ᯓ𑣲 cay ࣪˖➹﹑

he could've had any woman he wanted, he was a god after all. back then women just didn't interest him. even today he didn't ever find himself particularly attracted to anyone, that was until he met you.

what was it about you?

it honestly frustrated him to no end, he could never quite figure out what it was about you that drove him crazy. by the time you had entered into the culling game he had already garnered 200 points, using 100 of them to add a rule to access player information.

kashimo had set up base for himself in the tokyo bay area and would pick fights with anyone who tried to get past him. the endless search for a thrilling fight was becoming boring, he yearned for a challenge. someone who could finally push back at him and stand a bit of a chance.

his bright cyan hair caught your attention, even from a distance. you watched him, keeping mental notes of how he fought and trying to figure out the best time to attack.

unfortunately for you, kashimo had noticed you too. he saw the way you clung to the shadows when he roamed the area. it was almost like a game to him, he slowly began to creep closer and closer to where you had been hiding. he never quite reached your hiding spot but he could sense the way your heart started pounding when he was near.

"kogane, tell me about the player hiding above the bridge who's been watching me for weeks."

shit. he'd seen you. he's known this whole time.

your breath caught in your throat as you listened to kogane rattle off your details.

player name: y/n l/n colony: tokyo colony number 2 number of points: 184 number of rules added: 0

184 points? who is this person?

kashimo's brain was scrambling for an explanation. he was under the impression that you hadn't been a player for long, but how did you have almost as many points as him? you'd been spending your time stalking him. surely he would've seen you kill enough players to gain 184 points.

since your cover had been blown you decided it was finally time to approach him. you'd spent weeks analyzing the way he fought, but you couldn't push away the nervous feeling that had settled in your stomach. there was no denying he was strong, plus he had 200 points.

if you were being completely honest with yourself... hajime kashimo was incredibly attractive. his bright blue hair, deadly charming grin, and the way he acted so fiercely against his opponents. the thought of him on top of you briefly flickered through your mind, but you quickly shoved that aside.

he was close now, you two stood under the same bridge. however, kashimo moved much faster than you. before you could process what happened, his hand was wrapped around your throat and cold concrete was pressing into your back. he had you fully pinned to the wall underneath the bridge.

"who the hell are you? i've seen you watching me. when the hell did you get 184 points? why are you watching me?" kashimo's voice was a low growl emanating from deep within his chest. his pupils suddenly dilated as your scent filled his nose, it was hypnotic, he felt dizzy.

who are you?

his senses were flooded and his anger slowly diminished. he felt drawn to you, he was having a difficult time holding himself back from burying his head in the crook if your neck and inhaling deeply. god, it was so good.

"you intrigue me. 200 points is impressive, hajime kashimo. i was hoping to fight you, but you've so rudely pinned me against this wall. i thought you wanted a challenge?" your eyes glistened with a mixture of something dangerous and carnal desire.

the rough skin of his fingers felt good against your soft skin as he tightened his grip around your throat, "i've been waiting to fight sukuna, not whoever you are..." he briefly trailed off, "however, i must admit that your ability interests me. you seem rather powerful. maybe you would put up a good fight."

kashimo wore a wicked grin on his face as electricity surged around him. he released you from his grip and held up his fists, surrounded by his electric cursed energy.

as you matched each of his swings, remaining perfectly undamaged and unbothered, he noticed a dull aching settling in between his legs. blood redirected itself to flow into his rapidly hardening dick.

your eyes flicked down to his crotch, taking in the developing tent in his pants, and back up to his eyes, to his lips, and back to his eyes. it was easier for you to conceal, but you were feeling the exact same way.

"so... have you ever even been with a woman?" you asked, hoping your teasing would further rile him up.

with a slight smirk he stared at your lips before forcing his gaze to meet your eyes. your guard was temporarily down and he took the opportunity to strike, pinning you back against the wall. he hungrily captured your lips in a kiss and brought his knee up between your legs, hoping you would grind down on him.

his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer to him and eliciting needy whines from you. your clit throbbed and you pressed your hips down onto his thigh in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. he greedily drank down every whine, whimper, and moan he drew out of you. his open mouth messily worked over yours and his hands trailed down your body.

he scratched and squeezed any exposed skin he could find, until he finally found your breasts. lucky for him, you hadn't put a bra on under your loose fitting top. he was easily able to start kneading your tits, occasionally pinching and twisting your nipples.

kashimo's lips found your neck, sucking dark marks into your pulse point and inhaling your scent. he couldn't think anymore, his brain completely full of you. it was infuriating and exciting all at once.

shameless need flooded through your body while you rolled your hips against his still clothed leg. warmth started to build up in your abdomen. were you really going to cum from dry humping like a horny teenager?

his tongue swiped across your skin, savoring the vaguely salty taste before he bit down. a load groan escaped him as he trailed bites down your neck and shoulder.

he grabbed your shirt, "let's get this off. now." he demanded, ripping your shirt off.

temptation immediately overtook him as he buried his head between your tits. he couldn't control himself, his mind seemingly took over by his hormones. tongue and teeth explored your chest before he finally found your nipple. his lips wrapped around it, sucking it in and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. he kneaded your other breast with his free hand.

kashimo's other hand was occupied with slipping past your waistband into your panties. he cupped your pussy with his large palm, feeling how much you were dripping for him.

"god. you infuriate me." he growled.

you took your hand and placed two of your fingers under his chin, guiding him up to meet your eyes. "do i? you seem like you're enjoying this, hajime." your voice dripped his a false sweetness when you said his name which only served to piss him off even more.

two of his fingers pushed past your entrance with minimal struggle due to your arousal. he watched as your face contorted with shock and pleasure, "don't push me." he set a brutal pace with his fingers, leaving you squirming for him.

you batted your eyelashes, pulling an expression of faux innocence, "what if i wanted to push you? you're not nearly strong enough to reach my limits."

lightning flashed in his eyes, "i'll show you what i can do. don't cry when you can't take it anymore." kashimo was fired up in a way he'd never felt before. he needed to break you. he needed to see you fall apart and come undone for him.

a third finger joined the other two stretching your cunt. the wet sounds from your arousal echoed through the open area with each pump of his fingers.

"don't- don't worry. you won't be able to make me cry." you choked your words out between moans, already feeling humiliated. your orgasm was building up faster than you'd like. he scissored his fingers to further stretch out your tight walls, pressing them against your sweet spot. he couldn't get enough of the way you clenched around him every time he hit that spot, imagining how it would feel around his painfully hard dick.

kashimo pulled his fingers out of you, loving how the new empty sensation made you whine. "i'm getting sick of your attitude." he slapped your pussy over your clothes before hastily ripping them off. the sting of his slap made your entire body jolt and you held back a moan, you couldn't let him see how this affected you.

he made quick work of removing his robes, relishing in the way you admired his nude body. his abs were lightly defined, the six muscles tensing when your fingers brushed against his stomach. his arms were nicely built, all the major muscles were defined but not overly so.

noticeable beads of pre-cum had gathered on the flushed tip of his cock. several veins ran up the length of his shaft, which stood at a solid 6.5 inches. he was pale, but the tip was a blooming red color from his pent up frustration and arousal.

with one swift movement he bent you over so your hands were anchored against the wall. cold air hit your pussy as kashimo spread your ass cheeks apart. he slapped your exposed pussy again, "just remember that you asked for this."

he stroked himself a few times and lined himself up with your pussy. his hand met your ass with a sharp slap sound as he pushed himself into you. his cock felt so thick as he gave everything to you, inch by inch. the stretch felt deliciously good.

when he bottomed out you felt so full, his hips flush with yours.

"haji-" you started to cry out before he clamped his hand over your mouth. "be quiet and take it."

his pace was fast, unforgiving. he wasn't just pounding into you, but he made sure to periodically adjust the angle of his hips to increase the sensation for you.

kashimo brought his fingers down to your clit, rubbing small circles with his thumb. wanton cries bubbled up your throat, threatening to escape.

a short zap met your clit, momentarily shocking you. the bastard had used his electric cursed energy on you.

you could hear the smirk in his voice as he taunted you, "you liked that? you're filthy." before you could respond he let another spark of his cursed energy flow through his finger against your clit. the knot of pleasure in your core was tightening, ready to snap at any moment. you writhed around in his hold, helplessly babbling his name.

"what happened to your attitude? poor thing... all you needed was some dick to shut you up." his words pissed you off, but you couldn't think clearly, let alone speak cohesively. the head of his cock was kissing your sweet spot with each thrust, bringing you closer and closer to your anticipated release.

"s-so close, hajime."

he brought his head close to your neck again, your scent stronger as your climax approached. his thrusts started to become sloppy, mindlessly fucking you in reach of his own orgasm.

the knot in your core finally snapped, orgasmic bliss washing over you. your walls spasmed around him which pushed him over his own edge. holding yourself up became a challenge as your entire body shook from the pleasure and blossoming soreness from the stretch of his dick.

you could feel warmth filling you as he unloaded sticky ropes of his release inside you. his cock remained in place and he watched as cum dripped out around him.

his hands felt secure around your waist as he flipped you around to face him and pulled you down onto a neatly folded pile of blankets that he used as a makeshift bed. he pulled you onto his lap, helping position your cunt in line with his still hard cock.

"ride it. show me how desperate you are for me." he snarled out, greedily pulling your body down.

you rolled your hips, bouncing up and down on him. he gently guided you with one hand on your waist. the other played with your nipples, occasionally sending jolts of electricity through you.

a burning sensation was filling your thighs and your pace slowed.

stinging shot through your neck as kashimo's teeth connected with your skin and he grumbled, "is that all you can do? i thought you'd do better than this."

you pushed him down and anchored your hands on either side of his head, your tits hanging down into his face. the new support allowed you to speed back up, using him to feel good. your lips hung open with your head tilted back, soft whines and cries coming from you. this position made him feel so much deeper.

you were reduced to a cock drunk mess as you fucked yourself on him. cumming was the only thing on your mind.

