd scrunch your nose on impact because it was always unpredictable, a random display of love.

He brushed a few frizzy spirals away from your forehead. Pressing his thumb down lightly. His third favorite spot to kiss you, your forehead. To him it was a silent vow of sweet nothings.

Saying, "I'll protect you" "I can take the weight off your shoulders"

"Let me be good to you" "I love you."

How he'd rest his against yours afterward, like he was telepathically sharing the weight of unspoken words with you. Hoping that you felt it to.

Dragging his fingers down tracing the outline of your lips. The second place on the list of kiss spots, or what they say the first loser.

He remembers your first kiss like it was yesterday. It wasn't the way he imagined it, not controlled or planned. Gojo couldn't sleep so he appeared in the library, once again taking the coffee and replacing it with his hand.

You were skeptical, but not enough to go back to your dorm. He took you to the beach, it was around midnight so it was empty and silent. The two of you talked and talked, bouncing through a million different topics.

Once you ran out the quiet took over again, it wasn't awkward it was peaceful, comfortable silence.

An inaudible staring contest, you looked into his blue eyes like you wanted to drown in them, and he looked into yours like he could see a glimpse of your soul, because he wanted to oh so badly

You both leaned in. It started slow, hesitant like what you had together was to special to ruin. Then it turned rushed, needy, desperate.

Both of you pulled away panting, then leant back in.

He cupped your cheek just like he did that night, rubbing small circles with his thumb. You moved, he froze. You snuggled into his warmth, muscle memory wins again.

Satoru's breathing picked up almost becoming ragged. And in first place your cheeks. It was always sweet and innocent. The way you giggled when he kissed the same spot repeatedly.

That time he kissed each mole on your face because you told him you've gotten new ones since you've gotten older. PDA wasn't your thing so at parties it was cheek kisses only, but it still marked his claim.

When you did it to him? God. They weren't rushed, you never did attacks of multiple. Just one maybe two, they were soft but lingered. The first time you did Gojo stood there rubbing his cheek, then vowed to never wash his face again.

Gojo had finally pulled away, his hand becoming cold. He rushed out the library, pushing the bathroom door open.

Everything was blurry, everything hurts.

He pulled out his phone texting Geto and Nanami

i saw her, i need to go. i feel sick.

They rushed out the library letting the table next to them have the overwhelming pile of snacks.

Satoru's gagging could be heard from the hallway, raising concerned looks as students walked through.

Geto dropped their bags, walking towards the stall. "Come on Satoru, drink this." He passed the water bottle towards him only to be met with refusal.

Gojo shook his head, "No, ngh. I don't deserve— need it."

"Nanami hold is head back."

"Wait stop-" Gojo refused but it was weak, he accepting the care letting the cold water get poured down his throat. They both started to lift him, "Okay come on, get up slowly..."

"Stop treating me like i'm an abandoned puppy."

"That would be a fitting description."

───────────────────────────────

It was like you broke up with him all over again, except no red bulls or muffins. Just the silence... always in a constant state of rumination.

A knock came to his door, it was light and cautious. He didn't turn, thinking it was Toji.

You peeked your head in, Geto told you he wasn't here so you could come get your things if you need. And Nanami was there to confirm, so you thought no funny business, just in and out.

But you didn't see high five they shared after they walked off.

Gojo was laid so stiff under the blanket you assumed it was the way he left his blankets when he got out of this morning.

You still walked carefully, like you'd disturb the balance he gained while you were gone.

You walked to the closet first, you need some of your shirts and sweatpants. They were still hung as neatly as before. You peeled them off of the hangers one by one.

Accidentally brushing the article of clothing next to it. It was one of his shirts, your favorite. It was his dc comic shirt, every time you wore it he'd make you pick a character so he could talk you to sleep.

He'd slip his hands underneath rubbing your sides, coaxing you to sleep with his voice. Those were the times you could care less about what you look like, because the way he'd tuck your head into his chest melted your worried before they even started.

Next the dresser, last time you were here you left your necklace and earrings. You could tell it was placed there purposefully. They laid in the middle, like a crown set on a lonely cushion. Prepped for display and viewing.

You brushed your fingers over the locket, you bought it from a pawn shop in high school for ten bucks. It was always empty and just for aesthetics.

Until you met Gojo, the once empty space was filled with a small picture, one that he didn't even know you took.

You and Gojo failed at you attempted all nighter, getting back to your dorm around 2 am. You both flopped on the bed, eyes heavy and head full of gibberish formulas.

"I don't know how you do it woman."

"I normally can go longer than this, so clearly you're the problem."

"No I put you on a normal, less caffeinated sleep schedule. There's a difference."

You snorted knowing it was true, you went to bed around a reasonable time now and saved so much money on coffee. "Im going to shower."

You stepped out the shower already missing the warmth. You started to lotion your body, slipping some of Gojo's clothes. You cracked the door open peeking out, "Toru can you-"

Gojo was sprawled across the bed, breathing lightly. You walked closer taking the faintest steps. His nose was scrunched, like he didn't know how to relax. How to give in to the deep slumber.

You leaned in kissing the bridge of his nose, watching the crinkle loosen. He looked content, at ease.

The colorless hair atop of his head was messy. You brushed stray strands out the way placing a kiss to his forehead.

You lifted a finger, just one, scared that more would wake him. Dragging a finger down caressing the plush of his lips. Holding it here for a couple of second. Feeling when he exhaled, you placed another peck onto his lips.

You shakily used your entire hand to cup his faint rosy cheeks. Dragging your thumb up and down. Breath hitching as he leant into your touch. Without thinking you pulled out your phone, snapping a vulnerable moment of the white haired boy. Removing your hand you replaced it with a kiss, your lips lingered longer than before.

Whispering, "I love you Toru."

The first time you realized you were in love with Satoru Gojo was the day he passed out while waiting for you to get out the shower.

You snapped back into reality, blinking the tears forming away. You turned away too fast, knocking over a can.

You froze and Gojo sat up, quickly. Alert and looking around for any danger. Relaxing when he saw you, then tensing again.

"WAIT–"

You speed walked out the room slamming the door behind you.

You almost made it, but every step you took Gojo's could covered two times that amount in one. He tugged at your sleeve, voice waivering. "Can we talk? Please."

So found yourself back in Gojo's room sitting on the bed next to him in silence. You fiddled with your fingers looking down at your lap.

Gojo stood up and stepped right in front of you. You looked up at him, again silent but so many words were said right now.

Eye's following him as he got lower and lower.

He's on his knees. Voice raspy and broken, "Please. Please, please, please." His head laid against your knees, placing faint kisses on it and even through the sweatpants it still burned your skin.

You still hadn't moved, just sat there staring into his eyes that displayed his devotion to you. He grabbed your cold, limp hand. Guiding it across his skin, he shivered at the impact. Bringing it to his cheek, leaning his head into your palm. It felt wet?

Gojo was crying, "Please, my love. Please. I'm so sorry, I don't know what I did but i'm so goddamn sorry. I don't know how to breathe without you."

Your voice cracked, his figure turned hazy and you felt tears sliding down your chin onto his hands that rested on your lap. "Satoru..."

Bringing your hand up to his lips, placing dazed kisses on each finger, then your palm, lastly your ring finger, again and again.

"What did I do wrong baby, hm? Tell me, tell me everything so I can fix it, change for you."

You sniffled gaining the courage to speak. You moved your hands weaving them through his white strands. "Satoru..."

"It's not you. It could never be you." You cupped his jaw wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. "I really do love you, Toru. More than you could ever know."

Gojo whimpered at your words, his voice raw and vulnerable "My love... I know. So please stay."

"Satoru i'm doing this for you..." You ducked your head down almost embarrassed by your next words. "You need someone... more than me. I'm not what you need-"

"But you are! You're everything I need and more, how could you say that?" His eyes pooled with more tears, more than the last batch.

"Did I make you feel that way? Oh baby I-" You shook you head with a sad smile voice barley above a whisper, "No Satoru, but I can see it. The whispers, stares, and I know you don't notice but I do."

His lips part to speak but you keep going, "I-I can't compete with those girls. I know I don't look perfect or that I have the perfect body, which i'm sure you've noticed by now."

"I just don't want you feel ashamed of me. Like you have to hide me because i'm not your equal, because you settled for something less."

Gojo just looks at you, looking over every crease and curve of your face. Not in disgust, but in awe, adoration with his stupid puppy eyes.

Then he choked out a small laugh even though your words devastated him. "Why are you laughing-" He rolled his head on your knee, "For someone so smart my love, you can be so, so dense?"

"I hear the whispers and I feel the stares, they don't bother me. Because I know what I want, I know who I need."

"Standing next to you is one of my biggest accomplishments. It feels... light, comfortable, safe. Not ashamed. Most days I question why you even let me near you, breathe the same air as you."

Gojo breathes out desperate, he wanted you to feel his words. "You are the most beautiful, perfect girl I have ever had the chance to lay my eyes on." He stands up slowly, sliding his arms down to your waist rubbing softly.

"There is not a single thing that I don't love about you, you're so perfect in each in every way."

By now you were sobbing in his arms, letting him hold you. All of you.

Sniffing into his shirt, "I'm so sorry Toru." He exhaled, finally letting his shoulders relax, "I thought I was helping, I–" He shushed you, resting his chin on top of you, "You did what you thought was right in the moment. All i'll ever ask of you. Is to be honest and transparent about how you feel."

He grabbed your jaw. The two of you stared at each other through wet eyelashes and passionate eyes. He leaned in slow and careful not wanting to scare you, but you grabbed the back of his neck pulling him in quickly.

Both of your shoulders dropped, letting go of all the weight that built up over these two months. Inhaling each others burdens and worries saying "let me in".

───────────────────────────────

@kajismp3 | masterlist

this is the fastest i've ever written a pt.2 lol

how do we feel???

im tagging everyone who commented bc most requested a pt.2

@qkrwidn | @liaviva | @an1inlove13 | @hoesluvshoko | @yujishair |

your knees were a mess, scraped raw and beading with tiny drops of blood. there was dirt on your palms and you had tears welling in your eyes, but you weren’t sad. not even in the slightest. you stood there, swaying slightly and pointed a trembling finger at him.

“you pushed me,” you glared at him, lips quivering as you made the demand that sealed his fate, the one that’s been echoing in his head for years “you have to get me a hello kitty bandaid or i’m telling on you.”

he didn’t have a hello kitty bandaid. he didn’t have any bandaids on him actually. but he really, really wished he did. he wished he had a whole box of them, a whole factory of them, just to give to you. he wanted to patch up the bruises he’d made. he wanted to wipe the tears from your eyes before they even fell. he wanted, for the first time in his life, to take care of someone else.

his feelings for you grew through awkward school dances, late-night study sessions, and the disastrous first dates he had to rescue you from.

they blossomed in the spaces between your laughter, in the comfortable silences you shared. they grew until they became so big he can barely contain them.

he’s supposed to be playing mortal kombat xi with suguru, but his mind is miles away. he’s waiting — he’s always waiting — for your text, your call. anything that says you need him. anything that says he’s the one you want. even if it’s just for a ride home from a date with someone else.

the blue light of the screen paints patterns on satoru’s face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw as he squints at the game. suguru’s character lands a critical hit, and satoru’s health bar plummets.

“fuck,” he curses, his fingers move over the controller, but he’s too scatterbrained to come back from this. he always is when you’re out with someone else

“you’re playing like shit tonight,” suguru comments, not looking away from the screen.

“shut up,” satoru mumbles. his phone sits face down on the cushion beside him. he imagines it buzzing, imagines your name lighting up the screen, and his stomach does that stupid flutter it always does. he hates it. he hates feeling like this when he knows you’ll never feel the same.

suguru lands another hit. game over. “told you,” he says, leaning back. “so who’s she with tonight? what’s his name?”

“don’t know,” satoru says, tossing the controller onto the couch. it bounces off a cushion. “don’t care either”

“bullshit,” suguru laughs, “you care more than anyone.”

( of course he cares. loving you is all he’s ever known and he’s terrified that one day, you won’t need to reach out. you won’t need him to pick up the pieces anymore because your date went great and you’ve fallen in love. the mere thought of it makes him sick to his stomach )

satoru doesn’t answer. he just reaches for his phone, heart thumping hopefully against his ribs. he tells himself he’s checking the time, but his thumb swipes the screen open anyway.

nothing. no messages. no missed calls. radio silence.

he’s about to put it down, to tell suguru to go fuck himself. to suggest they order some doordash and pretend tonight isn’t happening. pretend you’re not out there with some stranger who doesn’t deserve to be breathing the same air as you.

and then his phone buzzes. the screen lights up and there it is. your name. and five words that make his heart race.

can you come get me? [ 10:26 pm ]

that’s it. you offer him no explanation. zero context. but he can hear the shake in your voice, see the tears in your eyes, and he hasn’t even heard you speak yet. he’s on his feet before he’s fully processed it.

“what is it?” suguru asks, sitting up straighter.

“nothing,” satoru says, already moving towards the hallway. “i gotta go. don’t wait up for me”

“again?”

“shut up,” he throws over his shoulder, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. his shoes are by the doormat, and he’s shoving his feet into them, not even bothering to untie them first. “you’d do the same for shoko.”

“shoko doesn’t make a habit of dating assholes, and i’m not in love with her. don’t compare apples to oranges” suguru calls after him, but satoru’s already out the door.

the drive to you is a blur of streetlights and angry horns. his foot is heavy on the gas. he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

the restaurant you’re at tonight is fancy. all warm lighting and valet parking. there’s no spot, of course there’s no fucking spot, and he circles the block twice before finding a space three streets down.

he’s out of the car before the engine’s fully off, jogging down the sidewalk until he sees you through the window.

he pushes the door open and makes his way towards you. the closer he gets, the more details he can’t unsee. your shoulders are shaking and the champagne flute in front of you is empty. just how much have you had to drink?

you finally lift your head. your eyes find his impossibly blue ones, and the vulnerability in your expression is a physical blow to his chest.

( it’s the same look you had on the playground all those years ago, after he’d pushed you off and you’d scrambled to your feet, demanding he fix everything. you’re still demanding it with every breath you take. and he’s still here, doing everything in his power to make you feel better. )

“toru,” you frown, and the sound of his name on your lips makes him weak. it always does.

“i’m here,” the only comfort he has to give is himself. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

you’re soft and warm. you smell like expensive champagne and your vanilla perfume. your hands fist desperately in the material of his t-shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s tilting on its axis. you bury your face in his chest and he can feel the tremors running through your entire body.

he holds you tighter, one hand splayed across the small of your back, the other coming up to cup the back of your head. he rubs slow circles against the silk of your dress. he wants to absorb your pain into himself and shatter it into a million pieces.

( he wishes you were clinging to him because you wanted him, not because someone else had thrown you away. )

he waits until your grip on his shirt loosens. he keeps one hand on your back, leaning back just enough to look at you. but you don’t lift your head, you keep your face hidden against the damp fabric of his shirt.

“look at me,” he murmurs, you can feel his words rumbling through his chest.

it takes a moment, but you slowly, reluctantly, pull back. your face is a mess but you’ve never looked more beautiful to him. he wants to kiss you, to taste the salt of your tears and the champagne on your lips. but he’s here to fix this. he’ll save the wanting for later, for the quiet hours of the night when he’s alone on your couch with nothing but the ghost of your warmth and the ache in his chest.

for now, he just has to be your friend. your best friend.

he gently cups your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, wiping away the dampness. “what happened?”

you take a shaky breath, and your gaze darts away from his, landing on the empty champagne flute. “he was just. . .” you hiccup, swallowing hard. “he was just awful from the beginning, ‘toru. he wouldn’t let me talk. he just kept going on about himself, about his job, his car, his. . his stupid rolex.”

“i thought. . . i don’t know what i thought. i just kept ordering champagne because he was supposed to be paying and i was bored. and then. . .then he said he was going to the bathroom and he never came back.”

“one of the waitresses,” you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper, “came over and said she saw him leave. she said he left with. . . with some girl he was talking to at the bar. and then they brought the bill a-and i didn’t have enough because he ordered the most expensive thing on the menu”

rage courses through his veins, so potent it makes him dizzy. he’s not just angry at the nameless, faceless asshole who did this. he’s angry at the fact he lives in a world where someone could have you, could sit across from you, look at you, and then . . leave. how? how is that remotely possible? how could anyone be so blind, so stupid? he can’t wrap his head around it.

“he’s a fucking idiot,” he snaps, “and you’re way too good for him, he never deserved you or your time”

( satoru wishes you would finally see that he’s the one who does. if you gave him a chance he would worship the ground you walk on.

in retrospect he already does. he patches up the wounds left by other men, cleans up their messes, holds you while you cry over them. he remembers your café order and brings a cup that’s more creamer than coffee to your first lecture of the day. he sits through rewatches of ‘ten things i hate about you’ and the fear street trilogy without complaining. he pays for your gas and groceries. he does everything a boyfriend should do and more. but he’s not your boyfriend.

if you’d let him take you out on a date. he wouldn’t just sit across from you talking about himself. he would hang onto your every word.

he’d never leave you waiting, not for a second. he’d move heaven and earth to make you happy, to make you his. he just needs you to give him the chance to )

he knows you don’t believe him. you never do. you always think it’s your fault, that you weren’t pretty enough, or smart enough, or interesting enough. and it kills him, because he knows the truth. he knows you’re too good for a world full of mediocre men who can’t appreciate what’s right in front of them.

“yeah” you nod and he knows you’re just agreeing with him because that’s what he wants to hear. he lets his hands fall, but he doesn’t step away. he can’t. not yet.

he pulls out his wallet. he doesn’t even bother to look at the bill. he sifts out a thick wad of cash, the crisp edges digging into his palm, and drops it down onto the polished wood of the bar.

( it’s more than enough to cover the ridiculously expensive lobster and the multiple bubbly glasses of dom perignon. more than enough to cover a tip that’s so generous it’s obscene. but satoru doesn’t care.)

“let’s go,” he says.

you slide off the barstool and for a terrifying moment you wobble precariously. the ridiculously high heels you’d worn for a man who didn’t deserve them betray you. satoru’s there before you can even register your knees buckling. his hand wrapping around your upper arm, “i’ve got you,”

your body molds to his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. satoru has to physically force himself to breathe, to focus on the simple act of walking and not the way his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest.

he guides you to his car, opens the door, and helps you in. he buckles your seatbelt, fingers brushing against your side, just below your ribs. you shiver and it has nothing to do with the cold.

“cold?” he asks. you shake your head, lolling back against the leather headrest.

“no ‘m just tired,” you mumble, eyes already drifting shut. long lashes casting shadows on your cheeks. but he drapes his hoodie over your frame regardless

the drive to your apartment is quiet. satoru glances over at you at every red light, at the way streetlights tinge patterns across your face, at the way your lips are slightly parted. he wants to reach over, to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead, to trace the line of your jaw with his thumb, but he doesn’t. he can’t.

he white-knuckles the leather steering wheel and forces himself to focus on the road.

when he finally reaches your apartment and he kills the engine. he just sits there watching you sleep for a moment. he hates the thought of waking you, hates the thought of this night ending.

“hey,” he whispers, his voice barely perceptible. he reaches out, shaking your shoulder gently. “we’re here.”

your eyes flutter open. they’re heavy-lidded, and hazy with sleep and alcohol. you’re too pretty, even like this

“c’mon let’s get you inside,” he murmurs. he practically carries you through the foyer and into the elevator, his body pressed against yours, your head lolling against his chest.

the elevator ride is torturous. he’s drowning in you and it makes your head spin. his weakness is exacerbated the second he steps into your apartment. it smells too much like you. it makes his chest ache with longing.

he lays you down on your bed, carefully turning you onto your side —the way he knows you like to sleep.

your heels are a nightmare — all delicate straps and tiny buckles — and his fingers are clumsy as he works them free. he tries not to wake you, tries not to linger too long on the warm skin of your ankles.

your dress looks like it’ll be uncomfortable to sleep in. he hesitates, hand hovering over the zipper at the back. he’s seen you in less — during those endless shopping trips you’d dragged him on, trying on lacy bras for your dates and asking his opinion. completely oblivious to the way his throat would close up.

but this feels different. more intimate. a line he’s not sure he’s ready to cross

“fuck it,” he mutters and turns away, heading for your bathroom. he finds your makeup wipes where he knows they’ll be, in the little wicker basket by the sink.

he grabs the small trash can from under the counter, setting it by your bedside, just in case you wake up sick. then he kneels beside you, heart pounding against his ribs.

your skin is warm beneath his touch as he gently wipes away the concealer, the mascara, and the lipgloss that’s smeared at the corners of your mouth.

he’s careful, touch light as a feather. he does this because he knows you’ll complain in the morning —about waking up with makeup on, about the inevitable breakouts — and he can’t stand the thought of you being unhappy, not even about something so small.

you stir, murmuring something unintelligible, but don’t wake. he trashes the soiled wipes and clambers to his feet. he’s almost at the door, hand on the doorknob, ready to retreat to the couch, to be the good friend he’s supposed to be. when he hears you call out to him.

