ohh shiddings | "says"

you can’t stop thinking about the cute guy you bumped into at the party two weeks ago. you were already annoyed that day, because there wasn’t supposed to be a party in the first place. toji just convinced you, arguing that he needed to impress some girl. aka get his fucking dick wet and trash the place without taking any responsibility!

and then... he just had to annoy you even more.

the living room was packed. people you didn’t even recognize were already crowding the doorway, talking too loud, brushing past you like you didn’t live there. and a flare of annoyance lit up within you, a reminder that this was not supposed to happen today. you’re not even sure how toji managed to get this many people to come last minute, and it seems like it won’t be the end of it soon.

you groan, pushing the annoyance down. at least the place looks decent.

toji spots you first, walking up to you with a confident stride. he brings a calloused hand down onto your shoulder, the weight of it nearly grounding you to the floor.

“see? told ya,” he says, voice low and gravelly. he already looks wasted, a half-smirk playing onto his lips as he scans the room. “with this many people here, we’ll have the funds for everything and more.”

“yeah, if you don’t hoard it for yourself. and sukuna better be guarding the door.”

“you really have no faith in me, huh? relax man. always have y’r panties in bunch.”

you deadpan, shoving him off you. “y’know i’m not in the mood for bullshit tonight.”

toji hums, looking at you up and down, almost assessing, “yeah… you need to get laid. been an ass all week.”

your face scrunches up, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“see? your even denyin your need for pussy. fuck’s going on?”

you just groan, “nothin, just don’t fuck the place up. last time I had to pay 400 bucks out of pocket.”

toji ignores that. “you know i could hook ya with up this girl’s best friend if you want. she’s hot as fuck.”

“what? no. i just said—“

“is it your parents again?”

toji’s voice was quick and sharp. like it was a mix of purposely annoying you but also trying to check up on you. you tensed up quick. your blood began to boil at just the mention of your parents, and suddenly there was a million of thoughts swarming in your head…

the constant hovering, pressure, and expectations that followed you everywhere. you’re a grown man yet they don’t even treat you like one, and now you’re the one feeling like a fucking idiot. and you have deal with the frat, school and sports on top of everything.

“don’t,” you mutter, angrily, trying to stay in check.

 “you know shiu could easily help you out—“

“no. fucking quit it.” you snap, and it comes out too loud. too sharp. your heart races, and you felt stupid again. you dragged a hand down your face harshly, the pressure in your chest hitting you harder.

“fuck,” you mutter, scoffing as you walked away.

you could barely remember the party after that. you were practically seething at everything and nothing at the same time. up until the moment you made your way toward the kitchen.

 someone barreled into you—hard. your irritation spiked, and you spun, ready to snap. but instead, your jaw loosened, and your breath caught.

the guy who bumped into you was tall. almost as tall as you. he had snowy white hair and striking blue eyes. his cheeks were flushed, like he had either been kissed for hours or was just super drunk. he looked… unreal.

and for a moment, you forgot why you were angry. you just stared, drawn in by how pretty he was. the easy elegance, the way he looked both lost and at ease.

he blinked at you, swaying a little, and you knew he was for sure wasted. there was something cute about him. how his fingers brushed through his hair nervously, and the way his glasses slipped down his nose. his blue eyes caught the light, making them look even more hypnotic.

and then you got caught in a loop of thoughts you never asked for.

he stammered out a quick, “sorry!” voice soft and a little slurred, and then he slipped by you, almost too fast.

you caught a whiff of cologne. an expensive yet subtle scent. he disappeared into the crowd, and you were left standing there, heart pounding, wondering who the hell he was and why you suddenly felt that way. you shook it off and pushed into the kitchen, grabbing bottles, trying to look unbothered.

but now, you constantly have images of that cute guy with glasses stuck in your head.

fucking annoying. why do you have a stupid crush on some guy!

but the worst part of today has to be the way toji’s asking you to host another party just for his benefit.

toji’s stationed right in the front hallway, arms crossed and that familiar expectant look plastered across his stupid face. his eyes lock on you the second you come through the door. before you can even drop your gym bag, you know he wants something.

you sigh, bracing yourself. “what?” you ask, tone clipped.

he grins, like he’s been waiting for this all day. “got a plan. let’s throw another party saturday—big one.”

your annoyance rises. the last thing you want is another mess to clean up, another night of loud music and strangers trashing your place. “seriously? another party?”

toji shrugs, unapologetic. “well we’re a fuckin’ frat, what’d you expect? plus, i need the money—”

you grit your teeth, feeling your patience slip. you thought you’d get a break, but now you’ve got another headache waiting for you at home. “no fucking shit. but you just threw one for some pussy. we’re not throwing another just so you can get some extra cash.”

“c’mon, ‘s not that serious. do me this favor.”

you can’t help but laugh, “so you’re just stacking up on favors huh.”

toji shrugs, grinning, “guess so.”

you still feel tense at the thought of another party. but whatever. he’s right. you’re trying to be responsible over a frat. two weeks without a party sounds stupid now. and maybe you can unwind just a little. you’ve been too stuck up lately, too responsible.

“fine, but you’re setting up.”

toji grins wider, dapping you up, “bet, easy.”

and saturday rolls around in the blink of an eye.

the music’s already thumping through the walls, and laughter echoing from the kitchen to the porch. there’s people everywhere, bodies slick with sweat, red solo cups raised, everyone shouting over the noise. it’s wild. and for once you don’t feel annoyed. you feel alive.

toji spots you from across the living room, already surrounded by a crowd. he tosses you a beer, “yo, finally showed up. thought you were gonna bail.”

you just smirk, cracking it open. “nah, i’m here. what’d i miss?”

some girl in a sparkly top slides up next to you, laughing as she bumps your shoulder. “he’s been playing bartender, but his drinks suck,” she says, pointing at toji, who just shrugs and winks.

someone turns up the music, and the whole house seems to vibrate. you take a long swig and feel it hit you, warmth spreading through your chest. another girl grabs your hand, dragging you into the crowd. “come dance,” she shouts, her hair glowing under the neon lights.

you let yourself get pulled in, spinning around, your head buzzing. you talk to everyone. joking, flirting, letting loose. you catch yourself laughing way more than usual, even at stupid stuff. someone hands you a shot, and you down it without thinking.

and you start to understand. maybe you’ve been pissed lately  because deep down, you’ve missed this. the wild energy, the crowd, the reckless laughter that used to fill the house. for weeks, you’ve been worrying about everything. parents, school, sports, work, your friendships, even whether you’d have fun tonight. but standing here, music shaking the floor, you realize it’s been forever since you let yourself just be.

so you easily push the worries aside and let yourself get swept up by the party. you dance harder, yell louder, let your laughter ring out above the music. someone drags you into a game of beer pong. you lose, but don’t care. the night feels crazy. lights flashing, bodies moving….

but that’s when you spot him—the cute guy with blue eyes from the last party. the second you see him, your heart skips a beat, pounding way too loud in your chest. you force yourself to chill out.

still, you can’t help it. your eyes keep darting in his direction, and every time you look up, he’s already looking back. sometimes he gives you a shy little grin, sometimes you catch him glancing away. it turns into this game of eye tag that lasts all night.

and at one point, despite all the denial from days ago, you say fuck it. you’re not even thinking of that right now. you’re just thinking of him and his pretty face.

so you go up to him, and hover beside him, trying to look casual, feeling anything but. “hey,” you say awkwardly, red cup in your hand.

he blinks up at you behind his glasses, not expecting you to actually approach him. “oh, hey,” he says quietly, eyes darting away.

fuck, he so cute.

“are you here alone?” you question, taking a sip from your cup.

“uh, no.”

damn... he’s pretty quiet. and now you’re overthinking things. fuck! why are you being so weird about this? just talk to him, he’s a guy. this friend shit should be easy! you grip your cup, looking at his features again. and then you realize, he doesn’t look drunk at all this time... your fingers tap the rim of your cup and you shift your weight, trying to muster up a little confidence.

“do you want a drink?” you ask, glancing at him, voice a little hesitant as you nudge the cup toward him.

“no, sorry, i can’t...”

“why’re you apologizing?” you chuckle, giving him a playful smile, “how come? seemed pretty drunk at our last party.” you lean in a bit, remembering the way he stumbled last time.

his face bursts red, “what— you remember that!? i’m so sorry, i even bumped into you! so embarrassing...” he covers part of his face with his hand, clearly mortified, and shifts on his feet.

“it’s not, don’t worry about it.” you wave it off.

“it is. i kept thinking about it. and you looked mad—”

“mad? i wasn’t mad.”

“you looked mad. well , you looked mad the whole party...” he glances sideways at you, almost sheepish.

“you were payin’ attention to me?” you grin, eyebrows raised, leaning a little closer. and it somehow makes him even redder.

“no! that’s not—” he stammers, shaking his head quickly.

“relax, ‘m just teasing you.” you laugh, nudging him gently.

he laughs sheepishly, “...you really weren’t mad?” he peeks up at you, relief flickering in his eyes.

“no. not at you.” you shrug, giving him a warm smile as you try to reassure him.

“then at what?” he tilts his head, curiosity creeping into his expression.

“don’t worry about it,” you sigh, glancing away for a moment, before returning your attention to him and drumming your fingers lightly on the table. “so. how come you can’t drink this time?”

“i’m... the designated driver tonight,” he lightly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“hm. for who?” you tilt your head, curious.

“geto. he’s really the only person i know here...”

“seriously? you’re friends with geto?”

“hey! what’s that supposed to mean!”

“my bad. I didn’t mean it like that. i just meant... you two are total opposites.”

“is that bad?” he asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot again.

“not at all. jus didn’t expect that. he’s cool. that guy knows everyone. but i’ve never seen you two together.” you glance at the crowd, then back at him.

“i just don’t go out much.” he looks down, fidgeting with his sleeve.

“why not?” you ask, leaning against the wall.

“’s just not my scene. i really only come to these parties for him.”

“hmm... makes sense. so you two are like… bestfriends?”

“yeah… i’ve known him since high school.” he smiles, a little nostalgic.

“damn, seriously? how come he’s not with you?”

he shrugs at that, “something about wanting me to ‘get out my bubble.’”

that makes you laugh, “so instead you're standing alone at the corner?”

“…you’re making me seem like a loser.” he laughs, shaking his head.

you laugh again, “sorry. it’s kinda cute.”

he blinks at you, like he’s not sure he heard you right. “cute?” he repeats, voice small, almost swallowed by the music.

you shrug, not even questioning why you said that. you just know it’s true. “yeah. you’re… cute.”

he lets out this tiny, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “you’re… really straightforward.”

“only when i feel like it.”

then the conversation just keeps flowing, like you have both slipped into your own little world. you’re surprised by how easily the words come, sometimes playful or teasing. maybe it’s the way you keep leaning in, or how your flirty comments slip out without even thinking. and at some point, you both finally pause to exchange names, laughing a little at how late it comes, like you had already known each other forever.

and as you talk about everything and nothing at the same time, you feel more relaxed than you have in ages. and…  you can’t help but want to get him alone.

you lean closer so he can hear you, “wanna go somewhere quieter?”

he blinks up at you, surprised. but he gains a little confidence because you’ve been flirty all night. and if you’re asking that... it must mean something, right?

“oh— uh… sure. if you want.”

you grab him through the crowd, hand brushing his wrist. you find a quieter corner near the back, near the stairs. it’s dim, almost hidden, and the music is muffled here.

“better?” you ask.

“i was handling it fine... but yeah, thanks,” he says softly.

you lean against the wall, watching him fidget, and you laugh, “still nervous after talking t’me all night?”

“no. i’m not nervous…”

you raise a brow. “but you’re fidgeting?”

he looks down at his hands, then back up at you with this tiny, smug tilt to his mouth. “maybe i just like keeping them busy.”

you grin, leaning a little closer. “yeah? and what’re you busy with right now?”

“talking to you,” he says simply. like it’s obvious.

“that all?”

gojo’s eyes flick up to yours, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next. you lean in, just enough that he has to tilt his chin up just to keep eye contact. “kinda feels like you want more.”

gojo blushes, yet he doesn’t back down. “i think you’re just convinced you’ve got me all figured out…”

“yeah,” you quickly reply, leaning in a little more. “you’re not that hard to read.”

“you’re too confident.”

you huff out a little laugh, “saying that as if you haven’t been acting like you’re scared of me for the past thirty minutes.”

“i’m not,” gojo murmurs. his usual awkwardness is still there, but there’s also something else behind it. “i just… don’t know where to put my hands when you’re looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

he gives you a cute pout, “like you’re waiting for me to mess up.”

“maybe you should just say whatever’s on your mind, hm?” you say, moving closer.

“well,” gojo huffs, “i think you talk a lot of game for someone who hasn’t done anything yet.”

you grin at that, “and what am i supposed to do?”

“i don’t know!” he whispers, face turning redder when he realizes how close you are. he looks at your lips for a second too long, glasses sliding down slightly. “…maybe i was just just hoping you’d be quiet for a minute.”

you open your mouth to reply, but the words never come out.

gojo closes the gap before you can blink. and it’s clumsy, in the most adorable way. you feel the frames of his glasses hit your forehead, and the second his lips hit yours, you can feel his nervous energy spike. like he thought he messed up or something.

but you groan, hand flying to the back of his hair, pushing him further against your lips. your fingers tighten in his hair, guiding him with confidence. his hesitance fades as you deepen the kiss. your hands show him where to stay, and his own settle at your waist.

he’s just so cute. so messy and uncoordinated… is it weird that it’s turning you on? you push him back against the corner, kissing him against the wall now. gojo whines, trying to match your pace.

“hah, shit,” you mutter, pulling back just to trail kisses against his neck. so cute, soft…

his hand grips harder onto your waist, clutching your shirt, “(name)…”

“you’re so cute— fuck,” you moan, kissing a spot under his ear, which makes him shiver.

gojo whines again, pushing you away from his neck, just to pull you in for another kiss. and you easily dominate it again, tongue lapping at his, swallowing every noise he makes.

“hah— fuck, wait, y’got me hard…” you say unashamedly, pressing one last kiss to his lips as you pull away.

gojo’s eyes snap open, looking down at the tent in your pants. how could you just say that like it’s normal!? his face turns red, and you step back to give him some space.

your face heats up, muttering an apology, but then—

his hands are rubbing all over your clothed dick.

you gasp louder than you meant to, “what’re you doing!?”

gojo doesn’t respond for a moment. he just continues to touch you, staring up at you with a flushed face, similar to the first time you saw him. beautiful and fucking seductive.

“keeping my hands busy,” he finally speaks, and you groan.

one hand flies up to cover your mouth once you remember you’re at a party. even though you’re hidden, anyone could still see. you moan into your hand, pressing further into his own, but you snap.

you grab his wrist, scanning the area before turning to lead him upstairs.

“where are we going?” gojo blinks.

“my room,” you say, like it’s obvious.

oh.

the moment the door closes behind you, everything is a blur. mouths crashing against each other hungrily and hands roaming everywhere. his hands lift up your shirt, and you oblige, swiftly taking it off.

he admires you for a second, face still flushed.

“something wrong?” you ask.

“no,” he says, but you can tell there’s something on his mind. you pull him deeper into your bedroom, and your legs hit your own bed, sitting down while he stands infront of you.

“y’sure?” you ask again, looking up at him, “are you a virgin?”

“wha—!? no! i’m not!“ he whines, just now getting onto his knees infront of you, like he’s trying to prove a point.

“then what’s up?” you push, hand moving to pet his hair reassuringly.

“i don’t… really hook up with strangers.”

you scoff lightly at ‘strangers,’ amusement flickering in your eyes. “strangers, huh?” but your hand stays in his hair. “…it’s fine if you want to stop, just say so.”

“no…” he starts, keeping eye contact. then, he full on starts rubbing his face against your hard on, “i want you.”

holy shit.

you can’t believe him at all. he’s always so shy. blushing, hesitating, then out of nowhere, he does something like this. he must be a secret perv.