"pathetic, honestly. i thought you'd be more of a thrill, but you fall apart so easily." he knew his words would provoke you, that's why he said it. he was hoping to push you past your limits.

kashimo grabbed you and swiftly flipped you around so your back rested against the blankets. his fingers held your hips with a bruising strength. the head of his cock was teasingly resting against your cunt, but he wasn't moving. he was busy admiring how he had marked you up. hickeys and bite marks littered your neck, chest, and thighs.

he gave no warning as he shoved himself back inside you. his tongue connected with your neck and several growls flowed from his mouth. your cunt clenched around him, driving him insane. he was dizzy from the feeling of your pussy and the sweet aroma of your skin.

his hips snapped against yours, the sensation becoming too much. tears welled up in your eyes and started to spill down your cheeks.

swallowing your pride you cried, "haa– hajime. it's too much." tears were now freely pouring down your face; however, his rhythm did not falter.

"it's not too much, shhhh. you can take it, remember you said you wouldn't cry. you said i wasn't strong enough. you kept pushing me." he sounded sickeningly sweet as he spoke. his thumb gently swiped across your cheek, wiping the tears away. "poor girl... just take it for me, okay?"

you nodded helplessly, trying to choke back the tears but they wouldn't stop. your senses were all in overdrive, completely taken over by kashimo.

he was relentless, fully chasing after the thrill of finally being able to put you in your place and diminish your attitude. this was giving him what he had been looking for since reincarnating. this may not be a battle, but your defiance was enough to push back at him and allow him the thrill of the chase. his desires for someone to challenge him had been satiated at last.

kashimo brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing circles onto the sensitive nerves. lightning danced around his body, he was unable to control it in this state.

the added stimulation to your clit was enough to bring you to your climax again. your cunt clenched around his cock, twitching inside of you. you were squeezing him so tight it felt like you were milking him dry, his fingers dug into your hips as he released once more.

he rolled to the side as he pulled out, laying back and panting. he was absolutely spent, even intense fights had never left him feeling like this. completely satisfied.

"kogane, transfer 100 points to y/n."

"you got it! 100 points transferred to the player!" kogane's cheerful voice rang out.

your eyebrows shot up and you gave him a look of confusion.

"i've lost. my points are yours now. do what you will with them." he admitted, a slight hint of defeat in his voice.

🏷️ : : @izuruverse @buginthegalaxy @vanillaapples @belchyra @v4mp1r3b4tzz @insanjity @megumisonlylove @sourdough-brrad @norsaval @megumisrighttoe @yujismissingfingers @xiaoderrrr @serpenttine @fushigurlfriend @welovenoor @eilishsgf @sugerfilled @josuni @evfers @mrskamikazekaito @hearts2vivi @regalrxse @6x-x9 @swxxtchxrrixs @maiswigs @daflex @kyotodiaries @luvrmegumi && join taglist

💌 : : this is my first time writing for kashimo but honestly i had a lot of fun with this

what would his fingers feel like tangled in your hair? guiding your head along his aching dick, taking him all the way in until his orgasm brings him some stress relief.

megumi briefly turned his head to look at you, watching your face as you were clearly lost in thought. clearing his throat he asked, "what's on your mind?" his expression conveyed worry, worry that he didn't need to be feeling.

with a playful grin you respond, "you should find a place to pull over and i can show you." his face went red as he processed what you were asking. a very obvious bulge appeared through his pants, betraying his better judgment.

luckily there was an empty parking lot up ahead that megumi quickly pulled into, parking his car in the far corner away from the street. he pressed a quick, yet hungry, kiss to your lips before the both of you scrambled into the back seat.

the palm of your hand pressed into the rough fabric of his jeans and you could almost feel him throbbing under his clothes. megumi grabbed your neck, pulling you close enough to smash his lips into yours.

pulling away, you whisper, "let me help you out with that stress of yours..." you lick your lips and hungrily pull him back into you. his hands can't pick a place to settle, roaming the expanse of your body. with a quiet moan he brings his hands to your tits, kneading the soft skin over your bra. megumi always loved your tits, he was absolutely weak for them.

you continued to palm him over his pants and he slowly started to buck his hips up to meet your movements. he was becoming more erratic, his neediness showing. dull stinging pulsed through your mouth as he nipped at your lips through the kiss, swiping his tongue over the bites after in an attempt to soothe the ache.

"please." megumi's voice was a low growl despite the urgency he felt. you smirked at him, pressing down harder on his strained cock, "please what? tell me."

his eyes softened as he looked into yours, "touch me. i want– need to feel you." he shifted in the seat, trying to alleviate the tension between his legs.

you brought your lips to his ear, "where? tell me where to touch you, baby."

his breath hitched in his throat, embarrassment momentarily rippling through his body. the skin of his hands felt rough against yours as he guided your hand down to his dick, "right here."

your hand slipped under the waistband of his pants and you gripped his hard dick, slowly circling the tip with your thumb. pre-cum had beaded along the top of the head, you spread it around before slowly pumping him.

megumi shivered as soon as you made contact with him, he was so worked up and he felt as if he could already cum.

it would be cruel to tease him any longer.

you made quick work of removing his pants, watching his cock eagerly spring out and gently slap against his stomach. megumi let out soft moans as he was fully exposed to you.

his cock was rock solid and felt heavy against your tongue as you licked up from the base to tip, taking him between your lips after. drool spilled out of the corners of your mouth and dripped down his length. the excess of spit made it easy to stroke the remaining inches of him that didn't fit into your mouth.

megumi's hands flew to your hair, tangling into it as he guided your movements. "fuuuckk– you're so good at this." his mind had already gone blank from the pleasure. the sounds that came from deep inside him were released freely, he had no means to restrain them when he felt so good.

you added a twist in your wrist movements with each pump of your fist. his hips subconsciously lifted off the bed, his dick pressing into the back of your throat until you gagged.

"i'm so— so sorry. shit. keep going."

you hummed in response, the added vibrations driving him ever closer to his climax. without warning you slowed your movements, taking time to kiss and lick his sensitive tip each time your head rose away from him.

megumi squirmed around under you, he was pent up and frustrated. "baby, please don't do that. i need to cum, please." he wasn't usually the type to beg but right now he couldn't help himself. you gave no indication that you heard his words and continued to softly suckle his tip. each time your tongue passed over the underside of the head he would let out a loud groan, frustration and burning pleasure building up in his body.

his fingers tightened their hold on your hair, pushing you further down his cock, "i'm so sorry, it's just– so damn good." worries about hurting you settled in the back of his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to think about them.

your mouth was impossibly warm around him, and your eagerness did nothing but turn him on. it was crazy to him that you actually wanted to make him feel good like this.

his body began to tense up as his orgasm rapidly approached. he loosened his grip on your hair and grunted loudly, "fuck, gonna cum." he choked on his words, moans slipping out past them.

you sucked him in with a newfound fervor, all that mattered was making him cum. megumi's eyes glazed over and his lips fell open, his mind completely blank. his head lolled back with deep noises echoing out from his chest.

warmth flooded the back of your mouth as he released, his cock twitching as he pumped ropes of cum into your throat.

he pulled you up and prompted you to crawl into his lap as he wrapped his arms around you. "was that too much?" he whispered, his voice low and full of genuine concern.

his chest was still heaving while his body recovered from his orgasm. your lips felt soft as they pressed against his cheek, "not too much. i loved it. i love seeing you feel good."

megumi's thumb brushed across your lips and he pulled you in for a loving kiss, tasting himself on your mouth. he pulled away with a soft laugh, "i do feel better now honestly." his stress had melted away and all that was left was the love he had for you.

🏷️ : : @izuruverse @buginthegalaxy @belchyra @vanillaapples @insanjity @v4mp1r3b4tzz @megumisonlylove @sourdough-brrad @norsaval @megumisrighttoe @yujismissingfingers @xiaoderrrr @serpenttine @evfers @fushigurlfriend @welovenoor @josuni @hearts2vivi @sugerfilled @mrskamikazekaito @regalrxse @6x-x9 @maiswigs @swxxtchxrrixs @daflex @kyotodiaries && join taglist

💌 : : i hope this is okay as it was a bit rushed lolol but thank you vinnie for the request this was really fun :p

you'd gone on the date anyway.

the guy's eyebrows had been perfectly normal, and his laugh had been genuinely nice, but satoru's comment had stuck in your head the whole time, making you hyperaware of things you never would have noticed otherwise.

that was his gift, or his curse, you hadn't decided yet.

since then, there had been others;

a very sweet and cute guy from your economics discussion group who satoru had dismissed as "way too short for you" (he’d been five eleven). a sweet philosophy major who satoru had claimed "smelled like soup" (he hadn't). a theater student who satoru had said was "obviously using you to get over his ex" (that one had actually been true, and you'd hated admitting satoru was right).

each time, satoru had been there, lounging in your space like he belonged there, making comments that ranged from mildly annoying to borderline cruel. and each time, you'd rolled your eyes and gone on the date anyway, because that was just how satoru was; opinionated, dramatic, a little bit of an asshole.

but satoru was also the one who showed up at your door at 2am with takeout when you failed a midterm.

the one who let you cry on his shoulder after the theater student broke your heart, the one who remembered how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you slept on and the name of your childhood stuffed animal.

so you let the comments slide, mostly.

but this time was different.

this time, his name was jaehyun, and you'd met him at a house party two weeks ago — the guy was in grad school for architecture, had kind eyes and a quiet laugh, and when he'd asked you out for coffee, you'd felt that little flutter in your chest that you'd almost forgotten existed.

you'd mentioned him to satoru casually, the way you always did, expecting the usual eyeroll and some stupid comment about jaehyun's haircut or his shoes.

what you got was something else entirely.

