in my head

And one time, when your husband got overly excited with an idea of participating in the games himself, you almost burst from happiness. The idea of this weak, pathetic man, finally gone from your life, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine, although his senatorial position indeed bathed you in luxury.

You glanced over your husband's shoulder, nodding towards the servant to bring in the desserts, for you truly couldn't listen to him any longer.

"Would you like to join, my dear?"

Your brows creased as you tried to remember what exactly he was talking about just a minute before.

Ah, yes. Gladiatorial games.

"You know I'm not quite fond of such a brute, husband."

Morning sun caught lazily on the utensils, bathing the whole, long table in dancing strokes. Warm rays kissed the back of your neck as the ravishing garden, together with a marble pool, spread outside the big windows of your mansion.

"All senators bring their wives; you should join us, too. The fights will be quite exciting this year; we have a lot of good gladiators. I paid lavishly for their training, you'll see."

For a man of such a high position, your husband was quite a fool and dull at that. There was no love in your marriage nor happiness, but you felt quite pleased whenever he was leaving you alone and enjoying his time in yearly festivities, which always included his favourite fights.

He invited you everytime – to join all other senators, chat with their wives and watch how men and animals are killing one another. To wonder at the excitement that such fights always woke in everyone, even in other senators' wives, who usually strolled away from any barbarian events.

And although you truly didn't want to put in your two cents' worth, maybe you indeed should check it at least once. Particularly now that your husband was on a good path towards the promotion and buttering him up would be more than beneficial. Maybe he would stop his embarrassing attempts to fill his marital role and satisfy you during nights, especially since you already gave him two children.

"Mother, can we join too?"

Speak of the devil.

"No, you're still too young–"

But your husband seemed to have another perspective, scoffing under his nose and pointing at your son with a dirty knife. His mouth was full, as he stated. "Of course you may, my son. You too, daughter. You should see those men – they may be slaves, but have the power of a hundred lions! Maybe we should buy one, huh?"

Your son was a copy of your husband, with the same devilish smile and slightly arrogant tone, looking up to his father as if he were an emperor himself. Your daughter, on the other hand, was of a kind sort and rather quiet, always keeping to herself, remind you of your younger days.

And as much as you loved your children, they were your tie. Pulling you down to the miserable life you've led, without any tenderness nor joy. It was rich coming from a person of your class, but the truth was that you craved an adventure for your whole life. Yearned for a fiery romance, awaited some excitement, wished to spend your days outside this lavish mansion, not feeling trapped and strangled by all the riches and life as a noble.

Not to mention that your husband always tried to keep you close by his side, either locking you up in the house or never allowing for any travelling.

Truly miserable, suffocating life you've had.

Until that faithful day, when your whole family finally joined the gladiatoral games.

It was the first day out of the planned month, with spectators already glimmering with excitement and wine cups clutched in their hands. The special lounge for senatorial families was right on the podium, offering the greatest view of the arena. Low and prestigious, with marble seats forged for the noble ones, comfortable and hidden enough to protect their smooth skins from the scorching sun. It was another sizzling day, with your flowy robes giving you some comfort under the merciless rays that wished to drill a hole in your head. White tunic tickled your ankles, uncovered shoulders glimmered in sweat, as your golden bracelets and dangling hairpins moved gracefully with your every step.

Other senators were already there, and you nodded toward them politely, as they completly ignored you and indulged in another dull chat with your husband. Their wives sat on marble benches, chittering between one another and taking little sips of wine, which was waiting for everyone together with a few snacks. You wondered how anyone could eat in such a scenario, as your stomach twisted just from the sheer fact of being here.

The amphitheatre was almost full, with stony seats bending under the excitement of all the spectators and the emperor himself already waiting for the first fighters to appear. The raised box glowed in gentle beams, the emperor's gold laurel reflecting the warm rays of sunshine, as he finally raised his hand.

"It's starting," your husband whispered, squeezing your hand as his eyes glimmered with anticipation. "All gladiators will walk in and present themself to the emperor. Then they'll do some rounds around the arena, so everyone will have a chance to see them from up close."

You had no idea why your husband decided to give you instructions, so nothing but a quiet sigh pushed your lips. The air was heavy and dry, with a dust rising from the scorching sand that filled the arena, as the first fighters stepped in through the metal gate.

All of them wore different armour, helmets, and weapons. Each man of a different height and size, some looking wide as mountains, others rather sicklish, and you wondered whether they would drop out first. You did know, however, that gladiators were divided into various types, with each one trained for something else. Some of them heavily armoured, others not. Some carried a short sword and a round shield, others a scimitar. Ones battling only animals, and the others fighting against one another.

You observed them with little to no interest, rather bored, with sweet wine tickling smoothly down your throat. Your husband sitting at the chair's edge, peeking at the row of fighters parading in front of the emperor's podium, before a loud "Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you!" cut through the restless air of the amphitheatre.

Sounded like a death sentence rather than a declaration of a professional fighter, as your husband loved to call them.

You didn't want to belittle them, but the truth was, these men lost their will for glorious fights a long time ago. The moment they were taken away as slaves, stolen from defeated armies and brought back to the foreign lands. Stripped of their dignity, titles, and lives, pushed into brutal entertainment that Romans of all statues loved and cherished.

What was it with such a passion for overwatching the death of others? Why was your husband almost foaming as the fighters started to walk around the arena, getting closer and closer to their sponsors' lounge?

"You see that one?" his fingers showed a masked man with a bronze helmet and face covered by a fishnet. One of his hands carried a big shield, while the other held a sword. "His name is Toji. A beast, truly. I've been sponsoring him for a while, he has never lost a fight."

All fighters moved your way swiftly, their heavy legs raising dusty sand in the air, covering muscular legs up to their knees. He looked massive, indeed like a beast. Towering over other fighters, with sun-kissed skin and nothing but a loose robe hugging his hips. Broad chest glimmered with sweat, and the covered face looked up towards the senator's lounge immediately.

Your husband raised two fingers, already babbling about how he's gonna invite him for a fest tonight. Give a little motivation to win all the other fights, domesticate his own little beast, and bring in more money.

Your eyes scanned the way his muscular legs moved smoothly, arms bulging under the carried weapons, head slightly tilted, as if looking at... you?

Impossible.

A row of men stood in front of senators, another round of applause directed towards their sponsors, as they finally hid back in the amphitheatre's dark tunnels. The first fight would start soon.

"My dear," you mumbled, trying to sound halfhearted. "Who is this man going to fight with?"

Your husband peeked at you with crinkled brows, but also a hint of curiosity, as to why his spoiled wife suddenly took an interest in gladiator fights.

"I'm not sure, probably with the strongest type. He's of a heavily armoured type, thus should compete with a fighter carrying a scimtar and a smaller shield. All of them are quite ferocious, I'm afraid, but Toji never had problems." He looks quite proud, and you hum quietly.

You wanted to ask further, but a sudden melody of a flute sliced through the air, followed by horns and laughter from the spectators, as the first pair walked in. Both looked strikingly different, with one wearing a helmet and a wide, leather belt, bearing a heavy sword in his hand, while the other was armoured in nothing but a metal piece on the left arm, a long spear and a chained fishing net, as if meaning to trap it's oppnent under its trickery hooks.

"Aren't they quite unmatched?" you asked, seeing that one side definitely had a bit of an edge.

Your husband peeked down at your furrowed brows, truly mesmerised by the sudden interest. "Why are you suddenly so curious?"

"You whined that other senators' wives care much more than I," your eyes darted toward the women busied by a chatter, before going back to your husband's quite unhandsome face. "So why the sudden complaint?"