“don’t go.” you sigh. he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. he turns slowly, heart hammering against his ribs.

your face is illuminated by the moonlight filtering through your curtains. your lip is quivering and he can make out the tortured expression on your face. satoru wants to wrap you in his arms and never let go.

“please,” you whisper, voice thick with sleep and alcohol and something he can’t quite place a finger on. he hopes it’s affection.

something inside him breaks. something that’s been held together by sheer willpower. by the conscious effort to keep his distance, to be what you need him to be. “okay,” he practically whimpers

he crosses back to your bed hesitantly. you shift, making room, so, so trusting. “need a shirt,” you mumble, pointing a shaky finger at your dresser. he grabs the first one he finds, cotton worn thin from a hundred washes. it smells faintly of detergent and you.

you sit up, swaying and he’s there in an instant, his hand cupping the back of your head, steadying you against the headboard. “careful”

satoru focuses on the wall, on the ceiling, on anything but the sound of fabric rustling. the glimpse of skin he catches in his peripheral vision — the delicate curve of your spine — makes his cheeks flush. you toss your dress on the floor in a heap of silk and sequins and you pull the shirt on.

“bra,” you say, your voice muffled. you fumble behind your back, your fingers clumsy, useless. “. . . help”

( satoru knows you’re trying to kill him, he just can’t prove it yet )

“okay,” his voice is a strangled whisper. he’s not sure he can manage more than a syllable. his hand trembles as he reaches behind you, fingers trailing up your back, brushing against your warm skin as he finds the clasp.

it’s a piece of fabric with tiny pieces of metal, he knows it’s not going to bite him. but he’s still shaking because this feels too monumental. you shiver at his touch when he finally gets it loose. he pulls back as if he’s been burned.

“thanks,” you murmur, pulling your straps beneath your t-shirt and shrugging your bra off. you settle back against your pillows, and after a moment’s hesitation, satoru lies beside you, the mattress dips beneath his weight.

you shift closer, until you’re pressed against his side, your head on his shoulder, body fitting against his like it was made to be there. beside him.

“you’re too good to me,” you whisper, “you’re the best friend i’ve ever had.”

satoru can’t respond. can’t trust his voice not to crack. he just hums, a short, pained sound that gets lost in the darkness of your room.

best friend.

the words echo in his head. he’s perpetually stuck in the friendzone. and the absolute worst part, is he’d rather be here than anywhere else in the world. he’d rather suffer like this, than not have you at all.

he listens as your breathing evens out, as you drift deeper into sleep, your body growing heavy and limp against his. his arm’s gone numb from your weight but he wouldn’t move for the world.

in the morning, you’ll wake up embarrassed, make jokes about how you owe him one, and satoru will smile, will pretend it doesn’t hurt, will go back to being just your best friend.

but right now, he lets himself pretend this is normal, pretend that he gets to have you like this always. deludes himself into thinking that when you wake up, you’ll see what’s been right in front of you all along.

( you’re not sure if you’re anticipating the breakfast satoru’s making or just the excuse to be near him again. it’s probably the latter. it’s always the latter )

the kitchen is quiet — too quiet — for a sunday morning. satoru’s usually humming to himself while he cooks. but no chords or melodic notes carry to your ears as you pad towards him.

he’s standing at the stove, his back to you. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even seem to register your presence despite the floorboards creaking as you approach him. the easy smile that was forming on your lips freezes, then slowly melts away.

“morning ‘toru,” you murmur, it sounds more like a hesitant question than a greeting.

he flips a pancake with a sharp flick of his wrist. it lands perfectly in the pan, a flawless golden circle. “hey,” he replies, his voice flat, devoid of its usual warmth. a single, clipped word. no ‘mornin’ sleeping beauty’, no teasing about your hangover. nothing. . .

a cold knot forms in your stomach, completely unrelated to your nausea. you lean against the kitchen island, suddenly feeling unsteady on your feet. “smells good,” you offer.

“pancakes,” he says, still not turning. he gestures with his spatula towards the bowl of fruit on the counter. you don’t want them. not really. you want him to turn around. to look at you with those ridiculously blue eyes, to crack a joke, to do anything normal. he’s too quiet

“‘toru,” you start, his name feeling foreign on your tongue. “are you okay ?”

he finally turns, and the sight of his face makes your breath hitch. his expression is unreadable. his eyes, usually so bright and full of light, are a dull blue. they don’t crinkle at the corners. they don’t hold any of their usual mischief. it feels like they’re looking right through you.

“i’m fine,” he says, a lie so blatant it’s insulting. “just tired. . . how did you sleep ?”

“okay,” you murmur, rubbing your arms, feeling suddenly exposed in just your t-shirt and shorts. “thanks for. . . picking me up again and taking care of me.”

“what are friends for ?” he hums, and the words shock you. it’s a phrase he’s never used before. he’d usually say : he’d do it all over again. and that someone has to save you from the assholes you seem to attract. he’d ruffle your hair and you’d squirm and play fight until his cheeks are flushed and your chest is heaving.

but today he just slides the ceramic bowl across the counter towards you without a word.

it’s a work of art. tangerine segments with all the bitter white pith carefully peeled away, crisp apple slices, glistening with a sheen of freshly squeezed lemon juice to prevent them from turning brown. ripe mango chunks, impossibly orange and sweet, and plump strawberries, all the green leaves meticulously plucked off. you can’t help but grin.

( he really does know you like the back of his hand )

your smile soon wavers because for once satoru’s not talking to you as he fries the pancakes. no prodding about the date, no gentle teasing about your terrible taste in men. you’re genuinely confused because he’s usually so loquacious in the mornings, a running commentary of bad jokes and complaints about the economical and political state of the world. but he seems to be so far away, lost in a world you can’t see

“these are perfect,” you murmur, popping a strawberry into your mouth. the saccharine juices explode on your tongue. “you’re the best ‘toru”

“i try,” he responds, his voice clipped. not ‘of course i am’. not ‘you’re lucky i love you so much, prepping your fruit is a pain in the ass.’ none of your usual banter.

( it’s like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world instead of being here in your kitchen. anywhere else in the world instead of here with you )

you’re thrown off kilter by it, the typical rhythm of your friendship is suddenly syncopated and strange. it’s like hearing a song you know by heart being played in a minor key.

he serves you a stack of perfect pancakes, golden brown and fluffy, their edges crisp. and immediately starts cleaning up. he’s scraping leftover batter into the sink, loading your dishwasher. washing his hands, drying them on a dishtowel. all the while his back is still to you.

he doesn’t set down a plate for himself. there’s nothing for himself today. he usually sits right beside you — his thigh brushing against yours, thumb smoothing a crumb from the corner of your mouth as he hangs on to your every word and you tell him about your date in detail — but today he seems hellbent on keeping his distance from you. on keeping his voice to himself.

( he never cleans up this quickly. never talks this little. never avoids your gaze as if you’re the last person on earth he wants to look at. why is he being so weird ??? )

“gotta head out,” he says, finally looking at you. “sorry. suguru and i are going to the gym.”

your fork freezes halfway to your mouth. you look so disappointed it almost kills him. he swears he can feel the chambers of his heart caving in because your lip is quivering and you look so confused. he has half a mind to sit down and kiss you until the crease in your brow disappears. to sit down and tell you how he feels. but he’s positive he doesn’t stand a chance. and it’s fucking killing him.

“it’s sunday,” you frown. he never goes to the gym on sundays. sundays are for pancakes and bad movies on the couch. sundays are for you. plus, he’d said he was tired. none of this is adding up.

“the grind never stops,” he shrugs. you’re in disbelief as he leans over and gives you a side hug, a brief, awkward press of bodies before he’s inching towards your front door. you’re still frozen, fork suspended in mid-air, a perfect pancake suddenly looking like cardboard in front of you.

“satoru,” you say again, and this time your voice cracks, the sound pathetic and thin in the suffocating silence of your apartment.

his hand freezes on the doorknob. you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body goes rigid. but he doesn’t turn around. he just stands there, a silhouette against the light filtering in from the hallway, a stranger in your home.

“i have to go,” he says, his voice strained. and then he’s gone. the door clicks shut behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. you’re left alone in your kitchen, with a stack of perfect pancakes growing cold on your plate. the scent of melted butter and sweet batter, once so comforting, is now, suffocating. what. the. actual. fuck ???

the question echoes in your mind, in the silent kitchen, but there’s no one here to answer it. you slowly lower your fork, the clink of it against the ceramic plate unnaturally loud. your appetite is gone. the plate of pancakes sits untouched, golden-brown circles slowly turning cold, their edges losing their crispness. beside them, the bowl of fruit look like a still life painting. you push the dishes away. you can’t eat. the thought of putting any of that meticulously prepared food into your churning stomach is unbearable. because he’s not here to eat with you.

you stare at the door, half-expecting it to swing back open, for him to reappear with a sheepish grin and tell you he’s pranking you. for him to pull up a chair beside you and steal some of your pancakes. but the front door remains closed.

you wrap your arms around yourself, a futile attempt to hold yourself together. your mind is a chaotic mess, replaying the last twenty-four hours on a relentless loop. satoru’s arms around you at the restaurant, the low murmur of his voice in your ear as he helped you into bed, wiped off your makeup. the warmth of his body beside yours as you drifted off to sleep. you’d slept so deeply, so peacefully, nestled against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and reassuring against your ear. in your drunken haze, you’d dared to hope, just for a little while, that maybe this was it. maybe this was the turning point. maybe he’d feel the same way and you could finally be something more.

but now your hope has curdled into confusion, into a deep, gnawing ache. what had you done ? what had you said ? was it the dress ? the stupid, overpriced dress you’d worn for a date that ended in tears and a five-word text message to satoru ? was it the way you’d clung to him ? the way you’d cried ?

your brain spirals, searching for the mistake, the single misstep that triggered this sudden change in him. and the person you’d usually call to unravel this mess with you , the one person who could always make sense of the chaos in your head, is the very person creating it.

you don’t hear from him for the rest of sunday. the day passes in a blur of hollow silence. you don’t leave your apartment. you don’t even drift to shoko’s room. you try to read, but the words swim before your eyes. you tried to watch a movie on the couch, but the familiar dialogue sounds like a foreign language. you pick up your phone a dozen times, thumb hovering over his name, heart pounding with a mixture of desperation and dread.

what would you say ? ‘are you okay ?’ he’d already answered that, with a lie.

‘why did you leave ?’ you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

‘i miss you ‘toru’ ? that feels too vulnerable, too raw.

so you just stare at his name, and wait as the silence grows, filling every corner of your apartment until you can barely breathe. seeping into your bones until you feel like you’re made of nothing but emptiness.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

monday is humiliating. you wake up alone, again. your bed is cold unsurprisingly. the weak light filtering through your curtains does little to chase away the chill that’s beginning to settle deep into your bones. you lay there for a moment too long, your mind replaying the memories of saturday night and sunday morning.

sleepovers with satoru are nothing new. you’ve shared a little over a decade of tangled limbs, stolen tubs of häagen-dazs from the fridge at midnight and whispers in the dark until the moon gave way to the sun.

( you remember the tantrums you’d both throw when your parents dared to try and separate you, to take you back to your respective homes. your shared fits of rage always ended the same way: hastily packed overnight bags, staying up talking until your voices were hoarse and the sun was kissing your cheeks.

you’d spent countless nights falling asleep beside satoru, and you’ve spent countless mornings waking up beside him, his face soft and peaceful in the morning light.

the sleepovers evolved during those awkward teenage years, when your mom decided to waltz around the topic of puberty and drill it into both of you that you weren’t kids anymore and sharing beds was no longer an option. even then, he’d just migrate to your couch, long limbs comically cramped in the small space, his presence comforting despite him being in a completely different room. sleepovers with satoru are the norm, even though you hadn’t actually slept beside each other intentionally in years. )

saturday was reminiscent of simpler times. saturday, he’d actually slept in your bed. not out of necessity, not out of convenience, but because you’d asked him to.

you’d fallen asleep tangled up in the soft sheets, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse you to him.

and although your heartbeat was erratic and your breathing was heavy and shaky — because satoru is without a doubt the most attractive man on the planet, and the gentlest, and the weirdest and most annoying and an asshole too, everything all at once, and you’re still that girl with a crush on him despite him treating you like one of the guys — you’d slept like a baby.

in his arms, you’d dreamt of him being the one to take you out on a date, of him loving you the way you love him. and now, you’re laying in bed alone.

for the first time since he’d pushed you off the swings on the playground and you’d demanded a hello kitty bandaid for the scrape on your knee, satoru isn’t talking to you. and you don’t know why.

there’s a void where his voice used to be. and your brain is still searching for the mistake you’re certain you must’ve made.

did you say something in your sleep ? did you do something wrong ? you can’t think of anything.

you go about your day in a fog of confusion and hurt. you expect to see satoru on campus, expect him to fall into step beside you on the quad, to sling an arm around your shoulders, carry your ridiculously heavy tote bag on his own shoulder and complain about his eight a.m. physics lecture. but he doesn’t.

nor does he text you to ask how your international political relations class went.

( hell, he doesn’t seem to have any interest in relations with you at all. )

you finally see him at a little past noon. he’s sitting under a giant oak tree with your friends. laughing at something shoko’s saying, head thrown back, the sound carrying on the crisp air. and then his eyes sweep across your approaching figure on the lawn, and for a split second, they meet yours. then his smile vanishes, wiped clean away, as if it never existed.

despite the sinking feeling in your guy, you walk over, forcing cheerfulness into your voice as you greet your friends and plop down near him. he gives you a curt, almost imperceptible nod, then turns back to shoko, and continues his conversation without properly acknowledging you.

shoko raises a brow but doesn’t comment in fear of making things even more awkward. suguru avoids your gaze as he gives you an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. yeah, satoru is definitely avoiding you. like the plague.

usually, he’d flop over your lap, demanding you play with his hair, his eyes fixed on yours as you’d swipe his sunglasses off his nose and wear them. usually, he’d tell corny jokes until you were breathless with laughter. but now ? nothing. he doesn’t even lean towards you. doesn’t even look at you. you’re practically staring at him, brows furrowed as you try to figure him out. he’s not happy. he’s not sad. he just looks numb, hollow.

satoru doesn’t go off with you when the group splits off for your next classes. he trails after suguru. shoko comes with you, and the first thing she asks is if something happened with you and satoru. you can only say you don’t know as hot, tears threaten to slip down your cheeks and your throat closes up.

despite feeling like an absolute idiot for sitting by him. despite being humiliated by the way he’d blatantly ignored you, you try to get through the rest of the day. your heart feels like it’s splitting in two. satoru is such a core part of your day — your life — that having him flat out ignore you makes you feel physically ill.

you cross paths again after your last class. you’re heading to the cafe to grab a passion fruit refresher, and he’s coming from the opposite direction. your paths are set to intersect. your heart hammers against your ribs, a burst of hope.

maybe he’ll talk to you now. maybe he was just in a weird mood earlier. something with his parents ? his basketball coach ? but he doesn’t even look at you. he just smoothly veers away, leaving a wide, empty berth of space between you, and you’re left standing there, feeling like the world is ending.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

tuesday feels suffocating. you feel like you can barely breathe as you go about your day. this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to satoru. even when you had petty fights over who got to be player one and whose turn it was to choose a game on the play station, you’d never ignored each other.

( okay, maybe once or twice you’d given him the silent treatment for a couple hours. but you’d never gone this long without making up. )

you want to fix this more than you’ve ever wanted anything. you’re willing to go out of your way to bridge the gap between you. you buy him a sticky sweet cinnamon roll and a perfect red velvet cupcake from the cafe that’s twenty minutes away from campus. the one that’s overpriced but has the best pastries. the one he loves and frequents often.

satoru’s a sucker for sweet treats. he always has been. he’s got the biggest sweet tooth ever. you know he won’t be able to ignore you when you’ve got so much as a jolly rancher in your palm. talk-less of two fresh pastries. you’re certain you’ll be best friends again as soon as he sees the crisp boxes.

thankfully, you still share locations with each other so it’s pretty easy to track him down. you find him in the engineering building’s computer lab, hunched over his laptop. you approach him cautiously, your hand trembling slightly as you hold out the pastries.

“peace offering?” you try, aiming for a light, airy tone.

he glances up, his eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second before darting back to his screen. “oh,” he says, his cadence a neutral tone that’s somehow worse than anger. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“i wanted to,” you say, your voice sounding smaller than you’d like. “i know you like these.”

“yeah, they’re my favorite,” he says, but he doesn’t make a move to take them. he just keeps typing, fingers flying across the keyboard. “i’m just in the middle of something right now. a project. it’s due soon.”

“oh,” you sound like a deflated balloon. “okay. well, i’ll just. . .leave them here.”

“thanks,” he says, his eyes still glued to the screen. “appreciate it.”

you stand there for a moment longer, before you turn and leave, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

by wednesday, the sad plasma coursing in your veins starts to bubble into searing rage. who does he think he is ? to just. . . erase you ? ignore you ? to discard years of friendship without a single explanation ? it’s condescending and inconsiderate and you’re so over it. you’re not a toy he can put back on the shelf when he gets bored of playing with it. you resolve to corner him and confront him after your history lecture, your patience worn thin to the point of nonexistence.

“satoru,” you say, your voice low and shaking with fury. “we need to talk.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and his eyes are ice cold. “i can’t talk now,” he says, his voice quiet. “i have to meet with suguru. we’re working on a presentation.”

“be so fucking for real suguru can wait, you two live together. . ” you shoot back, your fists clenched at your sides. “you’ve been ignoring me for three days, satoru. three whole days. you barely look at me, you won’t talk to me, you’re acting like i don’t even exist and i want to know why so don’t you dare stand there and give me another excuse.”

he sighs, a long, weary sound that seems to drain the last of the energy from his body. “it’s not an excuse,” he says, his voice rough. “i really do have to go. i’m sorry.”

( he doesn’t deny any of your former accusations. and that infuriates you even more )

then he walks away, leaving you standing there, fury and melancholy warring for dominance in your chest. you want to scream. you want to cry. you want to throw something. you want to grab him by the collar of his stupid hoodie and shake him until he tells you what you did wrong. but he’s walking away too quickly for you to do anything but stand there and look stupid.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

thursday comes and goes, and you feel so pathetic that you decide to stop trying completely. you stop looking for satoru in crowds. you stop hoping he’ll sit down next to you and fix everything. you stop typing and deleting messages. you stop. and it hurts. it hurts so much more than anything you’ve ever experienced. it hurts more than being stood up. it hurts more than being led on. it hurts more than being cheated on. it hurts.

there’s a constant ache in your chest. your throat feels tight every time you you try to speak. you chase the comfort of sleep every night and it runs faster. you’re zoning out in your lectures. zoning out in conversations every time shoko asks if you’re okay, you force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

you haven’t lived a day without satoru since that fateful day on the playground. and now you’ve gone four days without him. you have no idea if you’ll survive another.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

friday nearly kills you. you have a two hour literature lecture with satoru, a huge class in a cavernous auditorium where you usually sit together, in the back row. where he usually slips you notes with ridiculous drawings and nudges you under the table. where you usually draw on his toned arm, little flowers and stars that he complains about but never washes off until they fade on their own.

today, he’s already there when you arrive, to your surprise he’s saved a seat for you like he always does. and a small flicker of hope sparks in you. it’s quenched and dies just as quickly. you realize he didn’t actually save a seat for you. it’s just empty coincidentally. you’re too embarrassed to find somewhere else to sit so you plop down beside him.

he doesn’t even seem to notice because there’s someone on his other side, a pretty girl with long, dark hair who’s laughing at something he’s saying. he’s smiling, and he’s leaning in, his body angled towards her, his attention completely captured by her. you can feel tears prickling the back of your eyes.

you blink them away furiously as you pull out your laptop. heart pounding with anticipation. but he doesn’t even acknowledge you. he doesn’t slip you a note. he doesn’t nudge you under the table. he just keeps talking to the girl on his right, his voice a low murmur that you can’t quite make out over the drone of the professor.

you want to hurl. you want to stand up and scream, to grab his arm and demand that he look at you, that he acknowledge your existence. but you just sit there, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes fixed on the front of the lecture hall, blinking back tears.

he’s never spoken to this girl in his life. you’ve never even seen her before. and sure, he’s by far one of the most popular people on campus but he doesn’t make a habit of starting conversations with random girls.

( he’s always said he didn’t need any more girl friends because he had you. and you were more than enough for him. )

you resolve, right then and there, that you’ll speak to him on saturday. you can’t do this anymore. you can’t live like this anymore. you refuse to. partly, because you miss your best friend. partly, because this week has been the most miserable week of your life. but mostly because you love satoru too much to let him go.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

on saturday, you muster up the courage to go to his dorm, heart pounding against your ribs. you can’t do it anymore. the silence, the avoidance, the gaping hole in your heart where your best friend is supposed to be. 