"jaehyun?" satoru had repeated, his voice doing something very strange — going flat in a way it never did. "what kind of name is jaehyun?"

"a perfectly normal one," you'd said, not looking up from your phone. "he's in grad school. architecture. really sweet."

"architecture," he had echoed, like you'd said jaehyun collected human teeth. "so he draws buildings. cool. very exciting."

you'd glanced up then, frowning.

satoru was sitting across from you at the campus coffee shop, his long legs stretched out under the table, one of his legs pressed against yours in that way he always did — like he needed to be touching you to exist properly. his sunglasses were pushed up into his white hair, and his expression was carefully, almost aggressively, neutral.

"what's your problem?" you'd asked.

"nothing," he'd said, too fast. "no problem. i'm thrilled for you. jaehyun the architect. hope he designs you a very nice house."

you'd stared at satoru for a very long moment, waiting for the usual punchline. but he'd just smiled — that big, fake, toothy smile that meant he was annoyed about something and pretending he wasn't at all.

you'd let it go. you were used to satoru being weird.

but over the next week, his weirdness escalated into something you couldn't ignore.

it started small; satoru started showing up at your apartment unannounced, which wasn't new — he'd always done that, letting himself in with the key you'd given him after he'd climbed your fire escape twice in one week. but before, he'd text first, or at least announce his presence with a dramatic "honey, i'm home!" as he walked through the door.

now, he just appeared.

you'd be doing dishes, and suddenly there he was, leaning against your doorframe like he'd been there the whole time. you'd be studying at your desk, and satoru’s chin would appear over your shoulder, his chest warm against your back, asking what you were doing in a voice that was way too low for the question he was asking.

and god, the touching.

satoru had always been touchy. you'd known that about him from the beginning — the way he'd sling an arm over your shoulders, rest his hand on your lower back when you walked through crowds, drape his legs over yours when you sat together on the couch.

he was a physical person, and you'd never minded, because it was just satoru.

but this was very different.

now, satoru’s hand found the small of your back every time you stood next to him. his fingers brushed your wrist when you handed him something. when you sat on the couch together, he pulled you against his side like you might float away if he didn't hold you down, his arm tight around your waist, his thumb tracing circles against your hip.

and it was always casual, always easy, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

but you were aware.

painfully aware, every time his thigh pressed against yours, every time his breath ghosted across your neck when he leaned in to look at your phone, every time his fingers lingered on your skin a second longer than they needed to.

you didn't say anything. because what would you even say? 'hey, why are you touching me so much?' that sounded crazy. he was your best friend, and best friends touched.

but then came the comments…

"so when am i meeting jaehyun?" satoru asked one afternoon, sprawled across your bed while you got ready to go out.

you weren't even going out with jaehyun — you were simply going to a study group — but satoru had shown up forty minutes ago and hadn't left.

"you're not," you said, digging through your closet for a hoodie. "we've been on two coffee dates. it's not serious."

"but it could be," satoru said.

it was not a question, and his blue eyes tracked you across the room, and you felt them like a physical weight.

"maybe," you said, because you didn't know yet.

jaehyun was nice. jaehyun was safe. but jaehyun didn't make your heart race in that annoying, confusing way that made you want to scream.

satoru made a sound in the back of his throat, something low and very dissatisfied.

"jaehyun wears new balance sneakers," satoru said, like he was delivering a closing argument. "new balance! do you really want to be seen with a man who wears new balance?"

you turned to look at him.

"you're wearing crocs right now."

"crocs are ironic," satoru said, completely serious. "new balance is a cry for help."

you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without looking, grinning, and you tried to ignore how your stomach flipped.

the worst night, the night everything broke, started like this;

you had a date, a real one.

jaehyun had texted you earlier in the week asking if you wanted to go to that new ramen place downtown, the one with the hour-long wait and the broth people wrote blog posts about. you'd said yes, because you'd been wanting to go, and because jaehyun's texts made you smile, and because you were trying very hard to be normal about all of this.

you hadn't told satoru.

not because you were hiding it, exactly, but because you knew damn well — you knew — what would happen if you did; the comments, the touching, the way he'd look at you with those too-blue eyes like he was trying to communicate something you didn't have the vocabulary to understand.

so you kept it to yourself.

you got dressed in your room, you picked out a black dress that made you feel so pretty, you did your makeup carefully in the bathroom mirror. your hair fell prettily in waves around your shoulders, and you added a necklace — something delicate, something that caught the light.

you casually were just reaching for your black coat when the front door opened.

"satoru," you said, and your voice came out strangled.

your best friend stood in your doorway, and for a moment, neither of you moved. his eyes swept over you — the dress, the makeup, the necklace — and something flickered across his face; something fast and dark that he smoothed over before you could fully read it.

"going somewhere?" satoru asked, and his voice was light, but his jaw was tight.

you should have lied. you should have said study group, or grocery shopping, or literally anything else, but you'd never lied to satoru before, not about anything that mattered, and you didn't know how to start now.

"i have a date," you said. "with jaehyun."

the silence that followed was deafening.

satoru didn't move; he simply stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his body blocking the doorway like he could physically prevent you from leaving. his white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was wearing that black sweater you liked — the one that made his shoulders look impossibly broad.

"jaehyun," he repeated flatly.

"yes," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended. "jaehyun. the architect. the one i told you about."

"i know who jaehyun is," satoru said.

he completely stepped into the apartment, finally, and pushed the door closed behind him. the click of the lock was weirdly loud in the quiet room.

"i just thought you would have better taste."

the casual cruelty of it stung.

you felt it in your chest, sharp and hot, and suddenly you were so tired — tired of the comments, tired of the games, tired of the way satoru touched you and looked at you and made you feel like you were constantly missing something obvious.

"what is your problem, satoru?" you asked, and your voice cracked in the middle.

satoru blinked. "what?"

"you heard me."

you turned to face him fully, your coat completely forgotten on the couch. your hands were shaking, so you curled them into fists at your sides.

"every single time i mention someone, you have something to say. their eyebrows are wrong, they're too short, they smell like soup—"

"the soup thing was valid—"

"it wasn't!" you shouted, and satoru's mouth snapped shut. "it wasn't, satoru. and now it's jaehyun, and you won't even give him a chance. you show up at my apartment without warning, you won't stop touching me, you look at me like—"

you stopped, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.

satoru was watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. his usual mask — the arrogant smirk, the lazy confidence, the annoying playfulness — had slipped away entirely. underneath was something raw. something hungry.

"like what?" satoru asked, and his voice was low. rough. "like what, sweetheart?"

you shook your head, stepping back, and your legs hit the edge of the couch.

"this isn't fair. you can't just—you don't get to act like this every time i try to move on. you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"

"jealous?" satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you think i'm jealous?"

"i know you are," you said. "everyone can see it, satoru. suguru sees it. shoko sees it. i'm pretty sure my neighbor across the hall sees it, and she's half-blind."

satoru's jaw tightened.

he took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne — something clean and warm, like cedar and vanilla. his hand came up, and you flinched, but he just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck.

"and what if i am?" he murmured. "jealous. what if i can't stand the thought of you going out with him tonight? what if i've been going crazy for weeks, watching you text him, hearing you say his name—"

"then you should have said something," you whispered, and your voice broke on the last word.

satoru's hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. his eyes were almost desperate, searching your face like he was looking for something he needed to survive.

"i'm saying something now," he said. "i can't watch you with anyone else. i can't do it. i've tried—god, i've tried—but every time you smile at someone who isn't me, i want to tear something apart."

your breath caught. "satoru—"

"so if you're gonna be with someone," he continued, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "it's gonna be me."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.

you could feel the heat of satoru’s body through your dress, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each uneven breath. his hand was still on your jaw, gentle but firm, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

"what about jaehyun?" you asked, and it came out breathless.

satoru's eyes darkened. "fuck jaehyun."

and just like that, he kissed you.

it wasn't a soft or gentle kiss, no, it was so desperate and hungry and a little bit angry, like satoru had been holding this back for long years and the dam had finally broken.

satoru’s mouth moved against yours like he was trying to prove something, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper.

you made a little sound — something between a gasp and a moan — and satoru swallowed it. his other hand found your waist, pulling you against him until there was no space left between your bodies; he was warm and solid and everywhere, and your brain had stopped working entirely.

when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. satoru’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that you'd never seen before.

"tell me you don't want this," he said, his voice rough. "tell me to stop, and i will. but if you don't—"

you kissed him again, because you couldn't not. because six long years of insane tension and longing and denial had been building to this moment, and now that it was here, you couldn't imagine doing anything else.

satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. he walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, and then he was lowering you onto the cushions, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the fabric.

"god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "so fucking long. you have no idea."

"then show me," you said, and you felt him shudder.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing it.

"when i'm done with you," satoru said, and his voice was low and dark and full of promise. "you're not gonna remember jaehyun's name."

and then he kissed you again, and you stopped thinking about jaehyun entirely.

satoru's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. he kissed like he did everything else — like he was competing for something, like he needed to win. but there was desperation underneath it, a trembling kind of hunger that made his hands shake slightly where they gripped your hips.

you kissed him back just as hard, your fingers tangling in his soft white hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

satoru made a sound — something low and wrecked — and his hips pressed into yours instinctively; you could feel him already, hard against your thigh through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a rush of heat straight through your core.

"bedroom," satoru murmured hungrily against your lips, and it wasn't a question.

you nodded, breathless, and then he was pulling you up off the couch, his hands never leaving your body. one palm flat against your lower back, the other cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. satoru kissed you the whole way down the hall — deep, messy kisses that made you stumble backward, trusting him to guide you.

he did. of course he did.

satoru’s body was a wall of heat in front of you, and his hands were everywhere; your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass through your dress. he squeezed once, experimentally, and when you gasped into his mouth, he did it again, harder.