He scoffed, muttering something under his nose, before pointing his finger at the heavily armoured fighter. "You see, he's the secutor. Or pursuer, as you will see based on his attacking style. He indeed has a bit more advantage, but if you look at that man," he moved towards the other one. "You'll see that he, in fact, also has quite a benefit. This fishnet is a deadly weapon if used properly. Quite light, but it can trap you within a second. Secutors usually fight against retiariuses, the most lightly armed ones."

You thought that your husband's favourite gladiator looked quite the same to the pursuer, except for the helmet that rather more distinctive than this one.

"Does it mean that Toji will also fight against such a man?"

"Toji was trained as a murmillo, who usually fights against the thracians. They're both quite fierce and heavily armoured, thus the fight will be much harder."

Your husband's words came and went, sounding rather strange and dull, but somehow piqued your interest as you started awaiting the fight of his precious gladiator. What was it about him that got him so excited? Was he truly that good?

Before you could ask another question, the fight started.

It was brutal and raw, with blood spilt in the first ten minutes. The light fishnet indeed trapped the heavy armoured gladiator in its merciless clasp, before his opponent pushed the sharp spear straight into his ribs, cutting through his flesh, turning the fetal head as it slowly turned red, with screams and wailings coming from the defeated fighter.

When the gladiator went down, shrieks of "He's had it! Kill him! Kill him!" moved like a wave through the arena, with the roundness of the amphitheatre letting them become even more piercing, even fiercer. Both nobles and commoners were running their lungs out till the wounded one finally raised a finger of his left hand.

"What is he doing?" you asked, seeing his opponent suddenly stopping in his tracks. No further blows were made, although you thought that the man would be finished right here and now.

"The crowd decides about his life," your husband explained, and a second later, multiple fingers around you were held up.

Some pointed down.

Some sideways.

A few, fewer than the rest, lifted upward in mercy.

The wounded gladiator lay curled upon the sand like a broken animal, the net still tangled around his legs, crimson soaking the pale grains beneath him. His chest rose in ragged bursts, breath whistling through bloodied teeth.

A pause stretched across the amphitheatre, thick with anticipation. Fifty thousand Romans leaned forward as one body.

Then the signal came.

A downward motion of the hand.

The arena erupted in shouts of excitement, with nothing but "Finish him!", slashing through your ears.

The victorious gladiator didn't hesitate for a second, driving the spear down again, this time clean beneath the collarbone. He pierced him like a butcher, and the dying man trembled as a fish, all limbs sprawled on the dirty sand, helmet long gone, with a few strands of hair stuck to bloodshot eyes.

Servants hurried in immediately, hooks dragging the corpse away, while your eyes were still glued to the bloody trail left after the man.

The crowd was already restless for more.

Your husband leaned back with satisfied ease, clapping slowly along with the other senators.

"Good kill," he murmured.

You didn't say anything, but your throat bobbed, and lips suddenly felt too dry, as another pair walked in.

And another. Another. Another.

Until the surface of the giant arena looked rather like a butcher's shop, with crimson trails and puddles, slowly shifting into a gummy clot.

Your husband cheered and clapped after every fight, and your son followed his steps, laughing as if proudly upon seeing another body getting removed from the arena.

But then your attention had drifted.

The gates beneath the arena floor groaned open again, iron chains rattling like distant thunder. A horn sounded, long and low, calling for the next combatants.

And when he stepped into the light, the entire amphitheatre shifted.

Even before the herald shouted his name.

Toji.

He walked onto the sand like something dragged from the wild places of the earth – a beast, soldier, warrior. A man.

Taller than most fighters by a full head, shoulders broad enough to shame a bull, his body carried the kind of brutal strength no training yard could fully tame.

Sunkissed skin gleamed under the Mediterranean sun, every movement pulling thick ropes of muscles beneath it. You've heard he served in the army before they took him as a slave, which would explain the old scars slashing his back and torso – deep, white lines mapping his skin, carved like in a marble Godly figures.

You've noticed a slight change in his armour, compared to one presented before.

A leather belt bound his waist, single cloth covering the shameful parts, a single iron guard lapping his arm and a greave clasped around his left leg. The rest of him was bare, unapologetically exposed, as if sculpted by Gods themselves.

His weapon rested easily in his hand, a short and thick sword, built for killing at arm’s length.

But it was not the blade that made the crowd go mute.

It was the way he moved.

Slow. Controlled.

Like a predator, with a damp helmet sitting heavily on his thick neck. You wondered what secrets it held beneath. How did his eyes look as he moved his head towards your lounge, a single movement which sent a shiver down your spine.

Around you, whispers spread through the senators' seats like sparks through dry straw.

"That’s him."

"The undefeated one."

"The barbarian."

Your husband looked like a child who had just got a new toy. His whole body moved forward, hands gripping the armrest of the marble seats. A visible shiver of excitement went through his body, and it seemed as if it touched you too. Your heart suddenly felt heavier, as if burdened by the anticipation of seeing what the beastly man in front of you was able to. To see his muscular arms at work, sword piercing through his opponent's chest, before he could take the helmet off and finally, finally, let you see those eyes that felt as if glued to your cunning figure.

Toji rolled his shoulders once, the movement sending a ripple through his massive frame. Sand shifted beneath his bare feet as he stepped toward the centre of the arena.

Across from him, the next opponent emerged – armoured, shielded, disciplined.

A proper Roman fighter.

The horn sounded again.

And for the first time since the games began, the amphitheatre fell almost silent.

Because the fight was fast.

Maybe too fast, with his oponent chargin forwards right after the last melody of the horn fell flat, getting hit by a Toji just a minute later. They exchanged a few parries, blows, dodging and trying to find each other's openings, before Toji finally did it. His sword flashed, and a wet sound followed, with a blade biting deep into the man's thigh, slicing through his flesh and muscles with ruthless efficiency. Blood gushed down the golden grains, soaking the pale arena sand.

His rival was of similar posture, but nevertheless a bit shorter with rather less defined muscles, now collapsing beneath the blazing sun with a strangled cry. His fingers clawed at the dust, trying to drag himself upright, before Toji kicked his chest without a sweat.

For a moment, both of them simply looked at one another. A peaceful second of silence, right as his opponent grabbed a fistful of sand, as if hoping the earth itself would drag Toji down into limbo.

And before he could give him a final blow, strike with this unwavered confidence, gauge stubborn eyes that burned through Toji's skull, the man raised his finger.

Appeal for mercy.

The crowd erupted immediately.

Some shouted for death.

Others laughed, already drunk on violence.

Your husband leaned forward slightly, his lips curling with amusement as the editor of the games waited for the verdict of the arena.

Thousands of hands moved, with an air quickly shifting under the heavy motion, as if the gentle wind itself suddenly changed the pacing, swirling around the bare fingers.

And once again, the signal came.

Downward.

Toji didn't hesitate, plunging the sword clean beneath the ribs, swift and quite merciful compared to the chaos of the fight. The defeated gladiator exhaled sharply, his body stiffening, jolting, a trace of blood spilling from his lips, before he collapsed lifeless against the relentless sand.

A roar exploded through the amphitheatre.

Toji pulled the blade free, wiping it against the fallen man’s tunic before raising it briefly toward the stands in acknowledgment of the crowd.

Blood streaked his forearm, glistening under the Roman sun.

For a fleeting moment, his gaze lifted higher than the arena floor.

Towards the noble seats.

Towards you.