“fuck…” you groan, laying further against your bed, elbows propping you up as you watch this stupidly cute nerd nuzzle against your cock. “you’re crazy.”

gojo’s hands roam up your thighs, finally working to unbutton your pants. you bite your lip in anticipation, huffing out a small laugh when he fishes out your cock, and gasps at the sight.

“what?” you grin, one of your hand returns to his hair, pushing him down a little.

“it’s… your really big,” gojo softly shrieks, and he dips down to give your dick some kitten-like licks. you tense up, moaning, gripping his hair tighter, “c’mon, you can do better than that.”

he mutters something under his breath, but you don’t pay attention to it. you let out a loud groan when he takes all of you into his mouth.

“ngh, fuck— yeaah, like that.”

gojo hums against you, swallowing you deep, soft hands wrapped around whatever he couldn’t fit. you watch with lidded eyes as he bobs his head like a fucking pro.

“oh shit! hah, so good… keep going,”

now, you seriously couldn’t understand him at all. you watch his cheeks flush, eyes big and so desperate, but his mouth does things that make your head spin. so shy but so damn demanding. you push him down farther, and it was surprisingly quick when you came, letting out a strangled sound.

gojo pulled back with a heavy breath, wiping his mouth shyly as he bats his white eyelashes at you. but before he can speak, you pick him up from the floor, shoving him onto your bed. then move ontop of him, lips smashing onto his.

gojo’s breath comes in soft, shaky puffs as you press your lips to his. you can feel his heart pounding against your own. he clings to your shoulders, bodies molding together on the bed. there’s a sense a hesitation in his movements, yet he arches into you and lets out another muffled whimper.

you hand trails down his side, thumb brushing over the exposed skin beneath his basic white tee, and gojo shivers at your touch. you pull back just enough to look into his flushed face, lips parted, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

“you’re so fuckin’ cute,” you murmur, letting your fingers trace lazy circles on his waist. gojo bites his lip, a shy smile breaking through as he looks up at you. and without another word, you lean in again, capturing his mouth.

“mmh— you really like kissing huh..” gojo hums, soft gasps leaving as lips when you start to place wet kisses at his neck.

“guess so, somethin’ wrong with that?” you say, working to get rid of his shirt.

“no, i just didn’t expect it,” he says honestly, lifting his arms up to help you. he’s shirtless now, and you’re getting impatient.

“really wanna fuck ya,” you groan, reaching for his pants and shoving them off. he lets out this little wail at how fast you’re moving, but you’re already lifting his legs up, staring.

“don’t stare!” he shrieks, face heating up.

“why, i can’t look?” you hum, fingers trailing from his nipples, alll the way down to his ass. “you’re really hard, fuck.”

his face reddens even more, trying to close his legs, but you don’t let him. “don’t— angh!” he moans when your finger prods at his hole.

“don’t what?” you smile smugly, spitting out a fat glob of saliva right onto his entrance, spreading it with your thick fingers, slipping a thumb inside.

gojo throws his head back, already a whiny mess, “feels good…!”

“yeah?” you chuckle, finger curling deeper inside, “sensitive, huh? no one’s been taking care of this pretty ass?”

“hanh! don’t say stuff like that,” he whines.

“be honest, ‘toru.”

for a second, gojo freezes, eyes wide. then it hits him… you’ve never said his name out loud, until now. let alone that nickname. his heart thumps, heat racing up his neck.

his mind flashes back to earlier, the hazy memory of the moment you first exchanged names. in the middle of the conversation from just earlier today.

“wait a sec, i never got your name?”

“gojo. satoru,” he replied, watching your lips curl into a smile. “and you?”

“(name), jus’ call me whatever you want,” you said.

now, hearing you say “‘toru” for the first time, it feels different. like… maybe the start of something real? his cheeks burn, but he can’t help the way his chest aches a little, in a good way.

gojo’s mind returns to the current moment when you slip another finger inside, and he moans loudly, hand clutching onto your shoulders like a lifeline. “hnngg, (name!)”

“shit… i really wanna fuck you already,” you groan, fingers moving in and out of his tiny hole. “answer the question,”

“fuh…” gojo softly moans, back arching off the mattress.

“hmm? talk t’me, no one’s been touching you correctly?”

“no!” he wails, “hah! please— ‘m really gonna cum!”

“already? poor baby,” you reply, and that drives gojo over the edge. he almost fucks himself into your hand, crying out as he cums. you continue to finger him, riding out his high before pulling them out.

gojo pants with a flushed face, and you lean across him toward the nightstand. he looks over, and you’re reaching for both condoms and tissues.

you use the tissues to clean off the cum on his torso. gojo blushes, muttering a thanks, pushing up his glasses. you shrug, throwing the tissue, and impatiently putting the condom onto yourself.

“got me hard all day, fuck.”

“it’s… is that gonna fit—“

“don’t worry babe. i’ll make it fit.”

babe!? you just keep surprising him…

you push his legs a little closer to his chest, slapping your cock against his hole. he’s about to speak, but instead, he gasps with teary eyes. you pushed inside without warning, and the slap of your hips against his ass is quick.

“ah fuck! fuckin tight—“ you hiss, slapping his soft ass, and he moans, head thrown back yet again.

“wait—! i wasn’t…. angh!”

you lean in for a kiss, and he tries his best to kiss you back. but he’s already being fucked dumb. he’s never felt so full before—

“y’there ‘toru? c’mon, kiss me back.”

“i caaan’t” he whines, chest heaving as your cock drills inside of him. “feels so good! oh… god!”

“you feel s’good too— fuck,” his sweet, gummy walls stroke your dick with every clench, hips slapping against his own until they turn red.

“wait wait— ‘m gonna cum!” gojo cries out, but you don’t stop, you keep going until his cute cock jerks, spraying cum over his torso again. you cum a few seconds after, filling up the condom, slowly pulling out…

gojo expects you to be done now, but you're reaching for another condom, manhandling him into another position. “yeah, c’mon, face down ass up.”

and you’re filling him up again. leaning over just to press kisses onto his shoulder and whisper more dirty things into his ear. gojo has never, ever had sex like this! the chemistry was already undeniable, but this is just insane. he’s only ever been with two guys… and they still never made him feel like this.

“awh, what a cry baby,” you tease.

“ahhn..! ‘m not a cry baby— ohh… ‘s too much! ‘m gonna cumm..!”

“hah— yes you are, cryin’ all over my pillow. ah shit—! and you look so cute doin’ it. c’mon, toru, cum for me.”

gojo wails as his third orgasm crashes into him while your thick cock slams against his g-spot. it’s too much… in the best way possible. he lets out a final whine as you pull out, falling onto your mattress with a satisfied sigh.

wow.

for a few seconds it's quiet, just the bass from downstairs bleeding through the floor and the sound of your own breathing. your sheets are twisted up, your room smells like heat, and the adrenaline that carried you through it starts to drain out of your body.

you glance over at him on your bed, laying there like a damn angel. hair a mess, glasses slightly crooked, chest rising and falling like he's trying to catch up. he shifts closer without thinking, knee brushing yours like it's natural.

and that’s the problem. the second it starts to feel like something you might want, you feel your stomach drop. your brain scrambles for excuses— it was the alcohol, the week, the noise, the heat. anything but the fact that you’re sitting here in your room with him and you don’t want him to move away.

you swallow, jaw tight. you've spent your whole life knowing who you're supposed to be. the responsible son, the guy who keeps it together. the room feels too small all of a sudden. you sit up, reaching for your boxers like you need something to do with your hands. you don't look at him when you clear your throat. "hey," you start, voice rough. "you should probably head out."

for gojo, it takes a second for it to really land. he probably should’ve seen this coming…. random hookup with a stranger. and you’re a frat guy. that’s almost worse.

it was never supposed to be anything more. and yet…

he pushes himself up, legs very wobbly, grabbing for his clothes scattered across your floor. you’re not looking at him, and somehow that stings more than if you’d said anything cruel. he pulls his shirt over his head, tries not to let the little ache in his chest make it all the way to his face. "yeah, sure," he mumbles, voice thin.

still, he can't help but think, maybe he was stupid for wanting just a little bit more. but that’s not your problem, is it?

you watch as he leaves with that same flushed expression you couldn’t stop thinking about. then you flop onto your bed, covered in sweat, glistening with that post sex glow.

you’ve never had enough experience with guys for it to mean anything. at least that’s what you tell yourself, turning the thought over in your mind like it’ll eventually make it true. it doesn’t count... this is just a blip, something you’ll forget by morning. but even as you repeat that in your head...

At the bottom of a lake in a national park sits a towering stone statue of an Asura – the three-faced, six-armed demigods who revelled in war and hungered insatiably for worldly pleasures. Two hands are clasped in prayer; four reach for the heavens. The forests are dense, the mountains tall, and the waters dark and cool.

Most scholars estimate the statue to be particularly ancient – something like one thousand and five hundred years, around the time Buddhism was introduced to Japan. Its size, however, begets questions: why so large for such a new religion? Who made it? Why at the bottom of a lake? Why this lake? How is it still almost perfectly preserved, with such little water damage or natural erosion?

It was a local oddity, a mystery of ancient times. Its purpose – to scare, to protect, to be worshipped – was debated. Kenjaku, however, knows better.

It is a door. An entrance to a long-forgotten tomb.

Now, draining an entire lake is a mammoth task. Luckily for him, whoever crafted the statue also made it a lock. It will open via a specific pulse of cursed energy, shaped sharp and terrible like a blade rather than a key. However, time has eroded the statue's memory of its proper shape – with a determined-enough battering ram, any door will open. Kenjaku is that ram.

It's magical, watching the lake drain into some strange contraption at the raised circular base at the bottom of the statue. It looks like a grate. Soon enough, the roar of the water subsides, and the dark hollow of the lake, punched deep in the earth, is like the gods' very own kitchen sink.

Kenjaku's eyes flicker to the dark dome above. The veil conceals everything for now, but discretion would be awfully difficult to keep if he finds out there's no way to restore the lake to proper, well, lake-hood. Sorcerers would come sniffing in an instant.

At the bottom of the lake, he enters the revealed stone doors, probably fifteen or twenty feet tall. They waited, newly open, for him once he'd bypassed the lock, grinding open slowly once he reached them.

His steps echo in the vast, dark cave system. The soft plink of water drips into clear pools somewhere in the distance. His breath clouds in front of him, the air cold and damp, as he descends stairs carved into the dark stone. The stairs go down and down, then up and up, the long winding passages broad enough to fit three cars side by side.

Torches line the walls, hammered into place with black iron that fans out in the shape of spider lilies. They crackle to life as he nears them, their red flames licking the centres.

Eventually, he comes across another set of open stone doors. Two black braziers sit on either side, throwing crimson light on the walls and darkening the shadows. He lifts a hand to one of the braziers as he passes, fascinated as the flames flicker harmlessly around his bare fingers. The fire feels only as hot as the steam over a boiling pot of pasta.

None of this is for him specifically. There is no kindling in the braziers, no oil in the torches – this is a falling line of dominoes, with stored cursed energy instructed to follow a set of actions the moment the lake drained. It is unique. It is ancient. It is... ingenious.

Beyond the second set of doors, the cave system opens up into a vast, gaping cavern. Through a gap in the ceiling, pale moonlight cuts diagonally through the darkness, a cone of light falling upon a rocky formation in the centre of the cavern. A cleared path curves up to a point, and mirroring its curve above is a massive stalactite. Perhaps the points of each had touched, once, into a single form, but no longer. Water drips from the tip into a blooming patch of translucent blue flowers that stretches around the base of the rock all the way to his feet, so pale they seem to glow in the moonlight.

He glances down near the doors. At the edge of the field of flowers is a knee-height collection of drawings etched in stone and painted with flaked paint. He bobs down, brushing his fingers over the stone.

The linework is sloppy, unsteady. The paint trails outside of the lines. Humanoid figures dance around a spider-lily brazier – sit peacefully around a roasted boar – stand knee-deep in a river catching fish. His fingers trail over the last scene. Two figures are in the water, one tall and one small, but there's a third on the banks, watching under a tree. It has four arms. The face has been erased with time.

He stands again. He walks up the path, flowers sprawling on either side, and finds a tall, still figure slumped gently at the top, like a throne.

Ancient silks pool around its wrists and feet, trailing through the flowers. Any colour it once had has since faded, the cloth now bone-white. It still, however, retains its shimmery lustre, with a sheen like crushed pearls.

Kenjaku steps closer, brushing his bangs over his ear as he reaches into his pocket and extracts his phone, glancing at a picture of an ancient painted scroll from his private library. He lifts his phone up to the figure, glancing between them, and hums.

"All these years, and you haven't changed one bit."

A thousand years have passed and your skin is still supple, smooth, though ashen with death. No blood runs through you now. Your hands rest open in your lap, cupped loosely, as if awaiting offerings. Your hair is romantically long, tucked behind your ear and over your shoulder, and despite how soft they look, your lips lack colour.

Even standing at the end of your robes, more than a metre away from the bottom of your moonlit throne, Kenjaku still has to look up slightly – you are tall, definitely beating his current body, six-foot-something as it is. No, you are larger than that. God-tall. Easily worshipped, he thinks – easily feared.

He steps closer, carefully manoeuvring around the white silk pooling around his shoes. In your hands is an intricate golden brooch, inlaid with four almond-shaped rubies that haven't dulled with time. It rests delicately in your palms, and your head is tilted towards it – perhaps it was the last thing you ever saw. Careful not to disturb the rest of you, he reaches for it.

Your hand shoots forward and wraps around the entirety of his forearm, dragging him in. Your grip is bruising, strong enough to shatter stone.

Silhouetted by darkness, your eyes glow a ghostly silver, pupils completely milky-white. Your lips nearly touch his as you pull him ever so slightly closer, fingers twisting punishingly around his arm. Your breath is cold against his lips.

"A corpse..." you whisper, a raspy, rattling breath, "should be left well alone."

Kenjaku doesn't move. He doesn't try to. Even dead, your presence is electrifying, your touch like a live wire straight to the nerves. His lungs constrict, and his heart pounds in his chest with something more than wonder.

Even like this, you still manage to surprise him.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes reflecting with an eerie catlike glow in the shadows of your features. Slowly, your grip loosens, and you release his arm – gently, softly, as if you're giving it back to him. Mechanically, your gaze lowers to the brooch in your palm, and you lean back, cupping it once more. Your hand closes around the brooch; the crimson jewels glitter between your long fingers. You close your eyes, and stillness returns to the dark cavern.

Kenjaku grabs his wrist, rubbing it more out of habit than anything. His own touch is a balm from the icy burn of yours. He mutters, "So dramatic."

You don't move.

"My way would have been easier. Centralised. I have to go out of my way to bring you back – but you were always a rebellious one, weren't you?"

He reaches for the brooch again. You grab his wrist – again. Just like before, there is no life in it. Nothing real. This is all just automatic reflex, instinct preserved in limbo, as unconscious and unthinking as the decay of meat and muscle – a natural, predetermined pattern of reactions to certain stimuli.

"What a bother," he murmurs, twisting his arm out of the corpse's grasp. "But if I were you, I suppose I'd want to keep a face like this, too."

He leans down, inspecting your lowered face. You have intimidatingly beautiful features – noble, strong. Uniquely elegant.

He reaches up, his face tilted towards yours. His fingers brush your ice-cold cheek – his palm is tiny in comparison.

Part curse, part god. A once-simple soul entangled deeply, cosmically, with another's. A bond that transcends eras, lives, and perhaps the very realm of the earth.

You don't stir. Why, he wonders? Is it the brooch that acts as the catalyst? Is your corpse protecting it?

Kenjaku draws back, lifting his phone again and scanning his annotations printed on a PDF file of scrolls. The photos are clearly taken with a phone camera on a library table rather than being scanned in archive quality, but they’re serviceable.

There's a highlighted note on a poem with beautiful calligraphy, its author gone uncredited. It accompanies a landscape scene of the lake he's standing under, the inky shape of the hills and mountains almost identical to when he viewed it over a nearby cliff.

Lucent blooms settle

Beneath sleeping mountains' light—

Silk's argent embrace

He hums. Incredibly profound.