"fuck," he breathed, and you felt the word more than heard it.

your bedroom door was open, and he walked you through it without looking, his attention entirely on your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver when he kissed it. the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you fell backward onto the mattress, pulling him with you.

satoru caught himself on his forearms, hovering over you, his hair falling forward into his eyes.

for a second, he just looked at you, like he couldn't believe you were here, beneath him, your dress riding up your thighs and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.

"you're so pretty," satoru said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "god, you're so pretty. i'm gonna lose my mind."

then he sat back on his heels and pulled his sweater over his head in one movement.

you'd seen satoru without a shirt before — pool parties, beach trips, that one time his dorm ac broke and he'd walked around campus in nothing but shorts for a week. but this was different; this was close, and private, and his skin was flushed pink across his chest, and you could see everything.

satoru’s shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that made your mouth water. his chest was defined but not bulky — it was lean muscle that shifted under pale skin as he moved, and there was a thin line of white hair trailing down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and satoru’s arms were roped with veins that stood out when he flexed.

he caught you staring and smiled — not his usual cocky grin, but something softer, almost shy.

"like what you see?"

"shut up," you said, and reached for him.

satoru came down willingly, his body pressing you into the mattress, his skin warm and smooth against your palms. you ran your hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

he was all heat and tension, and when your nails dragged lightly down his spine, satoru groaned and buried his pretty face in your neck.

"you're gonna kill me," he mumbled into your skin.

you kissed his shoulder, then his collarbone, then the hinge of his jaw. your hands slid down his sides, over his ribs, and when they reached the button of his jeans, you didn't hesitate.

satoru went rigid.

your fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and then you were reaching inside his boxers, and—

oh!

satoru was ridiculously big.

well… you'd known he would be, somehow — everything about satoru was excessive, after all — but fucking hell, feeling him in your hand was completely different. he was thick and hot and already leaking, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.

"sweetheart," satoru gasped, and it came out as a whine, so high and so desperate.

his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.

"fuck, fuck, please—"

you stroked him slowly, your thumb spreading the wetness at the tip, and satoru made a sound you'd never heard from him before. it was broken and insanely needy, and satoru was shaking — actually shaking — his long fingers digging into the mattress on either side of your head.

"please what?" you asked, and your own voice was rough.

he lifted his head just enough to look at you, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left.

"please don't stop," satoru whispered. "please. i've wanted this for so long. i've thought about your hands—god, i've thought about your hands so much—"

you squeezed gently, just a little firmer, and his sentence cut off in a choked moan.

satoru buried his face in your neck again, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt him pulse in your hand; his whole body was tense, thighs flexing against yours, and you could feel how close he was — the way his stomach kept twitching, the way his hips started moving in small, desperate little thrusts into your fist.

"if you keep doing that," satoru said, muffled against your shoulder, "i'm not gonna last."

you didn't answer, you just kept going — steady, intentional, your grip adjusting to the slickness now, your thumb pressing into that spot right under the head on every upstroke. you wanted to see satoru fall apart; you wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything.

and then he did.

it wasn't loud, that was the thing.

satoru’s breath hitched, held, and then released in a long, shuddering exhale against your neck. his whole body locked up for a second — his back arching just slightly, fingers twisting in the sheets — and then he broke.

you felt it in your hand first; the pulsing, the warmth spilling over your fingers, the way satoru’s hips stuttered and stopped. then the rest of him followed; his forehead pressed harder into your shoulder, almost like he was hiding. his arms trembled on either side of you. a sound came out of him — soft, wrecked, more breath than voice — and you realized his free hand had moved to grip your hip, not guiding you, just holding on.

you kept stroking him through it, slow and gentle now, and satoru whimpered and tried sooo hard to squirm away from the sensitivity even as he pushed into your touch at the exact same time. satoru’s face was still buried in your neck, and you could feel how warm his cheeks were, how damp his lashes were against your skin.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

satoru’s breathing was uneven, hitching every few seconds like he was still coming down, and your hand was a mess, and you didn't care at all.

finally, he lifted his head.

satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair a disaster. he looked at you like he'd never seen you before — or maybe like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.

"your turn," you said, and your voice was steadier than you felt.

he blinked slowly, like the words had to travel through fog to reach him, then something completely shifted in satoru’s expression — something dark and determined settling over his still-soft features, a spark of that familiar satoru intensity cutting through the haze.

"my turn," he agreed.

his still trembling hands easily found the hem of your dress, and he pulled it up and over your head with an impatience that made you laugh — a breathless, surprised sound that turned into a gasp when he bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach.

satoru worked his way up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips hot and wet and reverent. when he reached your bra, he looked up at you, asking silent permission. you simply nodded, and he reached behind you to unclasp it with fingers that trembled even more.

the bra joined your dress on the floor.

satoru sat back on his heels and stared at you; his blue eyes traveled down your body — your breasts, your stomach, the lace edge of your panties — and his expression was almost painful to look at; like he was in awe, like he was in pain.

"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was hoarse. "i don't—i can't—"

"toru," you said, and your own voice was shaking. "please."

that broke whatever trance he was in.

satoru lowered himself over you again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender, and his hand slid down your body, over your ribs, your hip, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your panties.

he pulled back just enough to look down, and then his fingers were hooking into the lace, but he didn't pull them off. instead, satoru pushed them to the side.

the air hit your wetness, and you felt exposed and seen and so incredibly turned on you thought you might combust. satoru's breath caught when he saw you completely, and his pupils swallowed the very last of the blue.

"all this for me?" he murmured, his fingers hovering just above where you needed him.

"y-yes," you said, and you meant it more than you'd ever meant anything. "always for you."

satoru’s eyes flicked up to yours, and something shifted in his expression; something soft and fierce and terrified all at once. then he looked back down, and his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, circling your clit in a way that made your hips jerk off the bed.

"fuck," you gasped.

"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and focused. "that's it, sweetheart. let me hear you."

he circled your clit again, slow and meticulous, watching your face. when you moaned — loud, involuntary — his lips curved into a smile that was almost smug, but then you moaned again, and his smile faltered, replaced by something hungrier.

"you have no idea," satoru said, his finger still moving in lazy circles. "what this sound does to me."

he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, and your back arched off the bed.

it was so good — way too good — the stretch of his long fingers, the curl of them inside you, the way he found that spot immediately like he'd been studying a map of your body for years. his thumb pressed against your clit, and he started a rhythm that made your vision blur.

"right there?" satoru asked, and his voice was strained.

"y-yes—yes, don't stop—"

and satoru didn't stop.

he fucked you with his long fingers like he really meant it, his palm slapping against your clit with every single thrust, his blue eyes never once leaving your face; he watched every expression, cataloged every sound, and satoru’s own breathing was ragged, his hips pressing into the mattress like he was fucking it just to keep himself sane.

"you're so wet," he said, almost to himself. "god, you're so wet. is this because of me? because of what i said?"

you couldn't answer — you couldn't form any words — so you simply nodded, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your hips rocking against his hand.

"say it," satoru demanded, his fingers curling harder. "say you want this. say you want me."

"i want you," you sobbed. "i want you, toru, please—"

he added a third finger, and the stretch was almost too much, the pressure building in your core until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a damn thing but feel. his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and he leaned down to kiss your chest, your collarbone, the side of your breast.

"cum for me," he murmured against your skin. "cum on my fingers, sweetheart. i want to feel it."

you shattered.

it crashed over you in huge waves, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into satoru's shoulders as you rode out the pleasure. he didn't stop — he kept his fingers deep inside you, he kept his thumb on your clit, working you through every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and crying his name into the quiet room.

when you finally stilled, satoru pulled his fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth.

he licked them clean.

his eyes never left yours as he did it, his tongue sliding between his long fingers, tasting you like you were something precious. he made a sound — low and satisfied — and when he was done, and held his fingers out to you.

"your turn," he said, echoing your words from earlier.

you took his wrist and guided his fingers to your mouth; you sucked them in, one by one, tasting yourself on his skin. his breath hitched, and his hips jerked against the mattress, and you felt powerful in a way you'd never felt before.

when you let go, satoru’s fingers were slick with your spit, and his eyes were almost black.

"f-fuck," he whispered. "fuck, sweetheart. i need—i need to be inside you. please. i can't—"

he was shaking again, his composure crumbling completely, his body vibrating with need above you. you could feel him through his jeans, hard and aching, and you wanted him so badly it was a physical pain.

"then do it," you said. "do it, satoru."

he fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough, and then he was there — pressing against your entrance, the head of his huge cock nudging at your wetness, both of you breathing too fast.

"look at me," he said, and his voice was raw. "i want you to look at me when i finally make you mine."

his voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered; this wasn't just sex, you could see it in his eyes — blown wide, glassy, stripped of every layer of sarcasm and swagger he'd ever worn. satoru looked terrified and hungry and so in love it was almost painful to witness.

"toru," you whispered, and his name felt different in your mouth now.

"i know," he said, and he sounded almost sorry. "i know we should talk. i know we're gonna have to figure out what the hell we're doing tomorrow. but right now—"

he pressed forward, just barely, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, and you both gasped.

"—right now, i need to be inside you. i need to feel you cum around me. and i need you to watch me fall apart while i do it."

you nodded, unable to speak, and satoru pushed in.

just an inch — slow, so slow — and your body stretched around him, full and burning in a way that made your eyes water. satoru was so much bigger than his fingers, thicker and hotter, and the pressure was almost too much. you felt every millimeter, every pulse of his cock as it slid into you, and the sound he made — god, the sound — was something you'd never heard from him before.

it was a broken moan, high and desperate, like he was the one being split open.