And though the distance was great, something was unsettling in the tilt of his head, a tremble of his chest, as if he pushed out a strangled laugh.

You looked at him for a while, with squinted eyes and a white tunic suddenly feeling a bit too tight around your chest. Droplets of sweat trickling down the velvet skin of your neck, heart fluttering as you looked from above at the man, who suddenly woke in you a sense of rush you haven't felt for a long time.

⟡⟡⟡

Your husband's message was clear – Toji must join the feast. The man blabbered all the way back to the mansion, already hung with lavish decorations and lit by a trail of gentle torches that decorated the walls and corners of your house. The fest was to be held for the nobility and the start of another fruitful games season, which would bathe your husband in glory for sponsoring such a fine gladiator.

Toji's presence was a mere brag, a showcase of your husband's valuable slave who, in fact, was nothing but just a slave. A chained beast that played as your husband wanted, although from what you've heard, he had already earned his freedom.

"Why is he still fighting, then?"

You've asked, preparing yourself for the feast that was supposed to start in a few hours.

Your husband sat at the terrace of your bedroom, the slowly setting sun basking his grey hair in gentle strokes of straw hues, with a velvety wine swirling in a held cup.

"No one's waiting for him. Some of these men have nothing but these fights. Toji gets the roof and the glory for merely doing what he's best at. You think a life of an solider was any better?"

You didn't know, because you've never had a chance to talk to another man. A gladiator or a soldier, at that. You were nobody but a pretty, youthful wife, spending her days on strolls around the garden and chatting with noblewomen, till you wished for nothing else but to slit your throat and finally die in peace.

The mansion you hated so much was your only playground, and you knew its walls as the back of your hand. Every polished nook, every secret room, far from the prying eyes of your servants. With bold dreams to leave it one day and see the world beyond these creamy walls and single trips to the city, with your husband's hand always glued to the curve of your back.

So no, you didn't really have a chance to think about the lives of soldiers.

You glanced at the mirror, smoothing the bluish folds of your dress. It was simple, yet cunning in its grace, brushing softly against your ankles as you moved, the fabric whispering with every careful step. It clung sweetly to the curve of your waist and plush breasts, the low neckline revealing the delicate stretch of collarbones and softness of your skin, glowing faintly beneath the last warm rays of sunshine.

A long band of golden cloth wrapped around your middle, accentuating the dip of your waist before falling in loose folds to your knees, swaying like liquid sunlight with every smooth step of your feet. The contrast of blue waves and golden grain made you appear almost celestial – like a goddess stepping down from a painted myth.

Hair fell gently over the shoulder as the first guests started to appear. Eyes of men glued to the glow of your skin, women blushing gently under the stern smile that turned your lips.

Oh, how gorgeous the senator's wife was, with this sweet touch of perfume that lingered around you, almost as if a lush garden bloomed right under your silky skin.

You walked around the main room, greeting certain nobles – senators, aristocrats, other sponsors, who, similar to your husband, put their money in this year's games.

Dress skimmed your skin as you observed the banquet growing louder, bustier, with more and more people filling the walls of your mansion, already laughing drunkenly and glimmering with excitement for the next fights.

You stood next to your husband, smiling politely, fingers gripping the wine cup, eyes glued to the front doors, as if waiting for a certain guest to come through them.

And when his burly body finally filled the frame of mahogany doors, your chest faltered.

Dark hair clung to his neck, and sharp, emerald eyes scanned the room with quietness. He stood tall and broad, upper body covered by an iron guard, a red cloak flowing down his muscular shoulders. His hips clutched by an aproan skirt, with a deep crimson cloth grazing his knees. Light brown sandals wrapped around his firm calves, as single straps pushed against the muscles.

"Finally, the man of the hour!" your husband clapped and laughed heartily, pulling you towards the gladiator.

He didn't look like a slave at all, as you expected the chains around his wrists and a whole bunch of soldiers to escort him straight to your mansion. No, he looked rather like a general, a man worthy of all the gossip, standing proud and towering over both you and your husband. His scarred lips turned into a mild smirk before head dipped down to greet the senator.

"Thank you, senator, for the invitation. I'm honoured to be a part of your banquet," his voice was deep and steady, as he straightened up and moved his heavy gaze towards you.

A nymph.

A goddess.

A woman, who must've been born of the sea shell itself, the Venus of Heaven, because a single flatter of your eyes, a gleam of the gold necklace posing softly between your breasts, a swoosh of this ocean's dress that hugged your hips tightly, made this man's knees weak.

And his knees, in fact, were anything but weak.

"Great fight, Toji. You truly have nothing on these men," your husband squeezed his shoulder with laughter before he pointed at you. "Please, meet my wife. It was her first time seeing gladiator fights today. It seems like you've enamoured her!"

It was a mere joke, but a thin line of tension that hung between you and this beastly man suddenly shimmered, as his scarred lips lifted in a sly smile, and your cheeks suddenly felt hottish.

"My lady, I hope I did not disappoint you," he whispered, head once again dipping slightly down. He wished to take your silky hand and kiss it softly, but he was still nothing but a mere slave whose touch was too filthy for a woman of your sort.

"I was anything but disappointed. Quite interesting, I must say, although I do rather condemn the whole idea of these fights."

Your honeyed voice made him tremble – head still dropped, eyes glued to the way your plush thighs moved under the flimsy robes of the dress.

"Does it mean you won't come to tomorrow's fight?"

He straightened back up, once again towering like a bear over your figure. He swore that a golden, divine halo seemed to lick your skin, as he's never seen someone beaming with such loveliness.

Your forehead creased, a gentle furrow appearing between your brows, while he waited for the answer anticipated the most.

"Maybe. Do you plan to win it?"

"If my lady wishes to, I will."

Your husband smiled foolishly for this whole time, as if not feeling the thin thread that seemed to form between you and his slave. Electrifying sparks scuffing your fingers, like electromagnets that hoped to connect your skin together with his.

Before you could grace him with another flatter of your doe eyes, another sentors circled him like ducks, quacking and touching the gladiator's hardened muscles.

Your husband showed him off like a trophy, as you moved away deeper inside the house, trying to hide your flushed cheeks and clear tremble of your breath.

The mansion was alive with noise.

Wine flowed freely, laughter echoing beneath painted ceilings where scenes of gods and heroes stretched across the plaster in fading colors. Lamps flickered along the marble walls, casting warm gold over clusters of senators lounging on cushioned couches, their voices rising louder with every emptied cup.

Servants drifted between them like ghosts – refilling goblets, carrying platters heavy with figs, roasted birds, olives glistening in oil.

You slipped away from it all.

Deeper into the villa, where the air cooled, and the sound of laughters softened into distant murmurs. The corridors here were dimmer, lit only by a few oil lamps resting in bronze holders along the walls. Marble beneath your sandals felt pleasantly cold, grounding the restless warmth still fluttering through your chest.

You paused near an open atrium, with moonlight spilling softly through the square opening in the roof and a small fountain murmuring in the centre. You sat near it, catching the little droplets that swirled between your fingers, down the golden bracelets that clanked with every move of your wrist.

And as you sat there alone, deep in thought, with nothing but a warm Mediterranean wind swirling the soft lock of your hair, you felt it.

Again.

This heavy presence, steps against the stone behind you, a slow pacing before it stopped somewhere in the dimmed corridors.

You turned, seeing Toji standing at the far end of the hall.

Even in the low light, his figure seemed enormous, filling the narrow passage like a shadow carved from muscle and bone. His devilishly handsome face was half-lighted by the warm fire of lamps, black hair stuck to his forehead, sharp chin tilting. He leaned against the marble wall, burly arms crossed on the chest.