It's a winter poem. 'Sleeping mountains' – that's the seasonal word, the kigo. His thoughts dart between fragments of information as he taps his chin thoughtfully, beginning to pace languidly back and forth. If only you'd trusted him enough with the key yourself – he'd had to scrounge through countless charred villages and museum archives just to find these clues, a task that spanned centuries. You were very good at hiding things. Unfortunately for him, only one being in existence has ever held that key, and they were currently… indisposed.

Winter. Cold. The corpse is cold. 'Lucent blooms' – that definitely has to be referencing these strange flowers, some rare variety he's never seen anywhere else. 'Light'… Moon? The moon's out right now. A full moon, if that changes things. Or it could be the light bouncing off the white peaks of the surrounding mountains. 'Embrace'. Embrace what? Fancy talk for just enjoying the natural view?

He clicks his tongue with a sigh.

Silk, his mind supplies helpfully. His gaze swings back to the god-corpse resting before him and the snow-white silk, still defiantly gleaming despite the passing aeons. An idea sparks in his mind.

Slowly, he crouches, inspecting the flowers and plucks the largest one from the fresh soil. The white petals are slender, soft as velvet and luminous under the moonlight. He glances at his phone, rereading the poem two more times. He places the flower in the cup of your open palms.

He waits. He watches.

The corpse's fingers twitch.

They close stiffly around the flower, pulling it close. With a slow, steady inhale, the corpse's eyes flutter open.

No longer are they that milky death-white, lacking the natural pinkness at the corners of the eyes and in the veins of the sclera. The irises are now gold, molten gold, and as bright and brilliant as the dawn.

There is a figure in front of you: dark-clothed, blurry with countless years of your dreamless oblivion.

"Uraume…?" Your voice is a low, husky breath. You close your eyes, one hand lifting briefly towards your aching, throbbing temple. The gold brooch tips from your palm, landing soundlessly in your lap.

"Not quite."

You blink, brow slightly furrowed. Your vision clears. There is a man in front of you – a sorcerer, judging by the controlled silvery shimmer that threads itself through his very being. His face is unfamiliar. But his energy is…

You take in his serene expression, the knowing gaze that borders on condescension… and the stitches across the forehead.

"You are not Uraume," you murmur – barely. Your lip curls with distaste. He has to strain to hear over the ambient noise, the low hum of the earth and the whisper of wind through stone. Your voice comes low, a death rattle cold enough to chill bones. "Leave, brain. You are not welcome here."

"Such little gratitude to an old friend," he replies with a smile. "Would it kill you to call me by my name?"

"Which one have you stolen now? This body…" You tilt your head, surveying him. "It is a recent acquisition."

"Yes – Geto Suguru," he says rather joyfully, touching his stitched forehead in a caricature of shyness. "You may call me such, if you like."

"I will not." You lower your gaze, scooping up the brooch and closing your fingers over it. The metal is cool against your skin – your sense of touch is returning to you. You can feel the intricate patterns of the gold and the hard angles of the jewels under your thumb. "Why do you wake me?"

"My plans are coming to fruition. I assumed you would want to be there for them."

You trace the white petals of the freshly-plucked flower in your palm. An offering – but given by the wrong hands. "If I had any interest in your 'plans', I would have accepted your proposal back then. So, before I snap every bone of your borrowed body and drink its marrow while you watch, I ask again: why do you wake me?"

He lifts his hands in surrender, but his smile sharpens. "Ryomen Sukuna has returned."

Your fingers stop drawing circles into the petals. Your breath catches. "What…?"

"Indeed. I'll give you a moment to check for yourself."

You can sense it. You feel him. It's faint, but something tugs at the base of your ribs, a sharp longing that has your eyes widening. He's unmistakable. You would recognise him anywhere – you would know him blind.

But if he has returned, why is it this brain stands before you, and not him? You promised you would wait for him. You would wake for him. To be awoken by this thing instead feels like a sickening betrayal. Your grip tightens on the flower, its petals crushed in your palm.

You… should kill him.

"Thinking of ending me?" His grin widens. "Unfortunately, Your Grace, I am the tip of the spear when it comes to restoring the King of Curses to his full strength. Removing me from the equation would obstruct his return to power."

"Would it?" You cup the brooch instead, letting the broken flower petals flutter to your feet. "You are such a confident little bug."

"Well-earned, I'd say." Kenjaku flutters a few fingers in the air casually as he speaks. "If it pleases you, I know a place where you can stay to recuperate while I gather the remaining number of Sukuna's fingers. I'm sure you'll be well enough by then to participate in my plans, should you change your mind."

"I have no desire to partake in your games. It is all posturing and strutting about – no substance." You glance up, leaning back. "Now leave before I peel every nerve out of that hideous brain of yours. You interrupted my beauty sleep."

He smiles back, infuriatingly composed. "As you wish. But I can't, in good faith, go without mentioning something. You might be interested to see that I have… this." He reaches into his robes and pulls out a wooden box completely wrapped in paper seals. Despite them, dark cursed energy radiates off of it in suffocating waves, thick enough to choke humans into a terrified, sobbing paralysis. It pulses like a heartbeat. He shakes it, and something rattles within.

Your amusement vanishes. You stiffen.

He watches your reaction keenly. "This is one of the two. Join me and I'll help you retrieve the other. Luckily for us, I just so happen to know exactly where it is."

Your eyes flash. "Are you threatening me?"

"It's more of a bargain, but I digress. Is the threat of a heart attack on a cosmic scale enough to entice you over, Your Grace?"

You gaze at him with an expression as readable as stone. Your gaze darkens. "You are a fool if you believe I'll ever make promises to a brain."

"A smart fool. I know you and Sukuna are impossibly attached to each other. How long will it take you to rewrite the rules of your 'hibernation' again? A year? Ten years? His current vessel is giving him grief, so it may take him a while to retain control long enough to find you. Help me gather his fingers and you'll have him back in a flash."

You say nothing.

"How long has it been?" you ask, finally, glancing around you. "How long has that bastard made me wait?"

"A thousand years, give or take."

Your grip tightens on the brooch. A long, heavy silence falls.

"Very well," you mutter, tracking him like prey as he steps away, inspecting the flowers and your silk robes as if you're some sort of museum exhibit. Your lips press together with disgust as he smiles and clasps his hands, a glint in his eyes that states he already knew your answer before you said a word. At least for now, you're weakened, so you'll oblige, but you promise yourself you'll enjoy spilling him across the stone one day. "Do what you must."

—

A child is running around your feet. It is small, with mismatched eyes and long blue-grey hair. You stare at it.

"This is not Uraume."

Kenjaku chuckles, watching from his seat by the table. He lifts a cup of steaming tea to his lips. "Uraume is busy searching for Sukuna's fingers. Why? Missing them?"

You cross your arms, tugging your billowing sleeves away from the grabby hands of the tiny... curse. Undeterred, it crawls under the hem of your trailing robes, folding them over its shoulders like a cape. You lift your gaze. "You said they were here."

"I said they were awake," he corrects. "If you care so much, why don't you send out your Bat-Signal, call them over?"

"My what?" you frown. "If you mean that I should signal my presence to them, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Only Sukuna created that sort of bond. I did not like the idea of being... tracked."

He hums, sipping his tea. "Always so independent. Uraume will be back soon, I wager. In the meantime, why don't you introduce yourself, Mahito?"

The child at your feet looks up and beams, brushing his messy bangs out of his eyes. The dark stitches across his skin stretch with his smile. "I'm Mahito!" he chirps. "I can touch souls!"

"That's... very nice," you say, tugging your robes to stop them from catching and pulling at his dark stitches. You glance between the pair, eyes sliding up to Kenjaku's forehead. "Is it another one of yours?"

Kenjaku lets out a barked laugh, placing his tea on the table. "No. He was born of human hatred. He's quite young – not even a year old, I believe."

"Oh. I suppose that's better." You observe the youngster for a moment as he plays with the charms hanging from your sash, particularly absorbed with a small jade fox.

"Excuse me?" He almost sounds offended. "Why is it better that he's not my child?"

You ignore him, turning to the little curse. "Mahito, do your stitches hold you together, as his do? Or are yours just to make you look even more adorable?"

He lights up. "Geto! You hear that? He thinks I'm adorable!" He turns back to you, grinning. "I don't know, mister! I don't think I'll fall apart without them, but I haven't been pulled apart yet."

"I see." You pat his head. "Let's keep it that way."

"Okay!" He grasps your kimono and follows you to the table, where a dozen old scrolls and stolen inventory files lie neatly organised. You pick up the nearest folder, finding inside a printed report of 'Sukuna's Finger: Left Index'. You trace the image of it, your gaze softening ever so slightly.

Mahito isn't tall enough to see what's in your hands, let alone over the edge of the table. He huffs in annoyance and shoots up in height, shaking out his newly lengthened limbs, and grabs your elbow, shoving himself beneath your arm. He is now comfortably chest-height with you.

"Oh, just looking at these again. Geto always looks at these. So, you two were, like, married, right?" he says, tilting his head straight up to look at you at an angle impossible for human necks. "Was he any good as a wife?"

"It was a covenant," you correct, turning the page. "And yes. He was very good."

"Wow," he giggles, grabbing a scroll and unrolling it flat across the table. "Then what was the covenant about? How'd you meet? Did he try to kill you?"

You glance down at your robes, white as moonlight. A small smile tugs at your lips. "That's a boring story, Mahito."

"I don't believe that for a second! I mean, I'm not doing anything important. Let me decide if it's boring or not," he says, immediately ditching the scroll he'd just opened to take up half the library table. "Tell me, tell me!"

"Are you sure? I might not be the best storyteller. My mind is still a little foggy with sleep."

"It's okay. I just wanna know how someone like Sukuna caught the attention of someone as pretty as you, mister." He stares up at you with wide, sparkling eyes.

"If you insist." You chuckle.

"I do!"

"Very well. Long ago, I lived in a forest," you begin, touching the photo of Sukuna's finger. Even Kenjaku shifts slightly, eyes downcast towards his research but his ear tilted towards you. "It was a great, ancient place, spanning across many mountains. It was my home, and I protected it well for many years – until one day, humans came stumbling through it, shouting and trampling and carrying torches. There were too many to fight off, coming from all directions. Dealing with one group left another unchecked. They set my home on fire; that fire raged for two weeks."

You grab a chair and settle down into it, and Mahito quickly takes a seat at your feet. "Hanami hates when humans do that," he says wisely, nodding.

"They do it often, those wretched things – no consideration for the innocent creatures caught in their paths. That day, they were looking for someone: someone who'd made his latest home in my forest, and who they called the King of Curses. I didn't think much of the title. I'd never heard of the man before, so I wondered why they cared so much about him. Curious, I sought him out. I don't know why the sorcerers struggled to find him – he was loud and brutish, every step like an earthquake, every blow shaking the heavens. Unfortunately, before I could confront the barbarian disrupting my peace, the sorcerers fighting him attacked me as well. Mahito, what colour do you think gods bleed?"

He cups his chin thoughtfully. "Mine's red, but most other curses are purple. Hm... You seem different. Maybe gold, like your eyes?"

You smile evenly. "Clever guess. After I slaughtered those sorcerers, I found this supposed 'king' standing back and watching me, letting me do all the hard work. It infuriated me. He barges into my home, destroys my quiet, and now he doesn't lift a single finger to drive off the enemies he brought to my door? He had twenty of them. Surely he could spare one. But he refused, so clearly, I had no choice but to chase him off like a feral dog to take his invaders with him. For three days and three nights, we fought until we reached a stalemate. He could not touch me in a way that mattered. I could not keep him down."

A sigh flutters past your lips as you rest your head on your palm, propping your elbow on the table. "Finally, he stopped. He called me mesmerising, said that I'd enchanted him with how I fought like it was a dance, but that he wouldn't leave and wouldn't help with the humans unless offered something in return. You who steal my moonlight for your silks! he accused me. I will kill every sorcerer who threatens this forest only if you dance for me alone, forever."

Mahito hangs onto your every word, leaning forward slightly. His round, mismatched eyes shine with fascination.

"And so, Ryomen Sukuna, the mighty and undefeated King of Curses, became my darling little guard dog. The end." You wave a hand, your white sleeve gleaming in the light, and laugh at Mahito's dumbfounded expression. "Why the look? Did you expect more?"

"You skipped the middle part!" he complains, crossing his arms. "That's the best part. I wanna hear how you responded to his bargain!"

You think of Sukuna's flushed face and parted lips, all four ruby eyes half-lidded and trained on you. You think of taking him then and there in the forest clearing, the grass and trees bleached bone-white from the heat of your clash, with his sturdy thighs bracketing yours as he gripped his weapons stabbed into the soil for balance.

"No," you hum, smiling. "No, dear, you don't."

—

Mahito quite likes you. Hanami approves of your paternal care of the forest you claimed as your own, and little Dagon is still too young to do much except get carried around by Mahito so they can listen to your stories together. These are facts that bother the volcanic cursed spirit, Jogo, a surprising amount.

"He lies as easily as breathing," Jogo says gruffly, his single Cyclopean eye narrowing in your direction as you spin tales out of Sukuna's triumphs over ten-thousand-strong armies. Mahito is small at the moment, legs crossed in the sand of Dagon's beachy domain – his eyes shine brighter when you briefly make reference to your own formidable strength. Sukuna is a fairytale, just a collection of words – you are tangible, real, and to his mind, more interesting for it.

Kenjaku smiles calmly. "Is that why you don't get along?"

"Cursed spirits should be authentic! Real! The fox hides his true feelings and plays games to manipulate things in his favour. That's cowardly," he grumbles. "Striking from the shadows is reserved for the weak."

"Ah, but you forget that he faced off against Sukuna in his prime and managed to walk away. He's anything but weak. Open, honourable duels just aren't his cup of tea." Glancing across the beach, he watches Mahito clamber into your lap, childlike interest bright on his face as he reaches up and touches the brooch pinned high on your lapel. You hide it with your hair most of the time, sweeping it forward over your shoulders. Kenjaku watches as you sit him across your knee and let him touch it, but you grasp it firmly so he can't steal it away. "Once Sukuna fully incarnates, don't mention such thoughts to him. He's very touchy when it comes to what's his, so if you know what's good for you, keep your mouth closed."

Jogo harrumphs. "Fine. Doesn't matter to me. Why'd you wake him up before Sukuna's incarnation, anyway? He hasn't done anything yet except make a fanboy out of Mahito."

"Oh, just think a little bit harder," Kenjaku cajoles. "We know Sukuna's vessel is trained by Gojo Satoru and they're both residing at the Tokyo jujutsu school, yes? If Sukuna's as possessive as I remember, knowing his fox has returned and is waiting for him will fuel his desire to incarnate as soon as possible. Right now, there are still a dozen fingers out there, so he isn't rushing to consume them. I want to change that."

His eye narrows. "You… want to send him to the school."

"Bingo," he replies cheerfully.

"That'll get him killed."

"Oh, please. Stop underestimating him. He's very good at his certain brand of violence. Besides..." he hums as he settles back in the chair, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes with a serene smile. "Don't you think it would be funny?"

—

Yuji trudges blearily towards the open training fields of the campus, rubbing his eyes. His uniform is crinkled, and his socks are probably two different colours. He can't remember. He's always been unnaturally hardy, but over the last two weeks, Sukuna has been exceptionally loud and restless inside his head, and every lapse in attention was enough to let him manifest a mouth or eye with disturbing ease. Nights were even worse, and Yuji worriedly relayed to his teacher how Sukuna was able to take control of his entire body just because he crashed so hard it felt like blacking out. He'd jerked himself awake with his hand on the doorknob, but that wasn't a risk he was willing to take every night.

Satoru had lost much of his flippant attitude at his confession. His smile faded for a beat too long before it returned, and he simply asked Yuji to meet up with him the next day to 'train'. Train what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but honestly, he'd trust the man if he told him to walk off a cliff blindfolded.

"You're a weak, pathetic little gnat and always will be. You think your 'training' will amount to anything? Give in. Give up."

If Yuji smacks the side of his head with any more force, he'll give himself a concussion. "You're straightforward today," he mutters. "Usually you like to try to manipulate me more."