"fuck," satoru choked out, his forehead dropping to yours, and his breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "f-fuck, baby. you're so—you're so tight—i can't—"

his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper, another inch, and your nails dug into his shoulders. the stretch burned in the best way, your body adjusting to him, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every tiny shift of his hips.

"m-more," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please, toru. i want all of it."

satoru made a sound like a wounded animal, and then he pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was buried completely inside you.

you both stopped breathing.

he was everywhere, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on overwhelming, his hips flush against yours; you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the way his whole body trembled above you, his arms shaking where they caged you in.

"oh my god," satoru breathed, and his voice was wrecked, absolutely destroyed. "oh my god. sweetheart. you feel—i can't—there aren't words."

his eyes were squeezed shut now, his jaw tight, and you watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple. he looked like he was in pain. like he was holding on by a thread.

"toru," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "look at me."

his eyes opened, and what you saw there completely made your heart clench; satoru looked dazed, almost drunk, his pupils so blown there was only a thin ring of blue left now, his lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and when you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm.

"you're gonna be the death of me," satoru murmured against your skin. "you know that, right? i've been imagining this for six years, and it's still—it's so much better than i ever—" he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. "i'm not gonna last. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, but i can't—"

"then don't," you said. "move, toru. please move."

well… he didn't need to be told twice.

satoru pulled out slowly — agonizingly slowly — until only the tip remained inside you, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep, his eyes never left yours, watching your face as he bottomed out again, and the expression on his face was one of pure, reverent awe.

"that's it," he whispered. "god, that's it. you're taking me so well, sweetheart. so fucking well."

he did it again, and again, each thrust was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sensation; the drag of his huge cock against your walls, the way you clenched around him, the little sounds you made every time he pushed back in. his hands roamed your body — your waist, your ribs, your breasts — touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was thick. "i've wanted to touch you like this for so long. you have no idea how many times i've jerked off thinking about you. thinking about these sounds you're making right now."

satoru’s hips snapped forward a little harder, and you moaned at that — loud and unfiltered — and satoru's eyes rolled back for just a second.

"yeah," he breathed. "yeah, like that. i want to hear you. i want everyone to hear you. i want jaehyun to hear you and know—know that you're mine."

the possessiveness in his voice should have scared you, but instead, it made you clench around him, and satoru groaned so loudly you felt it vibrate through his chest.

"you like that?" he asked, his pace picking up slightly. "you like it when i get jealous? when i talk about how you're mine?"

"fuck—yes," you admitted, because you couldn't lie anymore.

not with your best friend inside you, not with his skin against yours, not with the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

satoru's smile was sharp and hungry.

"good. because you are mine. you have been since the day you let me climb your fire escape."

satoru kissed you then — it was deep and messy, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips. he was fucking you slowly but deeply now, each thrust pushing you up the bed a little, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

that changed everything.

the angle made him hit something inside you — something that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out against his mouth, and satoru swallowed the sound, his hips stuttering before he found a new rhythm; faster, harder, still deep, but no longer gentle.

"there?" satoru gasped, pulling back just enough to look at your face. "is that the spot? right there?"

you couldn't answer, you could only nod, your hands fisting in his white hair, pulling him down so you could bite his lower lip. and satoru moaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward so hard the headboard banged against the wall.

"oh—f-fuck, sweetheart," satoru panted. "you're gonna make me come so fast. i can't—i've been waiting too long for this. you feel too good."

his hand slid between your bodies, and his thumb found your clit, and you nearly screamed.

he circled it in tight, fast motions, exactly the way you needed, and the combination of his enormous cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and his thumb on your clit was too much. the pleasure built so quickly it was almost painful, your whole body tightening like a coil about to snap.

"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and dark and completely gone. "cum for me again, sweetheart. i want to feel you cum on my cock this time. i want to feel you squeeze me while i'm inside you."

his thumb pressed harder, his hips moved faster, and he was looking at you — watching every micro-expression on your face with an intensity that should have been overwhelming.

but all you could feel was him. all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the little whimpers that fell from his lips every time you clenched around him.

"i'm close," you managed, your voice breaking. "oh my god, toru, i'm so close—"

"yeah?"

satoru was practically fucking you in earnest now, his composure completely gone; his hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from your kisses.

"you gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? i want to feel it. i want to feel you—"

you came.

it surged through you without warning, your whole body arching off the bed, your nails raking down satoru’s back as you convulsed around him. satoru groaned — a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere primal — and his hips kept moving, kept thrusting, working you through every second of your orgasm.

"oh, fuck," he gasped. "oh, fuckfuckfuck, sweetheart—you're squeezing me so tight—i can't—i'm gonna—"

satoru pulled out just enough that you felt the first pulse of his release, hot and sudden, and then he pushed back in and buried himself to the hilt as he came inside you.

his whole body shook, his arms gave out, and satoru collapsed on top of you, his face buried deep in your neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself into you. he made sounds you'd never heard him make — broken, desperate sounds, almost like sobs — and you felt each pulse of his cock, each wave of his release, hot and filling.

"g-god," satoru whispered against your sweaty skin. "god, sweetheart. i love—i—"

he didn't finish the sentence, maybe he couldn't, maybe he was too far gone.

you held him, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. his cock was still inside you, softening slightly but not pulling out, and you could feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and wet.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were your breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant hum of the city outside your window.

satoru's hand was tracing patterns on your hip, lazy and absent, and you thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. maybe you'd get a moment to process what had just happened.

then satoru shifted.

his hips rolled forward, just slightly, and you felt him twitch inside you.

"satoru," you said, your voice hoarse.

he lifted his head, and his eyes met yours; they were still dark, still blown wide, but there was something new there now. something hungry and determined and a little bit feral.

"i'm not done," satoru said, and his voice was rough. "i'm not even close to done."

he pulled out slowly, and you felt the loss of him acutely — the sudden emptiness, the trickle of satoru’s cum that slid down your trembling thigh. but before you could mourn it, he was flipping you over, pulling you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips.

"i've been thinking about this position for years," satoru murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "thinking about how deep i could get. how loud you'd be."

you heard him spit into his hand — you heard the wet sound of him stroking himself — and then he was pressing against your entrance again, already hard, already ready.

"toru," you said again, and it came out as a pathetic whimper. "i'm still sensitive—"

"i know," satoru said, and he sounded almost apologetic. almost. "but you feel too good, sweetheart. and i'm so fucking obsessed with you. i can't stop. i don't want to stop."

he pushed in, and you both moaned.

it was different from the first time; you were still so wet, still so stretched, still so full of his cum, and satoru slid in easier now, way deeper, until you felt him in your stomach.

satoru paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

"baby, tell me when," satoru said, his voice strained. "tell me when you're ready."

you took a breath, then another, the sensitivity was fading, replaced by a familiar ache, a familiar need.

"now," you said. "move now."

and he did.

satoru started slow again, but this time it was different.

this time, he was savoring; his hands completely roamed your body — your back, your ass, your hips — and he leaned over to press kisses along your spine. his huge cock dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back, and he was murmuring things against your skin; things you couldn't quite understand, things that sounded like praise and worship and desperation all at once.

"you're so perfect," he breathed. "so perfect for me. this pussy was made for me. you know that? made for my cock."

satoru’s pace quickened, his hips slapping against yours, and the sound was obscene — wet and loud and relentless. he reached around and found your swollen clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and you sobbed with the overstimulation of it.

"too much?" he asked, but he didn't stop. "or not enough?"

"m-more," you gasped. "more, toru—please—"

he gave you more.

satoru fucked you harder, faster, deeper, his grip on your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. his breathing was ragged, his moans were loud, and he was talking — talking constantly, a stream of consciousness that was half dirty and half desperate.

"look at you. taking me so well. you're so wet. so fucking wet. is this all for me? tell me it's all for me."

"it's all for you," you said, and you meant it.

satoru groaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward even harder, and you felt a second orgasm building — faster this time, sharper, pushed along by the overstimulation and the sound of his voice and the way he was fucking you like he needed you to survive.

"cum with me this time," he said, his voice breaking. "i want to feel you cum while i'm filling you up again. i want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."

his thumb pressed down on your clit, and his hips lost their rhythm, becoming sloppy and desperate, and you knew he was close, and so were you. so close—

"now," satoru gasped. "now, sweetheart—"

you came together.

it was messy and loud and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. you collapsed onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.

neither of you moved.

satoru’s breath was hot against your ear, his heart pounding against your back, and you could feel him — getting hard again, still inside you, still not pulling out.

"one more," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the exhaustion. "just one more. and then maybe we can talk about how i'm in love with you."

you laughed — a breathless, surprised sound — and satoru kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw.

"i'm serious, baby," satoru said, his hips rolling forward again, slowly. "i've been in love with you for years. and now that i've had you like this—"

he pushed deeper, and you moaned.

"—i'm never letting you go."

satoru’s hand slid under you, finding your clit again, and you realized he actually meant it.

he wasn't going to stop.

and honestly… you didn't want him to.

The silence in Megumi Fushiguro’s apartment had never felt like a weapon before. It had always been a soft, comfortable thing. The quiet of shared space, the peace of two people who didn’t need to fill every moment with noise. But tonight, the silence it felt different.

Megumi had come home late, later than usual, his shoulders hunched and his jaw tight. You’d watched him shrug off his jacket, his movements jerky and exhausted, and your heart had clenched with sympathy. You knew he’d had a brutal week. A mission had gone sideways, leaving him with a concussion and a civilian casualty that wasn’t his fault but weighed on him anyway. Then there had been the endless debriefings, the paperwork, the sidelong glances from the higher-ups who always seemed to be waiting for him to fail. You’d seen the dark circles under his eyes deepen with each passing day, watched him pick at his food without eating, and felt him toss and turn beside you in bed long after the lights went out.

So you’d done what you always did. You’d tried to help. You’d made his favorite tea, the ginger one that stung the nose and warmed the throat. You’d set out his comfortable clothes, the soft sweater with the frayed cuffs he loved. And when he’d sunk onto the couch with a bone-deep sigh, you’d settled beside him and started talking, hoping to pull him out of his head, to distract him from the darkness you could see swirling behind his eyes.

“I was thinking about time today,” you’d begun, your voice soft and meandering, the way it always was when you were trying to soothe him. “Not like, clock time, but geological time. Did you know that if you compressed the entire history of the Earth into a single year, humans wouldn’t show up until like, eleven-forty PM on December thirty-first? And the entire recorded history of human civilization would be the last few seconds before midnight? It’s wild, right? All of our wars and art and love and everything, just this tiny little blip. And it made me think about how when you’re in the middle of a bad week, it feels like it’s going to last forever, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s not even a fraction of a fraction of a—”

“Can you just be quiet?”

The words weren’t loud. They weren’t even particularly harsh. But they stopped you cold, your mouth still half-open around the next syllable, your hands frozen mid-gesture. You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the softening of his eyes, the small quirk of his lips that meant he was teasing.

It didn’t come.

He wasn’t looking at you. His head was tilted back against the couch, his eyes closed, and there was a furrow between his brows so deep it looked carved there. The words hung in the air between you, ugly and final, and for one bizarre, disorienting moment, a single thought cut through your shock: This isn’t Megumi.

The thought was so strong, so visceral, that your eyes darted around the room, half-expecting to see the shimmer of a veil, the telltale distortion of a curse’s technique. Because this couldn’t be real. Your Megumi—your sweet, quiet, secretly tender Megumi who let you put face masks on him and once sat through a three-hour documentary about nudibranchs because you’d said they looked like tiny sea dragons and you loved them—your Megumi would never, ever say that to you. This had to be a curse. Some vile, parasitic thing wearing his skin, twisting his voice, using his exhaustion as a doorway in.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your lungs started to burn. Your hands were trembling in your lap, but you kept them still, kept your face as neutral as you could manage, while your mind spiraled through every exorcism you’d ever studied, every curse you’d ever encountered. You searched his face for some sign of the supernatural, some glint of something that wasn’t him.

Megumi’s eyes opened, and you searched them desperately. But all you saw was exhaustion. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion, and underneath it, a flicker of irritation that made your stomach drop.

He must have seen something in your expression—the wide-eyed horror, the desperate scanning—because his brow furrowed further. "Nothing is wrong, I just… I can’t right now. I need quiet. Please.”

Please. He’d said please, like it was a reasonable request, like he hadn’t just taken the thing you were most vulnerable about—the thing you’d been terrified of your entire life—and confirmed it was true. You talked too much, you shared too much, you were too much, and the one person you’d trusted with all of it had finally gotten sick of pretending otherwise.

You didn’t remember standing up. You didn’t remember walking to the bedroom. All you remembered was the click of the door closing behind you, the sound of your own heartbeat thundering in your ears, and the slow, creeping horror of a new thought slithering into your mind.

What if he’s been holding this back for our entire relationship, and tonight he just… slipped?

You pressed your back against the bedroom door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, your knees drawn up to your chest. The tears came hot and silent, and with them, the spiral.

Because the thing was, it made sense. It made terrible, perfect sense.

You’d always known you talked a lot. You’d been told so your whole life—by teachers who moved your desk to the back of the classroom, by friends who slowly stopped returning your texts, by family members who smiled tight smiles and said, “Don’t you ever run out of things to say?” You talked when you were happy, when you were nervous, when you were sad, and when you were excited. Talking was how you processed the world. It was how you connected, how you loved, how you breathed.

And Megumi… Megumi was so quiet. He spoke in glances and small gestures, in the brush of his fingers against yours, in the way he’d make you tea without being asked. You’d always thought—hoped—that your talking was the yang to his yin, that you filled the silences he didn’t want to fill himself, that he liked it, that he liked you.

But what if he didn’t? What if every story you’d ever told him, every random observation, every excited ramble about sea slugs or cloud formations or the socioeconomic implications of ancient Roman plumbing—what if every single word had been sandpaper against his nerves? What if all those little hums and nods, the ones you’d interpreted as listening, had actually been him just… enduring?

You thought back through your entire relationship, and the memories shifted and warped before your eyes, taking on a sinister new shape. The time you’d spent forty-five minutes explaining the plot of a book he’d never read, and he’d just sat there, silent. You’d thought he was being a good listener. What if he’d been wishing you would stop? The time you’d made him watch a video essay about the history of buttons, and he’d fallen asleep halfway through. You’d teased him about it, thinking it was cute. What if he’d been so bored, so exhausted by your endless stream of words, that his body had just given up?

Every memory became evidence. Every silence became a verdict. And you, who loved him so much, realized with a sickening lurch that your love might have been a burden. That the very thing you’d been offering him—yourself, unfiltered and enthusiastic and overflowing—might have been the thing he’d secretly wished he could escape.

You didn’t sleep that night. You lay in bed, still and silent as a stone, listening to Megumi’s breathing on the other side of the mattress. He didn’t reach for you. He didn’t say anything. And that, too, felt like confirmation.

───

The next morning, you woke up with a new resolve. If Megumi needed quiet, you would give him quiet. If your talking was a burden, you would set it down. You would become smaller, neater, easier. You would be the girlfriend he deserved, not the one he’d been saddled with.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever done.

The first day, you caught yourself a dozen times. You’d open your mouth to tell him about the weird bird you’d seen outside the window, and you’d snap it shut again. You’d pick up your phone to text him a thought that had just occurred to you, and you’d set it back down. Every suppressed word felt like a small death, a little piece of yourself that you were burying alive.

But you did it. For him, you did it.

“Morning,” you said when he stumbled into the kitchen. One word. Neat. Contained. You placed his coffee in front of him—black, no sugar, the way he liked it—and turned back to the sink.

Megumi grunted in response, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice anything different. Why would he? This was probably what he’d always wanted. A quiet morning. A peaceful coffee. A girlfriend who didn’t assault him with trivia before he’d fully woken up.

The second day was harder. You saw a dog on your walk home that looked exactly like his Divine Dog, a big black shaggy thing with soulful eyes, and your first instinct was to take a picture, to send it to him, to say, “Look! It’s your son! He’s working at a café now apparently, very distinguished!” You had your phone out, the camera app open, before you remembered. You put the phone away. You walked home in silence. And when Megumi asked, “How was your day?” you said, “Fine,” and nothing else.

The third day, the fourth day, the fifth day—they all blurred together into a haze. You’d never realized how much of your life was made of words until you had to swallow every single one. You’d never realized how lonely silence could be until you were drowning in it.

You didn’t have a lot of close friends. It wasn’t that people didn’t like you—they did, or at least, they seemed to. But friendships required maintenance, and you’d always poured so much of yourself into your relationship with Megumi that there hadn’t been much left over. He’d been your person. The one you texted at 2 AM when you had a thought that couldn’t wait. The one whose shoulder you shook when you saw something beautiful or weird or funny, because sharing it with him was what made it real.

Now you had no one. The thoughts piled up inside you, a tower of unsaid words growing taller every day. You started a journal, but it wasn’t the same. The journal didn’t hum in the right places. The journal didn’t roll its eyes fondly or call you an idiot with that particular soft inflection that meant I love you. The journal was just paper, and you were so, so lonely.

Megumi didn’t notice.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. He noticed something. He noticed that you were quieter, but he chalked it up to mood swings. You’d always been emotional, up and down, sunshine and rain. He figured you were going through something personal—maybe family stuff, maybe hormones, maybe just the general weight of being a sorcerer in a world that never stopped needing saving. He’d ask, “You okay?” and you’d say, “I’m fine,” and he’d accept it, because Megumi was not, by nature, a person who pushed.

A small, petty part of you wanted him to push. You wanted him to grab you by the shoulders and say, “You’re not fine. You haven’t told me a single fact about marine biology in five days. What’s wrong?” But he didn’t. He just drifted through the apartment like a ghost, and you drifted with him, two silent ships passing in a fog of your own making.

Weeks passed. You got very good at being quiet. You learned the precise number of words required to get through a day without arousing suspicion: “Good morning.” “Do you want dinner?” “I’m going to bed.”

And through it all, the thoughts kept coming. They never stopped. Every moment of every day, your brain was churning out observations, questions, connections, jokes, stories. Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? Did you know that the moon is slowly moving away from the Earth? Did you know that I love you so much it’s killing me not to tell you? The words pressed against the inside of your skull and you had nowhere to put them.

Until Yuuta.

───

You’d gone to the sorcerer headquarters to drop off some paperwork for Gojo—a favor you’d agreed to in the morning. You were walking across the training grounds, head down, already composing the text you wouldn’t send Megumi about the interesting moss pattern on the path, when you literally ran into someone.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—” You looked up into a pair of kind, worried eyes, and your brain short-circuited. “Yuuta?”

Yuuta Okkotsu smiled at you, that gentle, slightly awkward smile that made him look like a startled puppy. “Hey! It’s good to see you. I feel like it’s been forever. How are you? How’s Megumi?”

And something in you, something that had been wound tight for weeks, just… snapped.

“Did you know,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, “that there’s a species of jellyfish that’s biologically immortal? It’s called the Turritopsis dohrnii, and when it gets injured or stressed or just old, it can revert back to its polyp stage and start its whole life cycle over. It’s like hitting the reset button on your own existence. Scientists are studying it to see if there are applications for human aging, but honestly, I think the jellyfish is onto something. Imagine if every time you made a horrible mistake, you could just turn back into a baby and try again. Megumi would probably appreciate that, right? A do-over button for relationships? ‘Oh no, I’ve been a terrible boyfriend, time to become a polyp!’ Though I guess that’s not really fair. He’s not terrible. I’m the terrible one. I’m the one who talks too much. That’s literally what he said. Well, not literally, but implied. He said, ‘Can you just be quiet?’ and I’ve been trying, I really have, but it’s so hard because I have all these thoughts and nowhere to put them and I can’t tell him because he doesn’t want to hear it and I don’t have anyone else because he was my person and now I’m just—I’m just full. Do you ever feel full? Like you’re going to burst if you don’t say something, but if you say something, the person you love most in the world is going to look at you with that exhausted, annoyed expression, and you’ll die a little inside? No? Just me? Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m doing it again. I’m talking too much. I should stop. I’m going to stop now.”

You stopped. You were breathing hard, your heart pounding, and you realized with a distant sort of horror that you’d just verbally vomited all over Yuuta Okkotsu, a man you barely knew, a man who was probably just trying to be polite and was now trapped in a conversation with a lunatic.

But Yuuta didn’t look trapped. He looked… concerned. And interested. And maybe a little bit sad.

“The jellyfish thing is really cool,” he said quietly. “Tell me more about that.”

You stared at him. “What?”

“The immortal jellyfish. How does it work, exactly? Does it remember its previous life, or is it a blank slate every time?”

It was like someone had opened a floodgate. You couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t want to stop yourself. You told him about the cellular transdifferentiation process, about the way the jellyfish’s cells could change from one type to another, about the implications for regenerative medicine and the philosophical questions it raised about identity and consciousness and what it meant to truly die. And then, because he was still listening, still nodding, still asking questions with genuine curiosity in his dark eyes, you told him about octopuses and moon phases and the time you’d gotten lost in a museum and accidentally attended a lecture on medieval grain storage, and it had been the most fascinating hour of your life.

You talked for two hours. Two solid hours of uninterrupted, uncensored, gloriously rambling. You told Yuuta things you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. You told him about the specific shade of gray the sky turned before a storm, and the way Megumi’s hair fell over his eyes when he was concentrating, and the dream you’d had about flying whales, and the theory you’d developed about pigeons being government drones, and—

And through it all, Yuuta listened. He didn’t endure. He listened. He laughed at your jokes. He gasped at your revelations. He leaned in when you got to the good parts, and he shook his head in wonder when you finished a particularly convoluted tangent. He was, you realized with a pang, everything you’d been missing. Not a romantic prospect—you were too in love with Megumi for that, even now, even after everything—but a friend. A real, true friend who didn’t seem to mind that you talked too much. Who maybe even liked it.

“That was incredible,” Yuuta said when you finally wound down, your throat hoarse and your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “You’re like a living Wikipedia, except way more entertaining. Megumi’s a lucky guy.”

The mention of Megumi’s name was like a splash of cold water. “I should… I should probably go. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“You didn’t take anything,” Yuuta said firmly. “I offered. And honestly?” He ducked his head, a little shy. “It was nice. I enjoyed learning so much, and if it made you feel better, then I am even more glad. So thank you. For talking to me.”

Something in your chest cracked open. “You’re welcome, thank you too for hearing me.” you whispered. And you meant it.

───

The afternoon sun was slanting through the trees of the training grounds, casting long, golden shadows across the grass, and Megumi Fushiguro was worried.

Something was wrong with you. He’d noticed it in the small things—the way you’d stopped texting him random facts in the middle of the day, the way the apartment had become so painfully quiet, the way you’d answer his questions with one-word responses and tight, brittle smiles that never reached your eyes. He’d told himself it was a mood swing, or stress, or something personal that you’d share when you were ready. He’d told himself to be patient, to give you space, to be the steady, silent presence you needed.

But today, the worry had sharpened into something sharper. You hadn’t answered your phone. Three calls, straight to voicemail. You were supposed to drop off paperwork for Gojo, a simple errand that should have taken an hour at most, but three hours had passed and you still weren’t home. Megumi had tried to ignore the cold knot forming in his stomach. He’d tried to reason with himself—maybe your phone died, maybe you got caught up talking to someone, maybe you just needed time alone. But the image of your face that morning, pale and drawn and so terribly quiet, had pushed him out the door.

He found you on a bench near the old training fields, a secluded spot dappled with light and shadow, the kind of place you used to drag him to for “cloud-watching dates” where you’d spend an hour narrating the lives of the cumulus sheep and their stratus shepherds. The memory hit him like a punch to the chest, a reminder of everything that had been missing, everything he’d somehow let slip away.

But you weren’t alone.

Yuuta Okkotsu was sitting beside you on the bench, his body angled toward you in a posture of complete, undivided attention. And you were talking. You were talking the way you used to talk to Megumi, your hands flying through the air, your face alight with an animation he hadn’t seen in weeks, your voice carrying across the grass in a bright, effervescent stream that made his heart seize in his chest.

"—And that’s why I’m convinced pigeons are actually government surveillance drones,” you were saying, your voice breathless with laughter. “I mean, think about it, Yuuta. They’re everywhere. They never migrate. They have that weird red eye thing that looks exactly like a camera lens. And have you ever seen a baby pigeon? No. You haven’t. Because they’re not born. They’re manufactured.”

Yuuta laughed—a real, genuine laugh, warm and surprised—and Megumi watched him shake his head in wonder. “That’s the most unhinged wild I’ve ever heard,” Yuuta said, but his voice was fond, almost admiring. “I love it. What else do you have? What’s your take on squirrels?”

“Oh, squirrels are just tree spies,” you said immediately, and you launched into another tangent without missing a beat, your whole body leaning toward Yuuta like he was the sun and you were a flower desperate for light.

Megumi stood frozen at the edge of the treeline, hidden in the shadows of a large oak, and watched.

He should have walked away. He should have announced himself, or texted you that he was there, or done anything other than stand there like a ghost, eavesdropping on a conversation that was never meant for his ears. But he couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the ground, and his eyes were fixed on you, on the way you sparkled, on the way you came alive in a way you hadn’t around him in weeks.

Look at her, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, cold and insidious. Look at how happy she is. Look at how she’s glowing. You haven’t made her look like that in weeks. Maybe ever.

He tried to push the thought away, but it clung to him like a curse, sinking its claws into the softest, most vulnerable parts of his heart. He watched Yuuta lean in slightly, his dark eyes soft with genuine interest, and something bitter and acidic rose in Megumi’s throat.

Of course. Of course it’s Yuuta.

Yuuta Okkotsu, the prodigy. The special grade sorcerer who had overcome a curse born of love itself. The one everyone admired, the one everyone trusted, the one who was unfailingly kind and gentle and everything Megumi knew, deep in his bones, he could never be.

He’s perfect for her.

The thought was a knife twisting in his gut. Yuuta was everything you deserved. He was affectionate. He was emotionally available. He probably knew how to say “I love you” without choking on the words, without hoping his actions could speak loudly enough to drown out his silence. He would never snap at you after a hard week. He would never make you feel like your voice was a burden. He would listen—really listen, with his whole heart, the way he was listening now—and he would make you feel seen, cherished, adored.

And what did Megumi do? He grunted. He nodded. He made tea and hoped you understood that the steam rising from the cup meant you are my whole world. He was a coward, a man made of silences and shadows, and he’d always known, somewhere deep down, that it was only a matter of time before you realized you deserved more.

This is it, he thought, and the cold certainty of it settled over him like a shroud. She’s found someone who can give her what I can’t. Someone who can listen. She’s going to leave me.

He watched you laugh again, your hand reaching out to touch Yuuta’s arm in a gesture of easy familiarity, and something inside him cracked. You used to touch him like that. You used to look at him like that, like he was the only person in the world who mattered. And he’d thrown it away. He’d thrown it away with two stupid, careless sentences, spoken in a moment of exhausted weakness.

“Can you just be quiet?”

The memory of that night crashed over him like a wave of ice. He remembered the way your face had crumpled, the way you’d frozen, silent and terrified, before retreating to the bedroom without a word. How you’d looked at him like he was a stranger wearing a familiar face. And he’d been too tired, too wrapped up in his own misery, to follow you. He’d let you go. He’d let you think, for weeks, that your voice was a burden, that your beautiful, bright, overflowing self was something to be endured rather than cherished.

And now here you were, blooming under someone else’s attention, because he had starved you of his own.

She deserves this, he thought, and the resignation was so heavy it made his knees weak. She deserves someone who doesn’t make her feel like she has to be small. Someone who doesn’t need weeks to notice she’s dying inside. Someone like Yuuta.

Yuuta said something that made you laugh again—a full, unrestrained, head-tilted-back laugh that Megumi hadn’t heard in so long he’d almost forgotten the sound of it. The joy in it was a blade, and it cut him to the bone. He wanted to be the one making you laugh like that. He wanted to be the one you leaned toward, the one you touched, the one you trusted with your wild theories and endless curiosities. But he’d forfeited that right, hadn’t he? He’d pushed you away, and you’d found someone else to fill the space he’d left.

If you love her, you’ll let her go. The thought was noble, self-sacrificing, the kind of thought the heroes in your stories would have. But Megumi wasn’t a hero. He was a jealous, terrified, broken man who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you, even if it was exactly what he deserved.

He watched Yuuta stand up from the bench, saying something that made you smile and nod. You stood too, and for one horrible, heart-stopping moment, Megumi thought you might hug him, might press yourself against Yuuta the way you used to press against him. But you didn’t. You just waved, a cheerful, grateful wave, and Yuuta walked away, leaving you alone on the path.

Megumi should have waited. He should have let you walk home, should have given himself time to compose his thoughts, to find the right words, to be calm and rational and mature about this. But he’d spent his whole life being calm and rational and mature, and look where it had gotten him. Standing in the shadows, watching the love of his life light up for someone else because he’d been too stupid, too silent, too scared to tell her how much she meant to him.

He stepped out from behind the tree.

You saw him immediately. Your head turned at the sound of his footsteps, and the smile—the beautiful, radiant smile you’d been wearing for Yuuta—froze on your face and then slowly, painfully, died. It was like watching a door slam shut, and Megumi felt the impact in his soul.

“Megumi,” you said, and your voice was flat. Neutral. Nothing like the bright, bubbling stream he’d just been eavesdropping on. “What are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth to say something reasonable—“I was worried about you,” or “Your phone was off,” or “Let’s go home and talk about this calmly”—but what came out instead was: “So that’s it, then. You’re going to leave me for him.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Yuuta.” Megumi’s voice was shaking, and he hated it. He hated the way he couldn’t control it, the way all the fear and jealousy and self-loathing he’d been swallowing for weeks was spilling out of him like poison. “I saw you. Just now. You were so happy, talking to him. You were so… you were yourself again. And you haven’t been yourself with me in weeks. So I get it, okay? I get it. He’s better than me. He’s everything I’m not. And you deserve someone like him.”

The words hung in the air between you, ugly and raw and desperate. Megumi watched your face cycle through shock, confusion, and then—slowly, devastatingly—understanding.

“You were watching us,” you said quietly.

“I came looking for you.” He couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. He stared at the ground, at the grass, at the ants marching in a neat line across the path. “You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried. And then I saw you with him, and you were talking the way you used to talk to me, and I just… I knew. I knew you’d finally realized I’m not enough.”

“Megumi—”

“Do you know what I was thinking the whole time I watched you two?” The words kept coming. His hands were shaking at his sides. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. “I was thinking, ‘Of course. Of course it’s Yuuta.’ Yuuta is kind and gentle and he probably never forgets to tell you how much he loves you. He probably listens to every word you say and tells you you’re brilliant and doesn’t just grunt and hope you understand. He’s affectionate and he’s sweet and he’s exactly what you need, and I’m just… I’m just me. I’m dark and quiet and broken, and I’ve always known, deep down, that someday you’d wake up and realize you could do better.”

He finally looked up at you, and the expression on your face made his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. You were crying. Silent tears were streaming down your cheeks, and you were looking at him with something that wasn’t anger or confirmation—it was heartbreak. Pure, aching heartbreak.

“Oh, Megumi,” you whispered.

He couldn’t stop. Everything he’d been holding in for years was pouring out in an uncontrollable torrent. “He’s better for you. Everyone knows it. Gojo, Nobara, probably even you. Yuuta is the kind of person who deserves someone like you—someone bright and warm and full of life. I’m just the guy who told you to shut up when you were trying to help me. I’m the guy who didn’t notice you were dying inside for three whole weeks because I was too wrapped up in my own head. I’m the guy who can’t even say ‘I love you’ without feeling like I’m going to choke on it. So go ahead.” His voice cracked, and he felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, tears he’d been fighting for weeks, for years, for a lifetime. “If you’re going to leave me for him, just do it. I won’t stop you. I won’t fight. I just… I need to know.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Megumi stood there, trembling, his heart laid bare in the ugliest possible way, waiting for the axe to fall. He’d said it. He’d said all of it—every fear, every insecurity, every dark thought that had ever whispered in the back of his mind. And now you knew. Now you knew exactly how fucked up he was, exactly how little he thought of himself, exactly how terrified he’d been from the very beginning that you would leave.

You took a step toward him. Then another. And then you were right in front of him, your hands reaching up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears he hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“You absolute walnut,” you said, your voice thick with tears. “I’m not leaving you for Yuuta.”

Megumi blinked. “You’re… you’re not?”

“I’m not.” You tightened your grip on his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. “I’m not in love with Yuuta. I don’t want Yuuta. I want you, you emotionally constipated disaster of a man. I have always wanted you.”

“But you were so happy with him,” Megumi whispered, and the words came out small and broken. “You were laughing. You were talking. You were… you were yourself. And you haven’t been yourself with me in weeks. I thought… I thought you’d finally found someone who could make you happy.”

Your face crumpled. “I haven’t been myself with you because you told me to be quiet,” you said, and the words were gentle but they hit him even harder. “You told me to be quiet, and I thought… I thought you’d been holding that in our whole relationship. I thought every story I’d ever told you, every random fact, every ramble about clouds or sea slugs or whatever—I thought you’d just been enduring it. I thought my voice was a burden to you, the person I loved most in the world. So I tried to be less. I tried to be what I thought you wanted. And it was killing me, Megumi. It was killing me because I have all these things I want to tell you, all these thoughts and ideas and questions, and I couldn’t, because I was so terrified you’d look at me the way you did that night. Like I was exhausting. Like I was too much.”

Megumi felt the ground tilt beneath him. Everything you were saying—it was so much worse than he’d imagined. He’d thought you were pulling away because you’d outgrown him. He’d thought you were preparing to leave because you’d found someone better. But the truth was so much more devastating: you’d been trying to stay. You’d been contorting yourself into someone smaller, someone quieter, someone you thought he wanted, and it had been destroying you. And he’d been so blind, so self-absorbed, that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I talked to Yuuta today because I was desperate,” you continued, your voice breaking. “I’ve been drowning in silence for weeks, and he was there, and he listened. That’s it. That’s all it was. He was a life raft in the middle of an ocean I’ve been trying not to drown in. He’s not you. He’ll never be you. I don’t want a life raft. I want my person back. I want the man who makes me tea without being asked and lets me put face masks on him and sits through documentaries about nudibranchs even though he’s probably bored out of his mind. I want you, Megumi. Just you. But I need you to talk to me. Actually talk to me. With words. Out loud. So I don’t have to guess what’s going on in that beautiful, overthinking brain of yours.”

Megumi stared at you, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. “You want… me? Still? Even after everything?”

“Even after everything.” You smiled, a watery, trembling smile that was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “I’m still mad at you, by the way. Very mad. ‘Can you just be quiet?’ What kind of thing is that to say to the love of your life?”

“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush, desperate and sincere. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was exhausted and I was taking it out on you, and that’s not an excuse, it’s just… it’s the truth. I was drowning in my own head, and you were trying to help, and I pushed you away because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to accept love. I should have apologized the next morning. I should have apologized every single day for the past three weeks. I should have noticed. I should have seen that you were hurting and asked you what was wrong instead of just… assuming.”

You shook your head, still holding his face in your hands. “Don’t blame yourself. I know you love me, Megumi. But sometimes I need the words too. Sometimes I need you to tell me, out loud, that I’m not too much. That my voice isn’t a burden. That you like listening to me.”

“You’re not too much.” The words came out fierce, almost angry in their intensity. “You’ve never been too much. You’re exactly enough. You’re more than enough. Your voice is—it’s the best part of my day. Every day. When you talk to me about clouds or jellyfish or the socioeconomic implications of Roman plumbing, it’s like you’re chasing all the shadows out of my head. I’m not bored. I’m never bored. I’m just… quiet. I’ve always been quiet. But that doesn’t mean I’m not listening. That doesn’t mean I don’t love every single word.”

You were crying again, but you were smiling too, and Megumi realized with a jolt that these were good tears. Relief tears. The tears of someone who had been holding their breath for weeks and was finally, finally allowed to exhale.

“I’m sorry I compared myself to Yuuta,” he said quietly. “I just… I saw you with him, and you looked so happy, and I thought… I thought maybe he could give you something I can’t.”

“He’s not you,” you said simply. “And I don’t want someone who isn’t you. Yuuta is sweet. He’s kind. He’ll probably make some other rambling disaster of a person very happy someday. But he’s not my person. You are. You’ve always been my person.” You paused, and a mischievous glint flickered in your tear-bright eyes. “Now, I have approximately four hundred more facts to tell you, and I’ve been holding them in for three weeks, and I’m pretty sure my brain is going to explode.”

Megumi let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and he didn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he pulled you into his arms and held you as tight as he could without breaking you, burying his face in your hair and breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning for weeks.

“Tell me,” he whispered against your temple. “Tell me everything. I’m listening. I swear I’m listening.”

“Did you know that wombats have cube-shaped poop?”

He laughed, a real laugh, startled out of him by the sheer absurdity of it. “…What?”

“It’s true! It’s so they can stack it to mark their territory without it rolling away. Nature is amazing and also deeply weird, and I have so many more where that came from. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said, and he meant it. He was ready to listen. He was ready to learn. He was ready to spend the rest of his life proving to you that your voice was the most precious thing in his world, that your words were never a burden, that he would never, ever make you feel small again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, to take in the way the setting sun caught the tears still drying on your cheeks and turned them to gold. “I love you,” he said, and the words didn’t choke him the way they usually did. They felt right. They felt necessary. “I should have said it more. I love you and I love your voice and I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to be quiet.”

Your smile, when it came, was the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. “I love you too, you walnut.”

And then you kissed him, and he kissed you back, and the silence between you wasn’t a weapon anymore. It was a soft thing. A comfortable thing. A thing you could share together, without fear.

Later, you would walk home together, your hand in his, and you would tell him everything—the immortal jellyfish, the medieval grain storage, the flying whales, the specific shade of gray the sky turned before a storm. He would listen to every word, and he would ask questions, and he would make the right hums in the right places, and he would silently vow to spend the rest of his life being the kind of partner who deserved the gift of your voice.

But for now, there was just this: the two of you standing in the golden afternoon light, holding each other like you’d found your way home after a long and lonely journey. The sky overhead was doing that thing you loved—turning that specific shade of gray before a storm—and you’d tell him about it later. You had time. You had all the time in the world.