"You're missing the feast, my lady," he murmured, eyes skimming your figure bathed in the pale glow of moonlight.

"I prefer quieter places," you turned back to the fountain, hearing him coming a bit closer.

"Not a fan of such gathering?"

A quiet scoff pushed through your lips. "Rather not a fan of my husband."

He chuckled, sitting right next to you on the little marble edge of the fountain. Gaze dipping down to the open neckline of your dress, before tracing up till the flutter of your lashes.

"A damsel in distress, aren't you?" his voice held a soft trace of mockery, and you glanced up at him with a wrinkle.

"My fate may not be as horrific as yours, but it doesn't mean I should be thankful for all the riches."

His head tilted, eyes glimmering with amusement, as scarred lips turned upward again. The emerald eyes lingered on you heavily, and you noticed that your breath hitched when his body moved closer. "You think my fate is horrific?"

"Is it not?"

He chuckled, leaning back on his palms, gaze turned towards the fairy moon. "I don't know, is there anything awaiting a man like me? The deal with your foolish husband is the best I can get. I live in single quarters, train young men in an imperial school to prepare them for games. Maybe I'll get hired out one day as a bodyguard of a wealthy politician, who knows."

Your finger traced the smooth droplets dripping from the fountain, eyes trying to not to outline the veiny forearms he leaned on. "What about a lover?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Lover?"

"A wife," you corrected yourself. "Did you have a wife before being taken as a..." the voice caught in your throat, as if defining him as that would be at least inappropriate.

"A slave," he finished, peeking secretly at the single lock of hair that skimmed your cheek and soft skin kissed by a rosy tint. "I didn't have a time. Was drafted into the army in my twenties, taken as a slave entering my thirties."

Oh, so he was older than you. Much older at that, although you shouldn't be surprised, seeing the mature lines of his handsome face and little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Refined muscles and broad shoulders that seemed to carry centuries of pain, with scars lapping his sun-kissed skin.

"I'm sor–"

That's all you could whisper before a faint sound echoes down the corridor.

Footsteps.

Servants.

Your eyes bulged, mind suddenly clear and overly aware, taking in the closeness between you and the man. His shoulder palm almost grazing your thigh, blush kissing your cheeks in a rather coquetish manner.

And without thinking, you grabbed his arm and pulled him towards one of the chambers used for storing linens and ceremonial fabrics. Toji moved just as quickly, with one hand pushing the door shut behind you, the moment you slipped inside.

Darkness wrapped around the small room, too small for his burly frame, as his body pressed close to yours. The only light came from a thin crack beneath the door, where lamplight from the corridor leaked through.

And suddenly, you realised what was happening.

Dear heavens, what have you done?

Your back was glued to his chest, heavy hand clamped over your lips, as he dipped down, shushing quietly to your ear.

Outside, the servants' voices drifted closer, together with the soft, girly giggles.

"Did you see the gladiator the senator brought? Oh my!" one of them whispered.

Your body stiffened when Toji pressed you harder against the wall, crushing your trembling figure with his heaviness. Iron-clad chest stuck to your back, but you nevertheless felt the warmth that drifted from his body. Sweet, ferocious, manly, licking your skin with flamish tongues, before his other hand landed on your hips, and low shhh once again filled the room.

"He killed that man like a lion," another woman replied with quiet excitement. "Such a brute, but handsome at that! No wonder noblewomen whisper about him."

Toji laughed quietly, but his voice flattened a second later, when your hips brushed against his. Back arched, head tilted, teary eyes squinting slyly, lashes quivering as the curve of your ass touched his front. And a gentle giggle pushed your lips, when you felt something hardening under your plush hips.

"You think someone will buy him?" the first servant asked curiously, as they both crossed the corridor in much slower pace than you wished.

"As a bodyguard?"

"Yes, surely, but a noblewoman could use him to her advantage as well," she sighed. Next words that spilt from her lips shot a tremor through your whole body. "Our lady could surely benefit from some pleasure. Such a sweet dove, but the senator..."

"You mean, they don't bed?" another one asked, while you tried to compose yourself, not to jump from this chamber and shush their mouths.

Toji saw a sudden change in your boldness. Your eyes no longer slyly squinted, but rather filled with a dread and anticipation to hear what else your servants had to say.

And, oh, he was anticipating too, pressing against you even harder, till your blush breasts squished to the marble wall and back arched even more slutily. Long fingers traced the delicate material of your dress, pulling it up up up, till they caught on the bare skin of your hip.

You wriggled, feeling the warmth coiling in your belly and wetness that suddenly trickled down your thighs. The smell of his musky sweat made your head spin, as his fingers slowly, slowly, dipped down to your clothed cunt.

A faint moan drove through your lips, but his heavy hand quickly suppressed it from leaking outside the tight space.

"You need to be silent, my lady. I'm sure you wouldn't wish for your servants to catch you in such an awkward situation?" he chortled, seeing the courteous nod of your head. "Of course you wouldn't," he ducked down, lips slowly tracing the smooth skin of your neck, "You smell fucking amazing, my lady. I'm sure you taste even better," his fingers cupped gently your clothed cunt, already soaked in sticky juices.

"They do bed, but our lady doesn't seem to take the pleasure! If you could only see her face after all these nights, oh my," you heard a faint tsk and could almost imagine her shaking head. "She's the happiest when the senator is away!"

They finally moved to the furthest parts of the villa, faint steps dimmed against the silence that fell upon you two.

No words were spoken, aside from the wet sounds of Toji's lips tracing the trail down your neck. Your breath shuddered, eyes closed, with an arm hooking around his neck. His hard cock pushed against the curve of your ass, fingers tracing the flimsy material of your undergarments, before slipping in slowly, slowly, trailing towards your drenched cunt. A quiet whine tumbled through your lips as pads of his fingers skimmed your pudgy mound, almost dipping long digits in the syrupy heat of your centre.

You wished to scream and cry, feeling the unbearable heat filling your body and the walls of your cunt clamping around nothing with a pulsing pleasure you've never felt before. He didn't even touch you properly, and yet the sheer thought of his hands caressing your body and lips crashing against yours was enough to roll a sharp cry from your throat.

And then–

And then he stopped.

Fingers that almost grazed your pulsing clit suddenly backed out. Muscular chest peeld of your wet back, with single droplets of sweat tracing down your neck. Hand slipped from your plump lips as you quickly turned back, seeing his faintly lit face, twisted in a smirk.

"Why did you–"

"What? What do you want, my lady?" he asked, and your body quickly stiffened.

As if the graveness of the whole situation washed over you only now. Right this second, with his two fingers still wet with your juices and his lips slowly licking them clean.

A low groan escaped his throat as he sucked on the sweetness of your cunt. "You do taste amazing, fucking hell."

"Please..." your voice was faint, doe eyes glued to his face.

"Please, what?" his voice was almost innocent, with a hint of smugness that made a shiver drip down your spine. He wasn't touching you anymore, and yet the heat coming from his body strangled your senses and loosened your tongue.

"Please, touch me," you blurted, thankful that he couldn't see your rosy cheeks. "I want you to touch me."

The space was cramped, but he managed to step closer, looking down at your teary eyes and short breaths from above.

"Are you that touch starved, my lady?"

Oh, you were.

You were so so starved, never reaching an orgasm with your husband, never feeling as desirable as you did during these past few minutes.

But before you could nod and pull him once again by the crimson cloak, he spoke. "Then come tomorrow."

"What?"