( you don’t bother knocking because he’ll know it’s you. and you’re not sure he’ll let you in. you decide to make good use of the spare key he gave you last year for emergencies. because to you this feels like an emergency. )

you can hear the sound effects of a video game as soon as you step over the threshold. you pad towards the living room and find satoru and suguru on the couch, controllers in hand, eyes glued to the screen where sub-zero is brutally launching at kitana.

“you’re cooked” suguru grins as he mashes buttons with a ferocity that makes you smile for a second.

“in your dreams, emo” satoru drawls, a lazy smirk on his face as he leans back against the cushions. he looks so relaxed, so normal. because he hasn’t noticed your presence yet. the sight of him grinning sends a fresh wave of pain through you.

“satoru” you frown, he glances up as you stumble back, and his smirk vanishes, replaced by that same cold, expression you’ve been getting all week.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice flat, trying and failing to mask the shock racking his body.

“i’m here to talk to you . . . obviously.” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound strong. “i want you to tell me what i did to upset you.”

suguru’s hazel eyes dart between the two of you, taking in the tension, the way satoru’s whole body has gone rigid. the way your eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. he slowly sets his controller down on the coffee table. “okayyy,” he murmurs, standing up. “i don’t think i should be here for this conversation so i’m gonna go to my room and you two do your thing. . .”

“yeah, you should leave,” satoru snaps, at the exact same time you say, “you should probably leave sugu.”

suguru raises his hands in mock surrender, “relax i’m going,” he mutters, and practically bolts into his bedroom, shutting the door with a soft click that echoes in the silence.

“i gave you that key for emergencies” satoru murmurs, picking up the remote beside him and turning the tv off.

( you can’t believe him. is that all he has to say? after nearly a week of radio silence . . . he’s seething over a stupid tiny silver key ? )

“you’ve been ignoring me for five days, satoru,” you start. “five whole days. you won’t look at me, you won’t talk to me, you’ve been acting like i don’t even exist. so don’t you dare sit there and make me feel crazy for coming here and trying to fix things. instead of telling me what i did and how i can fix this.”

he finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the ice in his eyes cracks, just a little. thawed by something raw and vulnerable and so full of pain it makes your own chest ache.

“you didn’t do anything. it’s not you,” he sighs “it’s me.” you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he’s red, blue, and purple in the face.

“don’t give me that cliche bullshit,” you shoot back, taking a step closer to him “don’t do that. talk to me properly. we’ve always talked about things properly.”

( the statement sounds less true as each word drips off your tongue. because you’ve talked about everything under the sun with the sole of exception of the thing that matters most: your feelings for each other )

“maybe i don’t want to talk anymore,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

“yes, you do,” you mumble through gritted teeth, taking another step closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “you’re the most talkative person i know. you can’t go five minutes without telling me some ridiculous joke. so please, satoru. just talk to me.”

he looks up at you, blue eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to break. you think he’s finally going to end this stalemate. he opens his mouth, then closes it again. he shakes his head subsequently.

“i can’t,” he whispers, and the words are so full of pain they break your heart all over again. “i just. . . can’t.”

“why?” you query, your voice barely a whisper.

he looks away, his gaze fixed on a point just over your shoulder. “because if i start talking,” he shudders, “we can’t be friends anymore”

“you’re my best friend, okay?” you choke out, the words torn from your throat. “i don’t know what i did, but i know that you’re the most important person in my life and the last few days have been killing me— ”

“i don’t want to be your fucking friend,” he cuts you off, his voice is ragged, sapphire eyes glinting like coal in a fireplace, burning with a scorching intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

the words hang in the air between you. unraveling everything you’ve ever known. it feels like the world is tilting on its axis. it feels like your friendship is shattering into a million irreparable pieces. you can only stare, your mind a blank, static, the tears on your cheeks are frozen in time.

“what. . ?” you breathe, “you don’t . . what?”

“i don’t want to be your friend because i want to be more than that” he repeats, his voice cracking. “i’ve wanted to be with you since the day i pushed you off the swings. since the day we met on the first day of elementary school and you wouldn’t stop talking about your brother’s obsession with digimon and pokemon. i’ve been in love with you for over a decade, and i’m so fucking tired of pretending i’m not.”

‘since the day i pushed you off the swings.’

‘since the first day of elementary school.’

‘over a decade.’

the phrases echo in your mind and you finally, finally understand what he meant when he’d said he was tired on sunday. he was never angry at you. he was never trying to hurt you. he was just trying to preserve your friendship. all your memories suddenly take on new meanings. all those times he’d linger after holding your hand, all those inside jokes, all those moments when you’d catch him looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. it wasn’t just friendship. it was never just friendship.

how did you not see it ? how could you have been so blind, so oblivious to something so obvious ?

you’d been so focused on your own feelings, so caught up in your own fears about what might happen if he knew how you felt, that you never even considered. . . never even allowed yourself to fully hope. . .

“i . . ” you don’t even know what to say “i didn’t know.”

you shake your head, trying to process the weight of his words. the years. the pain he must have felt watching you date other people, listening to you talk about your feelings while repressing his own.

“i didn’t know you felt the same way.” you whisper

his brow furrows as the words carry straight to his heart. he’d never believed in a world where he’d be this lucky. never believed in a universe where you’d love him the way he loves you.

but you do. you have. for years. you’ve buried it under layers of friendship and fear, convinced it was one-sided. convinced he was too good for you, too popular, and here he is, telling you he’s been in love with you since you were children.

“all this time, we could’ve been . . .”

you can’t finish the sentence. the possibilities flood your mind, overwhelming you. the wasted time, the missed opportunities, the years you could have had together. but then you look at him, really look at him, you see the hope dawning in his eyes. and you realize it doesn’t matter how long you’ve waited. what matters is what happens now. what you say today.

“i want to be with you too,” you say, the smile that breaks across his face is like the sun coming out from behind clouds after a grueling thunderstorm. a torrent of everything you’ve been feeling — everything you’ve been holding back for years — pours out of you.

“i’ve been looking for you in other guys,” your breath hitches. “that’s why my dates never work out. because there’s no one like you. i could go on a million dates and i’d think about you on every single one. i didn’t think you would ever see me that way. i was too scared to ask, i didn’t want to ruin our friendship. i didn’t want you to hate me. i didn’t want to lose you forever, and i felt like did. i’ve been dying all week, satoru. literally dying. because i thought i’d lost you, and i couldn’t . . . i can’t. . .”

you’re rambling, pouring your heart out to him, your words a jumbled, messy stream of consciousness, and then you start crying, really crying, your breath hitching in your chest, your vision blurring.

“shit, please don’t cry,” he frowns. “i hate seeing you sad. fuck, don’t . . you could never lose me” he’s cursing under his breath, running a hand through his ivory hair, blue eyes wide with a mixture of horror and regret. “i can’t believe you’re crying because of me. i’m such an idiot”

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his chest, crystal tears soaking through his shirt.

“did you expect me to be all giddy and happy when you were avoiding me all week ?” you mumble into his shirt.

“no, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair. “i should’ve never left you. i should’ve told you how i felt but i didn’t think you’d ever see me that way, okay ? i thought i’d be stuck in the friendzone forever and i couldn’t deal with it. i didn’t actually want to ignore you. it wasn’t fair to you in the slightest and it was honestly a dick move on my part. . . i got in my head and i was trying to force myself to move on, but i’ll never do something that stupid ever again.”

“you promise ?” you ask, your voice small.

“i pinky promise,” he murmurs, looping his pinky around yours.

you’re glaring at him through blurred vision and half-lidded eyes. you’re so beautiful. even when you’re sad and mad at him.

( he’s a goner. has been since you walked into class, clinging to your mom’s leg, wailing because you didn’t want her to leave. he’s been a goner since you were sitting three desks away from him, learning how to count up to a hundred. he’s been a goner since the first time you looked at him like this. right after you’d clambered to your feet and demanded he made amends before you snitched on him. he’ll fix everything. he’ll fix everything even if it kills him. )

“please stop crying,” he groans, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “i’m really fucking sorry and i’m really fucking stupid too . . . and i know that’s surprising ‘cause i’m the smartest person you know—”

“you’re actually the worst. you genuinely suck satoru. . .” you interject, shoving at his chest to release yourself from his cloying grip. you’re laughing in spite of the tears in your eyes.

“i know” he chuckles, somehow managing to hold you even tighter

“i hate you” you say, knowing you meant the opposite.

“i love you. romantically.” he murmurs. and you know he’s clarifying because you were the type of friends who said it casually. frequently. the type of friends who said it everyday without fail. “i don’t love you the way friends are supposed to. which checks out ‘cause i’ve been an awful friend recently,”

“recently, yeah,” you say, giving him a watery smile, and he swears he’s going to have a heart attack if you keep looking at him. “but you’re still the best friend i’ve ever had.”

“i’ll be the best boyfriend you’ll ever have if you’ll let me,” he says, eyes sparkling hopefully. “can i be your boyfriend ? will you give me a chance to make you the happiest alive ?”

“you’re such a cornball,” you say, laughing through your tears. he’s asking like you’re about to get married.

“is that a yes ?” he asks, cheeks tinged cherry blossom pink, heart thumping erratically in his chest. he’d understand if you said no. right now he doesn’t feel like he’s any better than the losers you used to go on dates with. but unlike them he’s willing to pay his dues tenfold. a hundredfold. a thousandfold. . .

“yes, i’ll go out with you,” you grin, and before you can process it he’s hugging you so tight you can barely breathe and spinning you around as your laughter echoes in the living room.

when he puts you down, he cups your face in his hands, thumbs gently wiping away the tear stains on your cheeks. “you’ve gotta tell me what to do to fix everything now” he murmurs. “i don’t have any hello kitty bandaids on me.”

“you still don’t have any ?” you gape, choosing to indulge in his cheesy bit. he’s never going to shut up about him pushing you off the swings or your demand for a cute bandaid. he’ll probably tell the story even when your skin is all wrinkled and your hair’s turning silver. and you’re very okay with that. you’re ecstatic actually. “think of something quick or i’ll tell on you.”

“y’know i’m a genius, i already know what to do” you arch a brow and grins, “i’ll kiss it better.”

( he’s been waiting his whole life to say that )

“you should’ve said that after you pushed me off the swings,” you sigh. “or when you broke my favorite monster high doll. or maybe every time you picked me up from a date . . . we would’ve gotten here sooner.”

“i should’ve just told you i wanted you from the start,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “i could’ve saved us a lot of time and heartbreak.”

satoru finally kisses you, and it tastes like strawberries, the salt from your tears, and the spearmint from the gum he’d been chewing while playing mortal kombat. his hands are everywhere—your waist, cupping your neck, caressing your cheek. your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. it’s such a slow, sweet kiss, one that you’ve both craved forever. his lips are plush and soft, and he’s pulling you impossibly closer until you have to pull away, cursing the need for oxygen.

he’s looking at you, his cheeks rosy and flushed, blue eyes shining brighter than all the stars in the universe. “pinch me,” he says.

“what ?” you splutter, brows furrowed, head tilted as you blink at him

“pinch me,” he says again. “i’ve gotta make sure i’m not dreaming this time.”

you don’t know whether to laugh or melt. you do a mixture of both as you pinch him and he pretends to wince, “do you dream about me a lot then ?”

“all day, every day,” he quips. “you’re all i’ve ever dreamed of.”

“that’s so corny,” you say, but you’re smiling.

“oh that’s rich coming from you, little miss obsessed with rom coms,” he scoff. “if noah calhoun said that, you wouldn’t think so. you’d be geeking and saying you wish men like that existed. but last i checked i’m a man and i exist—”

“it wouldn’t be cringe because that’s the notebook,” you tut. “but y’know i think you’re quite like noah, actually. personality wise. i can see you hanging off a ferris wheel. and i’d definitely pants you.”

“of course you would” he shakes his head, “looks wise, i’m hotter than noah. wouldn’t you agree?”

“mmm, that’s pushing it,” you say, and he’s about to protest and pout and whine, but you cut him off with a kiss. it starts sweet and gentle before blossoming until you’re beneath him on the couch, his body pressed against yours, his kisses tickling you until you’re laughing so loud you can barely breathe.

“say i’m hotter than noah,” he murmurs against your skin.

“you’re hotter than noah,” you giggle. he loves you. he loves this. this is what he lives to do. make you laugh. he’s made you cry for the first and last time — okay maybe the third and last time if you count petty childhood escapades but he digresses— and he vows, right then and there, that he’ll die before he lets you cry because of him again.

he’s still hovering over you, forearms braced on either side of your head. but he’s not kissing you anymore, he’s just looking at you, and the look in his eyes is so soft, so tender, it makes your heart feel like it might just burst.

after over a decade of pining, of waiting for you to see him with bated breath, satoru can finally breathe easily. his longs are full of the air he’s denied himself of for so long. satoru could never live, never breathe, just be your friend. not really. as awful as it sounds it was a role he played, a costume he wore to stay close to you. but underneath it all, he was always yours. he’ll always be yours

people say the best things come to those who wait, and satoru has always been waiting. always been hoping. and now, looking at you, your eyes shining, your lips swollen from his kisses, he knows every moment of longing, every year of unspoken feelings, every day of carefully guarding his heart, was worth it.

“i’m gonna get her back.”

sato, suguru and toru all glance towards each other. they know what that voice means. there’s no talking him out of it.

but toru lowers his phone, tries regardless. “are you sure? y/n’s always been strong headed. she might hate you even more if—“

sukuna grabs his crotch aggressively. “keep talking and i’ll jizz on your face.”

toru squeaks. sukuna continues. “i know my own girl. know she’s a fucking brat, doing this shit to get on my nerves,” he growls. “she’s bored. testing me. probably doing this shit to see if i’ll show up at practice ‘n break his jaw for touching her.”

suguru is biting back a grin. “calling her your girl when she broke up with you last week? and the week before that?”

sukuna takes a swig of his beer but his jaw is ticking behind the can. “exactly. she knows where home is.”

sato’s grin is clumsy. “i dunno, man. seems like she’s got a new address,” he elbows suguru’s side. “naoya’s pants, wellesley street east.”

“M-4-Y, 1-H-5,” suguru snickers.

“glad you two have the energy to joke,” sukuna sets down his beer with a thud. “means you’ll have energy to help me out tomorrow night.

tomorrow? tomorrow can only mean one thing.

naoya zenin’s one million snap score party. and also, the party that the college football team throws every year before the start of a new season. the party that sukuna hasn’t been to since he quit the role of captain. the party where sukuna first found you drunk & dizzy in an alley just out back, perfume strong & heels clicky, stumbling into his chest with a clumsy grin & flushed cheeks as he held your hips against him to keep you from falling. you reeked of vodka & you kept slurring his name & ryomen sukuna thought you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

and now his pretty thing is somewhere curled into naoya’s side, and the thought makes sukuna’s throat itch.

suguru cocks his head. “so i’m guessing you have a plan?”

sukuna chugs his beer. “you know the plan.”

they do—they all do. sato is already grinning. suguru is shaking his head. toru is watching the fratboys with worried eyes.

sato, suguru and sukuna’s lips curl.

the plan?

sabotage.

# SHOW TIME !

at naoya zenin’s one million snapscore party, the air is heavy with the smell of drunken bodies / athlete sweat / something alcoholic dripping off a countertop. geto’s piercings glimmer in the evening dim. ryomen sukuna has his jaw tight. and sato gojo is already drunk and somewhere dancing, legworking with ease as rema’s azaman blares through the speakers.

sukuna and suguru are still scanning the scene when naoya saunters up to them.

naoya zenin is badly dyed hair, bright green eyes and a cocky lilt to his shoulders. he’s got the team’s varsity jacket around him—GO PANDAS!—and a grin too cruel to be kind. he raises his hands in faux welcome.

“suguru, sukuna,” naoya smiles. “didn’t think you’d make it.”

sukuna eyes him. “congratulations on your snapscore.”

“and my new position as captain,” naoya bites so hard his teeth show. “how’s retirement treating you, ryomen? enjoying life off the pitch?”

suguru slings an arm around sukuna, quick to come to his defence. “he’s doing great, thank you. how about you, captain? have you found confidence in your buck teeth?”

naoya’s smile dissolves.

“nice engagement bait,” naoya recovers. he’s grinning again but his lips only stretch, teeth hidden. “you always did bite like a bitch, suguru.”

“i try.”

“enjoy the booze,” naoya lets out a jagged breath, turning away. “try not to cry in your cups too much.”

sukuna has his arms crossed over his chest, suguru’s arm still slung around him. but he’s not watching naoya walk away. his eyes have drifted to you.

you across the party and perched on a seat at the bar, a glass of something pink in your hands and a dress so short he can trace the swell of your ass. and you’re laughing—oh god, you’re laughing, tucking hair behind your ear with flushed cheeks and a carefree smile. sukuna’s mouth dries. god, you’re so pretty. you’re always so pretty, and sukuna wants to tell you that; wants to curl up beside you and wipe away the red dribbling down your chin and maybe tug your dress down over your ass. you’d swat at him and tell him he’s ruining your outfit. and then you’d kiss him because you like when he gets territorial anyways.

you laugh again, and ryomen sukuna is already moving.

that is, until naoya curls up behind you.

sukuna stops in his tracks. naoya snakes an arm around your waist from behind—your waist again, not your hips, fucking idiot—and sukuna’s jaw goes slack. he watches naoya press his parched, un-vaselined lips to your shoulder blades, and he doesn’t miss the slight tense of your shoulders before you ease into his chest.

sukuna’s jaw ticks. “suguru.”

“hm?”

“get sato. it’s time.”

suguru grins. “yes, boss.”

suguru disappears into the crowd. sukuna’s eyes shift back to you, back to naoya, back to the way his hands slide up your side and the way he whispers something in your ear. you laugh again and sukuna’s jaw twitches, because the sound itself comes out strained.

you’re uncomfortable. and he’d be a fool to miss it.

suguru reappears with sato in tow.

sato is drunk. swaying. red-bruised lips & booze in his breath. his cheeks are flushed pink & his hair sweat-sticky and he’s slung over suguru’s back like his life depends on it. he nuzzles into suguru’s neck. “mmh—you called?”

sukuna’s eyes are still on you. he nods towards the bar, “you see naoya?”

sato squints. “so ugly,”

“he’s got his hands on my girl.”

sato frowns. “that won’t do.”

“yeah,” sukuna murmurs, lifting a cup of punch off a passing tray. suguru is wiping rum off sato’s lip. sukuna passes the cup to sato. “you remember the plan?”

sato gives a drunken nod. and then he’s off.

the plan is simple: red punch, ugly naoya, combination. sato gojo is supposed to be a ninja, an image of stealth and diligence. instead he’s a wobbly drunken mess, giggling boyishly as he stumbles towards the bar.

he’s so close, sukuna’s eyes narrow. just a few more steps and then naoya will be drenched—

but sato trips. and as he falls, he pulls naoya’s pants down with him.

the situation is a whole mess.

punch everywhere. sticky on naoya’s shocked face, on sato’s fallen figure, on the party’s hardwood floor. and everyone is watching—staring—at naoya zenin covered in punch, pants on the floor. those boxers—is that undertale?

naoya’s face is blood drenched. “you drunken fucking idiot—”

“m’sorry,” sato cries, face down, hands still gripping naoya’s pants. “was tryna—hic—spill the punch, hnghh—suguru—“

“get the fuck off me!” naoya kicks at him, pants rippling around his ankles. someone is pulling out their phone to record. another is already recording. everyone’s laughing, including you, and even ryomen sukuna is struggling to bite back the chuckle on his lips.

naoya scrambles out of the party, shuffling out in his sans undertale boxers with his pants around his feet. suguru has already made his way to sato’s side.

sato’s eyes are teary, and his forehead is bruised red from naoya’s kick. suguru cups his face, brows knit. “hey man. you alright?”

sato groans. “i spilled the punch and the pants.”

“mhm,” geto snorts, smushing sato’s cheeks between his palms. “good job, buddy.”

“i did good?”

“so good,” geto smiles down at him. “come on, up you go.”

suguru helps sato up to his feet. sukuna is already moving.

towards you, you at the bar with your palm over your mouth to muffle your laugh as you watch naoya flee into the night. sukuna steps into your space. your eyes are still on the door before you slowly, slowly, turn your head around to him.

your pupils are blown. cheeks flushed and chest heaving from the alcohol, and your eyes focus for a minute before you grin.

“aww, look,” you beam. “if it isn’t my ex-boyfriend.”

sukuna shouldn’t take advantage.

he knows if you were sober, it’d be a different story. he knows you’d kick and hit at him, maybe snarl about his audacity to show his face around you. but you’re too many drinks too deep and as drunk and dizzy as the day he met you in that alleyway, so instead of kicking at him you lean forward to cup his cheeks.

sukuna tilts his head to kiss your palm. “Hi, baby. you’re drunk.”

“noo,” you slur. “i’m tipsy.”

“mhm,” sukuna grunts, stepping forward to slide his arms around your hips before you can lean off the chair. he tugs your dress down over your ass, then strokes your thigh. “third glass?”