"What is there to manipulate when you've got the brains of a brick?" Sukuna drawls. His voice echoes in his skull like a pounding bassline with none of the fun involved.

"You're a real jerk, man."

He chuckles then, deep and sinister. "Every time you consume a part of me, you lose more of yourself. Can you imagine that, of not knowing where I begin and you end?"

Something red flashes into Yuji's peripherals. He blinks, pausing on the edge of the training field along the path, right next to the dense forest that circles the campus.

A small red fox halts in the middle of the path in front of him, thick fluffy tail swaying low behind it. It blinks slowly, its yellow eyes fixated on him. Its red-orange fur is glossy, and its soft white throat is as pale as snow.

"Hey, buddy," Yuji coos, voice pitching higher subconsciously. "Aw. You're just the fluffiest, aren'tcha?"

The fox stares at him, small paws tapping the ground. It turns and patters further along the path for a few steps, then pauses and looks over its shoulder expectantly with uncannily clever eyes.

"Whoa," he mumbles, brows knitting slightly. "Is it just me, or does that fox look like it wants me to follow it?"

The response is instantaneous. "Do it, brat."

"Well, now I don't want to," he says stubbornly, crossing his arms. "Can't you literally read my thoughts? I was going to do it to kill time, since Gojo-sensei isn't here yet, but you saying that really messed me up."

"What the hell do you think I gain out of following a damn animal?"

"I dunno. What if it's a cursed spirit or something? What if you're trying to get me killed – again?"

"It is not. I can assure you, it is not." He sounds almost impatient. "But say it was. Look at the size of the thing. Kick it and you'd exorcise it. Now go. It's leaving."

Yuji groans, reluctantly jogging after the quick little fox. He supposes Sukuna's right, though – he's on campus, and he saw Principal Yaga walking through the halls just a few minutes earlier, so he at least has someone to run to if anything goes sideways.

Besides... something within him burns with curiosity. Not a vestigial remnant of Sukuna, either. Something uniquely his own.

With a half-second pause and a glance back, the fox veers left into the trees. It vanishes amongst the shrub almost immediately. Yuji scrambles to track it. "Ah, damn it…! Doesn't everybody say not to follow foxes in forests? The second things look fishy, I'm getting outta here."

For the first time in weeks, Sukuna is dead silent. Yuji ducks under a low-hanging branch, glancing behind him to see the light of the path quickly dimming with every step. The fox seems to be leading him in a straight line, which will be great for sprinting his way back to safety if he even so much as hears a twig snap.

The fox's pace quickens, white-tipped tail held high like a flag. Yuji steps over a nest of thick, gnarled roots, almost trips on a spiky bush, and looks up. He freezes.

There, in a small patch of sun behind a large evergreen tree, is a pure white fox the size of a large dog. Several smaller red foxes surround it, jumping about or resting in the patch of sunlight. What seems like a mother and her kits play slightly further away to give the yipping, wrestling babies some room. The white fox watches them with particular care.

"Whoa... Cute," Yuji whispers, dazed. He lifts his hands to his mouth, his eyes glistening. "So cute…"

At his words, the large white fox turns its head in his direction. Its eyes are not just yellow – they seem to glow with an unnatural flash that lingers even after it passes through the light into the shadows. It rises to all fours and steps slowly, predatorily, towards him.

Stepping out from behind the tree, it reveals nine long, gleaming white tails, held up high and proud.

The fox that led Yuji here scampers towards it, lowering its head in what seems like deference. The white fox glances at it once, and the red one stands and trots off to join another curled up in the roots of a tree.

The white fox approaches slowly, strong and sinewy. It blinks with eyes almost human, the pupils dilating as it scans his figure. The nine – nine! – tails puff up and give a little quiver, before calming down into a slower – though faster than earlier – side-to-side sway.

It comes even closer, near enough to pet if he lifted his hand. His fingers twitch. Its fur looks impossibly soft and white, like a cloud in animal form. It churrs quietly as it lifts its head towards his outstretched palm.

Wait, outstretched?

He snaps out of it with a sharp gasp. He turns swiftly on his heel and takes a single step forward.

"Leaving so soon?"

He freezes with a strange tugging in his soul – was that his? – that commands him to turn. Eyes wide, expression fixed in place, he slowly inches back around. His breath catches in his throat as his gaze travels up, up, up.

Standing before him is a beautiful man, taller than anything he's ever seen – taller than Nanamin, taller than Gojo-sensei, taller than Panda. He wears long robes that flow like a silver river, gleaming so brightly he looks like a fallen star, and a soft wind plays with his sleeves and hair. His expression is almost kind.

Almost.

"Goodness. Even a thousand years later, you still manage to drag me into the filth of your messes," you say, your voice a soothing wash of silk over river-smoothed stone. A pair of red foxes curls around your ankles, leaping over your trailing robes.

Yuji takes a step back.

"Well?" you ask, tilting your head. "Nothing to say, husband?"

Yuji squeaks, lifting his hands defensively. "Huh? What? No, you must be mistaken, I-I'm not – um—"

His jaw clicks shut as you step closer, extending a hand. How can you be more beautiful up close? You gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "He even looks like you, Sukuna. I have not seen you so young in a long, long time."

A crushing pressure presses down on his lungs, not unlike Gojo-sensei's when he lifts his blindfold. He wants to move. Needs to move. He's going to die if he stays still for even a second longer.

You lean down slightly, molten-gold eyes trained on his. Against his own will, his eyes flick down to the ruby-studded brooch peeking out from beneath your hair. Something dark and foreign rumbles against his very soul – like the purr of a large cat.

"Brat." Sukuna's deep voice cuts through his incoherent thoughts. "Let me take over."

What? he thinks, halfway to panic because a really, really pretty man is holding his face and isn't breaking eye contact. No! I'm not doing that! No way!

"You think you can fight him and win?" He scoffs. "That's a special-grade curse you're looking at, you know – slips past your defences like moonlight, a cruelty so beautiful you would thank him if he danced on your corpse. He made rivers run red with human blood for days."

WHAT? he thinks, fully panicking.

Oh, god. Oh, dear god. He wonders if he can summon his trusty teacher if he screams his name loud enough.

"You should come with me, child," you whisper with a smile, those golden eyes glinting. You kneel, moving closer, and Yuji squeaks as you look up at him. The scent of sweet petrichor curls around him – cool, gentle, like a secret not meant to be shared. "I won't hurt you... not a hair on your head. Come."

Your offered hand looks so inviting…

"No!" he blurts out, jerking back. "He said you like human blood, a-and dancing on people's corpses! I don't trust you at all!"

"Do you think sweet animals would sleep around my feet if I were so savage? You'd trust the word of a demon over mine, pup?"

"I..." He hesitates. "F-For this, yeah! He sounded proud. He's never proud of anything, so he can't be lying."

Your lips part slightly before pressing together. Your eyes, once so gentle, narrow. "Sukuna... You're ruining things again with your big mouth. I travelled all this way just to be foiled by my own husband – typical."

You turn Yuji's face, staring at the scar-like line below his eye. "You speak to the child, yet you hide from me. Does it please you to pretend I'm not here? Coward."

Foreign indignance bubbles up inside him. Yuji swallows.

You wait. One second. Two.

Your expression darkens and you rise to your feet, not so much dropping Yuji's face as pushing him away. He steps back, touching his jaw where your fingers once were. Something lingers, painless but crackling like Pop Rocks against his skin.

"Fine," you murmur, like a dull wave against the shore, as you turn your back to him. Your voice is impassive, but the forest responds to your mood as physically as a bushfire. Trees shudder. Flowers shrink away. The foxes stop playing. "Stay silent. Stay spineless. Just don't come crawling to me after, begging for forgiveness."

You lift your head at the brief flaring of heavy, malicious, familiar cursed energy that soaks into the forest around you.

At once, with more urgency than ever before, black markings bloom across Yuji's skin. His features sharpen minutely, his nails lengthen and blacken, and he runs a hand through his hair and sweeps it up off his forehead. With a slow, silent exhale, he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and shoves his hands into his pockets, tipping his chin up as he regards your figure with eyes that are finally his own.

Emotion burns like red-hot charcoal in his chest. Sharing a body with a teenager was annoying at best and humiliating at worst. Forced to watch through the brat's eyes as you touch him, hold him, even going so far as to kneel before him to make yourself smaller, he despised the way he felt his vessel's heartbeat quicken, how the kid's thoughts turned into jumbled mush the moment you gave him a playful nickname.

Maybe he should tear out the brat's eyes before he gives his body back. Maybe he should rip his heart out again just for the pleasure of crushing it in his fist, knowing that regenerating another meant that the new one would never have raced for you.

You turn. Your expression changes – softens, almost.

"Sukuna," you say quietly.

He says your name slowly. It's almost reverential, his four eyes trailing over your body. His crimson gaze is greedy, drinking you in. You have changed very little – you still wear the kimono he gifted you, tailored and as expensive as ten thousand mercenaries. The hem has frayed slightly, trailing over the ground, but every silver thread still carries the faint thrum of his original cursed energy – a mark, a claim, which you once wore with preening pride, teasing him for his quick jealousy. You have kept it steady, meticulously keeping him alive quite literally on your sleeve.

His lips part. "You're… awake."

"I am." Your eyes narrow. "Not by your hand."

He crosses his arms. Two, not four. "No."

"Why not?"

He pauses, assessing your mood. You stand perfectly still, now taller than him by a significant margin. He thought he'd hate it more than he does. Regardless, you have yet to grab him and sew him into a rock-weighted sack to toss in a lake, so he supposes it could always be worse.

"The brat is an anomaly," he replies, his lower set of eyes glancing down at his vessel's body with a sneer. His upper pair remain trained on you. "I was… suppressed."

"Suppressed," you repeat. You lift your chin and stare down at him. "I thought I married the King of Curses. The strongest."

He bristles slightly. "You did," he snaps, his voice deepening. "I am."

Silence falls. Your cursed energy ripples outward, and as the foxes begin to play again, as if he weren't even there, he knows he is free to speak. You have cloaked his presence, letting his energy merge with yours – as a creature of lies and illusions, nature's guardian god, your cursed energy feels more natural than most, as essential and unremarkable as rain and earth. You've given him a few minutes of secrecy.

"Hm." You step towards him, beckoning with an outstretched hand. He meets you in the middle, and you gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "You look young, Sukuna. I have not seen you like this in a long, long time."

"Do you prefer it?" he asks, his tone flat with boredom – but he never blinks, tracing your features, printing them into the backs of his eyelids. The weight of his gaze slips lower – to your lips and then to your robes, tantalisingly open from the chest to the navel. His tongue swipes over his lower lip. Your waist is cinched with a wide silk belt, pinned with several draping chains of pearls and jewels. Little charms of glossy jade hang from your sash.

"Don't be jealous." You tilt your head as you blink slowly down at him, curiously tracing his features with your hand. "You are so small now, beloved… It hurts my neck to look you in the eye."

He huffs, but says nothing. You let go of his face and turn to pick up one of the foxes darting around your ankles, which paws at your clothes like a fussy toddler wanting to be picked up. Sukuna almost steps forward to force himself back into your line of sight, to keep your attention solely on him. He satisfies himself by walking half a step behind you, his sleeve brushing yours as you take a seat on a fallen log, the bark blanketed in soft moss. The hems of your robes spill across the deep green grass like a pool of stars.

You place the little fox in your lap, and it curls up in the crook of your arm. Its yellow eyes follow Sukuna as he moves. Expectantly, you gesture to a boulder beside you and murmur, "Sit with me a while."

When he doesn't so much as twitch, your eyes narrow slightly.

"Sit."

He sits.

You lean back, satisfied. You spend a long, silent, suffocating moment watching him, unblinking, in the way cats watch birds.

The mother fox begins to pick her kits up and place them near your feet, one at a time – back and forth, until all six of them are roughhousing a few steps away. Sukuna doesn't try to hide his distaste when a pair of them roll too hard and land on top of your pooling hem. You, however, relax at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips as the mother trots off to a quiet, shady tree nearby and promptly curls up and closes her eyes.

Children are all the same, regardless of species.

Atop the boulder, Sukuna sits with one knee up and his cheek in his palm. His shoulders are loosely sloped, his hands open and loose, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's bored of the company. But you do know better. One set of eyes is always, always, trained on you.

"So," he drawls. "I'm sitting. There. Now what?"

You eye him. "Someone's testy these days… Eager to get away, are you?"

"I—" He exhales sharply. "No. Just aware of time. The brat's supposed to be meeting with his mentor soon. I don't know how long I have you for."

"Ah. That would be the newest Gojo boy I've heard so much about, yes? The only one in recent years to have both the Six Eyes and Limitless?"

"Yeah. That one." He clenches a fist. Loosens it. "I want you to stay away from him."

"Hm." You stroke the fox's brow gently with your knuckle. It curls up more comfortably. "Do you believe I would lose?"

His lips thin into a line. "No. He will become far too interested in you."

"Of course you would think so. Sharing me with anyone else is, to you, worse than death." The fox shifts in your arms, and you can feel its breaths – the steady expansion of its ribs, the inner workings of the heart. Meat and bone. Even Sukuna, next to you, is the same – now in a stolen body, yes, but he was still flesh and blood when he had four arms and four eyes. You, on the other hand, won't leave a corpse to feed the earth.

Inhaling sharply, you turn to Sukuna, suppressing the emotion that still rakes its claws across your heart when you remember he lied to you. I will be there when you wake, he'd murmured when his temples were frosty with time. He'd pushed a folded piece of paper into your hand, containing a short poem in his elegant script. Your sleep may leave you weakened. Until you regain your strength, I will keep you safe.

How humiliating it had been to stumble in front of Kenjaku, of all people. You had once been a force of nature, the only thing the merciless King of Curses ever took counsel with – the only thing strong enough to bend in his wake without breaking. None of that mattered when you were forced to walk with a hand against the wall to keep your balance.

"How do you know the Six Eyes will take an interest in me?" you ask, voice deceptively even. "Even if he were, what does it matter? I am yours, not his."

His fingers twitch at your last sentence. It almost makes you smile; even after all this time, he remains a possessive little creature.

"Sometimes I can see through the brat's eyes," he replies, dragging a hand through his hair. "Gojo Satoru has already taken an interest in you. Over the decades, cursed spirits by your tomb began to concentrate, but their numbers were recently lowered to near zero. The sorcerers suspect one of my fingers was consumed by a curse which razed everything else. They're investigating my history with the area."

"It is always you who causes trouble for me. No one else. Only you." You sigh. "Does the boy know you watch?"

He shakes his head. "The file was open when the boy glanced at it. He didn't even read the title."

"I see," you say. Then, quieter: "Is he aware of us right now?"

"No."

The pause that follows is thick with anticipation. Sukuna watches as you brush your hair over your shoulder, his body turning towards you ever so slightly as if to make himself look larger, to show himself off. Look at me, his posture demands. Look at me and no one else.

You look away.

"I see now that you cannot leave," you say, watching the kits at your feet pounce playfully at each other. "This… displeases me."

"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel."

You're supposed to be angry with him – for lying, for leaving, for a dozen little things you scrounge up in ancient memories just to be petty. But you almost smile, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest that passes as your kind of love.

He opens his mouth. You stiffen and hold up a hand, all humour vanishing from your expression.

"Wait," you murmur, eyes darting around. "Something has changed."

A beat after you, Sukuna feels it, too: a loud, careless rush of cursed energy, emanating from an infinitely-condensed point near the main gates of the campus. A radar, of sorts.

It crackles over him harmlessly, moving on without notice. You place the fox in your arms aside as you rise to your feet, turning to him with a complicated expression.

"Someone has come looking. I can't keep you hidden while revealing your vessel. This is... This is where we must part ways." Your gaze flits over him as you step closer. He tilts his head up to meet your eyes. "I can't say meeting you here made me happy. But... I missed your presence," you admit quietly, "and this assuages that, somewhat. Even if you are still as much of a bastard as you used to be."

He folds his arms tighter over his chest.

You continue, "Worry not. I will wait. After all, what is a few years to a millennium? However… you must promise me something in return for my patience."

He eyes you warily. "What is it?"