His palm cupped your chin gently, thumb pressing slightly on pouted lips, as emerald eyes glanced right into yours. "Come to games, cheer for me. Be my thropy for the won fights."

"You already have thropies and my husband's sponsorship."

He smiled faintly, eyes filled with a strange sense.

Begginess? Longing? Hunger?

"I wish to have nothing but you."

⟡⟡⟡

So you went to see his next game.

And the next one too.

Then the third, the fourth, till every game finished with him slashing the opponent, and you watching him with heated cheeks. With you visiting him secretly after each match, disappearing for those five minutes when your husband was too busy with other senators, and stumbling through the cold walls of Toji's room, kissing, panting, tracing your fingers through his wet scalp.

Five minutes.

Never more.

You never had time for anything else, so every meeting ended up with his leaking cock pushing on your belly, and your long robe sticking to drenched thighs.

You both never had enough.

Never controlled the way your lips moaned each other's names, how sparks flowed through your bodies the second skins touched, how you both always wanted things you couldn't have, as the sheer existence of this romance could make his head roll.

But you couldn't stop this feeling – the thrill, excitement, passion that came from being in his arms, with lips tracing wet trails down your breasts and your muffled moans he obediently swallowed with every kiss.

And one day... you didn't come.

Toji noticed it right away. The moment he stepped onto the sand, walking in through the heavy gate. It had become instinct by then – the first thing he did after the gates opened and the light struck the arena floor. His eyes lifted automatically toward the noble seats, searching the place where the creaminess of your robes usually caught the sun.

It was cold and empty, with only your husband leaning comfortably among the other senators, wine already in hand, clapping with lazy amusement as the fighters took their places below. But the figure that had begun to haunt Toji’s thoughts – the one that always sat just beside him, half-shadowed by silk and gold – was gone.

Then the next game came.

Still no sign of you.

By the third, the absence had begun to gnaw at him like a dull blade under the ribs. His attention wandered in ways it never had before. Strikes came half a second slower, but still heavy. Eyes looking at gushing blood and crimson sand stuck to his feet.

Around him, the amphitheatre screamed its usual hunger for violence, voices echoing like thunder beneath the curved stone.

But Toji barely heard it.

He looked again towards the seats.

Empty.

And then a thought came. A wild one, stupid, of a sort that would earn your mouthful and a gentle jab to his ribs. Yet it was persistent.

If you weren't here, perhaps it meant you couldn't come. Weren't allowed to, maybe?

And if that was true–

Your husband would notice.

Your husband would talk.

Romans loved stories of wounded champions, especially ones that brought heavy money and glory.

So when the next opponent lunged, Toji saw the strike clearly. A heavy downward slash that aimed for his ribs. One that wouldn't be enough to kill nor even cripple, but definitely worthy of gossip.

So when the blade cut across his side, he took a deeper breath and suffered the sudden pain that slashed through his body.

Fucking hell, the things he was ready to do just to see your smile again.

The crowd exploded, as he staggered half a step back, more for the spectacle than the pain, before the predator returned to his eyes. The fight ended seconds later, with his sword sliding beneath the other man’s guard, driving straight through muscle and lung.

The body fell, and the crowd roared again.

Toji stood over the corpse, chest rising slowly, blood running warm along his side.

And his gaze lifted once more to the noble seats.

Your husband was standing now.

Watching.

So now, Toji needed to wait.

And he did.

Patiently.

Days passed slowly inside the stone walls of the quarters. The cut across his ribs had already begun to close, though the tight white bandage wrapped around his torso reminded him with every movement that he had let the blade land there. It pulled slightly whenever he twisted or lifted his arms, a dull sting beneath the cloth.

His eyes kept drifting to the door.

Every sound in the corridor made his head turn – the scrape of sandals, the murmur of guards, the clatter of armour. None of them was yours.

So he waited.

The arena was closed to him for several days while the lanista insisted the wound heal properly. Instead of fighting, Toji spent the mornings training the younger slaves – boys barely old enough to grow beards, clumsy with their wooden swords and terrified of making mistakes.

He barked orders at them, corrected their stances, knocked their weapons from their hands with brutal precision.

But his attention wandered.

More than once he found himself staring past them toward the open doorway, as if expecting your pouty face to suddenly storm through them.

It never did.

By the afternoons the barracks quieted. Most gladiators slept, saving their strength for the next games, while the sun turned the courtyard into a white furnace of light.

That time was the worst. With him having nothing to do but still restless, with sandals kicking up the dusty sand and eyes tracing the path to his quarters.

Toji paced his small chamber like a caged animal, back and forth. From the bed to the door, from the door to the narrow window where the late sunlight spilled golden streaks right on his beddings.

His fingers often brushed the bandage at his ribs, pressing lightly against the wound as if to strain it. Maybe you didn't come, but it was still worth it.

Worth seeing the horror of your husband's face, its pallor, the twitching of his fingers. As if Toji, his precious slave, could really be that easily hurt.

He would surely pass such terrific news to others, and if the gods were kind enough, you would hear them.

Nights were coming one by one, with his faith slowly slipping away, and the heaviness in his chest feeling rather strange. He couldn't think nor eat, and all his anger was vented on those poor slaves, who were already frightened enough to even be here.

But Toji was stubborn and relentless, keeping a quiet certainty that you would come. You did it before. Again and again, slipping through the corridors of the amphitheatre just to steal those few reckless minutes with him.

You would come again.

He knew it.

So when the soft knock finally came one evening, barely louder than a breath against the wood, Toji was already moving before his mind had fully caught up.

He quickly opened the door, words slipping on one breath. "My la–"

But he couldn't finish as you pushed inside. Hand quickly closing the doors, dark cloak covering your lock, before you finally looked up.

And he trembled.

Oh, you were angry.

Furious, with flushed cheeks and staggered breath. Little fist that immediately punched his chest, before your eyes glanced down at the white bandage.

"You did it on purpose!"

He raised an eyebrow, hands moving towards your fuming cheeks, before you slapped them. "He told me! He told me everything. You knew he was going to strike you and still didn't dodge it. How could you?"

"It wasn't on purpose–" he lied, but you didn't let him finish.

Fingers suddenly grazed the bandage as you pushed the wound gently. Still hard enough to see his face twist painfully.

"My lady, are you ma–"

"Yes, I am mad if it's not obvious already. Why did you do it? Why did you let yourself get hurt?"

His eyes traced the rosiness of your cheeks, slightly wrinkled nose, creased eyebrows, as well as a smoke floating above your head – and you still looked divine. A goddess that stepped down from heaven alone, to seethe over this foolish slave, who needed you madly, obsessively, like a starved dog.

"Because I knew you would come," he finally confessed. "I knew it was the only way to let me see you again."

You stiffened, lips falling open. You would come sooner or later, but a sudden change in your husband's attitude, his unexpected rage and him locking you up inside the mansion was just a weekly occurrence that needed to happen. You knew it, your husband knew it, children too.

But Toji didn't.

So he gave up the thing he was doing best and let himself earn another nasty scar.

Just to see you.

Not even touch, but to once again glance at your full face and cherry cheeks, that somehow made his heart stop in its tracks. He would gladly get stabbed hundreds of thousands of times, just to be bestowed one last glimpse at the pout of your lips and this lovely laugh that always spilled through.

So before you could say anything back, his lips suddenly crushed against yours. In a raw, messy and wet kiss, with his scarred hand cupping your cheek and the other one drawing you closer.

Your hands tried to push him away, throat itching to reprimand him again, push and dig into this foolish wound, vent all of your anger and worry you needed to suppress for the past few days.