“so close!” you squeeze his neck happily. “i’m on my sixth.”

sukuna hugs you back. but his face is scowling.

naoya zenin—that fucking idiot. sukuna knows your limit is four. he knows that any more than that and you’ll be sick for days, groggy and weak and unable to get out of bed. he squeezes your hips. “s’too much, sweetheart.”

“i know,” you pout into his neck. “i couldn’t resist.”

oh, his poor girl. sukuna kisses your hair. just once—just because he missed the warmth of your skin—but then he does it again and again and you giggle into his chest. fuck. he’s missed the sound bad.

“i’m sorry.”

sukuna’s heart stops. “what?”

“for going past my limit.”

sukuna can feel you pouting in his neck. he sighs, because of course that’s what you meant. not that you were sorry for leaving him or whatever his delusions had him hearing in that moment. after all, he should be the one apologizing anyway. right?

“you’re okay,” he hugs you closer, pressing your head into his chest. god, you’re gonna be so sick tomorrow; and the day after, and the day after. “i’m not mad, pretty. don’t apologize.”

you nod against him. “are you gonna take care of me?”

sukuna wishes drunk you didn’t talk so much.

because it hurts to have to say no, no but i want to, no but i would if i knew you wouldn’t hate me for it when you’re sober, so he doesn’t say it at all. instead he traces circles on your hips. “gimme your phone.”

you rest your chin on his chest and beam up at him drunkenly instead.

sukuna lets out a sigh, shifting just enough to reach for your purse without jerking you off his chest. he slips your phone into his palm and tries for the passcode. it unlocks in one go. the passcode is still his birthday, and sukuna sighs again.

“i’m gonna call shoko,” he murmurs into your ear. “she’ll take care of you, yeah?”

he could take care of you too, you know. if you’d let him. but you wouldn’t, so he bites his lip.

“shoko?” you coo into his neck. “i love shoko.”

“i know,” sukuna squeezes your thigh. “i know you do.”

TORU’S REMARK: I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS…

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #2: GO BIG OR GO HOME !

taught by: geto suguru

“like the great oikawa tooru said, if you’re gonna hit it? hit it until it breaks.”

ΣΧ

ryomen sukuna is itch itch itching.

itching to know if you’re okay. itching to know if shoko—or, ugh, naoya—let you have those crackers you like to help you settle your stomach, kept your room slightly warm, and for christ’s sake, kept you away from the advil. you love to reach for them after a night of drinking. sukuna knows it only makes your headaches worse.

you haven’t posted on instagram in days.

not that he should know since you have him blocked. but luckily your account is public and sato’s allowed him to log in on his fake instagram hair page. SlayedBySato. hit them up on IG.

sukuna is lying on the couch, nose buried in a cushion. he watches your highlights with bleary eyes. in the one he’s viewing, you’re in a tight black dress, red and blue hues lighting up your face. you’re dancing the night away, cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering. his pretty party girl. god.

“look at my girl,” he mumbles into the pillow. “so fucking hot. i’ll slap the shit out of naoya zenin.”

geto laughs. “shouldn’t have let her get away, then.”

on the floor, sato has his head in suguru’s lap, pouting as geto presses an iced cloth to his forehead. he flinches. “sugu, how much longer?”

“shh,” geto hisses, even though the swelling went down ages ago.

sukuna rolls so his body lays upright, setting his phone down on his chest. “it’s not enough.” he glares at the ceiling. “that stunt with his boxers? did nothing but make a bunch of people laugh.”

suguru and sato look at each other. geto’s voice goes low.

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying he’s a fraud and i want everyone to fucking know it.” sukuna sits up, tossing his phone unto the coffee table. “he’s still captain of the football team. but i have a video that could change that.”

“the season’s first game, naoya’s first official game as captain…” sato thinks. “are you saying you wanna pull something?”

“i’m thinking of playing it in the locker room TV. make the other boys lose respect for him.”

sato and suguru look at each other again.

“boring.” sato says.

“huh?”

“toru has access to the AV booth,” a slow grin curls its way onto suguru’s lips. “would be a fucking shame if he and i were to mess with the feed on game day.”

sato sits up from suguru’s lap. “locker room TV? boring as fuck, man. the sukuna i know? he’d play whatever video he has in front of the whole fucking stadium.”

sukuna looks at his frat brothers. at their wicked grins and stupid pride and willingness to follow him to the ends of the earth. it’s foolish, honestly. going to such lengths to destroy naoya zenin because he dared to look twice at his girl. but he’s a stupid man, and his frat brothers are even stupider, and this is what the sigma-chi brotherhood is really about.

sukuna’s lip twitches. “i fucking love you guys.”

“we know,” suguru says. “and don’t ever say that shit again.”

# GAME DAY !

LET’S GO PANDAS !

the chanting in the stadium sounds more like a roar.

the air is electric—buzzing, vibrating. cheerleaders on the sidelines with cheeks smeared in blue & red paint. there’s the scent of hot dogs & fried food grilling. a crowd in jerseys with flags in their hands. in the kaisen campus stadium, the midsummer air is thick with anticipation. it’s game day.

sukuna sucks the air into his lungs. he hasn’t been to the stadium in a minute.

sato has run off to get some hot dogs. suguru and toru should already be in the AV room. the pitch has no football players but marching band members instead, drums and trombones blaring music across the grass. sukuna should go over to his and sato’s seats. instead he’s on the stairs, staring down at you.

is it fair for you to look this happy with him away from you?

he shakes the thought away. he always wants you to be happy—he thinks. but happiness with naoya? naoya zenin? he’s not quite sure about that. actually, he is. sukuna knows he’s fucking furious. he knows he doesn’t like the fact that you have naoya’s number on your back, or the fact that you’re jumping and cheering his name when the players haven’t even walked out yet. his jaw ticks. something ugly curls in his throat. he swallows it away.

he stares a little longer. watches your skirt swish around your thighs, watches your arms wave in the air, watches your hips sway to the music. you’ve clearly recovered and your dancing is out of tune as always, and sukuna bites back a smile.

he’s still smiling when you look up at him.

his face falls.

your head lifts towards him, and he doesn’t miss the way your body tenses. your arms drop to your sides. your palms curl into fists.

uh oh.

you look away, pausing for a moment. and then you trudge between bodies and make your way over to what sukuna can only assume is the concession stand.

sukuna follows. he doesn’t give himself time to think any better of it.

——

caramel popcorn and half-burnt sugar. the concession stand smells like caramel popcorn and half-burnt sugar.

and vanilla, but not the syrupy sweet kind. it’s the kind that sukuna smells whenever he kisses that spot below your ear, or presses his lips to the dip of your waist. at the concession stand, sukuna stands behind you with his hands in his pockets, pretending he doesn’t see the frown on your face as you stand in line in front of him.

“go away.” you deadpan.

“i’m here to eat.”

“You will choke on your food and die.”

harsh.

sukuna’s used to it though. so when it’s your turn to get a donut, he slips out his wallet and drops some cash before you can even protest. the stand worker takes the excess money with a grin. you turn to sukuna with a frown.

“what are you doing?”

your tone is mean but ryomen sukuna can’t take you seriously. your hair has ribbons tangled throughout it. you look so fucking cute.

he looks you in the eyes. “let me check your temperature. feeling feverish? at all?”

you only eye him in response. “stop caring about me.”

“can’t,” he mutters. “let me check it.”

he pads closer, and you’re still glaring daggers at him, but you don’t bite his palm as it cups your face. he pats the back of his hand against your neck, then your forehead, then your chest—and then his palm’s on your cheek again.

“you had six drinks that night,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. “was so worried. don’t like when you go over your limit.”

“i’m fine,” your voice is sharp—or trying to be. “don’t touch me.”

he shifts his hand into his pocket. “okay.” he says. “i’m gonna get you back.”

that sets you off. “i’m done with you, asshole!” you stab your finger into his chest. “i’m serious—no more on and off bullshit. i’ve moved on. i’m with naoya, for fuck’s sake. you just can’t accept that cuz of your stupid little ego!”

you’re still stabbing his chest. sukuna only watches you patiently, letting you yell to your heart’s content.

“and i hate you!” you tug his collar just to shove him away again. “i’m moving on. i’m happy now. so don’t try to act like you’re still my boyfriend!”

“sorry,” he trails off. he’s still watching you poke him with half-lidded eyes.

“i like your ribbons,” he murmurs. “you look pretty.”

“ugh!”

you storm off, and sukuna bites his cheek as your ribbons swing behind you. his hand finds the spot where you hit his chest and he sighs.

ryomen sukuna needs to get you back. and the sooner he does? the better.

———-

sato gojo has five bomboclat hotdogs in his lap.

how humongous! and worst of all, he refuses to share them with sukuna, who left his own food at the concession stand while his mind fixated on your face. you looked so pretty yelling at him. fuck. has he gone mad?

he shakes the thought away. he has his phone in his hands, facetime call with suguru on screen. toru gojo is setting up a monitor in the background with shaky hands. suguru has his phone at a poor angle and he’s humming into its mic with glee.

sato hooks his mustard-sticky chin over sukuna’s shoulder. “yo, sugu.” he says to the call.

“yo,”

“i have five hotdogs,” sato says humbly. “i’m saving a quarter for you.”

“love your generosity.”

“thank you, brother.”

sukuna shoves sato’s face away, ignoring the pout on his face as he rubs his still-bruised forehead. “suguru. how’s the prep going?”

“we’re all good here,” suguru says, turning the call camera to face toru and the set-up. “toru, you’re on video. say hi.”

“uh—hi!”

“hey, twin!” sato’s chin is back on sukuna’s shoulder. he frowns. “i didn’t save you any hotdogs.”

“that’s okay,” toru pushes up his glasses. “i don’t like hotdogs much anyways.”

suguru laughs behind the camera. “aww. i’ll get you a hotdog, buddy.”

“guys, focus.” sukuna pinches his nose. “the footage. is it ready?”

“yup,” suguru pops the p. just waiting for your signal.”

down on the pitch, the teams are lively.

the stadium is roaring. confetti everywhere, cheers and screams from fangirls and fanboys alike. the campus team jogs out in high spirits. and naoya zenin is there, golden boy of the season, arms in the air and waving like he’s the best thing since sliced bread. sukuna tries not to roll his eyes.

it’s a new season, and this one begins with a speech.

and who else to deliver it but the new captain, naoya? he has his helmet in his arm, grin wide, eyes gleaming. he stands on the podium with a mic to his mouth, and then he clears his throat.

his voice bellows. “GO PANDAS!”

the crowd roars. “go pandas!” sato cheers along. sukuna smacks his head.

“it is my honor, as the new captain of the football team, to welcome you all to the new season. kaisen university has suffered many losses. but this year, under my lead, i swear to you all—victory!”

the crowd roars again. sato is smart enough to not get caught up in the high spirits this time.

naoya raises a hand to calm the crowd. “but first off, i want to say a thank you to our alumni, sponsors, team—“

suguru turns the phone camera to himself, grinning. “i think this is the time?”

“your thinking is correct.”

“hit it, toru.”

toru fumbles with the control panel. he plugs in a mic, and suguru brings his mouth to the head.

“hey naoya,”

suguru’s voice crackles through the stadium speakers. the crowd stills. the football team on the grass is frozen in confusion.

“the alumni, sponsors, team you’re talking about,” you can hear the smile in suguru’s voice. “is it these ones?”

toru hits a button.

the big screen flickers.

the static shifts to a video. it’s one of those out of focus, wobbly snapchat ones, captioned ‘this guy’ with a bunch of laughing emojis. someone says something in the background. naoya scoffs.

“alumni? sponsors? they’re all a bunch of old has-beens with heart conditions,” he spits. “lousy fuckers with too much money. yet they can’t even buy us a trophy. idiots.”

but the video doesn’t end there. naoya is talking while he changes out of his uniform, focused on the locker in front of him. “and this shitty team,“ he bites. “dumb fuckers who would need help to wipe their asses. can’t follow instructions for shit. i see why sukuna fucking left.”

the video ends. all that’s left is the grey replay button on the screen. suguru shifts back away from the mic, holding his phone to his face. “holy shit,” he says into the facetime call. “we fucking did that.”

“yeah,” sukuna says. “we did.”

but he’s distracted. naoya is arguing with someone on field but sukuna doesn’t care to see what that’s about. instead his eyes are on you down near the pitch, your hands gripping the stands. he can’t tell if you’re confused, distraught, happy, sad. it’s fucking killing him. he needs to see your face.

sato climbs unto his chair. he cups his hands around his mouth. “GET HIM OFF THE FIELD!”

sukuna’s eyes widen in alarm, but others are already joining in. OFF-THE-FIELD! OFF-THE-FIELD! GET NA-O-YA OFF-THE-FIELD!”

on the pitch, naoya’s face flushes in embarrassment. “you sorry sacks of shit! do you fucking know who i am?!”

they’ll never know, because he never has the chance to tell. security guards are escorting him away before he even knows it.

sukuna’s eyes flit down the bleachers. back down to you. he finds you hopping at your seat, ribbons swishing as you chant along with the crowd.

OFF-THE-FIELD! OFF-THE-FIELD!

sukuna’s lip twitches. get him off the field.

———

“OFF-THE-FIELD! OFF-THE-FIELD!”

the chanting of the stadium is still buzzing in sukuna’s ears.

toru gojo left early, body aching with anxiety and in dire need of a nap. sukuna’s decided it’s about time to leave too—college football games aren’t really his thing anymore.

suguru and sato are geeking out over the whole thing behind him as sukuna trudges forward with his hands in his pockets. he’s half-smiling. he still can’t believe the whole scene had you chanting along and hopping eagerly in your seat. so cute. your ribbons were bouncing everywhere. so fucking cute.

“this is all your fault!”

sukuna knows that voice anywhere.

sato and suguru know it too. the smiles quickly leave their faces, brows knitting in alarm. the three quietly speed up towards the corridor, and the scene has sukuna seeing red.

“you dumb fucking whore,” naoya has you cornered against the wall. “all this shit because of you and your crazy, batshit boyfriend. ‘deal’ my fucking asshole. you see how they embarrassed me? because of you?”

sukuna’s already moving. but geto pulls him back. “listen.”

“you can’t pin this on me,” you try to keep your voice steady, but sukuna knows how your voice gets when you’re about to snap. naoya’s face is too close to yours for his liking. “you’re the one who said all that stupid shit. take some fucking responsibility.”

“responsibility?” naoya’s teeth curl. his breath is hot against your lip. “deal my fucking ass. this was your plan all along wasn’t it, stupid bitch? date me and get closer to me so you can sabotage me along with your boyfriend—”

“naoya,” your voice is dangerous. “i’m warning you, get back.”

“or what?” he spits in your face. “you’ll call your big bad boyfriend to save you? run to him like some stupid little whore—?”

you slap naoya silly.

and for a moment, sukuna’s shoulders un-tense. he’s been holding his breath the entire time, fingers curled into the wall, suguru’s hand on his chest stopping him from charging forward. but fuck, he’s proud. that’s his fucking girl. fuck. why’d he have to go and lose you?

but he can’t relax for long.

“you fucking bitch!”

naoya shoves you against the wall and you thud against it. sukuna doesn’t have to pry geto’s hand away—they’re already charging in.

naoya’s eyes widen as soon as he sees the trio. suguru swings. sato punches. but naoya dodges both, shoulder bumping into them as he slips between the two. he should be stopped by sukuna—but sukuna charges straight to your side, tugging you to his chest, breath heaving. naoya zenin escapes.

suguru and sato’s eyes flit towards the exit. their breathing is sharp, ragged. their eyes drift back to you in alarm. fuck. you’re more important.

sukuna hugs you to his chest, tight. his hand presses your head under his chin. he wants to pretend you’re not fucking shaking in his arms, but god you are, god—you are.

“you’re okay, baby,” he lies. your hand is fisting his collar like you want to pull him closer—or maybe push him away. “you’re okay. i’ve got you, you’re okay.”

you squeeze his collar. “ryo,” your voice is small, “don’t go after him.”

“i won’t baby, swear to god i won’t.”

but that’s just another lie. he presses your head further into his chest, palm heavy on your head. and then he mouths to suguru and sato:

GO. FUCKING. KILL HIM.

they don’t need to be told twice.

“ryo,” you whisper in his chest. “where are they going?”

“they’re giving us privacy,” he lies, and you’ll hate him for it tomorrow but he’ll settle for holding you today. he kisses your head. “are you hurt? hit your head? look at me.”

he can feel your lips jut out in his chest. “i’m fine.”

“i told you to look at me.”

you grumble, but oblige regardless. and god, sukuna’s heart aches. you have your chin on his chest, lashes tear rimmed, cheeks flushed and lips jut out in a stubborn pout. your eyes are glistening with wet. sukuna’s jaw aches.

naoya zenin has got to go to hell.

and he’ll send him there personally. he kisses your forehead, “gorgeous.” and then his thumbs wipe your lashes. “i’m gonna check if you’re concussed. do you have a headache?”

“this is so stupid,” you grumble. “i’m not concussed. and you know it.”

sukuna ignores you, cups your face in his palms. “what day of the week is it?”

“monday.” you grumble.

“gonna say some numbers, say them back to me in reverse,” he strokes your cheek. “four-two-four-two-five-six-four.”

you say them back perfectly. sukuna kisses your forehead. “good job baby,” he murmurs. “smart girl. does anything hurt?”

“no.”

“don’t lie to me.”

you rest the side of your face on his chest, pausing for a moment. then you raise a hand to grip his bicep. “my head hurts. just a little.”

“anything else?”

“i was scared,” you mutter, small. “i was so scared, ryo.”

naoya zenin has got to go to hell.

it’s the second time sukuna thinks that, but he shakes the thought away. he squeezes your hips. tilts your chin so you’re looking up at his face. your lashes are wet & your lips are wobbly & ryomen sukuna thinks you are grace.

“shh,” his thumb rubs your bottom lip. “you’re safe. you’re always safe with me.”

“i know,” your voice croaks as you nod.

“fuck, baby,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss your eyelids, nose, cheek, forehead. he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth. and then he finds your lips, tongue licking your mouth before he kisses you deep and slow.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs between your lips. “m’gonna kill naoya.”

“noo,” you whine, tugging his collar. “i told you not to do that.”

sukuna kisses his teeth, stepping back so he can hoist you up into his arms. his hands dip beneath your thighs to haul you up, and now you’re peering down at him through those sad, wet lashes. he kisses the pout off your lips. squeezes your thighs with his big hands. opens his mouth to say—

“i knocked that sucker out the park!”

sato and geto saunter back into the corridor, grins wicked, steps light. their knuckles are bloody and their jaws are bruised and their smiles are so bright they’re practically gleaming.

you turn to look at them. sukuna grabs the back of your head and pushes you into his shoulder. you pout into his neck as he keeps his palm heavy on your head.

sato is shadowboxing. “right hook—left hook—“ he punches the air. “clean hit to the jaw. taught the bloody wanker a good fucking lesson.” he fakes a british accent.

suguru nods, hands in his pockets & smile smug. “it was a good punch.”

“right?!”

sukuna’s lip tugs. he clicks his tongue as sato fakes punches at suguru, suguru dodging them with lazy laughter. sukuna clears his throat. sato and suguru perk up.

“take her to the nurse,” his voice is low. “make sure she doesn’t have a concussion.”

suguru steps forward and sukuna gently moves you into his arms. you frown up at suguru. “i’m not concussed.”

geto only chuckles, shifting your thigh over his arm to lift you better. “i don’t think so either. but your boyfriend runs a strict program, doesn’t he?”

“ex-boyfriend,” you bite. “and he’s not stricter than me.” “never,” suguru smiles. “you’re the strictest.”

sukuna scoffs behind you. sato just says he likes your ribbons.

he watches the boys leave with you. sato bouncing beside geto, you still arguing in suguru’s arms. but then he thinks about naoya. thinks about how he called his girl a whore, how he had the guts to shove you against a wall instead of just taking your slap like a fucking man. his jaw locks.

his feet are already moving. but then he remembers. don’t go after him.

he’s already broken that promise, already sent sato and suguru to beat him bloody. and he trusts his frat brothers, trusts they didn’t go easy on him. but his knuckles ache. he wants to beat naoya down so fucking badly.

but he knows if he sees naoya now, it will only end in death. and sukuna won’t be the one in the deathbed.

sukuna slams his fist into the wall. “fuck!”

SUGURU’S REMARK: CHILLL. WE CONTROLLED THAT

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #3: ON THE OFFENSE !

taught by: toji zenin

‘want your girl back? then get fucking serious. stop playing her damn games and show her who’s the man.’

ΣΧ

“i have to kill naoya zenin.”

on toji zenin’s bedroom floor, ryomen sukuna’s jaw is tight. his hands dig into his thighs and suguru sits beside him with worried eyes. toji zenin is on the edge of his bed, running a brush through a jet black lace front wig. his son, five-and-a-half year old megumi zenin, sits beside him with a beach blond color 613 bone-straight wig on his head.

megumi tugs his father’s sleeve, voice flat.

“daddy, i have a buss down.”

toji doesn’t look up from his mannequin. “looks great, kiddo.”

toji zenin is twenty-four, stubble on his chin and single-ish student dad. single-ish because megumi’s mother left him when he turned twenty-one, but now he’s engaged to a pretty rich lady who sukuna still can’t believe forgave him for his lies. whatever—that’s a story for another day. even though toji’s girl is rich, he still insists on picking up odd jobs here and there to support him and meg rather than relying on her money. he’s currently working as a wig influencer for ISEEHAIR®.

on sukuna’s right, suguru has his hair in twin braids—courtesy of megumi zenin—and the same kind of ribbons you wore on game day—courtesy of SlayedBySato. he pats sukuna’s shoulder. “hey man, it’s okay. she’s okay.”

“you don’t fucking know that,” sukuna spits. “you don’t know it that bastard is still around her. i should’ve fucking killed him. slammed his skull into the wall back in the stadium.”

megumi blinks, gaze flat. he tugs his father’s sleeve. “daddy, is uncle kuna okay?”

“he’s in love,” toji answers, reaching for the hot comb. “makes you stupid.”

megumi nods, blond wisps of hair sticking to his cheek. then he stares at uncle sukuna for a bit longer before sliding his chubby body off the bed. “i’m gonna lay my edges.”

megumi zenin pads away.

suguru smiles after him. but then his smile dissolves, and he shifts his gaze back to sukuna. sukuna’s jaw is still tight, eyes glaring daggers at toji’s bedroom floor, and suguru elbows his side. “relax, man. brooding’s not gonna fix anything.”

“suguru’s right,” toji grumbles. “sato and suguru already beat him down. that didn’t make you feel better, did it?”

sukuna squints.

“you want your girl back? stop playing her damn games,” toji continues. “show her she can’t just keep playing around. you’ve embarrassed naoya, sabotaged him. all you’ve done is play along with her bratty lil’ antics.”

megumi’s voice comes from the other room. “daddy, can you help me lay my edges?”

“in a minute, kid.” toji doesn’t look up from the mannequin. “you want your girl? beat her at her own fucking game.”

sukuna grits his teeth. suguru slings an arm around him, braids swinging. “there’s a party for the football team tonight,” he says. “pretty sure y/n will be there again.”

sukuna swallows. thinks about it. and then the door swings open.

in comes sato gojo with megumi zenin in his arms. the five year old has wig edges laid, hair on fleek, and there is no doubt he’s been SlayedBySato.

sato’s grin is clumsy.

“did someone say party?”

# SHOW TIME !

at the party, the bass is so loud the speakers are moving.

not a lot—just a little—but the sound is so loud that sato is pouting as suguru helps him cover his ears. geto yells at some footballer to turn the music down. it takes them too long to comply.

sukuna is on a couch trying to ignore the babe curling herself into his side.

pamela? no—pairin. hair dyed mauve & flushed pink cheeks & a pretty nice rack—not that sukuna is looking. well he did look, he’s just a man and she’s got some pretty nice tits, but it’s okay. he still thinks yours are perkier.

pairin is trailing a hand up his thigh.

“ryo,” she coos. “it’s been forever. i’ve missed you.”

it has been forever. ryomen sukuna hasn’t slept with pairin, or any other girl for that matter, since he started dating you. yes you’ve broken up and gotten back together a hundred times, and technically when you’re broken up he’s a free man, but sukuna knows if he dared to touch another woman even when you’re not with him he’d never hear the end of it. so he’s always been patient. always waited.

which is why it’s not fucking fair for you to let naoya curl up behind you right now.

his eyes narrow. ryomen sukuna watches as naoya slips behind you at the bar, arm around your waist once again. fucking idiot. sukuna doesn’t even care about his arm on your waist instead of your hips anymore. once he gets his hands on naoya, he won’t even have an arm to begin with.

but sukuna doesn’t understand it.

he knows his girl. he knows you. he knows you bark more than you bite, he knows you’re bratty and stubborn and selfish and petty, and he knows men like naoya zenin are not your fucking type. he knows you would never put up with a man who would even yell at you—he found that out the hard way. so how could you let naoya touch you so casually after he dared to disrespect you?

are you really moving on?

he’s heard about it before. boundaries crumbling when people fall in love. is that what’s happening here? is naoya manipulating you? are you being pressured? can he kill him?

or do you actually—god forbid—like naoya?

sukuna scoffs. fucking hell if you do. he’ll kill naoya so you have no one to love. he’ll be damned if the man who steals your heart after him is one that doesn’t even know how to hold you right. naoya zenin will die today. ryomen sukuna will make sure of it.

“ryo,” pairin coos. when did her tits press against his chest?

she’s shifted so much that she’s practically on top of him, thigh digging into his hip. sukuna kisses his teeth. “don’t fucking call me that.”

pairin pouts, sliding a hand down his chest. “so mean. ever since you started dating that girl, you’ve become so mean to me.”

sukuna hears a laugh. it’s you, laughing at something the bartender says. another poor man who will be joining sukuna’s kill list. or maybe not, since you seem happy. you take a sip of your drink and frown when a drop lands on your chest. so cute.

pairin lifts a hand to shift his jaw back to her face. “you’re smiling.”

“yeah,” his voice is bored. “not at you.”

she frowns. “you used to be fun.”

“i used to be single.”

he still is right now, but not for long. never for long. he watches as you take another cup from the bartender. that’s drink number three. behind you naoya presses his face into your neck, and sukuna watches as you ease into him.

ryomen sukuna is blinded by rage.

he’s not quite thinking when he does it. he’s not quite thinking when he grabs pairin by the back of her neck, shoving her lips onto his. she squeaks, “mmph—!” as sukuna presses his lips against her. she tries to sneak her tongue past his lips. he keeps his mouth shut.

sukuna sees it.

he keeps his eyes open the whole time, and across the bar he watches your face lift. you’re laughing, you always are, but then your gaze drifts across the room to him.

the drink in your hand nearly drops.

you do that little thing where your chest heaves—anxious?—and your fingers curl tight around the cup in your hands. your brows furrow like you’re glaring but your lips are wobbly, oh god, they’re so wobbly—

he pushes pairin off his lap.

but it’s too late. you’re already off your chair, scrambling, and sukuna can’t see that well from this far but he knows your eyes are wet. he saw that tear slip down your cheek. he bolts for the exit but someone pulls him back by the shoulder—

“sukuna?” sato’s brows are knit. “what the fuck? what’s wrong man?”

sukuna’s chest is still heaving. his eyes are still on the door.

ryomen sukuna has lost the girl once again.

TOJI’S REMARK: NOT THAT KIND OF OFFENSE, IDIOT.

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #4: SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE !

taught by: sato gojo

“girls like y/n? they like to keep things difficult. and your prefer it just like that, don’t you?”

ΣΧ

ryomen sukuna hasn’t left his room in days.

two weeks. it’s been two weeks since he kissed another girl and watched you leave with tears in your eyes. and sukuna’s disgusted. stomach against the mattress and head buried in a pillow. you’re pretty when you cry—you’re always pretty—but not so much when he’s the cause of your tears.

SlayedBySato is officially blocked by you on instagram. sato’s tried to come in to cheer sukuna up, but to no avail. sukuna won’t eat anything suguru cooks, or any food at all for that matter. megumi sometimes opens his door and stares at him with bored eyes before leaving. toru comes into his room to sit on the floor and read. he’s always shaky & anxious and glancing up at sukuna every five seconds when he does that, but he still comes in to offer his company anyways.

sukuna’s scrolling through his phone, eyes watching nothing in particular. he gets a notification. probably suguru offering him food. maybe just team snapchat. he ignores it. but then his phone chimes again.

[ mine🫀: OBLIGATIONS.docx ]

sukuna’s brows knit. you have him blocked. that can’t be you.

but he clicks the message anyways. and it is you, and the first thing that greets him is your profile picture. you’re smiling big into the camera, angle low & silly, and somehow you still manage to look bright and beautiful. sukuna swallows. scrolls down to your new messages.

mine🫀: i know what you did at that party was just to get my attention. mine🫀: since u wanna be pathetic i’ll give you more opportunity to do so mine🫀: OBLIGATIONS.docx

sukuna clicks the document. there are no greetings, no ‘to whom may be concerned’, no date or titles. just three things.

WRITE ME A LETTER OF APOLOGY. HANDWRITTEN.

CLEAR OUT EVERY ITEM IN MY SHOPPING CART. USERNAME: y/nthebaddest PASSWORD: d1cknballs11037

APOLOGIZE TO ME AND ADMIT TO YOUR PLANS OF SABOTAGE IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE CAMPUS, JUST LIKE IN YOUR STUNT ON GAME DAY.

his phone chimes again.

mine🫀: you have one week. if you want me back you’ll complete everything on this list. if u dc just ignore it. mine🫀: bye sukuna.

sukuna stares at the list. studies every word. contemplates each task.

and then he laughs.

yeah. that’s his fucking girlfriend.

# SHOW TIME

sukuna trudges into the frathouse living room with his laptop under his arm. at the center table sato is already there, humming contentedly while playing a game of monopoly by himself. he perks up when he hears the sound of the door.

“well, well,” sato sings. “look who crawled out of my grandfather’s ass.”

“what does that even mean?”

“ignore him,” suguru hums. he steps out from the kitchen with a plate of steaming hot jollof rice in his hands. he scoops some with his spoon, blows on it, and offers a bite to sukuna. “here, try some.”

“mm,” sukuna murmurs, leaning down for a bite. it’s hot, chewy—but then sukuna frowns.

“there’s no maggi in this rice.”

geto’s face falls. “no more food for you.”

whatever. sukuna sits at the center table, setting up his laptop right over sato’s monopoly game. he ignores sato’s protests as he opens up your shopping cart. “she sent me a list.” he announces. “of stuff i have to do if i want her back.”

suguru slides in at the opposite side of the table, brows raised. “show us.”

WRITE ME A LETTER OF APOLOGY. HANDWRITTEN.

CLEAR OUT EVERY ITEM IN MY SHOPPING CART. USERNAME: y/nthebaddest PASSWORD: d1cknballs11037

APOLOGIZE TO ME AND ADMIT TO YOUR PLANS OF SABOTAGE IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE CAMPUS, JUST LIKE IN YOUR STUNT ON GAME DAY.

sato blinks at the screen. “dick n’ balls,” he smiles wide. “i love your girlfriend.”

“tread lightly.”

suguru squints at the last item. “this is bad. she’s saying she wants you to confess in front of the whole school? like on game day?” his eyes lift to sukuna. “the dean might actually suspend you if we pull something. you know how much trouble i got in when they heard my voice on the speakers?”

“i had to pay him out of trouble,” sato shudders. “and it wasn’t cheap.”

sukuna frowns. if sato’s complaining? it definitely wasn’t cheap.

but sukuna only opens up your cart, taking in the items on screen. he’s not surprised when he scrolls through the items. lingerie from bordelle & agent provocateur, bags from dior and bottega vennetta, shoes, makeup—the high end kind—and then a bunch of sex toys, also unnecessarily overpriced. his lips tug when he notices a pair of lacy black panties. he already knows that’s for him.

or it could be for naoya to fuck you in, so his face falls.

sato slumps against sukuna’s shoulder. “wow. pricey stuff.”

“she likes nice things,” he mutters, double checking the items. he makes sure everything is in CAD and not USD, and then he checks out. nearly $5000 on clothing, accessories, lingerie. CIBC sends him a notification for possible fraud on his card immediately. he clicks no, this was me.

suguru whistles. “well, that’s that.” he leans back on his palms. “on to task number two?”

——

sukuna taps his pencil against the paper in front of him. “how do i spell exquisite.”

“e-s-q, u-z-t,” sato answers proudly. “all you have to do is sound out the vowels. i learned that trick back in freshman year.”

“there are no vowels in what you just spelled.”

suguru drags a palm over his face. he watches as sato strokes his chin, both he and sukuna staring at the half-empty letter with intense focus. he’s not sure whether to start with explaining to sato that this is not the spelling of exquisite, or if he should let sukuna know that ‘e’ and ‘u’ are indeed vowels.

he chooses to do neither. “sukuna, what do you need the word ‘exquisite’ for?”

“i need to tell her her ass is exquisite.”

“in her apology letter?”

“Yes.”

oh, okay. actually no—it’s not okay. suguru pinches his nose. “this is an apology letter. what does her ass have to do with this?!”

“she likes when i say nice things about her body,” sukuna mumbles, low. geto softens. that’s actually sweet.

“i’m gonna tell her i like her nipples.”

suguru snatches the letter from his hands.

he makes the mistake of letting his eyes drop to the poorly written text, and he’s reading it in his head before he can think any better of it: Hello, I am sorry. Your ass is esquizit. Come back to me. Nipples.

“jesus fucking christ,” suguru breathes.

sukuna scowls at him. “you didn’t let me finish the last sentence.”

sato hugs his knees. “i like this letter.”

suguru ignores them. he puts the letter aside, and tears out a new sheet of paper from the notepad on the table. “look, ryomen. i know you’re not good with words. and i know y/n it’s important to you. so we’re gonna help you.”

sato leans back on his palms. “yup, we are.”

“i meant i’m gonna help him,” suguru glares at sato. “tell me what’s on your mind. what you think. what you feel in your chest when you think about her. if she looked you in the eye and told you she was upset about all you’ve done, what would you say to her?”

sukuna scowls at nothing in particular, pondering. “i’d kiss her.”

“that’s what you would do,” suguru wags his pencil. “what would you say?”

sukuna thinks a bit harder. he thinks about how you look when you’re sad, how you don’t laugh, how your bottom lip juts out in that wobbly pout that makes his stomach hurt. he thinks about how you’d cuss at him before the tears fall, and then you’d grip his collar while spitting teary insults, before collapsing in his chest and letting him kiss your cheek till you quiet down. sukuna thinks very hard.

“i’d tell her i’m sorry,” he says. “and that i hate it when she cries.”

suguru nods. “go on,”

“i’d tell her i was scared,” he murmurs. “of her moving on. of her finding someone better.” he breathes. “i don’t want her to be with anyone that’s not me.”

suguru and sato stay silent.

“i don’t even care about naoya,” sukuna’s voice is tired. his palm slides over his face. “i just want her to be with me.”

“aww,” sato coos.

“shut up.”

but sukuna doesn’t shove sato away when he leans over to hug his head. sato pats sukuna’s face into his chest. “suguru,” sukuna mutters. “can you say that i miss her?”

“already did.”

suguru turns the paper around to reveal the words. sukuna squints to make out the words behind the pretty cursive.

dear y/n, i know i've said sorry a thousand times. i know it doesn't mean much coming from me. but i mean it. i'm sorry for the party. i'm sorry for kissing someone else. i'm sorry for making you cry. i hate it when you cry, hate when i make you sad. i hate it when you look at me like you don't trust me anymore. i was scared. scared you were moving on. scared you were finding someone better. i was scared i was losing you for good. i don't care about naoya. i don't care about other women. i don't care about any of it. i just want you. i want to earn you back. i want to earn your trust. i want to be the person you deserve. i love you. i've never loved anyone else like you. i don't want to love anyone else. please give me a chance to prove it. — sukuna

sukuna blinks at the letter. “i sound pathetic.”

“you are pathetic,” suguru sets it down. “for y/n at least.”

he is, isn’t he?

suguru taps his pencil against the table. “so, do you like it? or shall we draft a new one?”

sukuna thinks about it. sato is still patting his head.

“nah,” he says. “it’s perfect.”

SATO’S REMARK: OH WE’RE SO GETTING HER BACK

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #5: HAVE YOU EVER APOLOGIZED WITH YOUR LIFE ON THE LINE ?!

taught by: nanami kento

“this is the stupidest plan i’ve ever heard.”

ΣΧ

the letter is done. the shopping cart is cleared. but the boys of sigma chi can’t rest just yet.

they do so anyway. suguru is sprawled lazily on the couch, legs spread and popcorn bucket in his hands. sato has his cheek on geto’s chest, curled up beside him. and even sukuna is leaning into the warmth, legs crossed on the floor and his head against suguru’s leg. the tv is playing something none of them truly care about.

suguru takes a bite of popcorn, teeth sticky. “how the fuck are we gonna pull off the last task?”

sato tosses a kernel into sukuna’s open mouth. “i have no idea.”

suguru pops another kernel between his lips, and then feeds a bite through sato’s open mouth on his chest. “before we even get to that—i’ve been thinking. what about that deal naoya mentioned? back in the stadium?”

sato and sukuna perk up.

sukuna’s jaw ticks again. he’s tried not to think about it. tried not to think about how naoya dared to raise his voice at you, how he dared to shove you back in his anger. he licks his canines. his chest is hot.

“i’ve been thinking about it too,” sato says. “ i have a theory.”

“uh oh.”

“don’t be mean,” sato pouts, and suguru pulls his cheek lovingly. he leans off suguru’s chest, palms still on his shoulders for balance. “my theory? y/n wants to make sukuna jealous. naoya wants him jealous too. boom. they work together and date.”

suguru nods. “but now, naoya thinks y/n is dating him so she and sukuna can work together to trash his reputation,” he muses. “and so he’s treating her badly.”

sukuna’s nails dig into his palms.

he knew you wanted him jealous—that’s obvious. but the thought of his stupid antics putting you in danger? with naoya? fuck. you’re a sharp girl. but you’re all bark and no bite. what the fuck is he supposed to do if naoya even thinks of disrespecting you again?

he speaks up. “back at the party. the one we went to after the game,” he bites his cheek. “i saw her with him again. that’s why i got mad. kissed that pamela bitch.”

“pairin.”

“i don’t give a fuck.” sukuna grumbles. “but that’s not what tripped me up. she was with naoya again—even after how he treated her.” his fingers dig into the couch. “she drags me by the ear when i raise my voice just slightly. why would she stay by naoya after all that? just to make me jealous?”

geto thinks out loud. “what if he has something on her?”

the boys go quiet.

for you to stay with someone like naoya, genuine or not? sukuna knows it must be something serious. he leans off the couch, turns to his boys.

“we need to start planning that final task.”

# SHOW TIME !

“kenny,” suguru begs. “please. we need your help.”

nanami pushes up his glasses. “immediately no.”

the theatre hall is humongous.

thousands of students fitted into velvet seats. there’s some ceremony today—what it’s about, sukuna doesn’t know—but he knows it’s the only opportunity he has to fulfill your last task. the next gameday is a week away, past the one week timeframe you specified.

sukuna also knows you’re in the crowd. he’d seen you sitting close to the front. right next to naoya.

god, you looked gorgeous. low cut top that exposes your plush breasts because you have no sense of time and place. skirt short as always, bunched up around your thighs, and lashes fluttering. bored. you looked hopelessly bored and beautiful next to naoya, and it wasn’t till shoko slipped into the seat beside you that your glossy lips smiled again. fuck. sukuna hopes he’ll get to speak to you soon.

but right now, he and the boys are trying to convince nanami to let him show up on stage in place of presenting his speech.

they’re all backstage. sigma chi treasurer nanami kento is sat at a makeshift desk, tie pin straight, expression flat as usual. “i will not allow you to take over my speech in the name of love and sacrifice. this is the stupidest plan i’ve ever heard.”

“nanaken, you’re not listening,” sato shakes his shoulders. “this is a matter of life and death—our last chance to help sukuna get his girl back.” sato pleads. “if we don’t succeed, he’ll be depressed!”

“i won’t be depressed.”

“he’ll be depressed!”

nanami only pinches his nose.

“look,” suguru starts, leaning over the table with his palms. “let’s make a deal. you let us crash your speech? sato buys you all the BL manhwa you want.”

nanami perks up. “BL?”

sato frowns. “sato?”

“exactly,” suguru says. “i know you’re tired of reading semantic error on a screen. we’ll get you all the physical copies—and whatever other BL you have on your reading list. all you have to do is let us crash your set.”

nanami thinks about it. thinks about how nice it’d be to see jang jaeyoung on a page, how he’d be able to have the story right there between his fingertips. he thinks about it. ponders hard.

and then he nods. “you’ve got yourselves a deal.”

——

each speech passes by way too fast.

well honestly, not fast enough. the audience is snoozing. they forget to clap after some speeches, and in the crowd sukuna can see you watching, bored. you have your head against shoko’s shoulder, phone in your hands. a man in a suit walks up to the stage to remind the audience of ‘etiquette’ and ‘keeping their phones away’. you roll your eyes and take a selfie with shoko, lips puckered out.

god, he misses you.

he closes the backstage curtains. suguru is waving his speech around. “you’re up next, man. you ready?”

sukuna swallows. why the fuck does he feel anxious? sukuna doesn’t do anxious. angry? horny? yes. but anxious?

he swipes the speech from suguru’s hands. “yeah. m’ready.”

———

sukuna is not ready.

but he’s not anxious either, so that’s a win. his body’s vibrating with something he can’t quite name. the audience is clapping away as the current presenter leaves.

suguru claps his back. “go.”

and go he does. he rips the velvet curtains apart and trudges his way to the podium. his hands are in his pockets and his gaze is bored and through the corner of his eyes all he can see is you you you.

you, with your brows furrowed and lips in a pout he wants to kiss off. you stare after him with big eyes, before your eyes go even bigger. he watches you facepalm.

that shouldn’t make him laugh. he sets his speech on the podium.

in the audience, shoko is nudging your shoulder. “girl. isn’t that your man?”

naoya turns to frown at her. “excuse me?”

you and shoko ignore him. “i have no idea what he’s up to.” you lie.

on the podium sukuna clears his throat. the TVs overhead are zoomed in on his face. his hair is golden-red under the lights, and sweat glistens on his skin, and sukuna takes in a deep breath.

“my name is ryomen sukuna, and i’m the previous captain of the pandas football team.”

some people whistle and cheer. others watch in silent confusion. naoya is gritting his teeth beside you and shoko is squeezing your thigh.

“i’m here to make a confession in light of recent events within our campus community,” sukuna murmurs into the mic. god, fuck geto suguru and his pretty cursive. sukuna can’t read shit.

“at the first game of the season,” sukuna clears his throat. “there was a video broadcast that interrupted the flow of the ceremony. i profusely apologize for that,” he says. “i was the one responsible.”

gasps fill the arena.

“it’s unsportsmanlike, i know.” he adjusts the mic. “whether the contents of the video are honest or not, to broadcast them during the ceremony was uncalled for and inappropriate. i had no good or honest intentions behind it.” he grits his teeth, eyes leaving the script.

“i wanted to embarrass naoya.”

the crowd is silent, and sukuna finds your eyes.

you’re looking right at him with an expresssion he can’t make out. beside you naoya is there, arm around your seat, and anger seeps into his chest. naoya has a black eye—he’ll have to thank suguru and sato for that. he’ll also have to give him a matching one on his left eye.

he continues his speech.

“naoya zenin, captain of the pandas, stole my girlfriend.” he spits into the mic. “so i chose to embarrass him publicly. that’s it. that’s my reason.”

the audience is muttering, talking amongst themselves. some people have their phone’s up, recording. some are enraged. some girls are swooning.

“y/n l/n—fuck,” he spits into the mic, gaze bleary. he’s gripping the podium with both arms now, head down and away from the cameras. “evil fucking girl,” he murmurs.

“you don’t want him, baby,” he breathes against the mic.

“come back to me.”

the theatre is silent.

and then it roars

single ladies. girlfriends. boyfriends. members of the football team who miss life under sukuna’s reign. they’re all cheering for him, loud and unrestrained. clapping as sukuna grips the podium with his eyes on the hardwood. the headlights flash on his face and he squints to look past them, eyes lifting towards the audience.

you’re not at your seat.

why?

did you miss the end of the speech? sukuna blames himself. he didn’t even have the guts to look up at you as he breathed out the last line, and now he’ll never know if you heard the very words he’s been wanting to say. sukuna almost laughs. his eyes are hot but he almost laughs.

the audience is still roaring. sukuna rips his speech off the podium and walks off the stage.

NANAMI’S REMARK: SO ALL THAT FOR WHAT?

BOYFRIEND TACTICS #1: NEVER LOSE ME.

taught by: y/n l/n

“never had a bitch like me in your life”

❤︎⁠

when sukuna trudges through the curtains, sato and suguru are already there.

faces flushed, chests heaving. “holy fucking shit—“ suguru pulls sukuna’s head into his arms. “you fucking did that.”

he did. so why does he feel so damn empty?

sato is practically bouncing, worming his way into the hug. “you did that!” he cheers. “did you see y/n’s face? was she cheering too—?”

“she left.”

sato and suguru freeze.

suguru pulls away first. sukuna’s face is dull, downcast—and his eyes are dark and soulless. “oh no—” suguru mutters. he holds sukuna’s face. “did you see when she left?”

“no,” he murmurs. no, he didn’t.

“fuck,” sato curses. “fucking hell, man—isn’t this low? even for her?”

suguru pulls sukuna’s head back under his chin. sukuna doesn’t resist or protest. just stares at the wood floor with empty eyes. but then a voice calls his name.

“ryomen sukuna. are you brooding?”

if god liked him, it would’ve been you. standing there in your short skirt and skimpy top and a teasing smile on your lips. mocking his misery. grinning up at him.

but instead it’s shoko ieri, brown hair under a bucket hat.

under normal circumstances, he’d be happy to see her. sukuna likes most of your friends. they’re all pretty party girls like you, a bunch of twenty-something year olds who think life is about bourbon glasses and friday mornings passed out in the backseat of someone’s car. they’re wild but they’re all nice girls, and they’re good to you so that’s fucking that.

but he doesn’t want to see your friends. sukuna wants to see you.

suguru brushes sukuna’s hair back. “shoko. to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“relax, geto. i’m not here to cause trouble,” she hums, leaning against a beam. “just here to pass across a message.”

she muses. “backstage dressing room. one-hundred two, not hundred and one,” shoko recites. “i have to leave now, but don’t be late. and sukuna,” she pauses to look at him. “no backup. just you.”

she turns away with a lilt in her steps, and the boys of sigma chi are left staring at each other in confusion. the message is clear though, and sukuna wipes his face.

room 112. got it.

# SHOW TIME !

ryomen sukuna comes in alone.

the door to room 112 pushes open with a creaak. the dressing room is racks and racks of clothing, some on the floor, some strewn across tables, and mirrors upon mirrors. the vanities still have their lights glowing orange. the room smells like rust and girl.

sukuna finds you in front of a mirror.

you’re checking yourself out, neon pink feather boa around your shoulders. on your head is a comically large sun hat, and there’s a bright green belt flung around your waist. you don’t look up when he walks in. just shift your hips in the mirror, skirt swishing around your thighs.

“you like my outfit?” you hum, still facing the mirror.

you look silly. if he was in a better mood, he’d probably smile. but instead he trudges forward and leans back against the table behind you. “yeah. looks cute.”

“hmm,” you fit your hands over your hips. “i still feel like it’s missing something.”

sukuna stays quiet.

you walk over to a bunch of boxes, pulling out all sorts of costume pieces. your tone is sing-song. “i heard your little speech.”

sukuna plays with the bracelet on his wrist. it’s not a bracelet. it’s one of your bra straps, actually, and he’d forgotten he put it on before the speech. it’s suddenly itchy against his wrist. “you liked it?”

“i thought it was cute,” you hum, inspecting a tie. you walk over to him, and sukuna spreads his legs a bit so you can slip between his thighs. you hold the tie up to him. “can you help me?”

he takes the tie from your hands. fits it over your neck quietly. he’s folding the ribbon around your neck, pretending he can’t feel your breath on his lips.

he murmurs, “i don’t understand what you’re doing, baby.”

his palm leaves your tie to cup your cheek. your gloss smudges against his palm. “what do you mean? i’m getting dressed up.”

his thumb strokes your cheek. “please don’t play dumb.”

you snuggle into his palm, humming contentedly. sukuna’s thumb still strokes your cheek. his other hand has come up squeeze your hip, then snake around it, then pull you closer into him.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes against your lips.

“for what?”

“for kissing another girl,” he murmurs. “for even looking at her. for being difficult. always giving you a reason to turn around and leave, then begging you to come back.” he cups your face.

“i love you. i’ve never loved any girl the way i love you.”

you trail a palm down his chest. “come back to me,” you repeat his speech.

“come back,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your spine. “come back to me, baby.”

you giggle as he leans closer to steal your lips. ryomen sukuna tastes like strawberry and spearmint.

Y/N’S REMARK: GUESS WHO’S BACK <3

COUPLE TACTICS #1 : DICKMEDOWN—WHO SAID THAT?!

taught by: ryomen sukuna’s cock

“there is no quote. i am a cock.”

❤︎⁠

in ryomen sukuna’s bedroom, he has his back against the headboard and his girlfriend in his lap.

you’re half naked. clad in nothing but a lacy bra and matching black panties, giggling as you pose into his macbook camera. you lift another bra up to check it against your chest. ryomen sukuna squeezes your thigh.

“you like this one?” he murmurs behind you, reaching his hand up to grope your breast. “wasn’t in the cart. added it myself.”

“it’s so pretty,” you coo, lashes fluttering. “thank you, ryo.”

“you’re welcome, princess.”

it’s just two days after the whole speech at the theatre. ryomen sukuna watches you with bleary eyes. he leans back against the headboard, watching as you shrug off your bra to try another one he bought. he reaches up to graze his thumb over your pebbled nipple and you giggle, before sliding backwards to lean back against his chest. he squeezes your tits in his palms before kissing your cheek.

“love this set,” he murmurs against your ear. he’s twisting your nipple in one hand & the other is already sliding down over your belly, down to your lacy black panties. “so pretty on you.”

“mmh,” your thighs squeeze as his hand slips below the fabric, finding your wet, aching clit. he rubs the pad of his thumb over it in circles. kisses your cheek again when you whine.

“missed you,” he murmurs. “so bad, pretty.”

“mhm,” you breathe. you want to bite back with something sassy but ryomen sukuna is kneading your breast while his thumb fingers your clit. he slips in another finger and rolls the bud between them. your thighs squeeze around him.

“ryo,” you purr. “you’re gonna get them dirty.”

“i know,” he shushes you. “just wanna feel you.”

and feel you he does. he pushes your body up on his chest and latches his hot mouth around your nipple. “mmh—,” he groans, tongue swirling around the pebbled peak. “fuck, missed this.”

his fingers rub harder against your clit. faster, faster, until your hips arch of the bed and your thighs shake around him. he can already see slick coating your inner thighs, and your moans in his ear only make him rub harder. “fuck,” he curses. fuck fuck fuck.

your lashes go sticky with tears. your clit is wet and throbbing around his fingers. your thighs shake as you reach your high, and sukuna has to shove his lips to yours to quiet your moans. he licks his tongue into your mouth, hot and wet and sloppy, palm settling to gently rub your clit through your high.

you gasp, pulling away. your lashes are sticky & your cheeks flushed hot. “i missed you.”

he kisses you again, soft. “missed you too.”

he slips your panties off your thighs, holding your naked body against him. “missed this pussy too,” he rasps. “gonna stuff you till you’re cumming on my cock.”

you squirm against him, swatting his chest as he unzips his trousers. “but i just came!”

“you’ll come again, pretty.”

he fumbles with the zipper, slipping out his heavy, hard cock. his cockhead is throbbing and sticky with precum, and he shifts you forward so your back is against his chest.

“go slow,” you whimper, already nervous.

he kisses your shoulder. “you don’t want that.”

and you don’t. you arch into him as he slips his cock into your puffy, slick-coated folds from behind. he smears precum and slick over them with his cockhead, kissing your shoulder as you shiver against him. “relax, you’re okay. you still on the pill, baby?”

you nod shyly. he kisses your neck.

sukuna’s cock is thick. heavy and swollen and pulsing between your slobbering foods. he pushes his hips into you, letting your pussy squelch around him, and his arm fits under your body so he can grope your perky breasts. he tugs on a nipple before rolling it between his fingers. fuck.

you whimper as his cock stretches you out, sliding deeper and deeper into your folds. “fuck,” he breathes against your ear. “you’re so fucking hot. so tight. so wet.”

you whimper as his fingers find your clit again. he circles it hard, hips bucking to push his cock deeper into you before sliding back out, palms still fondling your breasts. it’s too much, it’s too fucking much, and he can hardly blame you for whining against him. “ryo—”

“shh—you’re good, you’re doing so good,” he rasps as you clench around his cock. “so fucking good. you know how good you feel around my cock, baby? m’so fucking lucky—.”

he’s shushing you but his hips only buck faster and faster. your eyes squeeze shut as he breathes. “fuck, gonna cum—“

your walls quiver around him as you come together, white hot cum stuffed between your folds. you groan, ragged, as sukuna pants into your neck. he kisses your shoulder before resting his head against your neck.

“i love you,” he rasps.

“i love you too.”

you stay like that for a moment, holding each other before he kisses your shoulder. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

——

“you have a lot of explaining to do.”

sukuna comes back with new shorts hanging low on his v-line. he has a warm cloth in his hands, and he climbs over your sore body. even now you’re still smiling up at him, lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed. “whatever do you mean?”

“don’t play dumb,” he kisses your cheek before gently nudging your thighs open. he slides the cloth down your inner thigh, ignoring the way you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair. “you have to explain. why you went to naoya.”

“but what if i don’t want to?”

“you will,” he says. he slides your panties up your thighs, pressing a kiss to your clit before slipping them all the way up.

but then he changes his mind. slips your panties down again.

“ryomen.” you’re already sitting up.

“relax,” he mutters against your puffy cunt. “lean back for me.”

you sigh, doing as he says. he licks a stripe up your glistening folds. he can taste himself on your stuffed cunt but his tongue keeps moving regardless. he pulls back, lips glistening with slick.

“you’re gonna tell me exactly what your fucking plan was,” he sucks on your bud, letting go with a pop. “why i saw you again with naoya after he dared to fucking talk to you like that.”

“so strict,” you whimper, cheeks puffed as your hips arch into him. “i can date anyone i want.”

“no,” sukuna hisses. “you can only date me.”

“mmh—” you moan as his tongue slobbers over your glossy folds. you run your fingers through his hair as your pussy drools onto his tongue. “mmh—wanted to make you mad,”

“you did good,” he sticks a finger into your cunt and you gasp, loud. he’s knuckles deep now, pumping his finger in and out of you. “hah—wanted you jealous,” you moan. “we were gonna get revenge.”

his fingers curl so hard you cry his name.

you whimper and he ignores it. “was already jealous. why’d you go back to him after he touched you?”

he curls his fingers again. “ah—! sorry, i’m sorry,” you cry, lashes wet. feels so good. “we weren’t dating for real. just showed up in public together. he said we couldn’t stop, said if we did that meant you won,” you whimper. “he apologized, let me punch him. i gave him a—hnngh—black eye.”

ah. so the black eye naoya had wasn’t from sato and suguru.

sukuna swirls his tongue over your clit, lapping and sucking as he pumps another finger into your drooling pussy. he curls them until he’s pressing into that spongy part that makes you sob, and he sucks gingerly as your pussy sputters and spits slick into his mouth. “ryo—m’gonna cum—”

your thighs shake, walls clenching. sukuna pumps his fingers in faster, letting your thighs squeeze his neck. you cum over his mouth, right around his fingers, and sukuna kisses your puffy, still-sensitive clit.

when he looks up at you, you’re glaring. eyes glistening wet, cheeks flushed. pretty.

“what?” he says. “you’re so mean,” you frown. “you see why i break up with you?”

sukuna huffs, climbing over your figure. when he’s right above you, you tug his neck down.

“i love you,” you mumble.

he kisses your lips. “i love you too.”

COCK’S REMARK : *HARDENS*

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #6: BREAK THE CYCLE !

taught by: ryomen sukuna

“loving you is a loop.”

ΣΧ

in toru gojo’s room of his apartment, the boys of sigma chi are all there. oh—and you too, of course.

sato is fast asleep on his twin’s bed, laid down & drooling on suguru’s shoulder beside him. suguru is tapping at his nintendo switch with furious speed. toru is cooking up something in the kitchen. and on his PC, you and sukuna are there, suguru’s sims 4 game loaded up on screen.

you’re on sukuna’s lap, his arm looped around your hips as you rant about the many tribulations you had to endure while ‘dating’ naoya. you’re customizing sukuna’s sim for your save file, and said man is doing nothing but rubbing your thighs and pressing lazy kisses to your skin.

“—and he leaves his boxers everywhere!” you exclaim, scrolling through geto’s CC folder. “i had to come over after he had practice once and they were everywhere. it’s that bad!”

“mhm,” sukuna kisses your neck, love drunk & bleary-eyed. “so bad, baby.”

“he’s so unhygienic,” you shift in sukuna’s lap, and he squeezes your hips to keep you steady. “i told him to at least clean up if he knows i’m coming over. he said no!”

sukuna nuzzles your ear, squeezes your thigh. “mm. m’gonna kill him.”

“no you will not! stop threatening murder!”

sukuna looks up. you’ve turned your head over your shoulder to glare at him, and he looks up at you through bleary eyes. your cheeks are warm. lashes fluttering. you’re the prettiest headache he’s ever had.

he kisses your jaw. “missed fighting with your pretty face,” he murmurs. “gimme a kiss, baby.”

you soften, and he leans up to kiss you deep.

“woah—” suguru throws a pillow at you both. sukuna swats it away from you without pulling back from your lips. he squeezes your waist and geto frowns. “even if sato’s asleep, i’m still fucking here!”

sukuna ignores him, his hand crawling up to grope your tits. suguru scowls, turns over to face sato’s sleeping figure. he should’ve known protesting was futile. sukuna’s always been an exhibitionist, but you’d think his therapy sessions would’ve taught him better by now.

sukuna pulls back, your gloss smeared over his lip & chin. you giggle at the sight, “hi.”

“mmh,” he nuzzles your neck.

the door swings open, snapping you and sukuna out of your daze. in comes toru gojo with a plate of lazy cake, glasses slipping down his nose. he blushes when he sees you and sukuna pressed close together. “hi. i made snacks.”

“oh, toru!” you purr. “you’re my favorite, have i told you that?”

toru sets down the plate on the desk in front of you. as he leans down you press a kiss to his cheek, and he blushes so hard his face turns beet red. he looks up, surprised, and you’re beaming at him. behind you, sukuna is scowling.

toru drops the plate and runs away.

you turn back to glare at sukuna. “you scared him.”

“no one’s allowed to kiss you.”

“i kissed him!”

sukuna ignores your protests, trying to cup your jaw so he can get a kiss of his own. you shove his face back, and he scowls.

“go apologize to toru,” you frown at him. “now.”

sukuna wants to protest. wants to say he’s comfortable right here with your thighs over his lap and your lipgloss on his chin. but he knows if he fights back he’ll be left with nothing but a sore earlobe & an angry girlfriend. he grumbles as you slide off him.

sukuna trudges to the kitchen, says his apologies. toru accepts them in a heartbeat.

when he comes back to the room, you’re gone.

“where is she?” his heart drops. “suguru—where is she?”

“chill,” suguru mumbles, eyes never leaving his switch. “she left you a letter. check on the desk.”

and next to toru’s plate of dessert, a letter is indeed there. he picks it up, thumb running over the paper. you’ve left a glossy kiss mark at the end.

‘dear sukuna,’ it reads.

‘i’m breaking up with you.’

sukuna’s blood runs cold.

‘i know we just got back together a week ago. but i thought about it! thought about how i’m becoming a better woman, growing in my spiritual journey. do i really want a jealous man who scares away my friends by my side??

so i decided: let’s break up. for real this time. it’s not you, it’s me. maybe if we’re truly meant to be, the stars will align and our paths will cross yet again. but for now? i have to choose me and my growth. so i’m leaving. for good.

i still love you though!! you’ll always be my lover <3 i love you soso much baby boy. i don’t even want to do this. but i know i have to make the right choice for both of us.

sorry to walk away like this. and don’t forget, you are not allowed to date any other women!!! i am the only woman for you!! always and forever!! no dating, sex, kissing, touching, NOTHING. if i find out you even LOOK at another woman i’ll hate you forever!!!!!!!!!!!!

okay, that’s all. goodbye forever. i’ll always love you ryo <333333 i’m sorry it hand to end this way.’

sukuna stares at the letter. he reads it once. twice. then once more.

and then he laughs.

because this is his girlfriend, bratty and high-maintenance and demanding and all. because you say goodbye forever, but he knows he’ll see you next week. he knows tonight you’ll call and say you miss his voice and afterwards you’ll send him a text saying you’re still not getting back with him and will be blocking him as a final goodbye. he knows you’ll unblock him on a random wednesday and won’t text, and he’ll just have to keep sending messages till they don’t turn green and he can ask you to come back to him.

and you’ll say yes. you always do. and if there’s anything or anyone who stops you from saying yes, he’ll crush them.

he rubs his thumb over the bottom of the letter. your glossy kiss mark is there.

and right beside it?

XO, YOUR EX HO 💋

SUKUNA’S REMARK: SEE YOU NEXT WEEK.

#SIGMA-CHI STORIES !

XO, EX HOE end.

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, as you continued to stare at your beloved toy lodged in the branches. Would your father be disappointed in you for losing it? The tears fell faster and faster until you were sobbing upon the ground. It was such a little thing to be so upset over, you knew that, but it meant so much to you.

“What ails you, princess?” Came a voice from high above you, but from whom you could not see. “You cry so miserably, even a stone would be moved to show pity.” A shadowy form descended until the black bird landed directly in front of you, its unnervingly intelligent eyes seemingly looking into your very soul.

You were taken aback. It was talking. The bird was speaking to you. And not just mimicking someone else’s voice, but truly speaking. All thoughts of your ball were wiped from your mind as you stared in awe at the feathered anomaly. It waited patiently for your response, calm as the breeze that flowed through the trunks. 

“My ball,” you eventually stuttered out. You pointed where it was still lodged, the crow following the line of your arm to spy the golden bauble. “It’s stuck, and I can’t get it down.”

“No need to cry for that. I will help you, but what will you give me in return if I bring your plaything back down?” He asked, his shrewd eyes fixed on your own.

“Anything you desire,” you responded. “My clothes, my pearls and jewels, and even the crown on my head if that is what you wish.”

The crow tilted its head. “Anything? You should be more careful when making promises, especially to the unnatural. What if I asked for your heart? Or perhaps an eye. Would you give it to me?” Derision dripped from his every word.

You faltered. What nerve this feathered beast had. “I’ll give you what you wish so long as it is within reason, and I maintain the right to deny that which I am either unwilling or unable to fulfill. Does that satisfy you?”

The bird turned your words over in its mind, thinking carefully about your wording before answering that yes, that would do just fine. So up, up, up the bird flew, nudging your precious gift from where it had lodged itself so that it came falling back to earth with a solid thud. You reached out, your hand wrapping firmly around it. The bird landed in front of you once more, his request already decided.

“Thank you, Mr. Crow. What is it that you would like in return for helping me?”

“A kiss,” he answered confidently, not a shadow of a doubt that that was what he wanted.

You had expected gold or other such shiny things, something a crow might find enjoyment in, but reality was so far from your expectations that you were again stunned into silence.

“A kiss, your highness, that is all I ask for,” he pleaded, almost desperate. Why a crow was so insistent on a kiss was beyond you, but you would not grant it. It spoke like a person, so how could you be sure it was a crow at all and not some evil of the forest that only took the form of a crow? What if a kiss would bind you to it for all eternity?

“I cannot do that, Mr. Crow,” you declined.

“Cannot or will not? Your terms were that you could refuse my requests if you were unwilling or unable, so which is it?”

“Will not. My father is considering a betrothal with another kingdom. Whether you are a crow or something else, my kisses are reserved for the one whom I will marry.”

The crow looked disappointed, which you didn't even know was possible for a bird. “I would like to be your companion then. To eat and drink the same food, to sleep in the same quarters, to be at your side, always.”

You acquiesced, but the second the crow looked away from you, you fled back to the castle, trying to put as much distance between you and that unnatural bird as you could. He took to the air, following your retreating figure, squawking at you to wait, to come back, that he meant you no harm, you promised. But you did not listen, did not care to hear one more word the mysterious bird had to say. It shouldn't have had any words to say in the first place.

You didn't stop running until the castle doors were shut firmly behind you. You thought the crow wouldn't have dared leave its home in the forest, but it was waiting for you, adamant that you would hold up your end of the deal. 

That night at dinner, you heard an insistent tapping at the window. Your father, the king, heard it as well, shooting a curious glance your way as if to ask if you heard it too. The dining room was not on the ground floor; no one should have been able to reach those high windows. You rose slowly, walking to the covered window to pull back the curtain. There, perched on the windowsill, was the crow from the forest. It stared at you directly through the thick pane of glass, its beady eyes narrowed. Yet, it never stopped the incessant tapping on the window with its beak. You yanked the curtains closed, returning to your seat and ignoring the infernal tapping upon the window.

“What is it?” your father asked, looking between you and the window.

“A crow,” you answered simply, drinking from your goblet to hopefully avoid saying more.

“Why is there a crow on the windowsill? It’s awfully late for a crow to be this active.”

You sighed heavily, telling your father of all that had transpired earlier in the day. How you had lost your ball, how the crow had retrieved it, how you had promised it a reward, and then how you hadn't fulfilled his wish. He looked angry, but not at the crow; no, he was angry with you. “That which you promised must be fulfilled. You are a princess. You cannot make such empty promises. Go, allow him in, and keep your word. He will eat and drink as you do, sleep as you do, and be at your side always.”

Though you greatly disliked it, you did as he said, approaching the window and once again parting the curtains to reveal the disgruntled bird. You scowled at it. Why couldn't it just stay in the woods? Or, better yet, have helped you just to be kind, and not ask for such ridiculous compensation.

You unlatched the window, allowing the bird to fly into the dining room where it perched on the chair across from yours, staring at you expectantly. You walked back to your seat after securing the window, not taking your eyes off the bird.

You didn't speak to the bird, ignoring it as best you could, whereas your father made polite conversation with it, as if there was nothing odd about conversing with a crow over dinner. Your father had called over a servant, requesting that both a meal and a drink be brought out for the bird. “What shall we call you?” your father asked politely.

“Your daughter called me Mr. Crow. That will do fine.”

“Don't you have a name of your own?”

He did, but it stuck in his throat when he tried to utter it. “No. I’m just a crow.” For now.

Your father nodded, not quite satisfied, feeling bad that a sentient creature such as the crow had not so much as a name to call its own. “Mr. Crow it is then.”

When dinner ended, he followed you to your bedroom, and almost followed you into the bathroom as well until you shut the door in his face. You dismissed the maids, insisting that you wanted to be alone. Obviously, the crow was here to stay, so you wanted all the alone time you could get. You scrubbed until your skin was angry and raw, wishing you could scrub the crow itself from both your memory and life. No ball, however sentimental, was worth such a headache.

You exited the bathroom, finding the crow stubbornly waiting for you just outside. You groaned, ignoring it, and it followed you all the way back to your room, making itself comfy on one of your pillows. Your distaste for the creature only deepened. “You're not sleeping in my bed,” you stated.

“Our agreement-”

“You requested the same quarters, not the same bed. It was you who said to word things carefully, no?”

He laughed, beyond amused. You were right, he did say both of those things. “Very well. Where would you have me sleep then, your highness?”

“Don't know, don't care. Get out of my bed.” You glared as you watched him settle himself on your writing desk. You crawled into bed, blowing the candle out to sleep, and hopefully, when you woke up, this would all have been a dream.

“Princess?” called the bird. “You've not given me a place to sleep.”

“Sleep on the floor for all I care,” you grumbled, pulling the covers up higher to cover your ears.

“How do you expect to care for your people one day if you cannot even care for a bird?” The bird goaded, amusement morphing into offense at your continual poor treatment of him.

“You're just a bird!” you spat at him.

“I’m your guest,” he corrected indignantly, pride running hot through his veins.

You shot up in bed, snatching the other pillow that he had been on and tossing it to the floor. “There! Is that what you wanted?” He hopped onto the plush cushion, making himself comfy.

“It is,” he said finally, content with his downy accommodations, even if not so pleased that he was still on the floor and not your bed. Just to add to your obvious irritation, he added, "Goodnight, princess.” He took immense satisfaction in your muffled groan from beneath the blankets you had buried yourself under.

The next morning, you woke from the light streaming in through the open window. You stretched, body still lethargic with sleep. You forced yourself into a sitting position, spotting the now-empty pillow on the floor, the only trace that the bird had been there at all. You dressed for the day, making your way to the dining room to join your father for breakfast. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted you warmly. “Sleep well?”

You hummed in affirmation, pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

“And where is Mr. Crow?” he asked, not missing the absence of the newest resident of the castle.

You shrugged. “Don’t know. He was gone when I woke up. The window was open last night for fresh air.”

“You didn't throw him out of the window, did you?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

“No! Of course not!” You wanted him gone, but you didn't want to actively terrorize the bird.

Your father still looked slightly suspicious of you, but let it go without further argument. He finished his food, excusing himself from the table to go to his office. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, telling you to take your time with breakfast and that your lessons had been postponed in favor of getting to know your new friend, absent though he was.

You sipped your coffee, taking in the early morning light. It was calm, relaxing, until that same wretched tapping as last interrupted the serenity. You sighed, placing your mug back on the table and rising from your seat. As you drew near, you could see that it had something in its beak, but you weren't quite sure what until you opened the window.

They were flowers. The bird had woken up early to pick flowers. He angled his head up, as if offering them to you. “For me?” you asked quizzically.

It nodded its feathered head, hopping closer. You took the modest bouquet, curious why he would do such a thing. You had done nothing to deserve such a gesture. “Thank you. They’re very pretty,” you said with a small smile, touched by the effort this must have taken for the small animal.

“Pretty enough to deserve a kiss?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I already told you I won't kiss you.”

Sylus was beginning to think he should have negotiated that kiss before helping you at all. “I’ll earn that kiss eventually, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your back to him and returning to finish your now lukewarm coffee, the crow in pursuit. He nibbled at the spread, but didn't seem keen to eat much. He was a bird, and the phrase ‘eat like a bird’ had to come from somewhere, you guessed. In truth, he was planning and plotting how to get you to kiss him. He only had so much time before this was permanent, and his human consciousness was overridden and forgotten.

Days came and went in the same fashion. The bird continued sleeping on what you had designated as his pillow on the floor, ate every meal with you, and joined you for walks around the garden. He was your ever-present shadow, just as he had requested. Your annoyance with him decreased with each passing day, beginning to grow fond of his company, especially once you got used to his dry humor. On this particular day, he was perched on your chair in the garden’s gazebo, reading over your shoulder. When you had asked if he was even capable of reading, he had merely scoffed at you.

The two of you were reading in silence, and with him still securely perched on your chair, you knew it wasn't him hopping around beneath the table, so what was that brushing against your shoes?

You glanced beneath the table, jerking away with a scream that startled Sylus into the air. He landed on the ground, eyes zeroing in on the offender who had scared his princess so badly. It was just a small garden snake, something he could easily handle. He looked at you to see that you weren't just surprised by the snake, you were genuinely scared. That settled that, then. The snake had to go.

It was quick, but unable to evade Sylus forever, now squirming in his beak. He flew off with it, returning without it shortly, landing on the table. “Are you alright, your highness?” 

“Yes, quite. Thank you, Mr. Crow,” you said gratefully, smiling at your feathered friend.

“I think my heroics ought to be rewarded. How about a kiss?”

You giggled. He was very persistent about receiving a kiss but would not tell you why, no matter how much you asked. You kissed the pads of two of your fingers, then brought them down on the bird’s beak. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, not impressed with your display.

He was even less impressed when Prince Xavier, the crown prince of one of the neighboring kingdoms, Philos, was invited by your father in the hopes of the two of you becoming amiable to a betrothal to unite your two nations. He was seething. It was supposed to be him! He was the one who was in talks with your father, not this boy who hadn't even ascended the throne yet. He would not sit idly by while his would-be bride was wooed by another, condemning him to life as a crow permanently.

Though Xavier was every bit the gentleman he was expected to be, Sylus also knew that Philos was suffering economically. Onychinus, on the other hand, was thriving. How unfortunate that the king had gone missing recently, leaving your father to explore other options for his daughter. It wouldn't last. Sylus would make sure of it.

Already, the young royal was on Sylus’ nerves, sitting in his spot across from you. He made his displeasure known, staring the prince down from his position on your chair, abstaining from the meal altogether in favor of glaring at the nuisance in his seat.

“Is he your pet?” Xavier asked, gesturing to the bird.

You glanced over at Sylus, shaking your head with a smile. “Mr. Crow? No, he's a friend more than a pet.” Sylus puffed his chest out proudly. “He’s usually more talkative than this, though,” you added, somewhat concerned with his new silence.

Xavier seemed confused for a moment before something clicked in his head. “Right, I’ve heard that corvids are wonderful at copying human speech. I hope to hear from Mr. Crow before I have to return to Philos.”

You pinched your lips together, deciding not to tell him that the bird could truly talk and didn't just copy phrases he heard. It almost felt special that he wouldn't talk to Xavier when usually he talked your ear off, his sarcastic remarks never failing to pull a giggle from you.

But his odd behavior didn't stop with his uncharacteristic silence. Cookies and tea were brought out, and before Xavier could take one from his plate, Sylus took it upon himself to snatch one. 

“Hey!” you reprimanded, gently pushing him away from the plates, cookie still held in his beak. “What is wrong with you today?” It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but you didn't miss the pointed glare he directed at Xavier.

“He’s quite alright. I don't expect birds to have table manners. Would you like another?” he asked, nudging his plate towards Sylus, which was promptly ignored.

The intention was to anger the other royal, cause a tantrum, but all he had succeeded in doing was endearing you even more when Xavier had actually been kind to him.

Nothing was working. Not dropping a grasshopper on him in the gardens, not pulling the buttons of his coat, not even pecking at his hand when he tried to hold yours. He remained ever so patient. You, however, were losing yours. Xavier might believe that Mr. Crow was just a normal bird, but you knew better.

That night, when the castle was turning in for the night, you were confronting an audacious bird. “What was all that about today? I need him to like me!”

“Why? You're a princess; you have plenty of other options. You don't need anything from Prince Xander,” he dismissed. Based on his tone, if he were human, you would be convinced he would be inspecting his nails, bored, and acting as if the conversation was nothing of import.

“Xavier,” you corrected. “And I do need something from him. A marriage proposal would unite our kingdoms and-”

“And what?” Sylus interrupted. “Drag you into ruin with him? Philos is a failing kingdom, and he would only take Linkon down with it. He intends to use you to gain access to Linkon’s resources.”

The bird's cruel words cut you deeply. “You're just a bird. How could you possibly know any of that?”

He scoffed derisively. “Because he believes me to be just a bird, and, despite what you say, you know that’s not true. He doesn't watch his words around me the way he does with you.”

You were biting your bottom lip, brows furrowed in that oh-so-cute way he loved. He hated that it was born of insecurity, though. “Did he talk to you?” you asked timidly, trusting that he wouldn't lie to you, but still knowing that his answer would likely hurt.

“He did. When you excused yourself from the gardens. Said that ‘my owner’ is a foolish girl looking for love in the wrong places. That she was just a means to an end, and when he married you, the first thing he would do is get rid of me. Which I don't appreciate, by the way.” He saw your downcast face, hating that there was nothing he could do to make it better. “I’m sorry, your highness.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault. Thank you for telling me. I believe you, but can you prove it? Something tangible that I can show my father?”

“Consider it done.”

“Come back here, you odious beast!” the young prince’s voice followed him as he took flight from his room, returning to yours, the damning letter clutched in his beak. You were waiting for him by the windowsill, accepting the letter he proudly presented to you. Your eyes scanned its contents, your face expressing your anger more and more. 

You were tempted to rip the letter into pieces, but you needed the evidence to show your father, preferably in one piece. 

“Will that suffice?” Sylus inquired. “He walked in before I could finish reading it.”

“It’s exactly what I asked for. You couldn't have done any better.”

“I believe my hard work is worthy of a kiss, wouldn't you agree?” You were, in fact, inclined to agree with him this time. Were it not for him, you may have actually ended up betrothed to a man who thought you “foolish and airheaded” and described your dear friend Mr. Crow as “a ghastly thing that ought to be fed to the dogs.”

You nodded at the bird who was waiting for you to refuse him as you always did, but the refusal did not come. You nodded slowly, ever so grateful to the bird that you were willing to accept the one request he so often made. You pushed your hair behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the feathers atop the bird’s head, the bird himself eagerly waiting to be rid of this cursed form.

A knock at the door. It was a maid informing you that your father was requesting you in his office immediately. You smiled at the bird apologetically, his disappointment palpable. His time was dwindling. Already, he could feel the crow’s instincts overriding his conscious thoughts.

“Explain to me why Prince Xavier just stormed out of the castle! What happened?” Your father was livid, more so than he’d ever been with you. “You’re not a child anymore! You have your future to think about. He’s the crown prince of-”

“Of a kingdom on the brink of financial ruin. Here.” You thrust the stolen letter forth, watching your father’s anger at you redirect to the arrogant prince.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, my dear child. After reading this, good riddance to him. But how did you get this letter?”

“Mr. Crow retrieved it. I left the two of them alone, and Prince Xavier talked to him, told him everything. Mr. Crow wouldn't speak in his presence, so the prince thought he was a normal bird. I asked for proof, and he brought me the letter the prince was penning back home.”

Your father nodded, not thrilled with the methods, but opting to turn a blind eye since it kept his precious daughter out of the hands of a man who only sought to use you. He lamented the disappearance of King Sylus. Regal, successful, and in need of a queen. In terms of a political match, he was perfect. For a love match, your father still thought that you would have made a lovely pair, your personalities balancing each other. Their letters of correspondence detailed likes, dislikes, the state of the kingdoms, policies, everything that was of any importance to a marriage as high-profile as yours would be. But then they’d stopped, and eventually the news reached him that the king was nowhere to be found, having gone off on a hunt and never returning.

There hadn’t been time to build such a relationship with Philos, a fact that greatly disheartened the king. You were of the age where royalty needed to wed, but you were still his daughter, and as any father would, he only wanted the best for you. Instead, he had nearly paired you with a worm.

“When you return to your room, can you inform Mr. Crow that I would like to see him? I want to thank him personally.” You nodded, closing the door softly behind you when you left.

When you returned, Mr. Crow was sifting through your jewelry box, sorting by both types of jewelry and gemstone color. “Well, aren't you nosy?” You teased.

“It’s a terrible mess in here. Have you ever organized it?” he said, his smooth voice echoing from where his entire head was still within the ornate box.

“I have, thank you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

You walked over to your vanity, prying the bird away from your priceless ornaments, a bracelet still dangling from his beak, which you relieved him of with your hand.

“My father wants to see you in his office,” you told him as you began to return your jewelry to its rightful place.

“I wasn't done with that,” Sylus told you, miffed that you were undoing all his hard work.

“You are now. Go, before my father comes looking for you.”

He heaved a great sigh, but set out through the open window. The summer breeze was lovely, but you really did need to start closing them if Xavier was a lesson to anyone.

 -𓅨-

It was gone. You dumped out the entire box, sifted through every piece of jewelry you owned, and still couldn't find it. You had lost your mother’s necklace. You were panicking, hyperventilating. Since her death, you had kept that necklace safely tucked away, so how could it have disappeared? Fat tears rolled down your face, a deep ache settling in your chest.

“What’s wrong, princess? Are you hurt?” Mr. Crow’s deep velvety voice called from the windowsill.

“My necklace, my mother’s necklace, I can't find it, and I’ve looked everywhere. Did you see it when you were digging through it?”

“What does it look like?”

You described the necklace in as great detail as you could with your frazzled mind, and, unfortunately, Sylus knew exactly the one you were talking about. It was currently sitting in the tree he had initially taken up residence in, the one you had found him in that fateful day, squirreled away with a trove of other shiny pilfered items.

You would hate him. You would most definitely hate him after this, but he could not, in good conscience, allow you to believe that you were at fault for the loss of something so important to you. He took off from the windowsill, heading straight for the tree, tossing out all of his little treasures in his hunt for the one he should have never taken.

The second he found it, he was high-tailing it back to your room, hoping against hope that you would forgive him. And for a moment, when he landed, he thought you might. You were overjoyed when he placed it in your outstretched hand, until it dawned on you. He knew exactly where to go, and it wasn't anywhere in the palace.

You looked at the bird that you had trusted so much, betrayed. “Did you steal this from me?” you asked, your voice now a hoarse whisper, disbelief coloring your words.

He hung his head in shame. “I did,” he confessed solemnly. 

“Why?” You were still crying, and it was his fault. “Why would you take this?”

“Because I can’t help it. I-” he choked on the words. He wanted to tell you that this wasn't him, that he didn't want to hurt you, and that he was losing his real self to the crow instincts, but the terms of the curse wouldn't allow it. “I’m just a crow,” he settled on morosely. He was coming to terms with the fact that soon he wouldn't exist at all, his human soul condemned to rot away, leaving only a crow in its place. It had already begun.

“Get out,” you commanded coldly.

“Princess-” he started, landing on the bed beside you.

In your anger and hurt, you lashed out at him, pushing him away from you. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that he wasn't able to prevent himself from falling to the floor.

You gasped, pushing yourself into a sitting position to lean over the edge of the bed. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to—” The tears came stronger now. You had hurt the only real friend you had.

He flapped back up to the bed, staring directly into your eyes. “If you're sorry for hurting me, then kiss it better.”

“What?” you sniffled.

“Kiss it better, and I’ll forgive you.”

Wallowing in your own guilt, you didn't think twice about fulfilling his request, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. When you opened your eyes, Mr. Crow was gone. In his place, face to face with you, was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. A man who was very, very naked.

You jerked away, a scream bubbling in your throat that the man was quick to muffle with his hand over your mouth, pinning you down beneath him so you couldn't run off. “Relax, Princess,” he said. You’d know that silky voice anywhere. You pushed his hand away, needing to confirm what you already knew was true.

“Mr. Crow?” you asked in disbelief.

“Sylus,” he corrected.

“Sy-” you started, and then your eyes widened in realization. “The missing king.” 

“In the flesh, your highness,” he grinned. “Been a bird for so long I thought I’d never be human again.”

“You- how-” you stuttered, unable to properly express yourself.

He chuckled at you, the sound so much more attractive now that it was coming from a man and not a bird. “It was a curse. I took something I shouldn't have.”

“Sounds familiar,” you said pointedly.

“Don't interrupt me. As I was saying, I took a gemstone without realizing it belonged to a witch. As you can imagine, she didn't take kindly to it. And as you've come to know over these few weeks, greed is my vice. Told her finder’s keepers, so she said if I act like a crow, then I might as well be one. And then I was one. She gave me three months before it became permanent, only broken by the kiss of a princess.”

“That’s why you wanted a kiss so bad,” you said, staring at the man in awe. “But why didn't you just say that?”

“Another condition of the curse is that I couldn't talk about it. Couldn't reveal any identifying information, but now I’m free, thanks to you, princess.”

“You are. You're also…” your eyes trailed down his toned figure, quickly going back to his face when you saw more of him than you meant to, your face flushing hot.

“Naked? Doesn't seem like you're complaining, though. I don't mind if you look.” He said, thoroughly amused at your obvious embarrassment.

You turned your head away from him, avoiding eye contact. He exhaled through his nose, leaning in to nose at your exposed throat. “C’mon, don't be shy, princess. Won’t you let me thank you?”

Your tongue wouldn't cooperate to answer him.

He hummed questioningly, nipping at your earlobe. “Some time later, then.” He rolled off you into a sitting position, but you stayed put where you were, your eyes fixed on his every movement. “It's dangerous to look at a man like that, princess, especially lying down,” he stated.

You sat upright immediately, looking at him apprehensively. “I’ll get you some clothes,” you told him.

He nodded, watching you exit the room to summon a maid. You returned shortly, still avoiding eye contact with him. He frowned at this. He knew this was a lot to take in, but it’s not like he was a total stranger. You wouldn't even sit on the bed with him, choosing to stand near the door and wait for the maid to return with the clothes you had requested. 

The maid returned with a gentle knock, and you opened it just enough for her to squeeze the clothes in, which you took gratefully, tossing them over to Sylus as quickly as you could, not caring if he caught them or not. You were turned to face the wall, determined to not see any more of him than you already had. He was still a king deserving of respect. That, and you had never seen a bare man before. This was highly improper.

“You’ve already seen everything. Might as well enjoy the show,” he teased.

You squeaked out a no, making him laugh. Even listening to the shuffling of clothes was enough to bring a blush to your cheeks. “You can turn around now,” he informed you when he finished. You did, almost laughing at how ridiculous the outfit looked on him. You weren't sure where the maid had gotten the clothes, but they were entirely too small for the large man, the pants' legs barely brushing the top of his ankles.

You covered your mouth to hide the growing smile, but it wasn't nearly enough to mask your mirth. He didn't hold it against you. He knew he looked silly, and it was nice to see your smile back on your face in place of the fear and uncertainty his return to human form had caused.

“Princess, can you arrange a meeting with your father for me?”

“Of course. You could just follow me to his office. I’m sure he’d put aside whatever work he’s doing. You’ve been missing for so long.”

Sylus looked down at his ill-fitting outfit with a grimace. He’d be seen by everyone like this. He almost wished he were still a bird, but it couldn't be helped. “Lead the way,” he said.

The walk to your father’s office was awkward, at best. You had spent weeks talking to the imposing man who now walked beside you, but you didn't know how to talk to him anymore. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; you were just trying to reconcile that the bird who’d been sleeping in your room was actually a full-grown man, a king, and wondering if it was immoral that you found him wildly attractive even though he had been a bird up until twenty minutes ago.

When you arrived at the large wooden door, you knocked, waiting for permission to enter. You gestured for Sylus to wait outside for a moment, slipping into your father’s office to try to explain at least a little bit and not blindside him with the king’s sudden appearance.

You regaled him with everything that had transpired, his jaw dropping open more and more as you spoke. When you finished, he just stared at you, unsure where to even start. “Is this a joke?” he asked.

You shook your head, opening the door and waving Sylus inside. Your father looked between you and the other king, his brain still trying to catch up to your story. He addressed Sylus first. “Your Majesty, I have been told the most fantastical story I’ve ever heard. You were Mr. Crow?”

“I was, Your Majesty. Cursed by a witch. I can tell the full story if your lovely daughter here hasn't done so already.”

“She glossed over that, but it’s not important right now. So you were a bird, and my daughter kissed you, and that reversed the curse?”

You both nodded. Your father was at a loss for words. He’d never had to deal with anything remotely near the situation he now found himself in. But the more he thought about it, the more something bothered him. “You,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Sylus. “You've been sleeping in my daughter’s room all this time.”

His demeanor completely flipped when he turned to you. “Darling, would you give us a moment alone?” he asked with faux cheer.

You shot Sylus a look, silently wishing him luck, before getting out of that room as quickly as you could. The second the door shut behind you, your father unleashed hell on the silver-haired king, not giving a damn about his status. You rocked on your feet outside, waiting for the lecture to end. You doubted anyone had ever spoken to Sylus like that.

Moving forward from that day, Sylus was immediately given his own room while preparations were made for him to return to Onychinus. He was also given explicit instructions to stay out of your room. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you missed Mr. Cr- Sylus.

It came to a head, and you couldn't take it anymore. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were striding down the halls to the guest wing. You found him in the drawing room, seated on one of the overstuffed chairs, a book in hand and head propped on one hand. 

He saw you enter in his peripheral vision and set the book down on a side table to give you his full attention. “Princess, to what do I owe the honor of a visit?”

“I just…” You trailed off. It was embarrassing how much you missed his company, and you knew he would be smug if those words ever reached his ears.

“If you don't know what it is that you want, then I can't do anything to help you.” Was your pride worth it if he was smug anyway?

“Just thought that we haven't talked in a while.”

“In other words, you missed me,” he said, those crimson eyes seemingly peering into your very soul. Your new shyness around him was as endearing as it was irritating. He had gone from a potential suitor, to a crow, to your friend (still as a crow), to nearly a total stranger again. Did you still view him as a bird? Because he could change that.

“Come here, princess,” he commanded. There was no bite or authority to his words; you could refuse if you wanted, but you didn't. You walked forward, head held high, a facade of confidence you did not possess, not around this man who sent heat shooting to your core with a mere glance. 

You stopped a few feet away, but you were still too far for Sylus’ liking. “Closer,” he urged. Again, you stopped short of where he wanted you. He sighed, leaning forward in the chair to pull you forwards by your hips, your body slotting between his knees, his face level with your abdomen and looking up at you. “When I say I want you close, this is what I mean.” His husky voice washed over you, as tempting as the siren is to the sailor.

You braced your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath your palms. No amount of pushing would separate him from you, though. “This is improper,” you objected, but your voice was thin and brittle, your resolve weak, and he knew it.

“Is it?”

You couldn't tear your eyes away from him even as he rose from his seated position to his full height, not allowing you to put so much as a millimeter between your bodies. He bent low enough to brush his nose against yours. “You still owe me a kiss for chasing off that prince,” he whispered, breath fanning your face.

Your cheeks flamed, but you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you wanted him to stop. You brought your hand up to his face, cupping his jawline and guiding his face forward until his soft lips were on yours. He hummed lowly, reciprocating with movements of his own. He licked the seam of your lips, asking permission, wanting, needing, more.

You parted your lips, and he snaked his tongue into your mouth, caressing your own. You hummed into his mouth, and he tightened his hold on you as if you weren't already pressed flush against his chest. Without parting from your pretty lips, he lifted you into his arms, your legs on either side of his waist. He didn't care if any of the servants were in the halls; he had already reached an agreement with your father. The betrothal hadn't been announced, but it had been decided. You were his, whether you knew it or not. He’d almost lost you to that pompous prince, and he wasn't keen to let you nearly slip through his fingers again.

Upon entering his room, he kicked the door shut behind him, quickly making his way to the bed to lay you down gently. Your lips were kiss-swollen, your eyes wide and waiting.

Normally, Sylus prided himself on his immense patience, but your sweet form beneath him was pushing him to his limits. He surged forward, peppering every inch of exposed skin with kisses, hiking up your gown to bunch around your hips. The warmth of his hands was so much more intense with the fabric out of the way. His lips were glued to your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin until he found the spot that made you mewl. With renewed effort, he focused on that spot, leaving a dark bruise that would surely let everyone know you were his. 

He toyed with the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers under it and then letting it snap back against your skin. He dragged his hand even lower, feeling the way you’d soaked a wet patch through the thin fabric. He finally gave your spit-covered neck a break, admiring the bruises already blooming. Pride is part of the reason he got cursed in the first place, and he still hadn't learned his lesson, that same vice swelling in his chest as he watched the way you panted for breath, already more worked up than anyone had probably ever made you, knowing he was the one to bring you to this point. 

Fuck, you were just so goddamn pretty, even more so when you were under him like this. He prodded at your leaking hole through your cute little panties, cooing at you with faux sympathy. “You’re so wet, sweetie. Why don’t you let me clean you up, hm?”

With slow, deliberate movements, he slid your panties off in time with the maneuvering of his body, lower and lower until he was face to face with your bare pussy. 

“Sylus, what are you- ahh!” you moaned loudly, question interrupted when he licked a broad stripe up your dripping cunt, groaning at the taste. So good, you tasted so fucking good. He dived back in, lapping and slurping as much of you as he could, his hums of approval shooting vibrations through your overly sensitive cunt. You clenched your thighs around his head, the sensation of his tongue thrusting into you pulling moans and gasps from your lips.

All Sylus could think about was how to coax more of your sweet sounds out, alternating between pushing his tongue inside and suckling on the sensitive bud at the apex. You wound your hand through his hair, pulling for some sort of stability. The sting of having his hair pulled only spurred him on. With renewed vigor, he pushed a finger into your gummy walls, then a second, curling them as he moved them in and out. It was so much that you were practically screaming his name. You’d never even been kissed before today, much less experienced such ecstasy. Your back was arching against the sheets, your hips canting upward, seeking more of his tongue, his fingers, everything he was willing to give you.

Sylus’ eyes peering up at you with all the conviction of a devotee praying at an altar was the final push you needed for your pleasure to reach a crescendo. Your legs clamped around Sylus’ head as your body writhed under his continued onslaught, his deft tongue lapping up everything your body would give him until you were pulling his hair for even a modicum of relief from the overstimulation.

He reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in huffs and his face smeared with the evidence of your arousal. His attention was utterly captivated by the sight of your blissed-out expression, your eyes watery with unshed tears, and he almost came untouched at the mere fact that he was the one responsible for your current state, and he took immense pride in that.

He reached towards you to cup your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Would you like to continue, princess, or shall we stop here?” he asked. 

You could only stare dumbly, still trying to pull your head back down to earth from the high he had brought you to. You wanted it. You wanted him, and you don't think you'd ever have enough of him after this. As his words processed, you nodded, the only response your cottony mind could manage.

“Words, your highness. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want. I’ll give you whatever it is you desire. You need only ask for it.” 

Warmth flooded your face, and the sincerity of his voice only endeared you further to the king. You hesitated, somewhat shy at verbalizing such a coarse desire. Swallowing thickly, you answered him properly this time. “You. I want you.”

Sylus groaned at your admission, his cock throbbing in its confines. “You already have me,” he whispered reverently, almost in disbelief that his affections were returned. A betrothal would make you his legally, but he wanted everything: your mind, body, and heart surrendered to him the same way he had already surrendered his to you.

He wasted no time unfastening his pants and freeing his aching length, the tip raw and leaking. You eyed it warily as he leaned over you and braced his cock at your entrance. With a final glance at you to be certain that you were sure, he began to push in with as much tenderness as he could muster, his self-control fraying with every quiver of your cunt and every whine that escaped your lips.

Your breath hitched at the intrusion, the blunt head of his cock pushing further and further into you until his hips were pressed flush against yours. The new sensation of being so thoroughly filled was enough to have your head spinning before he’d even started moving. 

“Is this alright?” Sylus asked, his voice strained with the effort of keeping still. 

A breathy “uh-huh” was the best you could muster. Sylus would have chuckled at how you were already fucked out, but truthfully, he wasn't far behind you. His hands drifted from their place on your hips to your thighs to pull your legs snugly around his waist. With his body weight keeping you securely pinned beneath him, he pulled out until only the head of his cock remained and thrusted back in languidly, savoring the way your body accepted his, your tight walls clenching around him tightly. 

It took every ounce of his self-control to not let go of all his inhibitions and lavish you with all the carnal attention you could handle, until the only thing you could do was moan his name. Having you like this was a privilege he had begun to think would never be his, but here you were, staring up at him as he worked your body, his thick cock splitting you open and his tongue laving over the soft skin of your throat, the proximity allowing him to hear every gasp and whimper and moan in perfect clarity.

In his impatience, Sylus had neglected to properly undress, a fact he thoroughly lamented now that your fingernails were raking down his clothed back. How he would love for his body to bear the undeniable proof of how good he made you feel. Next time, he supposed. For now, though, he was content to watch you fall apart more and more with every deep thrust into your weeping pussy.

You were so close, he could feel it in the way you clenched around him. His own peak was rapidly approaching; you just felt too good around him, but he was determined to make you cum before he reached his own end. With a deft thumb, he began to rub sensual circles over your sensitive nub, the added sensation making you squeal and tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper.

You came undone once again with a shrill cry of his name as the ecstasy coursed through your veins. Sylus’ hips continued to snap into yours as he chased his own high, his pace beginning to falter as the need to release built inside him. Grunts rumbled in his chest and spilled from his lips with every thrust into your pulsing heat. He was so close, and the thought of filling you up, marking you as his, spurred him on, but this tryst was already more of a risk than either of you should have taken. He was already tempting fate enough as is.

He reluctantly pulled out of you, using his hand to stroke himself to completion, his cum painting your folds a creamy white as he groaned out your name. Not “your highness,” not “princess,” but your name. A title so much more intimate than that of your status. Something only those closest to you had the privilege of using. He panted above you, his pale skin flushed and pupils blown out, solely focused on you. If he got this worked up when you were practically still fully clothed, he wondered if he’d last at all the first time he sees you completely bare. For now, though, he pressed chaste kisses across your jawline, compliments spilling freely between each one. “Beautiful” kiss “stunning” kiss “perfect” kiss “mine.” He finally pressed his lips to yours softly after his claim, both of you completely melting into the single kiss that somehow felt almost more intimate than even your prior activities.

You were completely worn out, and exhaustion was quickly taking over. Sylus, always astutely in tune with your body’s needs, smiled fondly at your sleepy form. He rose from the bed, telling you he’d be right back before entering the ensuite bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. He made sure you were clean and comfortable in one of his extra shirts, the material dwarfing you in a way that sent protective pangs through Sylus’ heart. 

He crawled into bed next to you, pulling you flush against his now-bare chest. He pressed a chaste kiss into your hairline, whispering a quiet goodnight.

While the two of you were wrapped up in each other and sleeping soundly, a red-faced, flustered maid hurried away as quietly as she could to tell the others the juiciest piece of gossip since a butler had been found to be having relations with not just a maid but also a stableboy.

There had already been talk about the two of you. It had started the second you’d requested a set of men’s clothes and refused to open the door any more than necessary, concealing the rest of your room from prying eyes (you were no fool, and the servants weren’t quite as discreet as they believed themselves to be). Shortly after that peculiar request, King Sylus, who had been missing for the better part of two months, reappeared in the palace from seemingly nowhere and with little explanation. And it did not escape the notice of those who worked closely with you that Mr. Crow was suddenly gone, but surely the two events were unrelated; it would be preposterous to link the two, even if the bird and the king shared certain similarities.

As your interactions with the silver-haired man increased, so too did the servants’ speculation of the exact nature of your relationship. After all, their princess was as pretty as a peach, and the foreign king was certainly easy on the eyes. They all knew it was bound to happen; it was just a matter of when. There was even a betting pool on when the inevitable finally happened, and this pleasantly smug little maid who was fortunate enough to be wandering down the halls at just the right time would be the one to announce the winner. 

She chuckled to herself. Margaret would be furious that she lost by only three days. She rushed into the servants' hall, where many of her fellows were gathered around eating, conversing, and generally merry-making. Her giddy demeanor and swift entry drew the attention of those closest to the door. “We have a winner!” she cheered. This, naturally, drew everyone’s attention to her, all of them asking their questions at once. How did she know? Was she sure it was them? Who bet it would only take two weeks?

She explained quickly. The head housekeeper had sent her to do her final check on the visiting king to ensure he was comfortable and did not require anything before the servants retired for the night. Instead, she was met with a chorus of moans and grunts and the sound of skin on skin that only got louder the more she neared the door of his room. And certainly it was you in there with him. There was no one else in the palace that “princess” or “your highness” could refer to. 

Squeals and giggles alike filled the room from the younger servants, while those who had lost the betting pool groaned while reluctantly handing over their hard-earned funds to the victor. From that point on, you began to notice that many of the palace staff would sport flushed cheeks and the occasional suppressed grin when they saw you. And not only that, but every time you were with Sylus, it was as if whispers followed you, but when you’d turn to the source, all you would see was an empty doorway with the edge of a skirt swishing just out of view.

Sylus had only chuckled, pulling you into his lap and whispering conspiratorially in your ear. “I think they know, kitten.” You had whined into his shoulder to hide your face, embarrassment washing over you. This, of course, had only made him laugh harder, mirth coloring his tone when he spoke again. “If you can’t handle even this little bit of gossip, how are you going to handle it when we’re married and talk of heirs begins, hm? Then they’ll really know.”

You had smacked him on the chest, huffing about how improper this line of conversation was. “Certainly no more improper than what we’ve already done,” he teased.

That, too, provided even more fodder for the servants’ late-night talks, but nothing had them going near as much as your wedding night.

“Did you see how pretty her dress was?” gushed one.

“Yes! And the way he looked at her!” replied another. 

“I want a man to look at me like that,” grumbled one of the cooks.

“Yeah, yeah, who cares, doesn’t anyone appreciate the flower arrangements? Grew those myself, you know,” boasted a gardener, who was now being glared at by the cook. 

One of the guards nudged the comrade sitting next to him. “Think those two are having fun right now?” he asked, grinning ear to ear, his implications obvious. He had no idea how right he was. 

 -𓅨-

“Sy- oh!” you cried out, his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping pussy at a furious pace. The second the two of you were behind closed doors, and finally away from the celebration, he had wasted no time in stripping you of your ornate gown, his lips crashing onto yours with a hunger for you that he would never fully satisfy. From the moment he had seen you, his gorgeous bride, walking down the aisle, his composure had formed the first hairline cracks, which only deepened and spread with every small interaction: exchanging the rings that would bind you to each other forever, the kiss that sealed the union, his hand on your lower back as he guided you through the throngs of people congratulating you on your marriage, all of it was lighting a fire in him he couldn’t put out. Not in public. The cherry atop it all was Prince Xavier’s irritated face in the crowd.

Sylus took great satisfaction that it was he who had you face down in the pillows, bringing you to the gates of heaven over and over, and that that audacious little prince would never touch you thanks to the efforts of yours truly. 

The sight of your bare back and your hands fisting the sheets was for his eyes only. The way your ass jiggled with every thrust and the way you writhed beneath him, completely pinned with his legs on either side of yours and his weight pressing into you, for only him to experience. And the way you moaned and cried out his name was for his ears only.

Your name spilled freely from his lips, your proper title forgotten and permanently replaced with “my wife” in Sylus’ frenzied mind. He leaned his body over yours, close enough for his heaving breaths to brush against your face. He trailed a hand across your delicate skin until his palm was pressed flush against your abdomen. “Do you -ngh!- feel me, my love? Feel how deep your husband’s cock is?” 

You nodded feverishly. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Sylus, it’s- ah!- so much!”

“Oh my poor wife,” he cooed, faux condescension dripping from his words. “Can’t take it? Is it too much for you? Should I stop?” Before you could even register his words, he had fully stilled above you.

“No! Don’t stop, please!” you begged, the sudden loss of pleasure somehow more overwhelming than the reception of it.

Sylus groaned, and his cock twitched inside of your tight heat. “What’s wrong, sweetie? I thought it was too much?”

“Not enough. Need more. Please, Sylus, husband, I need you.”

Sylus growled, heat rushing straight to where you were joined. He could bear it no longer. He had waited far too long as it is. His hips rutted into you with a ferocity that spoke of his insatiable greed. His panting breath and grunts mingled with your own moans and cries of pleasure.

Just a bit more, and he’d again feel the nirvana of your cunt pulsing around him. With the same hand that had been pressing into you, he snaked his fingers lower, deft digits rubbing tight circles on your clit. You howled at the added stimulation, hurtling towards the edge that Sylus was so eager to bring you to. “Cum for me, my wife,” he rasped. “Let go.”

With a shrill cry of his name, you were finally pushed to the pinnacle, Sylus following shortly after, his own orgasm triggered by yours. This time, he gave no thought to pulling out of you. His hot cum filled you as his orgasm washed over him. His grunts were low and rough in your ears, so delightfully sinful, and his free arm locked around your waist, holding your body to his tightly as he continued to release into you. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your throat and shoulders, whatever skin he could comfortably reach, as you both came down from your highs.