Leaning down, you grasp his chin. You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the overwhelming energy, pausing, then kneel in the grass and trace the marks along his cheek. A small smile graces your features, as soft and familiar as the night.

"Come for me the moment you are free. Depending on my mood, I may even offer you a dance," you tease. "You always liked that, didn't you?"

"Of course, I'm not a savage," he drawls, though his voice lacks its usual disdainful bite. He shifts his weight. "Fine. Deal."

"Good. Very good." You draw him closer, your fingertips brushing the soft underside of his chin. All four of his eyes flicker down to your lips. "My good boy…"

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, as light as satin. For Sukuna, however, it is a grave insult – he grabs your collar and yanks you closer, turning his head so that his lips meet yours instead of his cheek.

He feels your lips curve up against his. They part, and you whisper his name against his skin.

—

"Beloved."

A silky voice, a soft touch. Somewhere in the distance, birds call to each other in the verdant canopies. Your fingers trail over his broad chest, and you prop your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, pressed warm and solid against his back. He shifts – not to push you off, but to examine your expression.

You are smiling. Not that beautiful, terrifying show of teeth and tongue, but a small, playful one, reserved for him alone.

"What is it?" he mutters, ink brush hovering over the paper. "Weren't you teaching Uraume to use a bow?"

"I was," you agree, head bobbing. Silver glitters in your hair, woven through it like the river of heaven through the sky – treasured gifts from a man who cares little for personal adornment, but whose gaze always lingers a little longer, a little hungrier, when you drape yourself in his spoils.

"And?" he prompts, turning back to his half-finished poem. Your fingers slip beneath the edge of his dark grey haori, tracing the edge of the cloth. "Finish your sentences, fox."

"Patience. I was getting there. I sent Uraume out to run some errands – when you ask me to craft you weapons, you really don't understand how much you're asking of me. My list was... substantial." Those golden eyes of yours dilate slightly as you tilt your head, staring at the side of his face. You bring your lips to his neck, kissing the skin just below his jaw. "I tire of the heat of the forge. I missed you."

His skin flushes with heat as your touch grows heavier, less fleeting. You press on his shoulder, turning him towards you, and you smile, fanged, as your eyes drift to the grinning mouth splitting his stomach. You lower your hand, pressing your thumb to the sharp points of its teeth, and it laps lightly at your fingers like an eager little pet, saliva thick and viscous.

"You've missed me, too, I see," you hum, playing with its tongue. "Put down the brush." You lean in, licking the shell of his ear. His stomach-mouth kisses your palm, licking your hand into it. "It has been some time since I've touched you, my lord. I will fix that right away."

"You are interrupting my private time, fox," he grumbles, though he doesn't push you away. "Don't try to twist your desires as if it's my fault. You are insatiable."

"You're the one who wanted me all to yourself," you huff, the shimmer of your silken pearly robes pooling around you as you pluck the brush right out of his hand. You wear so much fabric – sometimes he wonders how you can stand to lug it all around. Translucent white ribbons loop around your arms and across your back, shimmering with silver threads. "Do you also blame your stomach for rumbling when you starve?"

Giving up on his poem, he turns to you fully. "What do you want, then? To eat me?"

"Oh, can I?" You lean forward with a half-lidded glance, leaning into his touch when he raises one hand to drape over your shoulders. "I would love that."

"Only if you remove your clothes."

You tilt your head, pointed canines digging into the softness of your lips as you bite back a smile. "So eager. Who's the one with the 'desires' now, hm?"

He scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, fox. It keeps the cloth clean. You will whine to me later if there are bloodstains."

"I would not."

All four eyes gaze blankly at you. You click your tongue and remove your hand from his stomach, much to its obvious displeasure – its lips twist, corners tugging down.

"Fine. No eating, then. Best to save room for dinner, anyway." You lean in, lips brushing his with a teasing smile. He busies two of his arms with straightening the inkwell and his half-full page of hemp paper – the third props himself up, and the last is wrapped possessively around your shoulders. "Perhaps you can sate another hunger of mine, beloved? I'll accept it as an apology for denying me a proper meal."

"Apology—?" he snarls, head whipping towards you. He glares. "What am I apologising for, you insolent fox—"

He is sufficiently silenced by a kiss.

You are not rough in the traditional sense. Just... bitey. Your canines dig into his lower lip, breaking skin, and he grunts softly as your tongue glides over the slick, coppery blood, pushing it into his mouth. He can feel your smile as you lick his tongue.

You part with a quiet smack, twisting in his hold to settle between his sturdy thighs. You press your forehead against his, stealing fleeting kisses between groans that seem to leave him more breathless than not.

"I know my lord is a generous and compassionate man," you murmur, your chest brushing his. "Sate my hunger. Offer me salvation."

Bare skin to bare skin, he can feel the strength taut in your muscles, the easy steadiness of your body. Despite your preference for twice as much fabric as necessary and all things shiny and luxurious, you are, at heart, just as much a fighter as he. Foxes are still predators, regardless of their glossy coats.

"Am I?" Sukuna nearly growls. His hand around your shoulders lifts to the nape of your neck, closing around delicate bone and muscle. He pulls you closer with a jerk, fingers digging into the soft spot beneath the corner of your jaw. His eyes roam your features, his blood tinting your grinning lips rosy. "Maddening pest. Think you can tell me what to do? You belong to me."

"Naturally," you reply with that same smile. "You always give in, anyway. Rather embarrassing, isn't it? A big, strong man like yourself, bending over backwards to please this little fox... or bending forwards, really. You're obsessed with me."

Nothing about you is little. You're the only thing he's ever met able to look him in the eye.

Sometimes he thinks you hover a few inches off the ground when you stand next to him, just so he has to tilt his head up to meet your playful gaze. But it isn't like he has any real proof; your robes obscure your feet, and you are constantly moving, fluttering about his shoulders in those ridiculous clothes, so it's difficult to get an accurate reading. It isn't as if you'd ever tell him, either.

"Come, now," you purr, fingers dipping into his stomach mouth again. It immediately licks your fingers inward, pulling them closer. "Ah... At least some part of you wants me. I'd almost resigned myself to using my own hand to get off."

His grip tightens around your neck. His eyes flash. "You will not. Your pleasure belongs to me."

"Yes, yes, as always. But you weren't giving me many options, my lord." You pout, stroking the tongue lapping contentedly at your hand. "Why can't you be more like this one? It's always happy to see me. You just call me names."

"That is also part of me, fox." Two of his eyes flicker down to it, watching the way you caress even his most monstrous parts with the same affection you offer the rest of him. Something unsettling curls around his heart. "Its sentiments are my own."

Your smile brightens. "Oh, I knew you loved me, Sukuna! Even if you'd rather pull out your own teeth than admit it."

He rolls his eyes and grabs you with two arms, another pulling at your sash and loosening it. You wear nothing beneath – typical of you, greedy creature – and your cock bobs as he releases it from its confines. He hums, low and rumbly in his chest.

Spitting in his hand, he grabs it and begins to stroke you, all four eyes trained on the pleased expression on your face. You thrust into his palm, one of your hands lifting to cup his thick chest and squeezing. Your saliva-slick thumb rolls over his tawny nipple, pinching and tugging, and you swallow his groan, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You nibble at his neck, sucking bruises into his tanned skin. He twists his wrist, his hand heavy with the weight of you. The size is nothing to scoff at. When he glances up, you're already looking at him, smirking knowingly. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, pumping you faster, tugging roughly at the sensitive skin. Your smile falls as you whine pitifully, hips jolting forward. Your thick tip leaks.

"Sukunaaa," you gripe, "not so rough..."

"Shut up." His grip tightens as you groan directly into his ear, hot breaths fanning his neck. His skin prickles, a warm shiver threatening his perfect poise as you moan his name in a lazy drawl. His breathing grows heavy. "You... wanted this."

"So cruel." Suddenly, you press against him, closing the distance between your torso and his. You gaze through half-lidded eyes as you rut against the heat of his body, your tip brushing the lips of his grinning stomach. It opens wide, waiting.

He glares at you. Gently, you lean in, threading your fingers through his hair. You mouth at his jawline, tracing a path up, and you smile at the way his lips part naturally. You kiss him, feather-light.

Finally, mutely, he lets go of your cock, and you are free to move. He rests back on two hands, his thighs like iron around you as you press your hips forward into the mouth of his stomach. It closes immediately around you, more eager than you are, and its wide tongue laps at your length as you lazily fuck into it.

Sukuna's breath hitches violently. He tips his head back slightly but his eyes never leave yours, his expression as impenetrable as stone.

You shift, throwing your legs over his to straddle him. His eyes widen slightly as you push your cock deeper into the furnace-like heat of him, his muscles tensing under your touch. Your balls smack his stomach-mouth's lower lip as you grip his shoulder, your robes slipping around your broad shoulders. Thick muscle ripples beneath your skin as you lower your forehead to press against his.

"Good boy," you husk, fingers tightening in his hair. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to. "That feels good, doesn't it?"

Two of his hands shoot up to grip your waist as you stuff your cock deep inside him, reaching the spongy back of his second mouth. His lips part, eyes fluttering against his will, and you chuckle as he fumbles with your clothes, pulling them away from your thighs so they don't get in the way. He's careful to keep his sharp teeth away, and his lips keep a tight suction around your thick cock. His palm ghosts over your chest and stomach, almost reverential. His eyes are dark as they take in the sight of your length vanishing into him.

You croon as you yank his hair, forcing him to look at you rather than your dick. "Answer me, my lord. Does this feel good? Is it my cock that makes your cheeks flush so?"

His teeth bare in a snarl as you cup his hot face, but it's all posturing. He swallows his insults, knowing you are just as petty and would happily force him to sit there and watch as you stroked yourself to completion.

"Yes," he mutters.

You cock your head. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

Your dick slams into him. He lets out a low growl. "Yes!" he snarls, his bruising strength on your hips making your skin dip. His long nails dig into your skin. "Fuck!"

His arm threatens to buckle under his weight. His second mouth isn't meant for this sort of thing – it sucks and slobbers on your cock messily, less coordinated than the one on his face. Or maybe it's just as coordinated but it feels too good – making him lose his mind, turning him into a greedy, cock-obsessed whore. It salivates, strings of drool connecting your cock to his lips, as he buries his head in your shoulder. Soft, heavy grunts escape him with every rough thrust, deep oval rolls of your hips making his stomach tense up.

"Good answer," you whisper, amused. He shudders almost imperceptibly as you grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet your loving gaze. "Don't hide, Sukuna. I want to watch you while I use you."

He bares sharp teeth, face twisted in a grimace. "Whatever. Just finish quickly. I have other things to do."

"Like what?" You withdraw slightly, wrapping a hand around your length and stroking lazily. His fingers dig into your skin, slipped beneath your many layers and preventing you from backing up any farther. You smile as you lower your forehead to his, your hair a curtain of privacy around you – that smile is sickeningly fond. You murmur, "I don't think you're busy at all. I think you just want me to fight for your attention – as you do for mine."

You're either very trusting or very stupid when you push your cock back into the mouth of his stomach. He considers it for a split second. The idea is simple – bite down and you'll stop goading him. But then he thinks about your easily-given affection, and he thinks about difficult bloodstains in your white sleeves, and he discards the idea entirely.

Two of his hands travel up your sides – cupping your ribs, callused fingertips bumping up your spine. He watches silently, enraptured, as your body moves with more urgency. All that beauty collides with a physical superiority that he cannot ignore. Your hand in his hair stops him from looking away – you're barely trying, too busy chasing pleasure like the gluttonous thing you are, but he really does have to work to even tilt his head down.

Not that he'd want to look away, anyway. Perhaps it was a shame you were a curse, invisible to most humans – you could solve ten wars by supper with a face like that.

Or maybe it was better this way. More of you is his alone.

His muscles flex under his skin as you press deeper with a rumbled groan, your seed spilling across the mouth's slick tongue. It devours you, tongue swirling around your length, mouth hot and sloppy and oh-so starved. You close your eyes and sink into the furnace-warmth of his embrace, threateningly close to burning – close, but never there.

"How does it feel?" you murmur breathlessly, ever-curious about his physiology. Most of the time he dismisses your questions with a grunt, but sometimes, when he's softer, he'll divulge an answer or two. Now, as he stares unblinkingly up at you with lidded crimson eyes, you figure he's the latter.

Sukuna's lips part as he closes his arms around you, pulling you closer against him. He rests his head against your shoulder, the slope of his nose pressed against the side of your neck, and releases a heavy exhale that's more like a groan. His grip tightens on you as your tip rubs the soft back of his mouth with a particularly desirous thrust.

"Deep," he rumbles, tone brusque. He licks his lips, pressing them against the skin of your collarbone. "Very deep."

"Good?" you ask, tilting your head to allow him better access. Wordlessly, his teeth sink into your flesh to satiate his instinct to gnaw and gnash, but not enough to break skin. White clothes, still worn.

"Yes." His sharp nails leave marks in your skin. "Acceptable."

You laugh and kiss him hard. You cup his cheek – the side with the bony growths, the monstrous eyes – and pull him deeper into the kiss, stroking the thick dark line across his bicep and eventually the daintier ones along his jaw. You kiss him with both hands on his cheeks like some delicate thing you aren't, and his skin prickles as if licked by fire.

Lazily, the mouth of his stomach laps up your come, its lips and tongue glazed in a thick white gloss. It dribbles down his lower stomach, soaking into the waist of his dark hakama. You drag your fingers through the sticky mess, coating them in it, and press two fingers into his mouth – the one on his face.

He takes them without complaint, a low rumble escaping him, and he curls his tongue neatly to lick up every drop. You press against his teeth, his tongue, stroking the delicate back of his throat, but your beloved is second to none and he doesn't so much as twitch, let alone gag. You pull them away with a slick pop and you chuckle affectionately as he stares up at you, his chest rising and falling shallowly.

He licks his lips, shining with saliva. "My turn."

He tosses you to the floor – you go down easily, a smile on your face as you gaze up at him, haloed by your own hair. He throws a leg over your middle and leans down to kiss you. He grabs your neck instead of cupping your cheek, but for him, they're one and the same.

Two of his hands tear off his trousers. Properly, too – none of that awkward shimmying, nor the time-wasting stepping-out of trouser legs. Sukuna, as he does a lot of things, does it brutishly: two handfuls of cloth yanked in opposite directions. The fabric comes apart as easily as paper.

You tut, though you can't help appreciating every inch of skin revealed to you. Your hands roam down his waist to his massive thighs, grabbing and squeezing wolfishly as you go. "You will run out of clothes at this rate."

He cocks his head. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. Easier access."

He huffs, not quite a chuckle, as you grab his heavy cock and smear your own slick come against his skin. You stroke him languidly, being polite – for once – by not mentioning how wet he already is when all you've done is use him. "You are a dog."

"Fox," you correct, watching hungrily as he tugs off his haori and tosses it aside. "As you are fond of reminding me."

"In spirit," he concedes, not quite agreeing. He places his hands near your head, and despite his barbaric nature, he is careful not to pin down your hair. He reaches down between his thighs and lines up your cock with his entrance, though you are quick to grab his wrist.

"No oil?" you ask, lifting a brow.

Impatiently, one of his hands brushes you off. "Do not tell me what to do."

Without another word – without fanfare, without flourish – he sinks hilt-deep onto your cock.

Your eyes slide shut as you smack your head against the floor, the sheer heat of him threatening to melt you. Your hands slide higher, brushing his lower set of pectoral muscles. Lost in the bliss of his body, it takes you a moment to register his own hand lifting to grab yours. He holds your palm against his chest as he begins to move, the solid weight of his body dropping again and again onto your lap.

He would not be Sukuna if he were not gluttonous. So, he holds you, rides you, and leans down to kiss you, all at once – and you do nothing to encourage moderation. You entwine your fingers with his, caress his waist, and nip at his lower lip to provoke him into giving you more.

More. It was always more with you. More, more, more…

The suffocating heat of his body is nothing new. You have taken him a thousand times, but you'll never grow tired of it. He is addictive, and you should be pleased you are the only thing his blood has ever run hot for. No concubine has made him feel the way you do.

He grinds onto your cock, the heavy muscle of his thighs clenching around your hips. You throb inside him, sticky precome slicking up his insides and easing his movements. You lick your lips as you grab his thigh, fingers bruising his skin as you grip him and roll his ass deeper onto your cock. You even use the shallow lift of his hips to make the next thrust harder, rougher, deeper.

His heavy cock jolts, slapping your stomach wetly. You grin with sharp teeth as you wrap your hand around it once more, pumping his length from root to tip in time with every roll of his hips. He hisses as a thick bead of liquid dribbles down his glans. His tip is dark red, and you press your thumb into the slit of it, smearing his slick down his pulsing length.

You stroke him faster, making him grunt. He chases your hand, his own tightening into fists near your head. His sharp nails dig into his palms, drawing blood.

What a silly little dear he is. Four hands and not one of them feels as good as yours around his cock.

He pants and growls as he bounces in your lap, muscles flexing as he slams harder onto your fat cock. The wet sounds of your cock squelching in his ass, of his skin meeting yours, are obscene and violent – perfect for a man like him. Hot pleasure shudders up his spine as your cock kisses that spot inside him which makes his dick pulse hotly, a spurt of partially-clear liquid shooting across your knuckles. You smirk as you swipe it up and smear it down his length. Your thumb rolls over his slit and drags down the prominent vein on the underside roughly, as if you're trying to smooth it flat.

He drops his hips, putting his full weight on your cock. He rocks back and forth. You drag your lower lip between your teeth as you toss your head back, and your groan of pleasure sinks into his brain like your claws into flesh. His dick twitches, his balls tightening as he watches your heaving chest and gazes into your dilated pupils.

"You ride cock like a seasoned whore, my lord," you whisper, chuckling as he clenches around you in annoyance. "Nowhere else can I find someone who takes it as easily as you do."

He clicks his tongue, squeezing punishingly around you. You grunt as his tight, gummy walls stroke your slick cock. "Of course I am the only one. You are twice the size of a man. Your cock would break them."

You smile up at him, your eyes half-lidded. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

His eyes flash. His lips curl into a sneer as he leans down to wrap his hand around your throat, nails digging into your skin.

"You have me," he growls, grip tightening. "Speak nothing of others."

He would pulverise bone had you been weaker, but as it stands, all it does is pin you down, the warmth of his palm against your skin making your cheeks heat up. You bite back a smile. You adore it when he glares at you. There's a red flush to his cheeks that he steadfastly ignores.

You squeeze his ass, hand roaming back over his thigh. Playfully, you pinch the thick black line circling his leg. "Is my lord jealous?"

He bares his teeth with a low growl that sounds more animal than man. Your cock throbs. His glare deepens.

You smirk, smug as always, and go as far as to slap his ass, which makes him jolt in shock as the sound cracks like a whip in the room. His glare returns, this time with a roll of all four of his eyes, and he presses you punishingly into the tatami mats. His hole, hot and slick, swallows your cock with ease.

"Fox," he hisses.

"My lord," you reply with a smile. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel your pace slipping."

"Do not test my patience. I will leave you here with nothing."

The threat is an empty one – you know he desires this as much as you. The mouth of his stomach drools, thick and wet, as your cock punches so deep he swears he can feel it at the back of his throat. You both know he would never leave you unattended when he could watch himself be your undoing.

Despite it, Sukuna looks pleased with himself when you offer a begrudging silence. His stomach mouth grins widely as your dick pulses with newfound hunger. Your eyes slide shut as your cock carves a path through the slick heat of his insides, again and again, until his body learns your shape. Your tip leaks, thick and sticky, and he lets out a harsh exhale, his own cockhead dripping with every pump of your hand.

He chases the slick ring of your fist, his low grunts mixing with your unabashed groans as he rides you closer and closer to your shared climaxes.

He barely blinks as he watches your high peak – he has to swallow roughly before he salivates like some barbarian. Your come bursts creamy and thick inside him, hot as lava, and heat rushes up from his chest to his head as he admires the way you groan his name and thrust up sloppily into him. All that natural grace of yours is tainted with the pleasure you take in his body – you are unwound, undone, by a savage like him.

Then you flip him over, throwing him to the floor as if he weighs nothing. He lands with a huff, opening his mouth to complain, but his words die in his mouth as you begin to drill into him, burying your head in his neck and breathing him deep. Every slick clap of skin on skin has your seed leaking out of his stretched hole, white and creamy, and it smears his ass and thighs with each brutal thrust of your hips.

He lets out a sound like a cornered animal. "Fox," he snarls, nails tearing at the floor as your cock demands every lick of his attention. He struggles to keep his voice even. "You – hah – you damned insatiable fox—"

"Insatiable?" you purr. "You haven't come yet. I'm being a good husband and making sure you do."

His hole slurps you up like some vulgar pussy. The filthy volume of come inside him makes every pump of your hips sound like you're in a brothel. Your claws sink into the meat of his ass as you fold him up – crimson blood beads along his skin, and he twitches as your teeth part skin and muscle to mark up the side of his throat. You pull back with a breathless groan that settles deep into his ear, listening to the slick churning of your scarlet tongue as you lick his blood from your teeth and lips.

You dive in again but he tangles his hand in a fistful of your hair, halting you half an inch from his scalding skin. You growl, eyes gleaming, with teeth stained red.

He jolts as your cock slams into his abused prostate, barely able to subdue his shout into a low moan.

"White," he mutters, jaw clamping to silence himself. "No chewing."

Your lips press together in a pout but you settle for lapping at the bite mark, your hips pumping hungrily against his ass. You suppose he's right – taking a chunk out of him always makes you surprised at the amount of blood that spurts out, no matter how many times you do it. But he just bleeds so beautifully – you can hardly control yourself.

Your head is foggy with lust. You press yourself into him, burying your face in the other side of his neck so you aren't tempted to take a quick bite. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his jaw, lips brushing the black markings that decorate his honeyed skin.

"Sukuna," you breathe, two of your fingers pushing into the mouth of his stomach. You can still feel the creaminess of your own release on its lips. You stroke its tongue and a low, magnificently beastly sound escapes him as his head tips back. The bite mark on his neck bleeds more profusely, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat.

"Don't—" He groans as you push one thigh higher, pinning it to your shoulder. It is heavy, with muscle like steel. "Slow—"

"What was that?" You drag your inhumanly long tongue against his calf with a wicked grin, leaning forward. He grits his teeth at the vulnerability of the position. "'Slow down', did you say? Can't my king handle a little roughhousing?"

His cock twitches visibly at the title. You laugh at him, your pace never slacking, and you press a kiss to his calf on your shoulder.

"You're holding back," you say, amused. You angle your hips, thrusting up to kiss that sweet spot inside him, and you delight in the way his back arches for half a second before he corrects himself and glares at you. "My lord, it'll be easier on you if you come. I'll stop trying so hard."

"Shut it."

He hates the way you use his hard-won titles like pet names. Such little respect. If you were anyone else, you'd be cleaved into tiny cubes before you could finish laughing, but then he would have no dancer and his days in your forest would be silent and boring.

You press your finger to his leaking slit. He clenches his jaw. Stubborn. Still, his swollen cock jolts as you grind into him, adjusting yourself above him to fuck him harder, deeper – one way or another, you'll get it out of him.

Suddenly, your pace quickens, and the sound echoes off the walls. The weight behind every thrust jostles his body and he curses you like a war cry, two of his hands grabbing you as the other two hold him up. You lick your lips at the sight of his flushed skin and the sweat beginning to collect at his temple and across his collarbones.

You can't help it. You swoop down and drag your tongue over his chest, and the tang of his sweat mixing with blood makes your head spin with desire. He groans, deep and throaty. Your hips clap against his ass hard enough to make him shout out, and as your teeth sink into the unmarred side of his neck and bite all the way down, he comes with a humiliated, thunderous roar.

You moan desperately into his skin as you follow him over the edge, his clenching insides achingly hot and tight. You fill him up with lazy thrusts, and he twists his hand in your hair so hard you feel lightheaded. He yanks you off his bleeding neck with a growl – you hang from his fist with a drunken grin and ruby-stained teeth, your jaw working slowly. Blood drips down your chin.

He can feel the cold sting of the air against his exposed meat and veins, a neat little scoop taken out of his shoulder. It annoys him that his cock throbs at the feeling, and his chest heaves as he pushes your grinning face away. His face is hot.

"You… Tch. I told you not to chew," he grumbles, healing it with a roll of his massive shoulder. He goes to wipe off the blood dripping down his chest but you beat him to it, cleaning him up with your tongue. You use the moment to mouth at his nipple, tongue laving across it, and pop off before he can smack you away.

You chuckle as your tongue slides over your front teeth, your voice rich and husky. You wipe your chin, smearing it. "But you liked it, Sukuna. It pulled such pretty sounds out of you."

"I—" He clicks his tongue, breath catching slightly as you pull your cock out of him with a slick, sticky pop. His thighs twitch as you grab his messy length and coat your fingers in his release, pumping him twice before lifting your hand and admiring the white glaze sticking between your fingers. He watches silently as you push two fingers into your mouth with a pleased groan, then lap up the rest when it drips down your wrist.

"Finish your sentences, my lord," you tease, tossing his own words back into his face. He rolls his eyes as you pause to suck your ring finger clean. "Maybe I should bite you more often. You taste like bliss. Come, now – tell me how much you enjoyed that."

Chest still heaving, Sukuna sits up straighter, widening his legs to fit you comfortably between his thighs. You kneel there – lazy, satisfied, practically glowing. Your robes pool around you like scattered starlight as you wait for his answer.

"You are impertinent, troublesome, and spoilt," he sighs, voice a low rumble. "But fine. Yes, I enjoyed it. No, you will not do it again. Today."

You wilt like an abandoned flower. "Why?"

He rolls his eyes and pulls you into his arms, heavy and possessive. He reaches up and swipes his thumb over a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth, and you press your lips to the pad of his finger, licking it up. "There is blood on your clothes."

You glance down to where he points at your sleeve. Your eyes widen and Sukuna braces himself. On cue, you grab his arm and begin to complain directly into his ear, nails digging into his freshly-healed shoulder.

"Sukuna – what is wrong with your body? Why does it bleed so much? My sleeve was nowhere near your neck! Look at what you've done – do you know how hard it is to ensure the cloth washes white and not pink? You ask so much of me – entertain you, keep this estate hidden, smith you a dozen weapons from myths and fables – which is ridiculous, I say, do you know how difficult it is to create cursed tools? – and all I ask in return is to not bleed on me, yet here you are, bleeding on me, like some—"

You are cut off with his lips on yours. You stiffen slightly in surprise, then melt into it, leaning in and tilting your head. He groans softly as your tongue curls with his, your hand lifting to twist in his hair. You smooth it off his forehead, tracing his hairline with a light touch, and he pulls you closer with three hands. The last one cups your hand on his face.

He pulls away to breathe. You sit back on your heels, pupils swallowing up the gold of your irises. You blink slowly as you steal another kiss, lips smacking halfway to indecency again. He leans back before you can drown yourself in him and try to push him back to the floor – a very unseemly place to do such things, in his opinion.

He lifts a brow. "Calm, yet?" he asks, absently pulling the collar of your robes over your shoulder.

"Enough," you acquiesce, watching him move over to grab his discarded haori near his table. He shrugs it on, his lower pair of arms not letting go of your body. You smirk. So jealous, even when nothing threatens to take you away.

"That is better than nothing."

"Mm." You crawl closer and walk your fingers up his arm. "Write me a poem, beloved."

His eyes snap up. He bares his teeth in a sneer that does nothing to dissuade you. His grip tightens on your hip. "What?"

"A poem," you say with infinite patience. "Whichever type you prefer. I know you enjoy praising me through poetry – my face, my sorcery, how I 'revel in the fires of your chaos'! Oh, yes, I've read a few of those volumes you've made, pushed to the back of your drawers." You smile, a dark edge to it, as you meet his glare unflinchingly. "This time, I want no secrecy – I want to observe your artistic process. Perhaps I will forgive you for staining my clothes if it is sufficiently flattering."

"Why are you rummaging through my quarters?" he scoffs. "Those poems are not for you."

"So you say. You refer to me in everything but name. If you truly wanted to keep them secret, you would've burnt them." You shift to sit beside him, leaning forward to pull the paper and inkwell towards the edge of the table. "Go on. Write."

He rolls his eyes. He adjusts to sit sprawled, lazy, one arm resting upon his knee and two around you. It brings a smile to your face. He was always terribly voracious for your attention, like a feral animal you feed once and cannot escape. No matter how he feels, no matter the company, he would always bend to your whim.

You grab his thigh, pawing at the meat of him like a kneading cat, and you almost laugh aloud when he pointedly tosses the hem of his haori over his cock. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sliding your palm up to the crease of his thigh, and cast your gaze down to the paper, the poem from earlier half-complete.

"'Kitsunebi'?" you muse, tilting your head. "Foxfire. Not for me, you said?"

He exhales sharply, shooting you a warning glance. In response, you pluck the brush from its resting place and smile sweetly as you grab his hand and push it into his palm.

How ridiculous it is that he must hide his belongings in his own home. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you and your curiosity. Instead, he simply lowers his gaze and rolls the brush tip in the black ink.

—

When Sukuna opens his eyes from the kiss, you have already begun to pull away, to step back – and he is reminded of his physical limitations once more.

"Greedy," you chuckle, swiping your thumb over your lower lip. "Go now – let the boy have his body back. Perhaps I will see you again. Follow my foxes; they will lead you to me."

Something compels him to speak. "And you?" he murmurs lowly. "I refuse to waste my time searching for a dead spirit."

Will you be safe? The question is unsaid but clear as day. You hum.

"If I can hide from you, I can hide from anyone. Rest assured, no one but you will ever spill my blood." You step behind him, pushing him towards the school campus. "And… Sukuna?"

"What?"

"I really did miss you."

He turns, but in your place is a nine-tailed white fox, silent and watchful. Your ears flick. After a lingering second, you rise from your haunches, curling around him and batting his side with your tails, before slipping away and leaping into the treeline to vanish completely into the forest's shadows.

His skin prickles with the fading remnants of your cursed energy. He clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. Your cloak will not last much longer, and he can sense the brat waking up. He presses his fingers to his lips, savouring the memory of your sharp, sweet warmth.

He closes his eyes, already feeling his control over his incumbent vessel lapsing. He spends his last moments of autonomy replaying the moment his lips touched yours, a moment a thousand years in the making.

Moonlit silk, ribbons of stars, a smile sharp enough to cleave bone. The world fades to soundless oblivion.

❣ Cockdrunk!Varka who, in an attempt to don't bother you so much ended up buying a lot of toys to play with himself, wich not only didn't help but also made him more horny because no of his toys can truly compare to the real thing, no matter how much he stuff himself and how much he abuses of his hole he is still too needy of you

❣ Cockdrunk!Varka who pushed himself to the edge, accidentally bringing himself to be even more horny, feeling so needy that he started to go to work with his hole stuffed with toys, barely discreet enough so no one would notice and having to fight back the tingling feeling and arouse that the tricky movements in battle do with his toy, making him more aware and more aggresive in battle all because he has to focus all his attention on something else than the inmese need of moaning or the way his cock has started to twitch, having to hold back himself from reacting in any way despite feeling himself already trying to chase after that momentarely pleasure

❣ Cockdrunk!Varka who grows so addicted to you that even when you two doesn't have time he still finds the way to sneak away from work and dragg you with him, that even if you two are incredibly busy he still manage to make some little time to dragg you somewhere private, who has grown so addicted to your cock that simply can't live without it, being able to conform himself with sneaking away with you to take you in his mouth, to dutifully work on you and savour the bitter flavor of your precum, so drunked by you that even his hips start moving a bit while sucking you, feeling like in heaven just by the fact that his senses are completely overwhelmed by you and the toy stuffed in his hole, dutifully taking you until you finally reach your release, making sure to don't let a single drop of your cum to go to waste

❣ Cockdrunk!Varka who feels like he has been blessed whenever he finally gets to be used by you, either be a quickie or a full marathon sex he will take it and greedly, his hole already ready to take you in for being playing with himself in your absence and already clenching around even when only the tip is inside, a load moan coming out of his lips because godamit how much he has been waiting for this moment, the wait has been almost tortuous and just by having you inside, even before you start moving he is already trembling

❣ Cockdrunk!Varka who is complete obsessed with watching the way you are completely abusing his hole, who's eyes glue to the way your hips hit him, watching your cock apear and disapear inside of him and making his own cock bounce with each thrust, pitifuly neglected and yet dripping, covering his torso with with his own cum and but not ready to stop anytime soon, his eyes almost never leave the blissfuly obsene sight unless you force him to, either by pushing his head against the mattress or the wall, when you bend down to kiss him and muffle his whines and moans against your lips or when his mind simply can't take it anymore, completely broken and unable to focus, left to move out of instinct because it is too much but he is not ready to stop

❣ Cockdrunk!Varka who will happily lay down or ride you, he doesn't mind if you decide to take him in the comfort of the bed, bend him down in the table or even push him against the wall, as long as you keep thrusting on him, as long as your cock doesn't leave him anytime soon, as long as you fuck him until he becomes a complete mess and his mind can't barely process what it is going on but his hips keep chaising after you, as long as you fill him completely over and over again he doesn't care about anything else

His cock jumps, slapping against his toned stomach, smearing precum onto his abs. Humiliation burns hot in his veins, heating his skin in a crimson blush.

"Aw, Sugu, you don't have to be so mean." You tilt Satoru's head back just enough to make eye contact, baby blues wet with unshed tears. You give him a sympathetic smile as one falls over his waterline, trailing down his cheek to seal of his lips around your cock. "So pretty. Stuffed full just the way you like, yeah?"

He mewls and gives you an absent nod, head bobbing over your length. A moan gets caught in your throat at the feeling of his tongue dragging along the underside of your cock, the glide soft and slick and so fucking good.

Suguru pulls Satoru back by his hips, angling his thrusts just right to hit Satoru's prostate. Each strike to it has his eyes rolling into the back of his head, a syrupy mess of drool slipping past his lips and down his chin. It drips onto your thighs and makes a mess of the hair at the base of your cock.

Satoru takes as much of you as he can, nose buried in your now sticky pubes, cutting off his own airway, throat tight and squeezing around you hard. He's just as tight around Suguru, velvet walls milking the length of his cock until he's got him cursing under his breath.

"I think you're too nice," Suguru says to you, hips snapping forward in a relentless pace. His hand comes down harsh across Satoru's ass cheek, gripping his flesh to spread him open even further. His hole is stretched wide to accommodate the girth of Suguru's cock, rim red and shiny with lube. "Just a couple holes to be used."

"No, he's sweet. Look at him," you push your hips forward just a bit to watch him splutter, "taking the time out of his day to let us use his holes." You pull out and lean down, pressing your lips to Satoru's. "Isn't that right, pretty boy?"

"He's a cumslut," Suguru states, as if it's a fact. It is.

"He's an angel," you counter, voice and eyes soft as you gaze at him.

The dizzying combination of your words has precum oozing out of Satoru's slit, leaking down onto your sheets until they're translucent under him. He can't get enough and that's why he always comes back to you two.

Suguru reaches for you, a hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you forward and smash your lips together. A choked moan works it's way out of Satoru's throat - his voice is wrecked - with how deep Suguru is buried, cock throbbing and twitching against his sweet spot.

"You doing okay, sweetheart?" You ask when you separate from Suguru, lips shiny with your boyfriend's spit.

Satoru nods in response, wet, swollen lips grazing your cockhead as he does so. You place a kiss on his forehead, wrap your hand around your base and rub your tip over his lips, his tongue peeking out to lap up the precum beading on your slit.

You slip your cock back into his mouth, groaning as you're enveloped in his heat again. You push forward slowly, trying to be gentle even though you know he can take it without issue. Your head falls back between your shoulders when his throat constricts around your tip, a breathy sigh escaping your lips.

"Such a good boy," you breathe.

Your praise has him squeezing Suguru, his hips pushing back into your boyfriend's for more. He has Suguru groaning behind him, his length throbbing inside his tight walls, cockhead dragging over Satoru's sweet spot over and over again. Suguru presses against it and stays there for a minute, just to be mean, just because he can, the whimper it causes vibrating up every inch of your cock.

Your orgasm tears through you, cock throbbing on his tongue as you spill hot ropes down his throat that he greedily gulps down. His face is soaked with tears and spit when you pull out, his lips still wet and soft on your cockhead, drawing out every last drop of cum.

Suguru is still hammering into him, punched out uh-uh-uhs escaping Satoru's lungs with each heavy thrust. He looks up at you with those pretty, innocent eyes, glazed over in his desperation, like he's going to die if Suguru doesn't let him cum like now. He's so painfully hard, cock hanging low between his legs, tip nearly purple from neglect.

You take his face in your hands, tilting it up toward yours. "Need to cum?" You ask, brows furrowed in concern.

He nods, hard and fast, fat tears spilling down his cheeks. "Plea-se." His voice cracks, ruined from having your cock buried in his throat for so long. You look at Suguru and he stills momentarily as you help Satoru up onto his knees.

Satoru lets out a long, shuddering breath as the angle changes, deeper than before, all Suguru has to do to have him shaking is press. His arms wrap around you as he leans into you for support, your hand wrapping around his cock. You stroke, once, twice and he's spilling all over your fingers, sticky cum splattering between your bodies. He buries his face in your neck muffling a broken cry in your skin.

"So sensitive," Suguru teases, like he's not cumming just from Satoru constricting around him. He splays a big hand out over Satoru's stomach, the pressure bringing his hips even further back so Suguru can bury himself to the hilt. His body tenses and then he's releasing a deep groan, spurting thick ropes of cum deep inside of Satoru.

The three of you collapse into your bed, sheets ruined, Satoru's insides painted white, bodies sweaty and spent.

"Don't you two need to study?" Satoru asks after 20 minutes, head resting on your chest, eyes closed.

"We'll survive without it," you chuckle, fingers running through his still damp hair.

"It's you we're worried about studying," Suguru comments, matching your chuckle.

Satoru grumbles something unintelligible into your skin, probably about how his grades are fine. "How about this," you whisper in his ear. "Next study session, we focus on your class-"

"I don't want to."

"You didn't even let me finish," you chastise. "We focus on your classes and for every ten questions you get right, you get thirty seconds of head."

Satoru props his head up, chin resting on your shoulder, eyes wide in excitement to study for once in his life. "Every five questions."

"Sure," you nod with a smile.

"And I want it from Suguru."

Suguru rolls his eyes, but agrees nonetheless, with a 'fine,' and a kiss to Satoru's cheek.

once you get to that stage, varka loves rewarding you for it by blowing you as if his life depends on it. he’ll love to smell your musk right after training as he sucks your tdick (will most likely make some comment about you having a nice manly smell). doesn’t matter how big you currently are, he’ll suck your cock as if it’s the biggest he’s ever taken. straight up bobbing his head on it and moaning if you fuck it deeper into his mouth.

he would only want you to top him id imagine. i mean you’re truly a man now so “why wouldn’t you?” is how he justifies it. doesn’t matter how you do it: with your fingers, mouth, toy, or whatever prosthetic/strap you can find. even if you don’t have enough confidence or experience as a top, it doesn’t even matter. he’s in control anyway so he’ll happily guide you through it and that’s usually by pinning you down and taking what he wants. whether that be by sitting on your face or riding you until he’s fully satisfied. afterwards he’ll sweet talk to you about how strong you’ve been getting and how you’re getting better at fucking him every time.

You knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park but you can't stop the smile spreading on your face when you catch him looking genuinely happy when he sees something silly, whether it’s you and Satoru arguing over mint chocolate chip ice cream tasting like toothpaste (Satoru swears it’s good you don't see the vision…) or maybe you and Shoko driving a motor scooter down the track field and you flying off on accident… ouch… He runs up to you looking worried but you can tell he’s ready to start giggling once you tell him you're ok.

Still every now and again you can tell he wakes up with less of a drive, how he doesn't eat unless you give him a meal, even then he turns it down so you practically have to feed him yourself. Just a few bites to keep him healthy at least. It hurts, it really does. How even after almost two years what happened with Riko and Toji still affects him, and hey he watched someone die in front of him for gods sake! He thought his best friend was dead! You knew no matter what you did it would stay with him but god damn is it a kick in the butt when he lets him bring him down after a good day.

Today you could tell would end up with a slow night and gentle conversations, he woke up and barely ate his breakfast ramen you hastily prepared before Yaga found you using the teachers lounge microwave (the student one barely works ok!?) and when you and him went out to do a mission you were both assigned he seemed sloppy, tired, and bored. Then when you bought him his favorite drink and snack from the nice old lady running the convenience store near campus he thanked you and just half hazardly shoved them in his bag. He usually says thanks, gives you a kiss and drinks it right away! ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა

——————————————————————————

Although, Suguru is a lucky man to have you as his significant other. Walking into the dorms after a long day you could tell he was ready to run and lock himself in his room all night to sulk. Not on your watch he's not.

“Hey sugu, why dont you go take a bath? Some TLC wouldn't hurt after today…” You recommended, you didn't want to outright say it but his hair was a mess… and both if you were sweaty. It’s summer time in Japan and the blazing sun is to blame.

“Hm? I'm rather tired, love, I'm just gonna go to bed.” Suguru replied flatly, he turned his head to you and kissed your forehead to try and flatten your worries.

“No no, you'll sleep better after a bath. Come on, I’ll help you wash your hair” Gently you grab his wrist and lead him to the private bathrooms, you felt him try to leave your grasp but eventually he stopped trying once you two made it.

Even after essentially three years of being a couple you both have only bathed together twice. It felt a little awkward once you both closed and locked the door, but you had to shake off your nerves and take care of your darling.

To start off you ran the bath, lukewarm water. And looked around for Suguru’s soaps and shampoos. He had expensive tastes, well more like million dollar hair and Satoru with his clans money in a card screaming to be used.

“Undress, I'll look away, you can't take a bath in your sweaty uniform.” You hear him scoff, and you giggle as you turn around “No need to give me attitude”

“Its not attitude love, its just you worry like a mother hen.” He teases, you can feel him crack a smile even with your back turned. Thankfully he still listens, you hear him slide his coat off.

“God forbid I want my boyfriend to go to bed relaxed and clean.” You snap back, banter like this fills your heart with joy, he's coming back out of his shell, maybe you can shove some dinner down his throat so he doesn't go to bed with the taste of curses in there

“You care too much…”

You roll your eyes, you hear him drop his pants and move out of the way as he dips into the water. He sighs, and you finally turn to see him.

He’s relaxed, broad shoulders slumped down as he leans his head against the walk of the bathtub. The water sloshes around him with every move he makes, it flows around his chest, water runs his sun tanned skin as he takes a deep breath.

Before you truly lose yourself in admiring the man in front of you he snaps your attention back to the task at hand

“Earth to Y/N, you'd be a bad hairdresser if your this slow darling” He jokes with a shit eating smile on his face, god you love this man

“My goodness give me a break” You move to grab a stepstool from the corner to sit on, placing it by the tub and putting all his products on the floor next to you.

To only make it fair you start shedding your clothes, one to not get them wet and two so you have one less thing to worry about when it’s your turn. You can feel his eyes on you when you slip off your shirt, and how his gaze stays locked on you when you let your bottoms fall to the floor. Of course you stay in your underwear, bare skin on a wooden stepstool doesn't sound all that great.

Carefully you lead his head to lean towards you, untying his bun and letting the soft smooth raven locks fall in the water. He exhales and lets his head rest on your chest, you grab a small cup and fill it with water, letting it fall on his scalp and down his back and chest.

——————————————————————————

The next events pass by in a blur to Suguru, he hears you pop open the bottle of shampoo, the sweet scent of the blackberry soap filling his nostrils as he feels your fingers run through his scalp and hair.

He can't control it when his hips move up, when his back slowly arches upward. The water hides it but he can feel how your fingers rub against the crook of his neck. Is it on purpose?

When you grab more water in that little cup is it on purpose when your other hand slides down his chest so slowly dipping below the water, so close to his most sensitive area just to shoot back up to brush his hair.

Eventually you finish with his hair, you can only go so slow. Suguru lets out a shaky breath, what are you doing to him?

Then he feels your hands slide down the sides of his neck, slowly sliding down his shoulders, down his chest and landing on his thighs. He lets out a quiet sound, you rest your head on his shoulder and turn to face him.

“Sugu, your hair is all done. Where’s your body wash? It wasn't with the shampoo”

He can barely think, the way your hands rub against his thighs is driving him crazy, making his dick stand up like he's some virgin.

“Its- its with Satoru’s stuff. I'm pretty sure he ran out and took mine.”

“Classic Satoru, I remember when he took mine, I think he's taken Ieiri’s befor-“

You kept talking but he didn't process it, all he could think of was your hands wrapped around his rock hard dick. Then who knows? Your mouth? His hips shoot up at the thought of it, and it’s clear you noticed.

He heard a quiet gasp, followed by a huff, your hands trailed up his chest resting on his hips and tracing his abs.

“Suguru, you would tell me if I was getting too handsy right?” You whisper in his ear, he could hear the smirk as you slowly run your thumb around his nipple. A whimper leaves his throat as a chill goes up his spine.

“Yes, I would.” He replies, a small tremor in his voice. You were such a tease he couldn't tell if you wanted him to come or keep torturing him all night.

“Then tell me, do you want me to keep going?” He felt goosebumps cover his arm as one of your hands grabbed his bicep. He nodded his head, the vow of consent making him shiver in excitement

“Please” He added, grabbing one of your hands to rake it down his body, under the water, to his cock.

He felt you place a kiss under his ear, peppering more along his neck and shoulders. Then finally you grabbed his dick, slowly running your hand up his length.

“Love, I- ngh-“ He tried to tell you to go faster, but as if you read his mind your hand sped up. Soft moans left his lips, his head fell back on your shoulder.

Your thumb rubbed against the head of his cock, pushing down on the slit squeezing pre out and mixing it with the water. His hips started pistoning up, more friction to jerk him off with. Shaky off beat breaths mixed with moans and whimpers grew louder as he grew closer to his climax.

You tightened your grip, speeding up, the bathwater sloshed around and splashed out the tub. Like it matters to either of you at this point. Suguru soon felt a bubbling feeling fill his tummy, his thighs squeezed together and his hips shot upwards his mouth opened as he moaned out a curse of pleasure.

“Fuuuck-! hah… ah”

Afterwards you felt a shiver go up your spine as your own climax hit you, seeing him like this caused you to come in your underwear you let your head fall on his shoulder, panting, you kissed along his neck letting go of his dick and rubbing your hand out on his thigh.

He bit down on his bottom lip, turning his body around to face you, he hoisted himself up on his knees in the tub. A wet hand held your face and brought you in for a kiss, wet and messy like he wanted to eat you whole.

While that distracted the both of you Suguru moved to drain the tub trying to drag you in with him. Both of you pulled away from each other, standing up he made room for you in the tub. You hopped in and turned the shower on, he pulled your undergarments off eagerly, he dropped to his knees as the cool water hits your bare back.

Now it’s your turn, you bathed him, he owes you one now doesn't he?

——————————————————————————

->Please don’t feed any of my works to AI!

->Reblogs are well appreciated!!

“I thought so.” Kafka says at last, acknowledging the meaning of your silence.

“Look, I know how it must look now, but there are hundreds of men who look like this on this planet alone—” you attempt one last time to salvage some dignity.

“[Name],” immediately your mouth shuts upon recognizing the tone, “What do we do when we make mistakes?”

You avert your eyes, lips pursing, words practically a grumble, “Not make excuses…”

“And?”

“Fix them.” you grit out after much struggle.

“Yes. So, what are you waiting for? You know what to do, don't you?” a clink echoes from Kafka’s wine glass settling on the table, signaling the finale of this exchange.

You mutter a half-hearted agreement, still petulant. Not really paying much attention to whatever she says afterwards as the call ends.

Six months. Twenty six weeks. One hundred and eighty three days of sleepless observing, learning and planning to pin down one man just to be told that you had the wrong person since the beginning. A sigh forces its way past your lips as you shove the phone in your pocket, repressing the urge to throw it at the nearest wall instead.

“Luckin Luckin, drink it up..”

All your muscles stiffen as that familiar jingle drifts to your ears, you sharply turn to see your hostage swaying from side to side on the chair as he sings that damnable song without a care in the world.

“Carrying carrying, Snowy’s here!”

Instantly, a maelstrom of memories flood your mind.

“A leap that leads to an encounter with you!~”

Days of dealing with stupid customers, a narcissistic boss and loud fangirls just to get close to the celebrity. Abandoning your self respect as an aspiring Hunter to suffer in minimum wage hell all for it to mean nothing.

“Today’s a lucky day— uwah!!”

A loud thunk echoes in the air, startling the napping cat and silencing that maddening tune for good, your heavy breaths prompt him to hold his.

You look up to his bewildered form so quickly he wonders how you didn't snap your neck, cyan eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

You dare him to maintain eye-contact, which he loses within two seconds, flickering downwards to where the heel of your shoe rests in between the gap of his legs.

(If anyone asked later, you’d deny the reason you’d retreated was not for the loud gulp he’d forced down his throat, or the flush of pink coating his cheeks.)

“Phainon.”

The addressed man stiffens further at the terse way you use his name, “Uhm, yes?! Uh- Well-”

His sputtering spree stops as you flash him a dazzling smile, the remaining adrenaline manifesting in a flinch instead.

“How do you feel?” you ask sweetly.

If Phainon was bewildered before, his cognitive abilities are out of function now. His mouth opens and closes, neurons firing and synapses aligning to form one response.

“I'm fine? How about you?” and then his whole face flushes as he realizes how dumb that sounded.

A corner of your lips twitch, which you immediately smother as Phainon fake-coughs, “I mean! I’m okay… but! I definitely would be finer if you… loosened these ropes?”

You fix his sweetened smile with a blank look and Phainon bends after three seconds, “Only if you want to, of course! No pressure!”

You shift to lean your weight on one leg, a hand gripping your hip as Phainon looks at anything but you, bouncing one of his legs. You catch a glimpse of his hands twisting behind his back against the restraints.

A hum from you stops Phainon’s squirming just a little, “Don’t worry. You’ll feel ‘finer’ soon.”

The man whips his head just as your shadow falls upon him, the response that’d been on the tip of his tongue dies there as you reach behind him.

He inhales sharply at your sudden proximity and his mouth runs before he could stop himself, “M-my, are you going to pin my arms above my head? Oh noooo, please don't! I won't be able to move my hands ahaha—”

His teasing bravado falls flat as light glints over the needle of the syringe you fix.

“Ha…”

You look at his gaping expression from your peripheral, “I told you not to worry, didn't I? It’ll sting just a little bit. Then, you’ll wake up forgetting everything that happened.”

Phainon straightens at that, face twisted in alarm, “Wait wait! No no no! I swear on Aedes Elysiae that I won't tell anyone about this, just wait—”

He tugs at the ropes with a sudden burst of energy and to his luck, the ropes loosen just enough for him to wiggle one hand out.

But that's where his stretch of fortune ends, a gasp is all that is heard as you strike the needle of the syringe right on the tattooed sun at the side of his neck.

Your left hand raises as his head limps forward, all the energy sapped out of his body in an instant. You toss the syringe aside, the previously napping cat catches it midair and drops it in an open plastic bag nearby.

You place your now free hand on his shoulder, steadying him so that he doesn't topple you over. A web of the next steps already taking shape in your mind.

Your thumb traces an absentminded circle over his cheek one last time before you let him go, trying your hardest to not think about the softness of his skin, or how you wished to feel more of it.

—

A week later, you sit at a secluded corner in the dining space of a fast-food chain, three tables away from your real target.

Your thumb swipes over the screen of your phone, pretending to scroll alongside the occasional munch of the fries you’d ordered.

Your attention, albeit, is zeroed on the man talking animatedly to the person in front of him.

You surmised it to be an argument, and the realization begets a pleased spark in you. The more tumultuous the emotions, the easier it was to bait someone.

“So, who are we stalking this time?”

You tilted your head, stealing a glance at the man in front of you over the rim of your glasses.

“The one with the shades, voice so booming it might as well be a verbal attack—”

Wait a minute.

You don't recall bringing a partner.

Slowly, you turn your head to your left, eyes long having forgotten how to blink.

“Missed me?” his voice drips of honey, sitting in utter leisure with a measly one inch gap between you, one elbow propped on the table, cheek pillowed by his palm.

Your soul almost leaves your body.

Phainon— damnable Phainon— blinks for a good few seconds in what appears to be concern at the force of your flinch, before an amused chuckle echoes from behind his masked face.

“You— what— how—?” your arms flail, trying to make sense of it. Why are you here? Why are you talking like you know me? Did the drug not work? How did you find me?

Phainon leans back slightly with a hum, his silver-blue tresses dance along the gesture, “It seems like you did miss me, a lot.”

Your brain ceases buffering at that, rebooting to adapt to the sudden change of circumstance, “Who… says I missed you? I don't even know who you are!” you cross your arms, angling your head straight.

Phainon makes a pained sound, a gloved raises to clutch at his chest, ever the actor he is, “Now you're just breaking my heart, Mx. Kidnapper! After we shared such an intimate, heartfelt experience—”

He lowers the volume of his exclamation at the death glare you direct at him, but doesn't stop, “Ahh, how I ache! But it's alright. I know you may pretend to be annoyed with me, but there's a soft spot for me in your heart. You even tucked me into bed even though I was such a naughty boy—”

Your jaw slackens, eyes appalled as he continues his soliloquy about intimacy and punishment, without a care in the world about how easy it’d be for him to get exposed here out of his stereotypical celebrity disguise.

You force yourself to swallow, no no, there is definitely something more to this. At the same time, your actual target springs from his seat, following after the other guy in a rush and that prompts you to attempt an escape.

You yelp, as the momentum of you standing up is used to yank you back down, your hand shoots out to cushion the abrupt pull, landing right on Phainon's thigh in time with his breath brushing over your face.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, fingers fisting into the fabric covering your arm, “Running away so soon, Mx. Kidnapper?”

His free hand hovers over your hips for a brief moment, you can feel the weight of his hand even from the inch of distance and you instinctively draw in a breath as the tips of his fingers brush against the dip of your waist.

The golden flecks in his eyes twinkle behind his shades, you blink out of the daze as he raises his wandering hand to re-adjust your crooked glasses instead.

“I could kill you.” your whisper is far too loud in the thick silence.

There are a million other things you could've said, million ways you could've shoved him away. But your mind decides to not be partial to either.

Phainon tilts his head, eyes softening in what you could only assume was curiosity, “You wouldn't,” his response is just as tender, just as heavy as your threat.

You scoff at his audacity, pulling back with a jerk, and he lets go of your hand when you sit down beside him instead of running away.

“And why wouldn't I?”

The playful edge returns to Phainon’s countenance, “Because you own a cat.” he declares with the utmost confidence.

You stare at him blankly, “What? Cat?” and then you realize what it was that he was referring to, “You idiot, that wasn't my cat, that was my boss.”

Phainon blinks once before a carefree chuckle leaves him, he waves a hand, “Oh, I know! You cat-people treat your cats like they're your employers, no? Not saying that I don't get it, by the way! Completely valid, completely valid.”

Your eye twitches in irritation and resignation, realizing that he couldn't be shaken out of whatever narrative he’d convinced himself of. You lose any motivation to argue with him further, suddenly conscious of how ‘my boss is a cat’ sounds like to an ordinary person.

“Anywho!” you flinch as he stops his frantic waving to point a finger directly at you, you realize then that this man would give you a heart-attack if you don't leave soon. “To return to the point I was making, you won't kill me. Because I know that beneath all those scoffs and eye-rolls, you actually have a really soft heart.”

You reward his oh-so-confident exclamation with a deadpan.

“I am a wanted criminal.”

Phainon flinches and gears up in defense, “C-criminal?! Don’t sell yourself short! You're a… professional! Are you not?” he fixes his sunglasses and places a hand over his heart, “But even that is a matter of perspective. I know that villains are made, not born. If we're condemning anyone, it should be society! What I'm trying to say is— wait! Don't go! Wait!”

You equip yourself with imaginary noise-cancellation and get up to leave with a determined gait, no longer trusting yourself to stay sane before this man’s yapping.

Phainon scrambles after you, his legs eating up the distance with a few strides, “Mx. Kidna—”

The tips of his fingers brush by your scarf, before being shoved aside by a waiter in-rush. The noise of Phainon's shades hitting the tiled floor resounds as its pushed from his face from the impact.

The waiter gasps.

“Phainon?!”

Immediately, all the heads nearby turn, footsteps and swooning eating up the previous silence. Within seconds, Phainon is swallowed by a crowd.

“I’m extremely sorry, I'm in a hurry—” his plea is pushed aside by the excited yells of admiration and requests of autographs, the crowd does not budge an inch.

Phainon can only watch helplessly as your silhouette disappears amidst the helter-skelter.

—

A few weeks have gone by since that incident, the majority of which you’d passed in your apartment after a reasonable amount of earful from the others.

“Elio says that you should lay low for a while. The mission will be handed over to Bladie instead.” Kafka had instructed.

“Don’t leave your place unless absolutely necessary, we’ll be investigating the case.”

And, you did as you were told, left with no other option besides reflecting over everything that had happened throughout the past six months.

You couldn't even bring yourself to feel frustrated this time, numbed from the failure of being unable to complete the one assignment that would've solidified your position as a Stellaron Hunter.

You were half expecting police to kick down your door any hour of the day, but nothing happened, not even a peep was heard about the fact that Amphoreus’ golden boy had gotten kidnapped even after a month since the incident. But you chalked it up to be one of your colleagues’ work.

And every time your thoughts circled back to that day’s incident, your mind arrived at the same conclusion again and again.

That man was dangerous.

Not necessarily in terms of strength (though you weren't very confident about this point either), but for how he’d tipped you off of your axis so effortlessly that day.

You have a soft spot for me in your heart, his words would invade your mind in the middle of washing dishes. Villains are made not born, the statement would gyrate in your head as you twisted and turned while trying to chase after sleep, the image of that annoyingly cute, repulsively adorable smile would flash before your eyes—

Then, there were the texts.

“Good morning (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧”

“Have you had lunch yet? D:”

“Don’t stay up too late playing otome games!”

You’d initially thought them to be Silver Wolf messing around with Blade’s number or something, or even bots. But the more you ignored them, the less and less avoidable they became.

“The new pajamas are so cute! I love the cat print (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)”

“Coffee mug placed precariously close to the edge of the table. Alert alert!”

“You left the hair-tie on the sink.”

“A roach almost crawled on your bedsheets last night, but don't worry! I took care of it (｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧”

“You look so cute when you're fidgeting, Mx. Kidnapper.”

It was only after a reluctant consultation with Silver Wolf that you found out, “Someone had hacked into your webcam.” you felt your heart drop, not because of the news, but because of the twinge of worry in her usually deadpan voice. “You should check your whole apartment, too. For secret cameras and tampered locks.”

You could only hear the drumming of your own heartbeat in your ear, the apartment canopied by a deafening silence as you plucked the cameras one by one— two from the potted plants of your bedroom, one in your shower, one in your kitchen and one from the socket of your living room.

You gripped your phone tightly in one hand, the device already cracked from when you’d thrown it towards the wall in your earlier panic.

The bite of the splintered screen against your palm grounded you, giving you courage to check the locks.

Communication from their end had gone conveniently quiet, leaving you to fend for yourself until further notice. It was no secret anymore who the sender of those creepy texts was, but it didn't make it any less disbelieving.

You're jolted out of your daze as the doorbell rings at the same time as you twisting the screw in on the additional lock.

You hold your breath, again, it rings, confirming that you didn't mishear.

For a moment, you consider backing off and crawling under the bed, not at all interested in finding out who was behind the door, even though there was a good chance for the person behind it to be one of your colleagues.

But that treacherous, curious part of you whispered, nudging you closer and closer to the door until you were looking straight through the peephole, towards a far too familiar pair of cyan eyes.

“I know you're in there, Mx. Kidnapper.”

You jerked away, nearly toppling over a stray wrench on the floor.

Phainon. Phainon was was right behind your front door, confirming all the facts you’d wrestled with denial against up until now, attempting to break into your apartment with an ease that made you shudder.

Had anyone told you that this man, this ordinary pretty boy whose smile earned him his livelihood, who you’d been targeting to kill would be the one to corner you in your own home even a day ago, you would've laughed and rolled around on the floor.

The frantic clicks of him attempting to twist the locks brought you back and sigh tumbled out of your lips.

At least, the extra locks you’d put and the drawers you’d pushed against the door would be able to keep him at bay, enough time for you to think about your next move.

Which, namely, were two — you could either climb down from the nineteenth floor right now, or you could push another closet to the front door and wait until one of your colleagues came to rescue you.

Wait a minute. Your thoughts screeched to a halt ; run? Hide? All against one ordinary actor who you definitely would win against in a brawl should it come? You're seriously on the verge of having a panic attack from that? Where's your pride as an aspiring Stellaron Hunter?

Your fingers stopped their tapping against your arm, you turned to cast one last look at the door, and then swiveled on your heels towards the kitchen to make yourself something warm, enjoying the frustrated noises of Phainon trying to unlock the door as you turned on the stove.

—

That night, you had a marvelous sleep, belly full with a hearty dinner and moisturized skin. Both sides of your pillow were cold, the sillage of sunlight still lingered on your bedsheets.

A dream unfolds and cradles you. Sunny skies, the scent of petrichor, cars whoosh by, billboards flashing blinding smiles, a ray of light — reach for it, grasp it, the whirr of coffee machines, the buzz of crowds, shadows fall, the lonely strum of a guitar, tousled silver-blue, oh how you yearn, a palimpsest of memories sealed in tar, a hand brushing away wayward strands of hair, fingers in between yours—

… Fingers in between yours?

You gasp, nails digging into skin and sinew.

One blink, the blue of your bedsheets become clear to you in the dimmed light of the night.

Another, and startled cyan gleaming in the dark, amusement slowly crawling from the corners of those eyes.

“I used to be into lock-picking.” he twirls a hinge between pale fingers, useless now for anything besides mocking your hubris.

You spring forward, one hand still holding onto his wrist, the other wrapping firmly around his throat and push him down to the floor.

The hinge clatters to the ground.

An ‘oof’ heaves out of Phainon's lips as his head hits the cold tiles, getting cut-off towards the end as you squeeze against his windpipe, your legs wrap around his midriff.

“You.” Phainon snaps his eyes open to meet your shadowed visage, his Adam's Apple bobs against your hand as he swallows hard.

And then, his face flushes bright red, from the tips of his ears to the nape of his neck.

“Finally, finally you're looking at me again, Mx. Kidnapper.” he exhales, you blink as his free hand raises to not push you away, but to tuck a strand of hair away from your face, baring your bewildered expression to him.

“…What?” your grip slackens in surprise.

The corners of Phainon's eyes crinkle as he smiles so wide it nearly splits his face, “I missed the feeling of having your eyes on m-me.” he chokes slightly as you squeeze his throat again, his body goes utterly pliant beneath you.

“I—I quite… enjoyed you watching me, y-you know?” there's something of a pout in his voice, even as he’s getting the life choked out of him and his eyes— oh, there's apparitions of hearts setting those cyan eyes ablaze.

You let go in horror, but don't succeed in retreating far as he clamps one hand firmly on your waist, dragging you back to straddle his hips.

“Never do that again, okay?” his request is sickeningly sweet but there's steel in his gaze. You have a feeling he isn't just referring to you holding him down. His other hand guides yours back to his neck, placing it right against where a blazing sun bleeds into skin.

Tracing a maddening circle over your hand, “I’d say it's a fair bargain. Stalking for stalking, attention for attention, affection for affection, ownership for ownership.”

A pause.

“Tit-for-tat… wouldn't you agree, Mx. Kidnapper?”

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