But you couldn't.

So your body let itself relax and melt in his muscular arms – beefy thighs between yours, one hand curling into your hair, the other lifting you up, till your body was gently pressed against the smooth beddings. You wriggled, moaned. Arms around his neck and fingers playing with black strands that stuck to his damp nape.

He covered you whole, with a broad back and heavy arms, chest pushed against yours, lips going down to your chin, neck, breasts. Licking, sucking, and moaning against your skin as the material of your dress started to stick to your inner thighs.

When you casually lifted up a leg, your knee grazed his wound. Quiet tsk left his lips, and you quickly pushed him away.

"Wait," your voice was fragile, hands falling weak on his chest.

He pulled away with a grimace and eyes quickly studying your flushed face. "Anything's wrong, my lady?"

"Your wound, let's change."

"What do you mean?"

Before he got an answer, you started moving. Hands on his shoulders, using all of your strength to lay this massive man down, till his head touched the pillow and your hips strangled his.

Toji raised an eyebrow, a little smirk turning his lips up.

"You wanna ride me, baby?"

Your heart suddenly fluttered, breath hitched, upon hearing this pet name.

And Toji saw it.

"You like that, my lady? You want me to call you baby?" his big palms fell on your hips, fingers cupping the folds of your dress, lifting the flimsy material up up up. "What else would you like? Hm? Dear? Love?" your body trembled when the dress locked around your upper thighs. "Slut?"

"S-stop," you quickly spat out, moving hips against his.

A low growl fled his lips before he tipped his head, glancing at you with a crafty smile. "You liked that? Wanna ride me like a good fucking slut, hm? Roll your pretty cunt on my cock? Come on, my lady, say what you want."

Your drenched, clothed folds rolled against his hardened shaft, painful pulsation washing over your body till more saps pooled around your clenching hole. So you smoothly slipped out of your dress, strangling his hips bare like a goddess, with heavy breasts and plump hips moving on his covered cock, already melting under the heat coming off your cunt.

Dear fucking, heavens. Toji must have been a saint in his previous life to be bestowed with such a view. With your fallen lips and misty eyes, fingers gripping shyly the cloth around his hips, and velvety skin basking under the pale moonlight creeping through his window.

"I want to suck you off," your voice was small but confident, with fingers already taking his clothes off, sliding the thin cloth with one move. "You're hurt, please let me take care of you."

"Fucking hell, do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he mumbled, as his cock quickly sprang out, with hottish head sticking to his abdomen and your warm breath curling around it.

Based on all your previous, secret meetings, you knew that Toji was well bestowed. But seeing it now made your stomach turn. It looked absolutely delectable, even delicious, so so pretty, with veins curling around its fat shaft and pulsating head already drenched from precum. Your fingers traced through it, smearing the sticky sap around his shaft, rolling the head between your fingers.

Deep tremble washed through his chest, before you felt strong palms on your head.

"Wait a second, baby, I know you're starving, but wait."

You glanced up with glassy, sweet eyes full of anticipation.

"Fuck, don't look at me like that," he quickly moved up, lifting your body with the sheer strength of his arms.

And before you knew it, your hips were hovering over his face. Back turned, arched, cock right in front of you, with thighs around his head.

"That's more like it," he murmured, trying to pull your hips down.

But the memory of your husband, never being able to lift you up nor manhandle you like Toji did, somehow made you waver. "Wait, um, can we just do it normally?"

You didn't need to see his face to know that a frown formed on his forehead, and he probably lifted an eyebrow. "Normally? My lady, I've been waiting for this over a month, so please lower your pretty cunt down."

Oh, so nasty! Your ears scorched just from hearing the filth dribbling from his lips.

"Toji, you may or may not have noticed, but I birthed two children, and my body is not as light as before," words grumbled from your lips nervously, palms leaning on his abdomen as you tried to turn back. "I'm afraid my weight–"

And then – he scoffed. Laughed shamelessly, with a deep chuckle coming from the depths of his chest and tears almost dancing in the corners of his eyes.

He laughed, with your leaking cunt over his face, blush soaking your neck and soft thighs skimming his cheeks.

"Toji!" Oh, how embarrassed and feverish you felt, with this massive man having the audacity to actually chuckle in such a scenario.

"My lady," he finally grumbled, trying to pull your hips down. "Once I killed a fucking lion who rolled over me. Another time, I needed to dig myself out of the corpses that stumbled on me during the war. I'm almost sure that your cunt won't be the one to get me killed."

But when you finally sank down, with his nose sniffing the sweetness of your cum and tongue lapping your plump folds, he thought that maybe it was a lie.

Fuck, maybe your pussy could get him killed.

Its sweetness and creaminess, the honeyed saps that trickled down his throat and dripped from his chin. Long fingers parted your folds slightly, just to get a better view of your shimmering hole, ready for him to feast.

He was already acting like a madman, drinking, slurping, growling against your fluttering cunt, sending a shiver down your spine and spilling the sweetest moans from your throat.

But when your lips wrapped around his pulsing cock?

Fucking hell, he was ready to cum here and there, feeling your hot tongue and kitty licks on his shaft, with fingers curling around it shyly.

Toji was never easy to tame, and that's how he managed to achieve his freedom and glory. A beast, monster, who could crush a hundred men with a single swoosh of his blade. A fallen general and a brute, who accidentally got himself tangled in the whole gladiatorial thing.

He didn't mind it, for no one was waiting for him at home, and the idea of killing for the glory sounded quite amusing. He was risking his life, as there was no one he wished to live for.

But when you started rolling your hips and gushing even more honeyed cum on his tongue, he thought that, well, maybe he was quite easy to tame. Maybe he wanted to be tamed – trained, walk around your feet like a domesticated lion, feast on you every single morning, drink your syrupy cum as if it was the only ambrosia that could keep him alive.

"Mhmmm T-Toji, so good–" you mumbled, mouth popping off his fat cock, while fingers still worked him up and down, smearing your sweet drool all over it.

Your back arched when his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking it gently with a low, starved hum. "A-ah, T-Toji mmm–"

Your head dipped back down, tongue drenching his shaft, throat stretching up just take him deeper. The pleasure was overwhelming, paralysing, maddening, with his musky smell haunting your senses and muscular arms wrapping around your waist, just to keep you in place. His hips bucked up, head of the cock hitting the back of your throat, pushing tears into your eyes.

You couldn't see his face, and maybe it was for the best, as he never looked more miserable.

Truly, completly pathetic.

With a creased forehead and mouth covered fully by your drenched cunt. Hips moving in desperate need, and hair sticking to his damp forehead, as he slurped on your cunt like a man starved. With faint growls and cries coming from his throat, and an infuriating need to be crushed by your plump thighs and drenched folds.

"My lady, baby, god, you taste so delicious," he muttered, licking your pussy obscenely, with lips sucking on your clit. "Fuck, I'm never going back to that shithole, never fighting again. Come on, move your hips. Yeah, just like that, ride me like a little slut."

"S-stop, Toji!"

Your head fell back, fingers clenched on his cock as unfamiliar warmth started to coil in your belly. Something you've never felt while bedding your husband, never even thought of, but only heard from the filthy gossip of your servants. They had a much more thrilling sex life than their lady!

"Come on, baby, give me that honour and cum for me. Got fucking stabbed, just to see you again. Don't you think I'm worthy of a reward?"

Soft moans spilt from your lips, hips rolling faster, harder, riding his plastered tongue and drenching his chin. Your hole fluttered around nothing, with a desperate need to finally be filled.

"L-Let me cum on you, please, Toji, let me–"

He hissed, gripping your hands and quickly pulling them away from his cock. Your words snapped something inside him and if you continued to moan straight to his trembling shaft, he would burst any second.

And he didn't want it.

At least not in that way – to let his cum fill anything else but your creamy cunt.

"Wanna cum on my cock? Say it, baby. Wanna get stuffed full? Wanna get bred, hm?"

Your head nodded dumbly, eyes closed, as his finger started circling your clit.

"Mhm– yes yes yes."

He chuckled, seeing how your hole was desperately clenching around nothing. Damp, dripping, with little clit trembling sweetly as he rolled it between his fingers.

"Yes what, my lady?"

Oh, he was playing with you! And in such a mean, mean way.

"I want all of it," you mumbled, cheeks already burning with a fever.

"My lady, this slave is quite dull, and I don't know what you mean. Please say it clearly."

You could feel his chuckle on your pulsing cunt and fingers spreading your sticky folds. Tip of the tongue giving you a faint lick, before you pressed your cunt just to feel more.

"Come on, my lady. You can do it, tell me what you want."

He rolled your clit lazily, with a smirk and pride growing in his chest, seeing how difficult it was to spill these few dirty words.

"The things I'm going to do to you will be filthier, my lady."

Oh, dear gods!

"I want you to fill me with you c-cock," you finally spat, words barely pushing through your throat. "I want you to fill me up here," you placed a palm on your belly pouch, pushing its fat slightly. "I want you to breed me and let me carry your child, f-fuck Toji, please stuff me full of your cock and let me finally shut u–"

Before you finished, he moved.

Quickly, brutally, glueing your back to his torso, lifting up your thighs and pushing into a meannnn mating press. He was massive enough to let you sprawl on his body comfortably and keep you nicely folded against his chest. Lips right next to your ear, teeth grazing its lobe, before you finally, for your own desire, felt his hottish cock at your entrance.

"Your wish is my command, my lady."

And he pushed it in.

Dear heavens, the sweet moan that filled his small room almost made him cum on the spot, with your walls sucking his cock in. Fat shaft thrusted slowly, throbbing and pushing through the drenched muscles of your tight cunt.

"So tight, so fucking tight. Baby, you really need to relax," he growled, cock catching on your pinkish walls and giving you another delicious tear.

He was right behind you, folding you like a cloth, with knees against your breasts and head nuzzling your neck. You couldn't push him away, wriggle back, but only clench his veiny forearms and moan in pleasure when he thrusted even deeper. "T-Toji, I can't– mhmmm –so good, f-feels so goo–"

And he truly, really, honestly wanted to go slow, seeing how much his cock already filled you up, with a slight bulge appearing under your velvety tummy, but– oh dear, what a lie.

He didn't want to go slow, didn't want to roll his hips gently, didn't want to seem like a misery of a warrior.

And he truly wanted to breed this pussy.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he murmured, locking you in a tighter embrace. "I'm sorry, but I can't do it anymore."

Your head lulled back, a drop of spit trickling down your chin, when your weeping eyes met his. "W-what? What are you sa–"

And you didn't finish, because he thrusted.

Hard, raw, deep, stretching your hole to the fullest, with his head kissing your cervix and heading straight to your swollen belly. Shaft dragging madly through your walls, honeyed saps letting it slip smoothly, meanly, grazing the deepest corners of your cunt.

He kept you tight in place, with fingers pinching your clit and tongue leaving a wet strip on your neck. "Sorry, fuck, my lady is sucking me in, she's fucking starving."

He mumbled to her, rolling your clit viciously and hissing lowly when you clenched around his shaft.

"So sweet, my lady's so lovely, clamping so nicely like a good little slut, hm?" he chuckled, feeling another squeeze of your walls and fingers scratching his forearms. "Are you that drunk, my lady? Are you that desperate to get yourself fucked on the gladiator's cock? You know it's against the law, right? Me head would roll if anyone would saw you taking my cock in such a whorish manner."

"I-I'm not a w-whore," you tried to mumble, but another cry left your lips when his cock moved even further. Raw, brutal, with hottish shaft dragging through your walls, head now pushing against your womb as Toji's hand landed on your lower belly.

A little bulge formed under his fingers as he pushed it, making your whole body tremble and toes curl in a blinding pleasure that washed through your senses.

"Aren't you, my lady? Because she's sucking me in like the most desperate whore," his voice suddenly faltered when you squeezed tight. Tighter than before, with all muscles clamping down, as if trying to milk him dry. "F-Fuck, so now you know how to use her?"

He pounded like a madman, animal, with a strange mix of ruthlessness and gentleness you've never felt before, when his cock dragged through your walls madly, and fingers caressed your clit dearly. He was ferocious and sweet at the same time, whispering the filthy obscenities into your ear, causing a blush to spread from your chest up to your ears, while squeezing your tits gently.

And when you clamped on him again, with a sweet cry pushing through your lips, he groaned, forcing his girth with a squelch. You were fucked by a true beast, with a womb swelling from the brutal pace and cock hitting that one, gummy spot. This strange position he put you in gave him perfect access to your plump clit and sweet button inside you, already fattened from the vicious hit hit hit.

You were close, oh so close, with your moans spilling from every thrust and walls clenching even tighter, locking him almost fully inside.

"Toji, I'm gonna cum– mhmmm I-I'm gonna cum, please please please let me," well, you did sound like a whore, with lips whining his name and eyes crossed in pleasure. A deep chuckle quivered his chest, and fingers pinched your clit.

Hips latched in place, beefy arms moving your whole body and stuffing it on his fat cock. Nose hidden deep in your neck, teeth diving deep into your skin.

"Cum for me, baby. Come on, my sweet lady, cum on my cock like a good whore," he talked you right through it, voice deep and mean, praising the sweetness of your cunt and devouring all moans falling from your lips. "Want to have my baby, hm? Get stuffed and swollen again? Come on, let me make you a mommy. We're gonna run away and move to Egypt. I will build you a fucking mansion if you'll ask me to."

His words spun in your head, slipping in and off, while your cunt was aching, pulsing, milking him from every drop of his cum.

He put his palm on your chin, turning you towards him to glance at your glossy eyes and creased eyebrows. "You'll do it, right? Gonna run away with me? Leave your husband and let me fuck you every night?"

His words sounded outlandish and wild, but a deep pang in your heart forced your head to nod and lock your lips together. In a sweet, longing kiss, full of aching and yearning, while his cock finally swelled up and filled you deep with creamy cum. Your whole body trembled, clit pulsing under his fingers, as you finally came. A wave of pleasure washed over your body – blinding, delicious, making your toes curl, and squirt all over his hands. You could feel how deep his cum drove, sticking straight to your womb and sealing it with dense strings.

Your name rolled from his lips like a mantra, while he put you in the meanest, the most brutal mating press you've ever felt. Your thighs trembled as he groaned in pleasure, circling the swollen pouch of your belly and whispering how he aches to see you with his baby.

And when your breath calmed down, with his cock slowly softening up and your tummy still flowing with his cum, you heard two words that made your heart stop.

"Marry me."

You turned his way, eyes bulging. "What?"

"Marry me. I was serious about Egypt," his thumb grazed your lower lip and emerald eyes skimmed over you with tenderness. "Let's run away tonight. We can start a new life. It won't be as lavish as this one, but–"

Before heed finished, your lips crashed against his. Fingers running through dark, damp locks, eyes shut, when you kissed him sweetly, dearly, filling with affection that coiled in your belly since the moment you saw him in that arena.

"Please," you whispered, touching your foreheads together. "I can have any life as long as you're in it."

He chuckled with this hint of loveliness and fingers tucking in the single strand of your hair.

And when your bodies untangled before the sunrise, you left. To the land of hope and freedom, with nothing but a few coins in your pockets, a bit of your jewellery and the yearning of his emerald eyes, you would love tenderly till your last breath.

a/n: I didn't include the gossip of the town arc both Eppia and Sergius had before they left for Egypt, but it was getting toooo long.

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Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions. 

Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret. 

That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place when he’s not around, he’s pretty sure— just not when he’s around.

The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it. 

There’s a view, but it’s not the city. 

“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”

He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing. 

If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you. 

He wears you out. 

Yet still, at the end of every night—

“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.” 

You are so fucking mean.

The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know. 

Now he’s a little less emotional and more… 

“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”

You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?” 

“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it. 

Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.

“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.” 

He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door. 

“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”

“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out. 

“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two. 

You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”

“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”

“Yup! Bye Gojo.”

He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face. 

Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21. 

You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better. 

Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life. 

He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.

It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of. 

You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids. 

Spoiler: It didn’t work. 

He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.

Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.

He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself. 

It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth. 

Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process. 

You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.

He still opened his mouth.

“Great sauna, isn’t it?”

Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.

The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh. 

“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it. 

It wasn’t. 

“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.

You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks. 

“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile. 

You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame. 

“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”

He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up. 

“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”

You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”

“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”

Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does. 

You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”

“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?

“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.” 

“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.” 

Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16. 

“Oh wow.” 

You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless. 

From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once. 

Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??

You: typing…

You: 

You: typing…

You: turn 21

Unknown Number: bet

You read that response and immediately regretted it. 

He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in. 

And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position. 

You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you. 

And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less. 

He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again. 

He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past. 

It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public. 

It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up. 

He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public. 

Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.

You: Do not fucking embarrass me.

You: Don’t even come near me.  

S. Gojo: fine .

It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.

The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty. 

He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.

Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours. 

That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit. 

He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head. 

“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”

“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”

“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.

“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”

“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.

“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”

“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.

You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.

With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.  

On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there. 

Truly.

Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home. 

You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.

It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him. 

There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though. 

There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.

Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on. 

—

S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:

You: what do u want

S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔

You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it

S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please

S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today

You: im not even home

S. Gojo: ik i have a key

You: you took my spare key?

You: give it back

S. Gojo: today? (:

You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess

S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess

You: what do you even wanna come over for

S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later

You: why

S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me

You: why

S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years

S. Gojo: they’re not over it

You: pig

S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!

You: please don’t

You: but ya, no. go to the library or something

S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE

S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs

S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE

You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with

S. Gojo: BRO???

You: kiddinggg

You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed 

S. Gojo: i got u

S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want

You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak

S. Gojo: ):

You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway. 

Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone. 

You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen. 

“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”

“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”

He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”

You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”

“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?” 

“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”

“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted. 

Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him. 

You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look. 

“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists. 

“Hungry enough.”

“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks. 

You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?” 

“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”

“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.” 

“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.” 

“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck. 

“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”

Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.” 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.” 

He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display. 

“No?”

“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”

And distracted you were. 

Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.  

He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”

“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?

He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. 

“Were you thinking at all?”

“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”

“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”

“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him. 

He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck. 

It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?

The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself. 

He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach. 

“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear. 

“What are you–” 

He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.

“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.

He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them. 

You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him. 

He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.

“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you. 

“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.” 

“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again. 

You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.

“I know— M’sorry, baby.”

He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear. 

“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced. 

“T-too much,” you sputter out.

“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”

“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”

He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles. 

His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock. 

And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it. 

“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?” 

You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”

“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”

“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”

“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”

“Get me my fucking food.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face. 

. . .

He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine. 

“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.

“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one. 

You crack it open as you turn to look at him. 

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”

“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”

“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink. 

You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself. 

The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”

The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”

“No— appreciate you asking, though.”

“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”

He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next. 

You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.

“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”

“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”

“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment. 

He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”

“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”

“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time. 

You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.” 

He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”

There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”

“I am,” he scoffs. 

“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.

You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you. 

“I am your friend, right?” he asks. 

You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer. 

“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”

“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?” 

“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”

There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.

He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”

You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”

You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”

. . .

Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight. 

For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong. 

The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.

It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.

Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.” 

Mind you, they were in the same year. 

She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”

He shortens it. “M’not interested.”

“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull. 

And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you. 

“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”

You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face. 

Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).

“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”

The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.

“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.

Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”

“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”

Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”

Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go. 

“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair. 

Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”

Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face. 

The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit. 

It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night. 

He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight. 

After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.

“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything. 

He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”

“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”

“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.

“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”

“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly. 

“No.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer. 

“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”

He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”

“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”

Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face. 

“Maybe.” 

He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”

At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.” 

“So you can fuck with my sleep?”

“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”

“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”

“I don’t have any!” 

“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”

“No, wait—”

“Good night~”

Click.

Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up. 

The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh. 

“Fuck this.”

. . .

Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off. 

Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality. 

“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.  

You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever. 

“What are you doing here?!”

Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”

He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.

Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”

“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”

“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.

“Thank you.”

Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy. 

The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him. 

“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”

“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers. 

You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.

But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice. 

“Good night.” 

. . .

Satoru wakes up twice. 

Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep. 

Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him. 

He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?” 

You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.” 

“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.

There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”

“That’s mean as fuck.”

“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.” 

“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”

“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”

“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view. 

As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone. 

Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the  pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever. 

It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”

“M’not,” Satoru mumbles. 

Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.

“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all. 

“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”

He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”

At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”

“I will.”

Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you. 

Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect. 

One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek. 

. . . 

It’s been several. 

Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes. 

His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful. 

Boring as fuck. 

He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations. 

It's like he just expects you to talk to him. 

He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date. 

And also your last.

. . . 

Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper. 

He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved. 

He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.

Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you. 

After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you. 

You’re not sure, honestly. 

It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion. 

You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels. 

At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex. 

You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him. 

. . .

Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.

And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head. 

At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him. 

As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him. 

He’s still a safe choice.

You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future. 

You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.

Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better. 

You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there. 

You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?” 

He slowly shakes his head, humming  indecisively. “Not yet.” 

You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?” 

He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.” 

It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch. 

“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?” 

You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. 

“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.” 

Why the fuck would he take you here?

“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade.  “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?” 

“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest. 

“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.” 

It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop. 

You can absolutely check other places out.

Does this guy not understand free will exists? 

“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?” 

“Exactly,” he proudly nods. 

“There you two are!” 

…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is. 

At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine. 

He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze. 

You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection. 

“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.” 

Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction. 

Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand. 

“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?” 

Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru. 

“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.” 

“Wait— really?” 

Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere. 

He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet. 

“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.

“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.” 

“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.” 

His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring. 

“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.” 

Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”

“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.” 

Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy. 

And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.

He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him. 

Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too. 

Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him. 

Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?” 

“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.

“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.” 

“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!” 

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”

“Not everything is about looks—“

He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”

Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.” 

“Yet?!” his voice broke. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.

“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”

Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?” 

“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says. 

“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”

“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath. 

“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”

You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”

“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”

You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has. 

“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”

He gets up.

There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet. 

“Where’s your car?” you ask. 

“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it. 

“Ow—”

“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder. 

“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”

You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go. 

“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”

“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”

“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”

“Because you—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”

gojo when reader said she hasn’t seen it “yet”: