A Dumbass

i literally wrote this under like 3 hours.. so it will be terrible, i’m really bored so i’m doing this to pass time and because i still need to think about what to do for the pierro one. i haven’t written like this since i was like 15 and was bad at it (im literally still bad at it it’s just so much less cringey) so apologies are due.

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8: you can’t help but comfort the segment as he is still new to the piano, trying to make a song for you and making many mistakes but he still tries his best to his ability. he would often look up at you with teary eyes even after being comforted, hoping you appreciated his effort

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for someone like 8, he had no care in the world of what others thought of him, you on the other hand were an exception.

“a-am i doing okay?” he whispered in hopes he wouldn’t disappoint you, knowing you would never be upset at him.

“you’re doing wonderful my dear, you’ve made so much progress in so little time! i’m so proud of you!” you exclaimed at him while smiling sweetly, in return he showed you his bright smile as he sniffled and wiped away his tears. “i’m happy to hear that.. i will make you a song that shows my love for you!” he beamed with his eyes closed, you could help but smile ear to ear; your adoration for him as clear as a sunny day.

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18: although he is not new to the piano, he isn’t exactly number one when it comes to skill, above average but there is room for improvement; although you’ll never hear him admit to it

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you sat next to 18 as he played the piano listening to the words that came out of his mouth. “at the akademiya, i never had time for the piano; i was rather occupied with pursuing my own goals..” he recounted as the notes swayed with romantic allure. “for someone who rarely had time for such futile things, you sure do know how to play like a professional.” you mused with a closed smile. “are you mocking me?” he scoffed playfully and you couldn’t help but laugh, even if he sounded annoyed, you could still see the adoration in his eyes.

two people of different backgrounds enjoying the notes being played in the air, as the song he made for you filled up the room with nothing but admiration.

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25: the only time you’ll ever hear 25 play the piano is when there is free time and when he notices you’re feeling down, which unsurprisingly isn’t uncommon due to what tends to go on in the laboratory.

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it was one of days where things just weren’t going your way, which led to 25 basically kidnapping you by throwing you over his shoulder since you refused to move from your bed. “you truly can be a headache at times, are you aware? you should feel honored that i’m taking time out of my day to amuse you.” he muttered as he arrived to the music room

“then why not keep doing that?! you could’ve let me stay in bed, but yet you chose to do this” you huffed as you kept smacking his back and kicking your feet in hopes he would drop you, to no avail he sat you up next to him as he started to play the piano, an unfamiliar tune entering your ears. you perked up, the tune sounded romantic and it was all you could focus on. “i will indulge you this once, so pay attention to this new melody i have created.” he said, and you did exactly what he asked you to do, 100% of your attention was on his fingers, the way he played without hesitance had you in awe. he smirked seeing your face light up, it seems like he accomplished his goal.

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35: the last segment you expected to ever show such trivial emotions, the last to make you a song. he was not one to indulge you, in fact he would laugh at you if you even suggested it, so imagine your surprise when he told you he made you something

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“so are you gonna sit down or what?” he grumbled even after you were in the middle of doing just that, you never understood him and you have a feeling he didn’t understand himself either, but you would rather be struck down by the heavenly principles than say it out loud. “is there a reason you made a new melody?” you mumbled. “i want to see the results of how you will react to this small experiment.. think of it as some minor research.” he gleamed, he would never admit it but he cares for you as much the other segments did. he just showed it in his own way.

he played the piano, he took notice of how your heart rate went down, your shoulders dropped, you leaned closer, your muscles became less tense, your breathing became slower.

the signs that you were relaxing, the sadness within you being forgotten, mission accomplished, he smirked.

you closed your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulders, the tune continuing to play.

the experiment was a success.

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45: a rational man who knew what you liked when it came to music, he knew you were a sucker for the sounds of a piano playing.

he told you he wanted to show a new song he wrote for you. excited, you dragged him to the music room, eager to hear what he wrote

↳

“come on! i can’t wait to hear what you wrote this time!” you jumped as you led him to the seat in front of the piano, the man chuckled at your eagerness, something he loved about you. “mama prema, your never ending energy will always surprise me.” he chuckled as you blushed at the nickname, his fingers pressing the keys as you watched intently, different from 8, he was skilled and was able to play the piano without looking down, not even a blindfold would make a difference.

you couldn’t help but smile, the man in front of you was the light of your life and would drop anything to attend to you, the way he smiled at you lovingly was something you will never get tired of, it was one of the only times you would see this specific segment without the bird like mask.

you both were caught up in the moment, it felt like it would never end, and you were thinking that you never wanted it to end.

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65: the most quiet of all but very gentle when it came to you, he has been teaching you how to play the piano and wanted to see if you were able to play the song he made for you, so he took you to the music room to try it out… it went better than expected

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“am i doing it right?” you asked as you slowly played the piano, afraid to make mistakes. “you’re doing fine, relax… i’m not gonna get mad if you make a simple mistake.” he chuckled, standing behind you slightly jumped as you felt him place his fingers on top of your, guiding your fingers on the keys. “i recognize these notes.. it’s the love progression, you wrote me a song?” you whispered, your face slowly becoming warmer; the realization that he made this for you and wanted you to hear it by playing it yourself. your breathing hitched and you looked at him in awe. “you made this..for me?” you said as he nodded. “it is not often you get shown appreciation, it is deserved” he mused as he sat down next to you.

both forgetting why they were there originally, chatting idly as time passed by.

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Zandik/85: the original, the one who’s been there since day one, he was a hopeless romantic and it wouldn’t the first or last time he made you a song

↳

as he played the keys, you swung your legs as you sat on top of the piano. “zandik, the way you play the piano will never fail to amaze me.” your face beaming as he smiled. “these songs are all inspired by you after all, my muse.” he teased.

you hummed in response and focused to the tune of the song, stealing kisses from zandik once in a while,

the music room has become the place of comfort for the both of you, indulging only one person, and that person was you.

all the songs he made for you were embedded with a secret language only the two of you knew. not even the other segments were aware of this.

He frowns. 

Okay, finals season was really getting to you. 

Taking a confused second to check his drink - strawberry milkshake, low sugar, as usual - he concludes that he definitely wasn’t spiked in any way and was definitely hearing you wrong. Of course, an understandable mistake. And so he’s clearing his gruff throat, “…what the fuck?”

Your long-time friend watches from across the table as you nod your head, a satisfied sort of smile plastering across your face - the very same one you often bore whenever you beat Gojo on a test, or a quiz, or a group project. 

Or anything, really.

“That’s exactly it- I should fuck him.”

Yeah, he sets down the cup he was holding, he was definitely spiked. Or, maybe he was dead and this was his own personal hell.

“Ooookay, that’s enough all-nighters.” Geto’s plastering one of his ringed hands across your forehead, searching for a high temperature. “How about we get you to Shoko for some examination-”

“No no, listen.”

“I’m scared.”

Swatting away his well-meaning palms, you’re leaning towards him, so close that your lips waft the silver piercings decorating his ear. “If I fuck him—” Geto shivers, one of his ripped arms settling on top of the table in conspiring unison. “-he won’t have time to study. And if he doesn’t have time to study…”

The snake bites lining his rosy lips glint as they formulate a smirk, sleazy. “Oh, you dirty girl.”

DING-DING–!

And it’s as if the universe was having a good laugh at your expense. 

Because right at that very moment, the cute lil’ bell on top of the café doorway sings as it swings open - and with it, ducks inside Gojo Satoru. 

In all his refined, cranky glory - wiry-framed glasses nestled high on his nosebridge, strong, sweater-covered arms straining with the weight of damn near half the library stacked in a column, snowy bangs doing very little to hide the withering glare he was immediately firing your way.

The spitting image of the other valedictorian you’d been fighting both tooth and nail against since the start of freshman year. 

You remember how it all started like it was just yesterday; you’d been sitting eagerly at the very front row of Professor Gakuganji’s lecture hall. Your sheer buzzing energy only matched by the white-haired boy seated next to you - perhaps a kindred spirit, maybe you’d even become friends, you naively thought.

That is, until Gakuganji had asked for a volunteer to start off ice-breakers that the both of you had shot up in your seat. Racing to be first. 

Faces snapping to each other in shock, mouths tightening. An invisible war - which had, very famously, turned into a palpable war over the last few semesters. One that you’re sure nearly every student on campus had heard about (and bet on, you remember Shoko tittering about some betting pool.)

It didn’t help that you two had practically the same classes each year - and it really didn’t help that Gojo put all he had into one-upping you any time since that fateful meeting.  

Always clamoring out of his seat to answer questions first, always trailing after teachers if he caught you sucking up to them, too, always checking out the same books after you did.

Hell, at one point you’d been convinced that he genuinely lived in the library.

“You’re staring~” Geto sing-songs, resting his grinning face on one hand as he watches the bee-line of your eyesight. 

“Ugh- I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Flashing, cerulean eyes narrow as you rip your own gaze away, and Gojo’s sauntering over to a cosy seat near the back with an audible ‘hmpf!’ 

Bastard- that was your second-favorite seat. You should sit there next time…

“Look at him.” You’re spitting, feeling only slightly ridiculous at the raw vitriol in that sentence until Gojo physically turns around in his chair to flip you off. Haughtily, he swivels back to shift through his countless textbooks, surely studying for the upcoming final exam in a few days. “Bet he cuddles those books to sleep and that’s how he beat me today.”

Rays of sunlight dappling his pale hair, the straps of his backpack make his shoulder muscles ripple. For a nerd, he sure did take care to make everyone on campus secretly swoon.

…except for you, of course. 

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes - more to tear them away from the way that Gojo’s glasses made his eyes twinkle in the daytime.

“Not for long. Mark my words, Suguru, I’ll fuck him-” Murmuring, you pointedly ignore the gawking looks from the customers surrounding your table. “-I’ll fuck his brains out.”

Eyelids twitching slightly, Geto makes sure to graciously bow his head in an apology towards the older lady seated at the beside you two - clutching her chest as if she was about to have a cardiac arrest. “And you realize that by fucking him…he fucks you, too?”

“Oh.” Honestly, for someone so smart you could be so stupid sometimes. You ignore the heat that runs through your veins at the notion, and stuff your face into your long-cold coffee. Sputtering, “I-It’ll be fine.”

Famous last words. 

.

.

.

“A-are you following me or just obsessed?”

“Nothing to be obsessed about here.”

“Then why are you following-”

“Maybe you’re following me, bast- I mean, Gojo.”

BANG!

And Gojo really should’ve been worried about ruining his squeaky-clean record with the campus librarian, slamming a few thickset books down on his usual studying spot was very unlike her model helper, of course. 

But right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Not when you - campus princess, top pick for valedictorian, pain-in-his-ass - were face-to-face with him and standing the closest you ever had amidst that time you’d sat together on your first day. 

And calling him by his name.

Jaw clenched, he steps towards his familiar chair by the shadowed corner - and you do, too.

Long legs maneuvering to claim his seat - and you do, too, right next to him.

Pushing his glasses-clad face into the first textbook he picks up, he doesn’t even notice that it’s upside down - not until you’re tapping your finger on the gilded corner of it and Gojo flinches. “You’re reading that the wrong way, y’know?”

“…it’s a form of studying.”

“I’m sure.”

“And- and what are you doing? Miss valedictorian has given up on being valedictorian so she’s here to bother me?” He seethes, finally taking a good look at you since you’d randomly ambushed him on his daily trip to the library. Tracking him around like a lost puppy and oh- oh, Gojo almost regrets it.

Because he might wear glasses, but he wasn’t blind.

Fuck, did you really have to wear a cutesy top so low-cut? And a skirt so tight, he hated how your thighs were so pretty - ones he’d only seen in his imagination- nightmares. His nightmares, for sure. 

It’s no wonder that half the student body in your department would kill to be in this position, and the other half would kill him for daring to sit his gloomy, unpopular self next to you.

Gojo gulps as he inadvertently memorizes the lacy black shade of your bra strap, barely catching onto your humming response. 

“Studying.” You casually raise your own book, something related to the content covered on the test tomorrow, surely. 

“B-but- here-”

“And here I was under the impression that the library was public to all.” You’re cutting off his rambling by creeping an inch forwards. So close that you’re wafted with a cloud of his homey, ink n’ vanilla scent. Purring, “Is it not?”

“No! I know you- you just wanna steal my super secret Satoru studying tips.” He points at you, accusatorial. 

Scoffing- why did you want to subject yourself to this nonsense again? Oh, right, that coveted spot at the forefront of Yaga’s Dean’s List, that’s why. “‘Studying tips’ my ass, you’re just scared I’ll beat you on the exam tomorrow.”

“You couldn’t beat me if Yaga stripped naked and danced with the answers in front of you.”

“Hmm–” You pretend to take down notes, “So is that what you think about before a final?”

“N-no- even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Raising a brow, “Right…” And by the way that Gojo trembled at your tone of voice, shifting his glasses higher into his unruly bangs, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. “Because you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not-”

“Am too. It’s alright, scaredy-cat-” You’re making a big show of letting the library chair screeeech against the polished hardwood floors as you stand up, fingers itching for your bag. “-I’ll just take my leave then, since you’re so sca-”

“Sit.”

And it wasn’t a plea, it wasn’t even a request.

Gojo had his warm, engulfing palm surrounding your wrist and all but dragging you back to sit back down with an unceremonious plop! 

Hard and rough. 

Before you’d even registered it - before you’d finished blinking - in an instant, he was back to his normally grouchy self. Grimacing face darted back between his pages, hulking body hunched low as he washed himself of the memory of your (unfairly) pretty self seated right next to him. 

This was all a bad dream, he repeated to himself, as if a mantra. But then why was he feeling so…hot? Maybe this was one of those annoying side quests in video games- if he doesn’t interact, he won’t react. 

Yeah, that sounded about right. He just won’t interact.

He will not–

“Your pen’s too loud.”

“Your breathing’s too loud.” 

“So you want me to die-”

“Yes, please.” You’re sniping back on autopilot, your exceptionally silent pen scribbling along one of your flashcards. This really wasn’t how you saw your masterplan going - but it was too late to back out now. If there was anything that was revealed during this lengthy rivalry, it was that you weren’t a quitter. Huffing, “Do you always talk so much when you study?”

“Oh- I’m sorry, princess, want me to kiss your feet while I’m at it?”

“Didn’t think you were one for a foot fetish.”

“H-huh? No! What are you-” 

And that slight waver in his voice makes you pause- it makes you snap your head up, just in time to catch the scorching red blush breezing down the back of Gojo’s neck. Visibly peeking through the edge of his creamy vest even as he buries his face into his upside-down book. 

“Awww- what’s that?” Snickering, you take your chance to nudge your chair closer to his. Teasing. Until thighs met shaky thighs, shoulders bumped sculptured shoulders, and your syrupy breath made the tips of his ears flush. Voice low, “Can’t handle a lil’ sex talk, Satoru?”

Saying his first name- fuck!

He’s slamming his left arm where the heat of your sighs had burned his sensitive earlobe, grumpy baritone cracking– “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are you a virgin?” You blink, your scheme giving way to genuine curiosity. 

The way that Gojo’s mouth gapes is more than enough of an answer to you. Glasses slipping down his clammy skin, meaty legs shivering as you experimentally brush your palm to feel the flex of his outer thigh. He was…chiseled. 

Blinking, “Really? Not even a handjob?”

And fuck- were you glad that he’d chosen a slightly distant corner of the library. 

Because your hands might be rovering sensually underneath the table, but the tightness in Gojo’s slacks was obvious. 

And it’s not that you spent a lot of time thinking about how big your mortal enemy might be underneath all his formal, upright outfits - but you just didn’t think he’d be this staggering. Perhaps average, at best. 

But one slight glimpse through your peripheral vision left your greedy mouth parting - he was long. So, so long from the end of his body to way past halfway down his thick thigh. 

And so massively girthy that you’re half-counting each jolting throb from the edges of your eyesight. 

Your mouth waters something slick at the primal heat radiating from between his legs. Trying your very hardest not to let your jaw drop as your pupils dare to snake down, down, down—

“Wanna change that?” The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them- and Gojo looks ruined at the very idea.

Eyes glittering, cherry-pink lips falling into a soft oh! “Wh-what are you…”

You hesitate, this was Gojo after all. And you might feel your panties getting damper by the minute but he… Finger balling into a fist as you start to pull away, “Want me to stop-”

“Backing out, miss valedictorian?” 

Fuck- it happens like a flash of lightining. 

In a nanosecond you’re thinking you should pull away, and the next Gojo has his slender fingers gripping your wrist. Tugging your palm to creep right down the bulging cylindrical length twitching between his legs as if you were weightless. 

He was desperate. He was shifting, lurching his hips up off the rickety chair completely so that your soft fingers brush further down his fat, weeping clothed cock. 

An uncharacteristically dark drawl seeping into his voice, “Couldn’t score on the exam and now you can’t score- ngh.”

But, of course, this Gojo Satoru was all talk - his spit-glossed lips wobbling with a whimper the very moment you slip your hands to skim the hem of his pants. 

Pop. 

There goes one of his polished buttons, all sensible. Anything but the way that Gojo’s sexily slouching his toned body into the library desk, a heady gasp departing his lips. “Finish what you- hah! started.”

Pop. 

And you knew that those dexterous digits of his could easily wander down his complicated buttons- but right now Gojo was fumbling. 

He was gnawing on the bubblegum insides of his cheek and keening as he struggled to remove his trousers. 

Pop.

Pop! 

One of the silvery buttons end up clattering down on the wooden floors. Finally - finally - freeing his aching, bloated cock. 

And you’re not just seeing it first - you’re hearing it. The very crown of his reddened tip hitting halfway up his cotton vest with a wettened splat! Eyeing the darkening patch of cloth with a gulp.

Gojo’s long lashes flap— hissing at the strike of cold air where he was most sensitive. “Wh-who’s the scaredy-cat now?”

But how could you not be spellbound?

Mentally, you’re counting nine - maybe even near ten - entire inches of his thick, vein-covered shaft. 

The mushroomed edge of his cockhead blushing the prettiest shade of strawberry pink, and he was just as needily swollen. Spraying out a few glistening trails of pre that puddle up cutely near the curly tufts of white lining his v-line. He was just aching for your touch.

Ruining. 

Jolting like he was zapped with a thousand bolts of electricity the moment your thumb smears the pearly bubble of precum that’d started to leak out of him. Breathless, “Who’s a scaredy-cat?”

“You-hngh!” He’s gritting down on his lower lip as a groan erupts from his throat, teary eyelids wrenching shut at the blissful sensation.

Your hand was so soft- so heavenly. 

Just the slightest trace of your fingerpads gliding down Gojo’s puffy pink veins sends him heaving, the heated figure of his body leaning into your touch. “W-wait-” He spits out through snarling pearly whites as the length of your fingers squeezes the fattened base of his cock sensually. “Fuh-fuck! What the fuck- s-sexual pleasure. Shared sexual pleasure feels like this?”

Just lightly pumping up to press the mountains of your palm into his tender underside. Gojo was so rock-hard that your skin’s memorizing every zig-zagging line of his pulsing veins. “Hmm–?”

“This- how-” Azure eyes pleading up at you, “Hck! How-”

And you’re unsure whether he was babbling at the simplest drag of your hand or yearning for actual responses - but you never did leave a question unanswered. “Mmm– yeah? Like it, Satoru?”

“L-lov-” That little confession almost dribbles from his lips just from the way you’re cooing his first name. Ethereal ivory strands plastering to his forehead as he hastily shakes the thought free, voice breaking. In disbelief. 

He’s tugging his slightly-fogged glasses up his nosebridge, “How does it feel like this- why- fuuuuck– should be…illegal.”

You’re fighting back a moan yourself, the dainty ends of your fingernails fluttering all the way from his drenched happy trail up, up, up, up to kiss his coral-pink slit. 

Glittering a webbed wad of pre that drips down to your wrist as you’re caressing his sensitive outline. Just loooong, lazy traces that feel so good he’s sweating bullets from the sides of his temples. 

“The arteries on the dorsal- Don’t stop–”

“So bossy.”

Gojo finds himself jerking impatiently. He finds himself flinching when you choose that very moment to lean your puckered lips over and plant a wet smack! of spit right down his bulbous, bulging tip. Starting up a sultry pace, “Think I like you better when you’re hah- like this, Satoru.”

“Shut up- fuck- mmm, right there-”

With two palms white-knuckled on the chair’s armrests, he’s stooping his muddled head over and rutting- animalistically. Milking himself on every drag of your plush hands, “Please- please.”

Oh, you really liked it when he begged. 

And you’re pacing your hand even slower, squeezing the pointed globe of his ruby-red tip with a resounding squeeelch! “H-haaaah! There? There? I-if you touch me there…”

“Say that for me again- that ‘pretty please.’” When he can only lower his head deeper and wetly mumble- “Again- oh.”

You shouldn’t have underestimated him - you really shouldn’t have underestimated him. 

Because the moment your wrist strains with the warning signs of slowing your tempo even more- Gojo’s snaps his right hand to hold your hand still and thrusts. 

The weeping thickness of his cocktip mazes between your fingers like a searchlight, he’s fountaining out a warm ribbon of pre that froths down your hand once his long length emerges. 

“F-for the distal end of the glans, the primary source of sexual pleasure- your hand’s fucking h-heaven…oh.” He’s letting rip a guttural grunt, the muscles on his neck ticking. Half-lidded, drunken eyes circling around dizzily until they finally fall upon your shocked oh! face. “Too bad I c-can’t say the same for your mouth-”

“Hey!” 

And you would’ve said something further - you should’ve. You were trying to, yet that very moment Gojo fucks his slenderly toned hips up in such a hard thrust that it makes your pinky nearly bruise at the thwack! of his heavy balls hitting yours. 

He was so fucking hard that the spank of his sagged balls make your skin sting, oh-so-tight that it leaves him standing uprightly erect even when you’re cupping his hilt. 

“Nghhhh f-fuck. Yeah- yeahhh take it- take it just like that, princess.” Gojo’s voice drops into a carnal growl as he’s hooding his eyes over and staring right at where he was using your hand. The thickened digits of his fingers squeezing your own righter ‘round the gummy tip, looser to pound his base. “No one’s ever touched me like this.”

Your hands were so much smaller than his own - than his cock, too.

Damn near dwarfing your touch, he’s throbbing his girth so much fucking fatter that every jolt makes your own wrist shiver with intensity. Faster. 

A few speckles of syrupy drool dribbling down the side of his curling lips, “Should’ve told me if- haaah-” And just then, you’re fingering your thumb to tease the flared ridge of his mushroom crownhead. Making Gojo shudder his pecs and droop his face to mouth down your neck. 

Red hot. Your poor nerdy rival was blushing so hard that wherever he made contact with your throat made your flesh sizzle. “-if this was what you wanted s-so badly—”

“Fuck, Satoru-”

“You guys?!” 

The sudden interruption of an upbeat voice is so abrupt that Gojo can’t do anything less incriminating than pushin’ his moaning, twisting face further into the crook of your neck. Hips subtly shifting on the chair to hide your sinfulness from view, it makes the pads of your fingers snag on one of Gojo’s prominent lightning bolted veins- and leaves him biting down on your throat to muddle a whimper. 

“H-Haibara?” Your voice breaks once you’re lifting your head to stare up at the beaming smile of your fellow classmate. “What umm– brings you here?”

Innocently oblivious to the mess Gojo was drooling from the orifice at his cock as your pace gets sloppier. Faster. You’re coughing lightly to mask the repeated fwop! emanating when the back of your fisted hand hits the front of his toned pelvis. 

“Same as you, of course.” Your audience replies, enunciating his point with a nod towards the papers and textbooks scattered about you two. Clapping his hands, “How wonderful it is to see the two of you studying together- I always did tell Kento you two would end up friends.”

And of course it wasn’t abnormal for Gojo Satoru to ignore anyone and everyone except his books. 

Of course it wasn’t strange- but Haibara sweetly asks, anyway. Tone dripping in concern, “Is he alright, though?”

Gojo’s bucking up to your touch when he’s addressed, one that he’s masking as a flinch. Using that as lewd leverage to squeeze and squeeze the delicate line of his tip, up n’ down. 

Forcing out a slight chuckle, “O-oh, he’s alright. Just resting.” Pointedly pumping your wrist until it was aching, all the way from the bloated bottom of his cock to thumb up his dripping crownhead that Gojo has to mask with shivers. Sneakily, you chance a grope of your free hand to tenderly squeeze his achy balls. “He can’t keep up with my…flashcards, y’know how it is.”

Haibara nods, “Right of course, of course- it’s so sweet how supportive the two of you are with each other’s studies.”

And underneath his panting, cloudy breath, you’re making out Gojo scoffing. The frigid rim of his glasses cratering against the pulse on the side of your neck as he throb-throb-throbs in your hand. 

Twitching. Slobbering. Rutting- everything he could possibly do to milk his fat, swollen cock on your hands without anyone else here noticing. Punishingly, he sinks his honed canines into your skin— “C-cum- gonna–”

Urgently, your cadence turns nearly frantic. Furious, tugging pulls that leave the mahogany chair creaking with slight rickets. 

“Y-yeah– Satoru- deserves it. He’s been working so hard.” You breathe, unsure who it was for. 

But it makes the man melting at your touch hiss— the candy-pink divot homed right on the top of his barreling length so hot with slippery cobwebs of pre. Drooling out more. Jolting even more. Glasses sliding down. 

Your classmate only grins, “Awww–” Taking the slightest step closer and your warm hand tightens in panic. “You two would make the cutest couple!”

And that’s just about when Gojo cums–

Hot, hard. 

So, so heavy with the sheer volume of buttery, sappy white cum he was spilling into your lap. You fight to keep your smile from widening at the way his heated pink shaft drizzles with streaming streaks of seed that stains the skin of your outer thighs.

Gojo lets out a soft gasp of breath once he’s twitching his lusty cock to slap down on your flesh and chase the heat of your cunt. 

Right where he feels himself slip n’ slide across the slick outer sheen dampening from your core— right where he needed to fuck you. Just the darkened edge of his dilated pupil peeks out from the crook of your neck to stare at your audience dead-on. In front of him, if he had to.

And you could sense it, too.

Which is why you’re hastily waving off Haibara’s comment– “Ahh– well, it’s too soon for that.”

“You never know~” Casually scratching the back of his neck, not a thing was amiss in the way that Haibara’s perking up. “I should leave you two to it, then. And I have to tell Kento about this new development and I haven’t studied and-”

You don’t dare let your sigh of relief escape until after he’d walked away with an eager wave. 

Gojo himself was letting go of the area he’d been gnawing on your neck with a soppy pwah! Unsteadily lifting his head just to inch forwards and teeter-

Oh, he looked absolutely fucked-out. 

All heavily-lidded eyes that blinked slowly, and a mouth now shiny with a fresh coating of transparent spittle. Spectacles askew, hair rumpled, collar hauled to the side as if he was undressing himself. 

Greedy slobber bubbles up by the side of his flushed lips and trickles when he catches sight of your hands still wrapped around his softening cock. 

Not looking ‘round you two - not even caring if anyone sees, he’s gently lifting your dominant wrist over to hover near his gulping maw. “Made me make s-such a mess, princess.”

Your fingers trembly at the sheer scorching gusts of his humid breath, Gojo bores right into your eyes as he unfastens his jaw and lets his pinkish tongue liiiiick right up your cream-coated fingers. And the only thing hotter than his ropes of seed were the slimy edges of his tongue. 

Weaving between your pinky, takin’ extra care on your ring finger. 

Each and every one. One by one, he’s sapping down wet slurps with his mouth as he sucks on each glob of white decorating your digits like his favorite lollies. 

“W-we’re–” Gojo starts, his glittering lips still speckled with a bead of frosting. Of cum as he cleans you off. Dry Adam’s apple bobbing, “We’re never– hah.” Before strangling his words with a pained grunt and salivating the ridges of his tastebuds down your fingers in a final French kiss. 

Then another. And another. And another- like he couldn’t fucking get enough. 

And it viscerally ached him somewhere deeply primal inside to curl his rugged palm around your wrist and wrench himself away with a moistened pop! that resonates like music in the empty library air. 

Mouth curling as he pushes up his glasses for the nth time, “We’re never studying together again.”

Speechless, it’s just then that you’re noticing that- oh. Gojo Satoru has dimples. 

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru failed that test.

He totally, totally failed that test. 

Which wouldn’t have been as completely soul-crushing to watch his streak of constant A++ grades be torn down before his very eyes had that final actually been difficult. But Yaga had, mercifully, decided to go easy on them this time - and Gojo should have been able to ace this exam in his sleep.

Which was quite difficult for him to pull off such a feat when he found himself unable to think about anything but you.

Well, given, that wasn’t exactly an outlandish state-of-mind for him. 

Though, usually it’s more along the lines of how ridiculous it was that you thought you’d top Yaga’s Dean’s List instead of him, how your essay wasn’t even that great (okay, maybe it was- but his was better!), or wondering whether it was part of your strategy to look so gorgeous that you distract the entire department into failing.

But today - even right now - all he could wonder about was how ah, question number five- you’d wrapped all five of your pretty lil’ fingers around his cock. 

How soft they were, how perfect they looked pumping his painfully hard girth and fuck- soon enough he was blessed with a half-chubbed dick tightening his pants, and a muddled brain that’d already started writing his answer about you, your damn hands, and you. 

Fuck, he could feel his skin flaring at the mere memory again. 

“Goddammit-” He’s grinding the backs of his molars until he’s tasting metal, staring at the empty lined paper that would usually have been filled and stapled to the backs of his final. “Goddammit.”

And then Gojo stands- so abruptly that several blissfully ignorant students recoil at the sudden movement from their stoic classmate. Papers flying, usual backpack left behind. 

It’s as if a storm, the steps leading him the row or two further up the lecture hall groan and protest at Gojo’s stomping. Closer to where you were - with your face in your hands, and your expression harrowed as if you’d just seen a ghost. 

“You.” He’s starting, rumbling voice low. 

You wince at the sound, as if only just noticing the man towering up to you. Settling your widened eyes off of your…curiously blank sheets of extra paper, only to stare up at Gojo and grimace again. “You.”

And any and all irritation regarding the little predicament you’d put him in vanishes as he realizes. 

You failed that test, too.

SLAM!

Two roughened hands of his strike down on your table to lean in so close, the rows surrounding you two hushing so quiet that you could hear every single one of Gojo’s ragged breaths. Close. 

So, so close. 

You’re counting every single white lash of his, every spike of pale blue in his sapphire irises, every glint in his snarl. So close that your nose tingles with the perfume of that familiar sultry vanilla. 

He watches, expressionless, as your thighs squeeze together beneath you. Shit. 

“Y-you.” Gojo’s voice was rough, as hoarse as if he was trying to keep something deep and dark out of it. “Tonight. My dorm.” Risking a glance around the nosy rest of the hall, his face burns at the unsuccessful way they were pretending not to be listening. “For…studying.”

A wolf whistle rings through the tense air— “Get a room!”

“They’re about to~”

“I knew this would happen.”

“Please keep talking to a minimum, some students are taking extra time on the test.” Yaga’s bored drone shatters the mirth - only to heighten it by twofold just as soon as Gojo feels the slightest hint of relief. “Please keep flirting to a minimum, too.”

And then he turns back to you and you wink.

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

.

.

.

“Oh-ohhh mm, Gojo–” Your head throws back against the carpet of Gojo’s stifling bedroom, your lips gluing together with strands of spit as soon as he kisses your inner thigh and salivates. Mouth churning with wads of spit ready to devour you-

“Satoru.”

“Wh-what?” It takes you every ounce of strength in your sprawled-out body to question in response. 

Head lurching just the slightest few degrees to gaze upon the way he was stuffed nose-deep between your legs - glasses, cocky grin and all. 

Gojo takes the lecherous time to perk his flared nostrils over and sniiiiff–! the aroma of your wetness, his overeager maw spilling a thin trail of spittle at the saccharine-sweet scent of your dripping pussy. “Call me- hah! Satoru.”

Shit- how did you even get here?

Skirt and blouse off, needy.

It’s as if one second you’re explaining (quite ashamedly, mind you) how your plan had backfired and you’d bombed that test, sputtering as Gojo rolls his eyes knowingly. And the next…

Spank! You don’t have to look down to already feel the twisted curl of Gojo’s smirk against your thighs, one of his hands soothing across where he’d oh-so-rudely spanked the right of your ass cheek. 

“Zoning out already? Your Bartholin gland is working overtime to lubricate.” He hums, the frigid metal frames leaving your hips squirming. Tilting his head, “You’re wet.”

“Y-you wish-” You’re huffing and puffing despite the way you’re smearing your legs even more widely agape with primal need. Just begging him for something, anything, with each squelching wave of slick pouring from between your pussylips. 

Gojo leaves one kiss near your cute belly button, another on the hemline of your clingy panties. 

Mwah, mwah– soft, puckered lips trace allll over except where you were aching for him the most. He’s snickering at through a hot gasp once the sharp edges of his teeth snag on the forefront of your underwear and let it snap! back.

“Think you’re soooo fuckin’ smart, huh?”  Gojo spits, furiously. “Always so intelligent- so smug.” Dragging the crescent nubs of his fingernails down the sides of your body– 

Tearing down your panties, flopping through the crevice of your folds to give you just a singular push of his miry tongue. Just a singular kiss, a singular snog of his flattened muscle slapping down on your entrance. “Let’s see how s-smart you really are, then, miss valedictorian.”

And despite the way he’s running his mouth, his tongue sings a different tune. Just like jelly- shyly wobbling on the puffy outside of your pussylips and lapping up gulp after gulp of your sap. 

He was parched- and couldn’t help but tickle your cunt like a man thirsting for years. Thirsting for years, and yet, he couldn’t help the way he’s slouching back slightly on his knees with a burning blush–

“Y-you’re only saying that because-” He jolts at the sudden rut of your hips, sending a slobbering stroooke straightly down your slit. “-because you can’t handle anything else.”

Gojo quirks a cloudy brow, “Anything…oh.”

And though it pained a carnal part of you to - though your pussy was quivering in protest - you find your arm reaching out to grab the prim collar of Gojo’s white sweater and traaawl him all the way up. “Wan’ you in my hah- mouth, Satoru.”

“Ngh–” He’s nibbling his plush bottom lip to bite back a fucking whine– and the moment that slight smirk starts twitching your lips, Gojo scoops your legs up in a surprisingly strong hold. 

Big, beefy arms lifting you in midair and throwing you down on the bed. You yelp as you bounce- he’s careless, desperate, the only thing he needs right now is to have you on his bed. On his mouth-

“Th-think I can’t handle a b-blow- fellatio, huh?” 

He’s grumbling as he lays himself flatly on the cushy mattress, letting those navy sheets be rumpled once he’s sitting back sexily. And you’re almost wishing you could turn yourself around and ogle that handsome vision settling right between your legs. 

“Oh- oh.” Gojo mouths gapes as he really - really takes in the sight of you. All sopping wet and needy for him. Shuddering steadily in and out to regain his breath in some way, “Oh my god- fuck, what a prettyyy pussy.”

“H-hnghh, fuck–” Your mouth drops once large palms spread-spread-spreeead your cheeks apart and let your dewdropped slick drip! down into his throat. 

Shivering, every time his claggy breath stroked your pried-open entrance. Leaving a wide, hot open-mouthed kiss right where Gojo could spy your glistening hole winking. 

You were just a three-course meal sitting above him. And he was ready to crane his neck and diiive–

ZIIIIIIP–!

“Shit- princess, what are you- fuck!”

Your grin grows when you stagger off Gojo’s plaid pants and let his reddened, swollen cock hit your chin with a plap! “Whaaat–?” 

He was standing tall, proud. 

Soooo many swollen, throbbing inches standing up rock-hard n’ straight just from the mere idea of having your saccharine pussy on his mouth.

Thighs trembling where you were straddling his head, fuck, if Gojo was in any better state of mind he’d have registered the way your syrupy pussy grows wetter. “Scared?”

He blushes- he keens, mindlessly bucking his hips to chase the heat of your mouth. “N-no. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to sexual stimulation-”

“You talk too much.”

“Then…”

You’re whimpering, your spine bowing into the perfect curvature once Gojo claws a firm handful of your ass and pulls you to him to kiss your pretty pussy. “Get up here.” Letting the thickened air ring with the smack of his glossy lips gluing to your outer folds, “Get up- get up here so that I can fucking show you, miss valedictorian.”

And he might have absolutely zero experience - but that didn’t mean that Gojo wasn’t hungry. 

He’s not waiting around for you to tease him to death with your sweet, puckered lips. No- he’s tugging you down his lengthy body and latching ‘round the nub of your clit first. 

“She- she’s the clit, huh?”

“Sh-shit…oh my ngh- Satoru!”

Tittering, “Course she is- located at the top of the vulva and responsible f-for connecting the network of erectile tissue. And she has you alll stupid.”

Your treacly cunt was giving him the cutest lil’ welcome by pouring a wave of sticky slick right down his chin, he’s sliding the wetness against the innards of your squeezing thighs and pushing himself nose-deep.

Glasses cluttering, vein-decorated forearms flexing. “How’s that–?” Endlessly listing off the three-hundred different ways to toy with your sensitive clit, he’s swervin’ the glazed point of his tongue in cute hearts. Groaning into your pussy, “Mmmm– your turn- o-oh fuck!”

And you weren’t just teasing him, you were simply waiting for the perfect moment to plop your saturated mouth in a clammy smooch over Gojo’s round, smooth cockhead.

Lapping the narrowed margin of your tongue to rim that split-end on his tip, your tastebuds scorch with the warm cream of his pre. Buttering up your flat muscles as you jerk your head and draaaag a long, languid lick. “What’s that?”

Letting out the cutest pitched ‘fuck!’, Gojo bucks his hips to plunge between your hot maw with a wet fwop! 

Hissing, “I was mistaken, your mouth is heaven.” 

Gulping him deeper-

“Haaaah- wait.” It’s like he’s easing and then back- too much for his sensitive, inexperienced cock. “Stimulating my c-cock with a tongue so good. Now that’s- that’s just fucking- unfair-” 

Spanking your cunt with a splatter of wadded saliva before teething his canines along your clit and pinching. Groaning right into that mess, “Unfair- th-that’s unfair- fuck! Shit, how do you make everything feel so good- You always do hafta ch-cheat, huh?”

He has to battle with himself not to cum right then and there. 

But he wasn’t going down without a fight.

You’re just starting to lavish your silky tongue over the sensitive veins snaking along his meaty base, chin tickling with curly white hairs- when Gojo wraps an arm around your waist and pulls—

“Wh-who’s cheating now?”

“And who do ya think you are?” Gojo pleads- he strains. Your body being slightly bumped up n’ down like a rollercoaster after each heave of his broad pectorals. 

And just playing with your clit wasn’t enough, he needed to use his inhuman strength to make you rest your entire weight. “Just- sit–” Throat hatching with lilting groans once your mouth is sliiiding sensually down his pink shaft. Gojo’s speaking between French kisses to your cunt, grunting like it hurt him to break off. 

And even though he’s practically still closed, you swear you could count every one of his eight, ladder-like abs.

“But I could ngh- suffocate-”

Rutting- deep back into your mouth till his bawling mushroom tip swabs the very back of your throat. “So? Then it’ll be my ngh- first and last time. Respiration is overrated, just- fucking- sit.”

Yelping, it’s all you can do to claw your nails down each of Gojo’s thick, milky thighs once he grabs onto your body and slams you down on his readily awaiting mouth. 

“Fuck- fuck!” Eyes widened, tone crazed. He doesn’t know where to look when he’s slobbering his heated mouth in dragging licks up and down between your puffed-up folds, occasionally peeking inside your fluttering hole and giving your ring of muscle a sloooow stretched-out circle. 

Gojo slaps the velvety underside of his tongue down on your sensitive entrance and watches as your syrupy slick pooours. “Don’t know how long I-I’ve dreamt of this, princess-”

“Y-you have?”

Though, it comes out gurgled and half-moaned around the fattened circumference of Gojo’s pulsating, long cock. He was just so big that you’d barely even slid his heavy shaft down halfway until he’s probing your throat thoroughly. 

Fattened balls tightened once he speaks, “You- have- nooooo fucking idea-” Punctuated with heavy, slashing strokes of his tongue. 

You’re damn near sobbing at the sheer surprisingly strength of his - the pleasure. Gojo was technical in his approach, a snagging lil’ circle to make your hole stretch cutely- before gifting himself a looong lick from the base of your pussy right up to your clit. 

“Every time before a test- e-every time after. Ngh- every time someone would l-look at you in those pretty skirts and- fuuuuck! wanted to fuck that damn mouth shut every time you’d insult me. Every time- made you wanna scream.”

Swiping his simmering tastebuds down with circles. Hearts. Something that felt like an S–

“Tha’s right- goood girl, you got that one right.” He’s piping up from between your dampened inner thighs. Fucking you with his tongue just the way his weighty cock was bawling and begging to fuck you.

And it takes you one more sweltering kiss, two more until you’re lifting your mouth back off of Gojo’s fat cock in realization- did you just say that out loud? 

“Mhmm—” Gojo answers, voice breaking with a slight whine at the loss of heat. Promptly, you’re pushing your hips back to ride his mouth shut and gawking at the way it makes his shaft twitch wildly. Like a madman, he’s rutting up to capture your sweet, sweet lips once more- 

“Th-think I like it better when you- ngh-” You somehow manage to get out through sappy wet bobs of your mouth, every squelch! drawn out by the suction of your hollowed lips deafening in his cozy bedroom. You start to feverishly pump the solid inches of his you couldn’t fit inside, holding onto one side of his muscular glutes for balance. “-when you shut up.”

“N’ you’re better when you have- my-” It was even worse with every buzzzzing vibration of his voice tingling your clit. The bed rickets in unison with your whines as he drills up into your slickened mouth maddeningly, plummy tip scouring your inner cheeks. “-biiig fucking cock in y-your mouth.”

And then Gojo wasn’t just making out with your cunt till he’s pussydrunk- he’s slithering one of his slender, pale fingers until it’s all glazed with a satiny layer of sap and caressing your entrance. 

Tenderly, he slips just the thick first pad of it past the tight muscle before you’re clenching- being dragged even further up his face. 

“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon please-” Pushing and pushing, he couldn’t handle the singlest bit of resistance unless he wanted to tear up. 

The size of his digit is just so looong and nimble enough that Gojo finds himself in awe at the way your snug hole opens up to swallow him eagerly. Crying out bulbous tears of sap, you’re just arching your back and taking every one thrust. Two. Three. Four–

Swatting your clit with the pointed fringe of his chin, he’s flopping his tongue over in a textured pattern on top of your perky clit. One that makes you gasp— “A? A?”

“Mhmm—” Teething your swollen folds at the grooving tickle of his prominent middle veins on the roof of your mouth, the way you’re announcing everything he spells is just so hot that Gojo bucks until you choke. “Next-”

Struggling, flowing so much damper at the muscles of his front. God- he was sooo fucking fit. Using every ounce to push– “Mmpf- ngh-” Mouth so full that your cheeks bulge, “J?”

“What’s that? Wha’s that?” Gojo almost throws his head back into the bedsprings and chuckles. “Miss vale-hah! valedictorian can’t even spell-” Toying the mushy tip of his tongue over your clit again, “What’s that?”

“T- please. Not gonna last-”

“Mmmm–” He’s so close now that you could feel the cold press of his glasses, all drenched at this point. Even more so when Gojo adds in a third finger and lets it just graze the splotchy area of your g-spot.

“Sa-toru, your glasses-”

He didn’t even care. He didn’t even need them at this point. 

“Use the momentum of your hips. Move. Ride.” 

In three different ways. Riding him exactly how he wanted you to in languid, slobbering drags and he’s never been more in heaven. The nubs of your hardened nipples rubbin’ all sensitive through your bra where Gojo manhandles you to glissade down his tensed core. 

His throbbing shaft twitching and striking the roof of your mouth, he’s getting fervent. Burning hot. “Aww- pretty princess is all dumb. What’s- that?”

His tongue’s so dexterous that even your hazed mind can make out each syllable, each letter. Faster. Harder. “O- ngh! S’an O-” Trembling palms cupping his balls, “R- M’so fucking close.”

And you could already guess the next looping drag of his tongue. The precise syllable on your tongue once you’re throwing your head back and shattering– “U- You- fuck! Satoru–!” You didn’t even have to try to open your mouth and let the wadded ribbon of saliva dangle off from it. 

Striking Gojo’s veiny shaft and making him buck-

“That’s it- nghhh- c’mon, princess, scream my name.”

“Saaa–toru. C-cummin- ngh.” You don’t even have the privilege of finishing your damn sentence before he’s plopping in four of his prolonged fingers and making your wave of euphoria burst. 

So hard that your vision dots with pure white. You’re leaking from both your maw and your fluttering eyelids now, “P-please.” Mouth flooded with so many whimpers and torrents of slobber. You’re so far thrust into your blissful high that you don’t even realize you’ve stuck the first few inches of Gojo’s spit-glazed cock inside your watered mouth. 

“Yeah- yeahhh what do ya want?”

“C-cum.”

“Hmm–?”

Shoveling right inside like your favorite pinkish ice cream once you’re peeking over your shoulder and mumbling– “C-cum, Toru–”

And there it was - that did it.

You, saying his first name. Like that.

The only thing more it takes before creeps his sweaty palm over the crown of your skull and pushes- straight down. Straight full of his lengthy, rummaging fat cock, until your nose nuzzles the slight fuzz of silky white at the base. 

Eyes sprinting to the back of your head, your throat gets all clogged-up with his throbbing inches before he fills it up even further.

Oh, oh- you never thought you could ever be so damn full. 

It’s as if he’s torn apart your throat and was probin’ the curve of his bulging mushroom tip right into the base of your lungs. Flooding it up with sploshing wires of stringy cum, pumping and pumping each ribbon until it’d formulated a buttery frosting everywhere he could reach.

“O-ohhh fuck- nghhhh fuck-” Bottomed-out, yet pushing down even further. “Y-you…”

With a splattering bubble of drool that trickles from the rosy corner of his lips- Gojo couldn’t even clearly see from his tear-shattered vision, and yet, he was staring dead-on at your relaxed throat. 

Mindlessly, the sensory tip of his index traces that bulging cylindrical outline being fucked against the underside of your neck. Dooown all nine inches. Gojo jostles your weakened knees apart and lets his overspilling cock dab the corners and crevices of your hot mouth.

The bloated, flaring ridge of his slit moving it all over. Breathlessly giggling, “You really- really t-took it ngh- all…you- oh.” Heavy, pink balls tightening as if he could cum again- “How’s that, little miss valedictorian?”

You swallowed.

“S’that…all you got?”

And he couldn’t get enough.

It was just too adorable how your snarky mouth was hoarse n’ all spellbound by the time Gojo slides his veined cock a few more vulgar times down your tongue and pulls out with a plop!

“Ngh- T-Toru-”

“Shiiit- don’t call me that- fuuuck don’t call me- oh.” He couldn’t even speak. The polished frames of his glasses nearly dangling off, Gojo manhandles your boneless body around to sit prettily on his manspread lap. 

To admire you properly.

And all it takes is that singular glimpse of you. 

That clouded vision of you above him - your eyes glassy with a film of lust, mouth sopping wet with milky wads of seed that drip! drip! drip! down between his toned pecs. 

Your fucked-out hips glissading back down the uprightly laid length of his girth - over every vein, every ridge - with a whine-

And the man damn near loses it.

He’s whining, bucking- his feet planting up to gyrate his hot cock against your skin like he was aching for more. “Need it.” You’re almost startled as two of Gojo’s palms latch onto your hips and make you push, “Please- I mean- fuck.” Shit, he couldn’t stop himself from babbling pussdrunkenly. 

That carnal urge pulsing from his bulging tip to push deeply inside you.

You’re feeling Gojo swell up even fatter - even harder - behind the cheeks of your ass and find yourself pushing back with a greedy pap! of skin-on-skin. “Don’t tell me…”

“Shut up.” Kissing you, he tastes salted caramel and nearly cums again.

Lecherous grin growing even wider, you break off. “Awww—” Your previous dazed state slowly fading with the last few tingles of your orgasm, “Wittle Toru’s first time?”

“Shut up.”

He’s straining his neck and snapping his jaw with a click! Honed canines threatening the fragile skin of your nipples, you’re pushing back on his feverish flesh. 

Gojo looked so pretty like this that you just couldn’t help it - all stinging, red cheeks, and your pussy slicking a gooey lustre that plasters from his dripping chin all the way to damn near the tips of his ears. 

Puddling. 

“No need to worry.” You shove on his blushing collarbones with a whimper, his cock was so hard that it hurt. “I’ll be ngh- gentle, Satoru, so oh- fuck!”

But Gojo Satoru didn’t wait this long to be fucking gentle. 

No- just like the way he’s longed to whenever you always got so close, so fiery shutting him up during arguments - Gojo thrusts the big, bulging tip of his cock between your swollen folds and pushes. 

His first. 

Finding his muscular thighs trembling, mouth parting, pupils rolling until all you could see was the pure white of his eyes. Something dark and primal breaks at the back of his ravaged throat, “O-oh.” And he’s gasping with the effort to compose himself- to say something snarky. 

But all Gojo can do is hold onto the girthy base of his shaft and let it drip with a glaze of syrupy pre. Mouth opening n’ closing, breath catching. 

“Wait- you’re so-” Bucking his hips just the slightest inch off the dampened sheets and letting it slide pointedly along your walls. “-y-you’re so soft- and warm. And ngh- nghhh fuck! Th-this is what the adventitia- what your pretty pussy feels like?”

Watery eyes widening once you nod, “Th-then m’neeever pulling out. Your lamina propria’s gonna mold to my cock, miss valedictorian.” 

Cooing, he hastily tugs off his cottony sweater, fumbling once the syrupy pool of slick you’d leaked all over his neckline makes it stick to his skin like an adhesive. And oh- fuck.

You’d felt every line and shapely curve of Gojo’s chiseled abs down your front. Hell, you could still feel the way your tummy was aching with the stinging ridges of him pressed up against you- and yet, it still doesn’t prepare you for just how sexily toned your smug rival was. 

All naturally muscular edges of his broad shoulders, and his ivory happy trail was wobbling with the bumps of his abs. All flexing. All tense. 

All heated against your naked thighs as he grips your ass cheeks and pushes you down, down, down–

“Ngh…oh– Toru!”

“S-soooo sweet.” Voice hitching, he’s squinting his eyes cutely in pleasure at that silken, soft hug of your walls. You’re shaping around his thickly barreling length so tight that he’s roughly handling you to lift up and down- up and down. Deeper. “So ngh- so much better than that…PocketPussy3000 I named after ya, princess.”

And you would be snarking back- teasing him, had it not been for the way that Gojo was so fucking big that he made your mind stupidly dizzy. 

“B-big?” Gojo croaks out from underneath you- oh, shit, you’d said that out loud. Again. “Am I…” Drifting his glassy eyes downwards to watch where your puffy pussylips were bulging whilst struggling to take him. “-really that big?”

Biting down on the insides of your cheek as you lie, “N-no.”

Experimentally, Gojo gives another feral rut. Watching as your pretty eyes nearly bulge out of your head, your maw falling ajar into a perfect ‘o’. 

He’s fucking up into you with his massive cock and barely even trying to dig the smooth, left-leaning curve of his achy girth into your every nook and cranny. Veins bloated up so wide that they carve a zig-zagged pattern against your tight channel after every ba-dump–!

Gojo really was that big. 

“H-heh.” Octaves higher, wild. He’s chuckling as if he still couldn’t even believe it when Gojo’s right hand creeps up the side of your hips to press down on your tummy. 

“Mmm– hck! If you’re gonna press there, Satoru-”

“Why? S’a biiig stretch for the poor stratified squamous epithelium isn’t it?” Feeling himself with the edges of his ravenous, long digits as he sliiiides in- rocking n’ rocking upwards against your snug resistance. Speaking over the creaky bedcoils, “Say it- tell me.”

Arms rested upon his flexing deltoids, you throw your head back after each solid inch he was blowing your cunt up with. Until it felt like your walls were being snagged on to the maximum, “B-big-”

“Nuh uh, princess- biiiig stretch. Say it w’me now-”

“Big- ngh!” You’re fighting against Gojo’s sloppy cadence from behind you to roll your hips back onto his trembling thighs. Deeper. Deeper. “Biiig stretch–”

“That’s right—” Oh, you’ve never been more irresistible to him. And Gojo’s palm massages the bumpin’ bulge being pounded against your tummy, until you can feel every crease of his palm lines. It makes his filthy mouth salivate to feel the stretch inside as you keep swallowing his cock deeper. “Again now- nghhh- biiig stretch.”

“Biiiig stretch- oh, fuck!”

Just about the only thing you can do is spit out a string of swears when Gojo bottoms out and hits the base of your pussy with a sharp spank! 

Tendrils of white rubbin’ your outer pussy raw, the circumference of his length bullying inside to stretch your hole into such a cute oh! The exact same shape that your mouth was turning into right now, “Please- fuck mmm–”

Squelches! ring out after every springy bounce you plant on Gojo’s length, your calves burning with the sheer effort it takes to smooch your puckered ring over his tip and slide, slide, slide all the way down to his hilt. 

Breathing out in a pant, “Oh, you’ve taken all of me- all of me? Seriously- fuck!” Gojo lets his inexperienced hips drive all the way upwards in carnal, uncontrolled ruts. “Tha’s just right- fuh-fuck back t’me like that mmm-”

“Getting hck! really cocky–” You’re biting, your overworked pussy quivering as you clench. “-Toru.”

And oh, that makes him shatter. 

Hips mindless, head flopping backwards, mouth opening with the prettiest, more pornographic whine. You’d just made the Gojo Satoru whine with your pussy.

His drunken gaze only half-opening to stare at you through dilated eyes, glasses completely fogged-up and useless now that you’re roughly riding him. Smart mouth babbling, “D-don’t think you’re- winning–”

It was a competition even now. 

Like a race to who could get the other to break first, he’s matching your papping cadence and even more. And through the tears clung to your lashes, you’re spying the way that Gojo’s v-line was swollen n’ red with slamming contact. 

Your hand glissading down his sweat-glistening skin to trace his sensitive abs, “Oh yeah? And you think- hck-” Another sluuurping clench, another topple of his head. His sanity. “-y-you’re winning?”

“Still haven’t found the mmm– Gräfenberg spot yet, princess.” He’s smirking, one hand rested upon your right ass cheek to keep on stirrin’ his rummaging length in swivels inside of you. The other thumbing over your neglected clit in the meantime, muttering. “Anterior wall under the urethra…roughly hnghhh– this many inches deep and part of the sensitive clitoral network…”

His split-ending, bawling cocktip probes your glossy walls like a spotlight. Your g-spot being the bullseye that he’s targeting dead on. Grinning. 

“-here.”

Precisely, you feel the heat of his prominent spherical cockhead drive up n’ down the entire length of that sensitive bundle of nerves. Digging the curve of his shaft generously into where you saw stars-

“Who’s winning hck! what now?”

Sloppily kissing him, just to quieten the man down. “Oh- sh-shut up.”

“Hm…” Gojo’s accurate whack! of his girth against your g-spot lets off the loudest, most lecherous squeeeelch. And he’s proddin’ his sensitive slit against your cervix just to feel it, “Can you shut up when I fuck you like- this-”

You can’t. 

Mewling, your knees hit halt and wedge the swollen n’ aching nub of your clit against his supple palm. Letting his skin streak a good rub over where your core was painfully needy, “Y-you grew bigger.”

“Hmmm–?”

You’re riding him craaaazy with your hips, pussy walls clinging onto his slick cock so tightly that you’re rendered weak with every vein. Every throb. Every growth of his shaft pounding even fatter until you could barely even clench-

Bigger. Harder. Tongue slathering with a glaze of syrupy spit, “B-big– got ngh! bigger.”

“What’s that? What’s thaaaat?” His pummeling dick scouring down your walls, erupting in a proud splosh of rich precum at that cute lil’ compliment. “Bigger? Heh- my princess ngh likes, big- don’tcha?”

At this point you’re driven wild, your dewy pupils circlin’ around the insides of your eye comically. Mouth hanging open with stupid little ‘oh’s’ and ‘yesses.’

Gojo narrows his eyes once you start blubbering, bashing his tip extra hard into your g-spot so that he could have you fully dumb on his cock. “Mmm– c’mon, miss valedictorian.” Lips twitching, “Use your big girl words.”

“Hngh- hard-”

“Yeahhh– m’pretty fucking- hard- huh?”

“Harder.”

Oh- it’s a wonder he didn’t cum right then- shit, Gojo thinks he almost is. 

A thin, ropey string of hot seed that hits your womb the moment he’s flattening his feet on the cushion of the bed to thrash a mean thwack! onto your spongy cervix. 

Digging his geysering divot so deep against the bottom of your glutinous cunt that he grits his teeth and plugs his weepy crown shut. 

Trying not to cum- praying not to cum, “Harder? Harder?” Repeated in such a high, unsteady pitch. His dazed eyes peeking over his glasses and widening, “My girl wants it harder?”

Nodding, “Please, Toru– m’soooo close.”

“Then- greedy fucking- girl- better- take it.” And he wasn’t just pummeling your poor pussy, he was pummeling it like a madman. You could practically see the rippling of his muscular body, sheer power that was being channeled into each thrust. 

Each strike. Each damp smooch with your g-spot. 

You didn’t even realize you were clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to crawl away until his left hand pushes down on your sweat-matted scalp. 

Holding your face still, Gojo watches every cute minute reaction of yours as he goes hard. Then slow. Then sloppy. Alternating his pace until you’re sure you’ve memorized the patterns of his hammering veins on each side. “N’ that means nghh- nooo running away.”

“No runnin’-” Babbling through tears, every strike makes your brain spin. “Not gonna last- nghh fuck…not gonna last, Toru.”

“Swallowing my cock so much- S’this what you wanted after every hah- argument? Every time you yelled? Filthy giiirl, shoulda just asked.”

And Gojo was murmuring such filth into your ear that you can’t help but shrill– “Let me cum- ngh- let me cum-”

“Tch- demanding.”

“Please-”

“Better…how about ‘pretty pl–’ oh fuck.” 

Before he can revel in his victory, before he can tease you any further - you’re reaching one of your jittery hands behind your back and palming at Gojo’s tight, aching ballsack. Tracing your sultry touch just where he was red n’ raw with the slamming impact of your ass.

Hips speeding up, creaking getting louder. 

“Oh hah- haaaa–” Gojo tosses his head back and bucks- bucks and bucks and bucks as if he was trying to milk your orgasm sooner. Rovering thumb pressing down on your clit like his favorite button, “Cheater, cheater~”

You didn’t know who was off worse - you who was drooling out a sappy puddle after every repeated three slams of his cock each passing second. Letting your droopy body be manhandled into bouncing in a S-A-T-O-R-U that you’re not even sure Gojo realizes he’s making you spell out. 

Didn’t even register. Didn’t even know. 

Or Gojo who was trembling with every squeeze of your gushing walls, frantically letting his glasses slide off even further so that he wasn’t hypnotized and on the verge of losing just by watching you ride him dry.

You’re too hot to handle. 

A perk that you’re immediately abusing as you push his glasses cleanly back onto his nosebridge n’ smudge away the misted fog. 

“Ngh f-fuck–” Chin hitting your sweaty chest once he’s manoeuvering you into a wiiiide O to muddle together the letters of his name. Claiming your pretty pussy. Claiming him. “-fuck you, Satoru.”

Gojo leans in closer with puckered lips, close enough to kiss. “I’m fucking you, princess.” To shut you up while sucking on your tongue while it hits. 

And Gojo’s so caught up in every movement of your body that he doesn’t even realize he’s finishing off in such a wet, voluminous way until it’s dripping out of you. Mouth parting, “O-oh…”

Your own orgasm takes over your body like a wave, being suddenly hit with strikes of white-hot pleasure that send goosebumps trailing down your spine. Every push of Gojo’s slick shaft feels so good that it makes your vision flash white, whimpering each time his slimy mushroom tip was kissin’ your sweetest spots. 

“Cumming–” You’re calling out belatedly, hips creaming yourself on his. “I’m– oh.”

“H-heh.” And Gojo was actually giggling- giggling. Faintly noting the hot-headed mess that was his brain right now, he could only flutter his long lashes at each spike of pleasure and stare. 

Ogling the way your puffy pussylips were gulping after every streak of his cum, the creamy white mess pouring out into you until your womb felt heavy. 

Over and over he’s thrusting inside, making- almost forcing his cock to pour out every drop. Every ounce until it was dry.

Showered, sloppy wads of seed plastered across your hole, you could feel the pearly mess dangling out of you each time your cunt hit his pelvis. Formulating a ring of syrupy cum that made Gojo just swallow past his parched throat, “I win.”

“No.” You’re huffing. Stubborn, even as you’re sagging down until your face was cushioned by his pecs, perking your hips to milk out his last few dredges until Gojo was cumming dry. “I win-”

Dry- you’d made him cum dry.

Humping upwards so that oodles of sap would slip down your cervix and make you shudder. Both your popped ears buzzing with the splat! of cobwebbed cum that glues down your thighs. “Nuh uh, princess. I totally won that.”

“Hngh- yuh uh.”

“Nuh-”

And maybe you were the least drunken of the two, because you’re the only one with enough murky sense right now to put an end to the endless argument. 

Shutting Gojo Satoru up for once in his life by reaching your hand over to dig underneath his navy pillow - searching for that glint of something you’re sure you’d caught in your lustful haze moments prior. 

He can only lay beneath you and blush and blush once you pull out…that.

The PocketPussy3000 he’d named after you– the very same one he’d fuck up into night after long, lonely night thinking about his damn “rival.” 

Fuck…he should’ve known the valedictorian wouldn’t forget. 

“Named after me, huh? Cute.”

Indignantly pushing up his frames, “Wh-what is the meaning of this-”

“Let’s consider it a tie.” You croon, in that exact tone he knew was dangerous. And his brainy suspicions are proven correct when, the very next moment, you’re pulling yourself off of him with a dampened pop! 

Letting a stream of ivory creamy swoosh down below to sheen his pale thighs - Gojo has never looked prettier, you think.

“Oh- oh my god…ngh- oh my god, princess.”

The apples of his cheeks scorching, mouth gaping, tired n’ thoroughly overstimulated pink cock flinching when you hover that rubbery toy over. Letting off a sopping slurp as you start to bully his reddened tip between the folds and jerk him off– “Round two?”

.

.

.

“It can’t be-”

“So that last time seriously wasn’t about studying?”

“You owe me five thousand yen.”

And you swear you’re catching about half the class and Yaga himself exchanges betting pools of money the very moment you and Gojo enter the lecture hall. Together. Hand-in-hand.

Fuck- was your rivalry really that infamous? 

Because Gojo’s fingers weave even tighter with yours as you pass by countless stares, numerous cellphones out to take paparazzi shots of the markings on your neck that you’re sure will end up on some sort of campus bulletin board by the end of the hour. 

Ah, maybe you should’ve done one of those ‘soft-launches’ first…

Too late for that, you think, seated at your usual spot on one of the first few rows and wearily watches as Yaga happily counts the spoils of his bet. 

Sneaking a glance at your gloomy boyfriend, you try not to snicker- not only did he receive a stupendous second placement on the last exam, tied with you, it’s as if every single person here blatantly couldn’t tear their eyes off of his hunched, blushing figure. 

Nervously pushing his glasses up to his bangs– “Maybe we should ah…‘cut class’ as they call it, princess-”

“So-” There’s a slamming weight of a strong forearm on your shoulder, ringed fingers possessive - and another one on Gojo’s - that could only mean one person. “Unless my milkshake was spiked again, I take it that the scheme- I mean, study session went well? Even though I did get first place on our last final.” 

Before you can answer, Geto’s husky voice heats up your ear, low. Dangerous. “Y’know, I hear this next assignment’s a…group project.”

A/N. Hehehe I MISSED Nerdjo so I just had to…

One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.

But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.

Also about time.

Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.

The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.

In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.

He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-

It was then that the doorbell had rang.

Ba-dump! 

He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—

And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.

“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.

Blinking at the vision of you.

And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.

Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”

“That’s alri-”

But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”

“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.

By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.

Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.

It was hard to not ogle him.

Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”

You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”

“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.

“I mean- please do…”

He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”

A college student!

Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.

He knew you looked young but-

A college student?!

“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.

But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”

Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.

Now.

Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-

“Papa?”

The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.

He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.

Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You followed.

Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?

His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain. 

It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.

He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside. 

But none of that was as important as his son right now.

However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.

The two of them in their lonesome.

His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless. 

But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too? 

Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.

Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.

Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”

“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”

He gasped, “That’s me!”

Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom. 

And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).

He sighed.

A college student!

Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.

Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.

Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.

Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night. 

He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.

Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day. 

Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.

He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.

Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.

Times like this, he allows himself to dream.

You’d make the best wife.

You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.

But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.

“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”

You pause.

“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”

“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”

He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”

It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen. 

He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.

“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.

“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”

“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”

Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”

“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”

Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”

“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”

“Oh.”

“Together together.”

“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”

You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”

He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.

“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!

Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”

Just an inch closer. “I see.”

And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”

He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”

Your lips part-

The clock strikes eleven.

Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”

“Yes, I understand-”

“The brownies were amazing-”

“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.

“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

“And thank you for the brownies!”

The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.

It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed. 

A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.

As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.

“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”

“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”

“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”

His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”

“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”

Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”

Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”

“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…

“Yes, but…”

“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”

.

.

.

The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.

“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.

He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.

“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”

“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.” 

Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.

Today wasn’t even a school day.

It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures. 

The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.

How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—

Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?

The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?

But the boy catches the movement and pouts-

“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”

They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t. 

In fact, it was rather pretty. 

The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?

“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”

“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”

And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”

“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.

Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”

“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”

“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”

“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”

One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”

“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”

The light turns green.

And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.

From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.

Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”

“Not playing games!”

And he didn’t think much of it.

Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.

Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]

Lasted three minutes.

How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school. 

A mistake?

How strange, indeed…

But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.

Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.

Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.

By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.

It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.

At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.

His house always seemed smaller then.

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.

All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?

He wonders which category you’d fall into.

That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.

It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.

As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments. 

Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.

Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.

Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.

.

.

.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”

Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.

He opens them.

Nope- still real.

“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”

Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day. 

Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!

“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”

He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”

“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”

“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.

“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”

“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.

The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.

“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”

“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”

“Sprucing up…”

She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘

“Papa!”

Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.

Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”

“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”

“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”

Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”

“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”

“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘

“Yuji…”

“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”

“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”

“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”

“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave. 

Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.

“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”

“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”

“Don’t mess this up!”

He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-

“Nanami-san?”

Your voice.

Was he dreaming?

And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.

So this is what Shoko meant about-

“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.

“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?

His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.

The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.

Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.

Certainly no conceivable world…

And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.

“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses. 

“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”

Red, red roses.

.

.

.

Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.

Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…

As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses. 

And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.

The implications were there for all to see.

It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”

“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”

From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.

But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.

He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat. 

He insisted on plating for you.

You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…

Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.

Wondering what every single word meant.

But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips. 

“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.

He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”

The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”

“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”

“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”

“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”

“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”

He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”

You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”

“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.

“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”

“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.

“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.

“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”

“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.

“No…” You breathe.

He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”

The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”

“No-”

Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—

And even that isn’t enough.

Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Almost as if he was fucking you with it-

You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this. 

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.

“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.

You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead. 

He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”

You squirm. Shaking your head-

But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”

Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”

“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.” 

He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.

Lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”

You nod-

“First lesson. Big girls use their words.” 

And your jaw drops—

“K-Kento—”

You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!

Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now. 

Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.

Count it.

One-two-three. 

Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.

“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds. 

“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Are you excited, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Good girl.”

Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else. 

He’d been starving for far too long.

And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters. 

Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.

He gulps.

He takes a single sniff. 

With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.

His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.

He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”

You tremble at the tone.

Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.

This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.

So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.

Such strong hands. Furious tongue.

No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing. 

Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more. 

Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—

And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-

He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!

“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”

“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 

Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”

Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?

He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”

And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs. 

Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.

Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-

“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”

“Kento, you don’t have to-”

“Consider it my second lesson.”

You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”

And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”

“I see.” You gape.

And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—

Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.

“Words.” Nanami reminds. 

Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”

He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”

“Too- too long.”

Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?” 

“Too long-”

At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”

You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”

“Can you settle down like a good girl?”

Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!

Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.

It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue. 

Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting. 

The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing

“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy. 

“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.

“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—

Ruined. 

“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.” 

Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.

Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.

No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.

“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”

Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”

“Yes-”

“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”

The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.

Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”

“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-

He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in. 

At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”

You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”

And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?

Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.

“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”

Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.” 

Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”

“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.

Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.

“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”

You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—

And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.

So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?

It was sheer madness.

It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.

Pressing in. Fucking in.

In and in, and in—

“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”

“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out. 

Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.” 

“But Kento-”

Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.

“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”

“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”

He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—

Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.

“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive. 

Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.

It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.

Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves- 

You buck.

You get hit with a sudden spank.

“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants. 

You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”

Another spank.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Kento.”

“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”

You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…

“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”

Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”

Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last. 

Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—

Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-

Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.

Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.

His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.

He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.

Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-

The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”

Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”

“Wh-what?”

It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”

And he was just loving it.

“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”

He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”

“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”

You can only nod.

“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”

And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.

There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.

Struggling up onto your elbows once more-

“Stay down—”

“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—

There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.

Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine. 

He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.

He lunges towards you-

“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.

You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-

He wanted your panties on.

Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity. 

“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned. 

He was just so attractive that it made you squirm. 

Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.

Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-

And fuck…

Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.

But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.

You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.

Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.

His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.

Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…

But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.

It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.

As often as he used to, at least.

And you? You were loving it.

Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.

“My dear…”

“Kento.”

He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-

And then he’s letting you see him—all of him. 

From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.

So thick. So strong.

You just wanted to be crushed between them.

And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.

Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.

“K-Kento…”

His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”

“But I still want to.” You insist.

“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”

You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”

He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”

“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”

The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.

Your first time.

Your first time.

Your first time.

He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”

“Yes.”

Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”

In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.

Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.

And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.

Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.

And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”

You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”

He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”

And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”

And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”

Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”

“The second…” 

But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock. 

That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—

Thwack!

Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”

“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-

“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”

Thwack!

“Keep talking, honey.”

“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”

He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”

“To use you-”

“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects. 

And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.

He’s bending you easily in half.

Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.

Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.

A fucking mating press.

Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!

And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head. 

“K-Kento-” Through your tears.

“Easy there- third lesson, remember?” 

“To s-settle down…”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.

And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you? 

Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.

After probe after probe.

Just animalistically trying to fit inside—

“The sixth- the sixth-”

“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.” 

Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.

Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.

“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”

“Mhmmm.”

A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”

“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.

Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.

His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—

“F-fuck that was-”

“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”

You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”

“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”

“And…?”

And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.

Your cervix.

Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”

“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”

“Continue.”

“Who cares about breathing-”

A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.

He really was mean.

He really was merciless.

Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.

Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.

Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.

And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.

Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”

And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”

“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”

“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘

“Oh.”

“Your virginity is mine.”

“Oh.”

Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.

Inside and inside.

Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.

Enough to render you speechless- 

“—graduated.”

And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?” 

“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”

You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”

He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”

“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”

“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”

A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.

“If you’d like then-”

“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”

The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”

“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”

Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-

And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”

If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.

Was on the verge of doing.

He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.

Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”

“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. 

“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”

Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-

“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”

You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”

Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.

“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”

“Wh-why—” You sob out.

And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”

Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.

Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.

Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.

It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.

Again and again and again—

He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.

Filling it with so much of his cum.

“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”

You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”

And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”

Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”

Too good, almost.

You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together— 

Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”

Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.

He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”

The seventh…?

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”

“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”

You gape, “What, why-”

“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition. 

Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”

You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”

To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”

“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”

“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling. 

Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.

“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.” 

Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?

“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”

.

.

.

Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.

A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—

Valentine’s Day.

The dinner.

The table.

You. Being taken on the table.

Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—

And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.

Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.

Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.

Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.

He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.

If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.

He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.

It was a cold morning.

And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-

And it’s then that several things happen at once.

Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.

Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.

Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-

And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.

Of course, it was none other than his son. 

Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”

And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.

“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away. 

Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”

The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”

“Then we eat the pancakes.”

“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”

“Hm?”

“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”

Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”

“Thank you, Cupid!”

Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.

You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.

Yeah, it really is a good morning.

He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.

It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day). 

It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.

It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.

It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.

You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.

And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.

He also starts looking into wedding rings.

He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.

A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose office smells expensive. Crisp cologne, coffee, and the faint scent of whatever luxury detergent rich people use. You hate that you associate the smell with long nights spent working overtime because of him.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who doesn’t flirt with you at first. That’s the problem. He flirts with everyone else. Receptionists giggle when he walks by, executives’ daughters practically throw themselves at him during company dinners, and gossip spreads about whatever model or actress was spotted leaving his penthouse that week.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who makes you stay late constantly, then has the nerve to look confused when you snap at him one night and tell him you actually have a life outside this company.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who starts unconsciously relying on you for everything. His coffee order. His schedule. Which tie matches which suit. He’ll bark, “Where’s my blue file?” across the office before remembering other employees exist.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose grandfather absolutely adores you because you’re the only employee who doesn’t kiss his grandson’s ass. The old man laughs every single time you glare at Gojo during meetings.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who accidentally blurts out that you’re his fiancée during a family dinner because he panics after hearing the words arranged marriage for the tenth time that night.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who immediately turns to you afterward like you’re the unreasonable one for looking horrified.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who says, “Just play along for a little while,” as if he didn’t just ruin your entire life in front of a room full of billionaires.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose family becomes obsessed with you overnight. Suddenly flowers are arriving at your desk. His grandmother wants your ring size. His grandfather keeps asking when the wedding is.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who offers you an absurd amount of money to keep pretending to be engaged to him, and gets offended when you tell him he’s insufferable enough that no amount of money feels worth it.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who starts acting weirdly protective once the fake engagement begins. If another executive talks down to you during meetings, Gojo cuts them off with an icy smile that makes the entire room tense.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who insists on driving you home after late nights because “my fiancée taking the subway at midnight looks bad for me.”

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who absolutely cannot act normal during fake couple moments. He’s smooth with everyone else, but with you there’s this strange stiffness to him sometimes, like he’s overthinking every little thing.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who stares at you for half a second too long the first time you fix his tie before an event. His ears go slightly pink, and he immediately gets mean afterward to compensate.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who learns your habits embarrassingly quickly. He knows exactly how you take your coffee, which snacks disappear first from the office vending machine, and when you’re about to get a stress headache before you even say anything.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who keeps accidentally slipping into domestic behavior. Holding doors open for you automatically. Saving you a seat during meetings. Texting you when he gets home after business trips without realizing how boyfriend-ish it sounds.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who gets irrationally annoyed whenever someone calls you by your last name instead of “Mrs. Gojo” during fake engagement events.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who has a massive penthouse that somehow still feels lonely. The first time you go there for contract-related fake dating reasons, you realize how empty it actually is despite all the expensive furniture.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who secretly likes when you yell at him because everyone else is too intimidated to do it. You call him an arrogant asshole to his face and he just stares at you with this weirdly entertained look.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who is horrible at receiving care. If he gets sick from overworking, he insists he’s fine while looking seconds away from collapsing at his desk.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who starts smiling more around the office after the fake engagement begins, and everyone notices immediately. Unfortunately for you, this leads to endless teasing from coworkers asking if you’ve “finally tamed” him.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who’s terrifyingly good at physical affection in public. His arm around your waist feels natural. His thumb rubbing circles against your hand during family dinners feels natural. Which is a problem, because none of it should feel real.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who has absolutely zero actual relationship experience despite his reputation. You assume he’s some experienced playboy because of rumors and tabloid gossip, meanwhile he’s internally fighting for his life every time you get too close to him.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who one day realizes he’s started thinking of you as his real fiancée long before either of you have actually talked about feelings.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who shows up one morning and finds you asleep at your desk because you stayed up helping your parents with the family restaurant/store/accounting stuff the night before.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose fridge contains imported water, expensive champagne, and literally nothing else meanwhile your family’s fridge is packed with leftovers, labeled containers, and six different sauces in reused jars.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who cannot comprehend why you refuse to let him buy you expensive things. The first time he casually hands you a designer bag because “you looked at it too long,” you nearly throw it back at his head.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who gets dragged to your neighborhood for the first time and looks hilariously out of place in his luxury suit while old aunties openly gossip about him from across the street.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who’s painfully aware your parents don’t trust him at first. To them he’s just another cold rich man who probably sees their daughter as disposable.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who slowly starts looking forward to dinners at your house because it’s the first time in years someone’s made him feel like part of a family instead of a business asset.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who slowly starts looking forward to dinners at your house because it’s the first time in years someone’s made him feel like part of a family instead of a business asset.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who nearly malfunctions the first time your mom fusses over him and packs him leftovers to take home.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who has no idea how normal people function. You once mention waiting for payday before buying something and he genuinely pauses because the concept has literally never applied to him before.

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on the blankets of snow, your footprints are nowhere to be found.

the reason? you were too determined to step on his footprints, your feet too small to even fit on the size of his. your face held the most wonderful smile, eyes set downwards on the set of footprints his feet left for you to follow.

suddenly, the cold air that filled his lungs earlier disappeared and his chest embraced with a warmth that he hadn't felt before.

with a certain fondness in his eyes and a deep chuckle, he takes a step farther than he normally does, followed by his right foot with the same distance. slowly, the spaces between his footprints start to grow, far enough that you have to stretch your little legs to reach.

he watches as you waddle to his direction, lips pursed, and your arms outstretched for balance.

he unconsciously stopped on his track, deciding that watching you seems more worthwhile than the beauty of the landscape behind him. nor does he notice the fond look on his face the closer you got to him, still stepping on the footprints he left.

"a little closer," you mumble under your breath, feeling your legs start to hurt from the stretching it has done.

with one last set of footprints left, your little foot got caught in the snow, throwing your balance off and pulling your body down to fall on the blankets of cold snow.

"eek!"

fortunately, zhongli was fast enough to catch you. he chuckles at the bewildered look on your face.

"careful, little one."

"thank you, mister zhongli!" you beam at him, pearls white as the snow on display with how big your smile is.

the warmth in his chest once again made its presence known, as he took your hand in his to help you travel through the snow.

"shall we head back? you might catch a cold in this weather."

"can we have hot chocolate? or your signature tea?" your eyes sparkle, rendering the snow around you useless with how they shine against the light.

"of course, little one."

Food!

Both men almost run that way, with stomachs squirming in hunger and sweat dripping down their backs. Nanami dreamed of sitting down with a drink and meat, while Suguru foolishly wished that the villagers would know something about their Marquis.

After all, the battle was not that far away from here, and there was a chance that someone might've seen a wounded soldier wandering around the meadows.

When their horses passed the small, wooden gate, the little child immediately ran up to them.

"Can I pet, can I pet?" his small hand reached out towards the raven horse, brushing its massive leg gently before Suguru could even nod.

He got off the mare, squatting down to be on the same level as a kid.

"Tell me, boy, do you have any nice restaurants here in the village?" he asked, and the child hummed.

"Of course we have! The best noodles in the whole region, pretty lady!" he chirped, oogling Suguru's long hair smooching his cheeks.

Nanami scoffed, while Suguru only smiled gently. "Well, could you maybe take us there? You see, these two soldiers are very, very hungry."

The boy didn't seem to care about Suguru's pressure on the soldiers and simply nodded. He left the horse and pointed a finger at the small, two-level house, with multiple people sitting outside on little stools and grey smoke twisting around its roof.

"Thank you, dearest," Suguru said warmly, placing a sliver coin in the boy's hand.

Well, it should help his family last for at least a month.

"Do you think someone may've seen him?" Nanami asked while tying the horses to the fence outside the small restaurant.

"I hope so. But firstly, let's eat. I'm ready to collapse any second," Suguru mumbled, passing the wide-open doors.

The inside was rather simple but homely, with multiple families chirping joyfully over their noodles. The delicious smell of spices immediately hit Suguru's stomach, and long-withheld hunger suddenly became even worse.

They sat at the small table near the open window, enjoying the serene view of the slowly running river, with a few children playing at its crystalline water. Their laughter filled the stuffy air, and the gentle wind brushed Suguru's tired cheeks, bringing him a slight comfort. Birds chirped sweetly, and passing girls giggled under their noses, seeing two handsome, strange soldiers sitting politely in the restaurant.

And while they were waiting, with minds enjoying the peacefulness of this place, someone's voice suddenly brought them back.

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"

Suguru turned his head, ready to order a bowl of spicy noodles and–

Oh.

Oh!

His knees went weak, and if not for the stool, he would surely fall miserably on the wooden floor. Blood immediately rushed to his head, fingers started to tremble, and if Nanami didn't grab his hand, it would surely curl around Gojo Satoru's neck.

Because why, dear heavens, the Marquis himself was standing before him perfectly fit and cheeky, with healthy rosiness blooming on his face and muscular body dressed in simple, commoner robes?

"M-Mar–" he stood up, but Satoru quickly pushed him back down.

The smile wasn't coming off his face, but his voice rolled out low and irritated. "Why are you here?"

"Why are we here?" Suguru almost burst. "Marquis, what do you mean by why are we here?!"

He couldn't quite believe it – the Marquis, man announced by the ministers themselves as surely dead, was, in fact, looking as if resurrected. His eyes, usually hued in deep ocean colour, looked rather... alive. Light and shiny, resembling the cyan paint spread over the canvas, soft and wet, glimmering under the warm beams of sunshine. His always so pale skin brimmed with healthy rosiness, usually suitable for most dearest birdies. Wet forehead was tied with milky cloth, keeping the snowy hair away from the brazen eyes.

Creamy robes hugged him loosely, with a few chilli oil stains bussing its grainy material.

He looked so... not noble. Not Marquis-like.

But much happier.

"Marquis, if we could talk–" Nanami started, but before he managed to finish, another voice chipped in.

Loud and angry, with a tired sigh and in the company of a fat finger knocking on the wooden table. "Hey, pretty boy! I ordered seconds a while ago!"

Suguru straightened up, jaw visibly tensed. He was ready to pull out his long sword and cut the man on the spot. "How dare you to talk to Ma–"

But before it, Satoru quickly smacked the back of his head.

"Sure thing, just give me a minute," he chirped politely, and Suguru almost fainted.

Never in the thirty years of his life has he ever heard the Marquis being polite to... anyone. Truly.

And so obedient at that, with a gentle smile curving his lips and a little nod of his head. The man, however, didn't seem to be satisfied, rambling under his breath and throwing a few curses every few seconds.

Six months ago, Suguru would see his head rolling on the wooden floor, with a Marquis slashing it off in a single, clean cut.

But now? Now his massive hand was keeping Suguru in place, not allowing him to stir up any trouble.

"You both eat first. I'm sure you must be hungry," he said warmly, patting the shoulders of his most reliable commanders. "We'll discuss it later."

"Marquis, but–" and, once again, before Nanami could finish, the rude customer decided to strike again.

"Pretty boy, I don't see you walking back to the kitchen for my seconds!"

Satoru sighed. His palms squeezed their shoulders, long fingers digging deep into the armour. Suguru, for a fleet moment, saw this familiar frown and blue veins popping on the Marquis's forehead, as if ready to burst with a merciless fury.

He's going to strike, Suguru thought. He won't let that bastard trash his good name.

Satoru rolled up the wide sleeves of his creamy robes, tying them with a thin rope around the elbows. Bulging muscles of his forearms glistened in sweat, with the sun cruelly smooching his pale skin.

And when he thought that Marquis, finally, finally, will deal with a man, another voice filled the heavy restaurant's air.

"Hey! Stop being rude to my husband unless you want to deal with me!"

It drove Suguru into the wooden stool, with its honeyed sweetness marked by an authoritative tone. Not many people were able to put someone into their place solely with a voice, but a fragile woman who came out from the kitchen, with a heavy chopper in her hand – could.

Husband?

Suguru's head started to spin. He looked up, seeing Marquis's lips curving in a gentle smile. Eyes cheeky, like two pale moons, while glancing back at the woman storming through the small restaurant.

"Think you can bully my husband while I'm here?"

Man's cheeks washed in embarrassment before he coughed. "My apologies, miss. If I knew he was your husband–"

"Even if he wasn't, you shouldn't be rude! He's too polite and won't harm a soul, but me?" she took a step, but Satoru quickly grabbed her. "Try me!"

She surrounded herself with an imposing aura, although standing next to Satoru, her head barely brushed his chest. Hair curled around the hearty face, with a light robe and dirty aproan hugging warmly plush hips.

"What a menace," she scoffed loudly, cleaning the chopper with a cloth, before glancing up at the Marquis. "And you should get more assertive. Must you always be so obedient?"

Obedient?

"Stop acting like a pushover, what if someone attacks you, hm? We have lots of bandits these days, and I won't always be there to protect you."

Pushover?

Protect Marquis?

Suguru sighed, grabbing his head. It pulsed with a malicious headache, and the more you talked, the more he felt like fainting.

"My dearest," Satoru smiled, looking down at your fuming cheeks. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look with this little crease on your forehead?" he lifted up a thumb, placing it right between your eyebrows.

He started massaging it in gentle circles, rolling a sweet giggle out of your lips and finally getting rid of the frown.

"There she is," he whispered, cupping your cheeks stained in reddish oil. "My beautiful, ferocious wife. You need to stop threatening everyone with a chopper. What if one day you come upon imperial soldiers?"

You tsked, nuzzling into his warm hands. "I'll chop them too, if they try to bully you."

Suguru just couldn't listen to it anymore. Not only the intimate tension between Marquis and... you... was unbearable, but he also simply couldn't comprehend the sudden change that bloomed inside the most ruthless, powerful general of the empire.

He coughed quietly, finally getting your attention.

"Oh," rolled politely, before you quickly hid the chopper behind. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, too many people like to bully my husband and, well, you know how it is..." your hand unconsciously waved with a chopper again, and Suguru barely dodged its sharp steel. "Sometimes the wife needs to step in. You see, my husband is a scholar, so he's, hm, the more compliant one in this marriage."

Nanami laughed, but Suguru quickly threw him a cold stare.

He brought back a polite smile to his face, still slowly massaging the buzzing temple. "Miss, my friend and I have travelled a long way to meet with Mar– your husband. I hope you don't mind, we'll take him away just for a moment."

Your eyes bulged in surprise, looking up at Satoru's warm gaze.

"I didn't know Satoru had... friends," you giggled, hearing a soft scoff coming from your husband. "Of course you can, but eat first, please. You sure must be tired. If you wish, you can stay a few nights in our house too. Right, darling?"

Satoru grimaced when you looked back at Suguru, and his eyes narrowed. "Sure, baby. If that's what you want. But aren't you rather busy, my dear friends?"

It sounded like he was giving Suguru a choice, but the coldness of his gaze and slowly shaking head were enough to convey that both of them were forbidden from agreeing with his wife's idea.

Suguru, however, was furious as it was, and if staying a day or two meant taking Marquis down to size – he would be more than happy to do it.

Before Nanami murmured that they are, in fact, rather busy, the strategist quickly chirped in.

"My precious friend, I would be more than happy to stay under your roof," he said, standing up and bending down politely your way. "Miss, we're grateful for your priceless hospitality."

You giggled, waving gently with a chopper. "There's no need for courtesy. Stay as long as you want," your eyes moved back to Satoru, his arm curling around your waist. "Darling, just remember to pick up the vegetables from Fang's restaurant. Oh, and Miss Hua needs to write a letter to the magistrate, help her with that too, hm?"

You chirped while Satoru was looking down at your rosy face with a bizarre caress behind his serene eyes. As if gazing on the most precious, loveliest little nymph. In fact, he looked as though he wasn't listening at all, with fingers climbing up to your plush cheek, and a thumb brushing over the red, oil stain.

"Right, and come back before supper. You know that at that time I usually–"

"I know, the little brat makes her mommy nauseous," he smiled softly, and Suguru suddenly lost his appetite.

Wait a moment.

"Little brat?" Nanami chipped in first, with brows almost brushing his hairline. "Mar– Satoru, do you mean that your wife is..."

You looked at them, then at Satoru, then back at them, with a little tsk and hand patting his shoulder. "Truly! You didn't even tell them that you're going to be a father? What a good friend you are."

There was a second of silence, with Satoru trying to coo you sweetly and Nanami standing there like a log. With a slightly hazy gaze and mind trying to comprehend how a Marquis – the strongest man in the whole empire – got himself entangled not solely in a marriage with a commoner, but also in parenthood. His bloodline was precious, and his family would surely not accept the child whose mother was a simple noodle shop owner.

But then the three of them heard a loud thud, and a dark shadow of a man slowly hit the wooden floor.

Suguru, finally, fainted.

❀ ❀ ❀

He woke up a mere hour later, with a wet compress on his forehead and skull buzzing from the heat. The air felt sticky, like honey, sliding down his coarse throat and cumulating somewhere deep in chest. His head felt heavy, and warm beams of sun slipped through an open window, brushing his slightly wet forehead.

He noticed that heavy armour was removed from his body and replaced with thin, navy robes, with wide sleeves and a narrow, open collar.

The smell of boiled meat went straight to his stomach, although he wasn't in a restaurant anymore.

No, this room was neat and brimming with warmth, although rather small. The soft bed dipped under his weight as he slowly stood up. The wooden floor was cold against his feet, and he noticed a small table right in front of him, with a bowl of cold noodles and a cup. His knees hit the floor, and when eyes looked inside, he noticed a weird, lush mixture of herbs – probably something to help with overheating.

He inhaled noodles in a few seconds, with salty soy sauce dripping gently down his throat and into stomach, finally filling it with a delicious, homemade meal.

Suguru felt like crying, tasting something carried as if straight from the heavens. Something worthy of an emperor himself, with a perfect seasoning and spongy texture bouncing under his teeth.

The herbal mixture followed next, and he saw a small milky candy wrapped in paper, right next to the cup. When the bitterness of a drink struck his mind, he immediately took the candy and chewed on its creamy sweetness.

Although the meal made him a bit lazy and he wanted nothing more than to return to bed and sleep like a baby – the case of Marquis still hasn't been closed.

So he stood up, dusting off his knees and quietly went outside, covering eyes from the sun. It seemed that the restaurant was right below, with a few customers pottering around and your sweet laughter once again filling his mind. Going down the wooden stairs, he noticed your small figure through the window – with half-pinned-up hair brushing your cheeks and a warm smile, when another customer hummed deliciously over your noodles.

Your eyes met his lavender gaze, and you gasped, quickly going outside to meet his pale face. "Are you alright–"

"Suguru."

"Right," your hand landed on his cheeks, squeezing it softly as if kneading a bun. "You look much better now. The travel must've been tiring."

You took him by surprise, but something warm spread in his chest, feeling your gentle caress and thumb brushing over the rosy skin. Not many people treated him kindly, with care, and he tried to suppress an urge to nuzzle into your hand.

"If you're looking for Satoru, he went with your friend that way," you pointed a finger towards the small hut on the other side of the river. "This village is not big, so surely you'll find him somewhere."

Suguru nodded, still tracing the softness of your hearty face, with the kindest eyes he had ever seen. Truly, no noblewoman could be compared to the loveliness you carried like a second skin.

He strolled around the sandy paths, kicking the little stones that rolled under his feet. Curious villagers oogled him shyly, and each time he nodded politely, sending humble smiles and greeting a few children on the way. They followed him around the village, with little heads sweating under the sun and chubby hands reaching out for long, raven hair brushing his hips.

The smell of jasmine flowers filled the air when he crossed the small bridge, and a few petals slipped away from the fragile branches. A young girl laughed cheerfully in the house next door, and two old men sat calmly near the river's bank, trying to catch the splashing fish.

The village truly was... calm. Serene, almost idyllic, as if painted by the gods themselves, with the peaceful faces of the villagers and their cooing voices greeting Suguru on every corner.

He finally noticed a flash of snowy hair and quickly moved its way.

Satoru sat in the garden with a young woman and a little boy snuggling on her lap, while Nanami... dearest. Nanami was fixing the roof.

Never in his life would he have thought of seeing the first army general nailing the wooden planks with such a focus.

"I also want at least two taels of silver," the woman sighed, and Satoru politely wrote down her request. "But one is also enough. If that bastard decided to leave me, then let him pay."

"Two taels may be too much, but I'll try to bargain for you. Let's see," Satoru muttered, placing neat characters one under another. Little brush scrubbed slowly against the delicate surface, and only Suguru knew how skilled a calligrapher the Marquis was.

Truly taught by the best masters in the whole empire!

But the woman couldn't care less, for she never learnt how to read, and small characters reminded her of nothing but cute little bushes. Bending and curving under Satoru's steady hand, before he finished the letter and left it to dry under the sun.

His light eyes noticed Suguru's figure, and their cheerfulness was immediately replaced by a stroke of irritation.

What a bastard!

"Thank you, Satoru, I truly don't know how to repay you," the woman said shyly, gripping the letter in her hands.

The boy wriggled on her thighs, tugging on his mother's loose hair. Satoru lifted up a hand and pinched his chubby cheek, rolling a little giggle out of his lips.

"No worries, it's nothing. Just come to me when they reply, and I'll read it for you."

Nanami finished his little job too, and all three of them strolled outside through the wooden gate. Suguru didn't say anything for a while, taking in the rosy cheeks of his Marquis and oogling with curiosity all his exchanges with the villagers. They strolled around, picking up side jobs Satoru supposedly did every day – placing an order for vegetables and getting freshly delivered ones, checking the assortment for a little pharmacy, or giving short reading lessons to the local children.

People greeted him with this kind glimmer in their eyes, and kids hugged his legs, placing little stones, flowers and candies in his hands. He thanked them each time, ruffing silky hair, pinching their chubby faces and hiding every little, dirty stone in the sleeves of his robes.

On their way back to Satoru's house, Suguru finally managed to ask.

"Marquis, are we going to discuss it or just ignore the fact that you faked your death for six months?"

Satoru slowed his pace before finally stopping. Three men stood near the bridge, with light petals of the jasmine tree falling down on Satoru's milky hair. With no villagers around, he finally sighed.

"I didn't fake my death," he murmured, sitting near the riverbank.

The sun was slowly setting over the tall mountains surrounding the village, with tender hues of purple and pink and orange brushing the evening sky. Birds were slowly preparing for sleep, and villagers coming back from work in the fields. Big ox strolled behind them, tugging a little cart loaded with fresh fruits.

Satoru's eyes glanced up, reflecting the last rays of tangerine beams.

"After that battle, I fell into the river. The water must have thrown my body on the bank, because she saved me and took me back to her house. When I woke up, she was already there – tending my wounds and trying to stuff me full with noodles," he laughed warmly, as if remembering the first days spent in your presence. "I really wanted to heal up a bit and go back, but..."

Nanami and Suguru sat next to him, looking up at the fragrant jasmine branches hanging over the river.

"But I couldn't. You both know I never wanted to marry and have a family, but back there, after hearing her laugh the first time, something panged in my chest."

"Maybe your wound has opened," Nanami mumbled, and Suguru pinched his arm.

Satoru laughed, eyes still tracing the changing sky. "After meeting her, I finally understood what it truly means to be happy. To seek the next day and live in peacefulness, with nothing but her touch waking me every single morning."

Suguru hummed, remembering how warm you felt when your hand pinched his cheek. So kind and lovely, as if you honestly cared about this stranger you've met just an hour ago.

"She was constantly worried about people gossiping about her marriage, so I decided to use this chance and marry her. She wanted a husband, and I wished for nothing but to stay with her as long as I could," he continued, taking a white jasmine petal off his head. "But she was constantly afraid I would leave her one day, so to prove my devotion..."

Oh dearest god.

Suguru almost fainted again. "You decided to trap her with a baby? Are you crazy?"

He was crazy. So, so miserably crazy, and Suguru could see it in his eyes. In his hands, grabbing your waist in an almost possessive manner, and his always oh so gentle gaze, as if nothing else but his dear wife mattered in this world.

"I didn't trap her... well. At least she doesn't feel that way," he coughed, smiling like a fool. "She always wanted to have a family, so I decided to give it to her. What's wrong with it?"

"Marquis, are you hearing yourself?" Suguru almost hissed. "Just a year ago, you declined the most beautiful women offered to you by an emperor himself. And now you're telling me you decided to marry a simple commoner after knowing her for a month?"

"Well, he never offered me her," Satoru giggled. "And it was a week. She asked me to marry her after a week."

"She asked you?"

"Yes."

"And you agreed? Just like that?"

"Of course, it was love at first sight."

Suguru looked at Nanami, as if trying to make sure he wasn't the crazy one here. That Marquis truly went mad, and he lost all his senses.

Maybe while falling down, he hit his head? Maybe you bewitched him and forced a marriage?

But no one in this world could possibly force a tyrannical Marquis to do anything. Well, at least that's what Suguru have thought.

"Marquis, does it mean that... she doesn't know who you are?" Nanami asked, and everyone suddenly held their breath.

Including Satoru, who scratched his head sheepishly.

Oh.

Oh!

"She doesn't. You didn't tell her?!" Suguru once again almost shouted, and Satoru quickly shushed him.

"How could I? She thinks I'm a simple scholar who can do nothing but sweet-talk and read," he brushed another jasmine petal, and Suguru noticed a bit of worry behind his ocean eyes. "If she knew my real rank... There's a chance she would leave me. She's alone in this world – no parents, no family. If revealing my situation would mean losing her, I'd rather live as a commoner."

Suguru couldn't simply comprehend the weight of his words. For living as a commoner was everything people of their sort feared. To lose a status that could save your head in turmoil times such as this one was almost like a death sentence.

And Marquis was ready to do it solely for a fleeting tenderness.

"Does it mean you're not planning to go back?" Nanami asked quietly. "Do you want to stay announced as dead?"

Satoru was silent for a few minutes, with rays of sunshine slowly leaving his face. The moon lurked shyly from between jasmine branches, reflecting his wandering gaze. Suguru has never seen Marquis so quiet, so calm. As if his soul truly healed up from all the bestiality he needed to suffer just to float above anyone else.

The cold, sharp Marquis was no longer here, replaced by a man who tasted love for the first time. He was like a child learning how to walk, but at the same time, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother was watching over him.

And for Satoru – it was you.

You showed him the kindness of this world, and life deprived of the wrath he has felt for such a long time.

Marquis didn't say anything, but stood up instead and laughed under his breath. "It's almost supper time, let's go back. My wife always gets nauseous around this time, so I'll be the one cooking."

Suguru and Nanami simply nodded, following the Marquis back to the warm house.

They found you in a kitchen, humming softly and cutting the vegetables. The restaurant was already closed, and nothing but a soft beam of candles and a little buzz of crickets filled the small room.

Suguru has only now noticed your little bump, and he smiled when Satoru hugged you from behind.

"Sorry we took so long," he murmured, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. "There was simply too much to talk about."

You hummed, nodding head softly, till a few strands slipped away from your pinup. "It's okay, Satoru. Spend as much time as you need," you said, before looking up towards two men standing in the doors. "The room for you is ready. The supper will be, as soon as Satoru starts cutting the meat."

Marquis laughed, taking a heavy chopper and a fat piece of flesh. Suguru has never seen him in the kitchen, so he looked with pure curiosity at the way the iron blade slashed the tender meat.

What a bizzare sight, truly!

The supper wasn't anything special, but sitting together, talking and drinking – well, aside from you, of course – was the first time Suguru saw Marquis so relaxed.

Cheerful, free, with his head lying softly on your thighs and smooth locks caressed by your fingers. He was getting drunk faster than usual, babbling carelessly under his breath and peppering your little swell with kisses, till you flushed like the sweetest cherry and pushed him away. He joked and laughed, reminiscent of the days spent in royal academia with Suguru and Nanami (apparently, all of them met there, absolutely not on the battlefield) and delighted himself in stories about your first meeting.

About the moment he opened his eyes and saw an angel itself, to which you flushed feverishly and mumbled oh stop. Drunk Satoru was like a teenage boy boasting about his first love, and Suguru couldn't help but feel warmth spreading all over his chest every time Marquis peeked up at your lovely face.

When the night came, and it was time to part your ways, Suguru...

Dear heavens.

Suguru wished for nothing more than to be anywhere but right next to your room. For he heard everything.

Every sloppy kiss, every giggle, every shuddered breath of yours and silent Satoru, we can't, they're going to hear us. But Marquis, who was nothing if not madly in love, promised that don't worry baby, they won't, it will be fine, just let me taste you.

Fortunately, it seemed that you slapped his nosy hands away, because for the rest of the night, Marquis stayed silent.

Suguru and Nanami decided to stay for a few more nights, enjoying the idyllic charm of the village. Nanami would help in fixing the houses after the recent flood, and Suguru devoted his time to helping Satoru teach local kids. Marquis was the only person in the whole village who could read and write, thus local folks gladly attended his short, daily classes.

When Suguru came, the kids took a deep breath as if charmed by the gentleness and vigilance of his face. Satoru liked to fool around with little brats, but Suguru immediately put them in place, imposing a harsh, hour-long lesson as worthy of the most prominent strategist in the whole empire.

They sat with focused foreheads and beams of sweat glistening on their temples, while chubby fingers tried to draw clean, straight strokes.

Later that evening, Satoru told him that children liked the new pretty lady teacher, and you burst out in the most melodic laughter he's ever heard.

During the days, they fooled around, helped at the restaurant and did odd jobs for villagers, but the nights...

The nights were always reserved for you and Satoru.

And Suguru never dared to impose this gentle time between the two spouses, closing himself and Nanami off in the bedroom.

But he heard every little word rolled intimately between the two tender souls.

He heard the soft creak of the mattress as Satoru shifted closer to you, as if even sleep demanded less distance between your bodies.

He heard your quiet laughter, muffled into pillows, as though you didn't wish to disturb your guests.

He heard of your simple dreams and plans and all the worries you seemed to always have at the back of your mind.

He heard your quiet I love you and his trust me I love you more, followed by a silent kiss.

He heard the gentle splash of water shifting in the tub, followed by your quiet hum, almost absent-minded, while Satoru moved around you with careful hands.

He heard the faint press of lips against your temple.

The whispered goodnights that always sounded like promises.

And sometimes, he heard nothing at all.

Just silence.

But he knew that even during the most hushed nights, Satoru was always keeping you close – to his heart and soul and eyes. For he has never seen anything more precious than the peacefulness haunting his wife's forehead. And if a little, worried crease would appear between your brows, his thumb would gently massage it away. Lips would kiss it off, and you would snuggle up even closer, as if your body unconsciously yearned for your husband's touch.

There was a special kind of intimacy between the two lovers, whose odd fates and minds mixed in one lifeline. A bond most could be jealous of – in the way Satoru seemed to have you at his fingertips and you somehow always curled around them, floating near like a little goddess.

If Satoru was a believer, he would pray to nothing but the giggling eyes of his wife.

A few days later, when they were getting ready for the road, Suguru would look back at the young couple with a swelling heart.

For Marquis, who suffered enough in his short life, deserved nothing more than to gleam under the warm sun like a fair child, with his bright laughter forever carried through the mountains and meadows of the great empire.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I know, I know, I'll start writing the Alexander the Great Satosugu... just let me be happy for a moment before diving into the angst.

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the tear had revealed skin beneath the familiar black and red ink that covered enjin’s arms and chest like armor. beneath that ink there was something faint, almost ghostlike. something different. letters from what rudo could see. a name?

rudo frowned. “that’s not part of the design.”

enjin went still. for a moment the room felt like it had emptied of air. even gris and riyo, who had overheard the conversation, stopped dead in the tracks. panic and dread filled their expressions as they looked from enjin to rudo and back. riyo even tried to signal for rudo to not speak anymore.

“drop it,” enjin said quietly.

rudo didn’t as he stepped closer instead, eyes tracing the faded lines hidden under the darker tattoo that had been layered over it. “you covered it up.”

heavy silence stretched. riyo stepped forward to pull rudo away, but enjin shook the head. he exhaled quietly before pulling the torn fabric aside himself.

the name was there. soft curves of lettering, delicate compared to the sharp edges of the ink that surrounded it. it didn’t match the rage etched across his skin now.

“she hated how reckless i was,” enjin said at last.

rudo blinked. “so it’s hers.”

enjin leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded but not unfocused. he was seeing something else entirely. somewhere else. someone else.

“she said if i was going to throw myself into every fight, i should at least carry something worth protecting.”

his fingers brushed the old name unconsciously as he remembered her. like he could ever forget her.

“she wasn’t a fighter,” he continued. “she had no business being near the cleaners.”

rudo stayed quiet. even the others listened, despite being there when it happened.

“she liked stupid things. sweet things. she’d scold me for skipping meals. would patch me up even when i told her i didn’t need it.” a faint breath escaped him. “she carved her name into my skin herself. said if i died, at least i would be hers in some way.”

rudo swallowed. “what happened?”

enjin’s jaw tightened. his golden eyes dimming like he had never seen before.

“i miscalculated.” he replied flatly. “there was a job. i told her to stay back. she never listened when it came to me.” his eyes darkened, with anger at himself. “i thought i could end it fast. i thought i was strong enough.”

the cleaner world was unforgiving - something enjin learned the hard way.

“when the trash beasts turned, she was closer than i realized.”

rudo felt the weight of what wasn’t being said. in the corner of his eyes he sees the grief in the others eyes.

“i got to her,” enjin continued, steady in a way that hurt more than if it had cracked. “but not fast enough.”

the room felt smaller.

“i covered her name because i couldn’t stand looking at it without seeing that moment. i thought if i buried it under something uglier, it’d stop meaning anything.”

his fingers pressed into the ink now. over both layers.

“it fuckin’ did not.”

rudo hesitated. “why not remove it completely?”

he flinched when enjin’s sharp gaze hits him.

“because she existed.” a fact - the saddest and most beautiful one. “she loved me when i had nothing to offer but blood and broken bones. i don’t get to erase her because i failed.”

rudo looked at the faded letters again. they were fragile beneath the heavier design, but they endured. “you still love her,” he said quietly.

“rudo,” riyo chastised, but enjin’s expression didn’t change as he answered.

“yes.”

after a moment he pulled his torn shirt back into place.

“don’t romanticize it,” he added. “loving someone doesn’t make you strong. it makes you careless.”

“enjin—“ gris stepped forward.

everyone - even rudo who wasn’t there when she was alive - wanted to argue. but enjin already turned away and walked down the corridor. the shadows swallowed him, leaving the others behind. so many unspoken words, rudo who had questions. who would’ve liked to meet the woman that enjin loved. he wondered if enjin was different back then, but he didn’t dare asking.

she left a wound on enjin’s soul that never would fully heal.

He stood over the carcass for a moment. The air was thick with the stink of scorched timbers as well as flesh. It never bothered him much, for it was just another part of the job he had to fulfill. As long as he was alive, no dragons should be able to fly the skies.

After the dragon fell, the man moved through what remained of the village. The air was heavy with the stench of death. The sagging, warped, and blackened roofs made him duck his head each time he stepped inside the small cottage.

Even though they told him to look for survivors, it was just a formality anyway, one he followed because he was ordered to. His Lord didn’t expect his knights to save anyone. He expected them to kill dragons.

Still, he pushed open the wreck of a door with his boot, only to be met by a wild, uncivilized thing that lunged at him with the speed of light. Its filthy fingers clutching a dull blade, trying with all its meager strength to cut his throat.

Ornstein tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes as it kept trying while clinging onto him, the worn kitchen knife glancing harmlessly off his gold-plated armor with every frantic stab.

He then grabbed it by the collar of its torn shirt and hauled it up, bringing it close to inspect the defiance behind all that thrashing.

Turned out it wasn’t an animal after all. just a little girl with a face smeared with ash and tears, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes.

“Cunning little one, art thou? I barely heard thee crawling above,” he said evenly.

Teeth clenched, you could only glare up at him, absolutely hating how that snarling lion helm looked so much like the monster that burnt your home down.

“My lord, is all well?” one of the knights asked as they entered, having finished their search through the ruined village.

“Aye, all is well,” Ornstein replied simply. He kept you dangling by your collar, turning slightly to show you to them.

“Take this wretch back to Anor Londo. I shall speak with Lord Gwyn on her fate,” he commanded in a calm voice, as though you weighed nothing more than a stray pup he’d found in the mud.

And so, that was how your new life began in Anor Londo—the shining city of the Gods, where the marble floors gleamed and the sun seemed fixed in the sky.

It looked beautiful from afar, but you learned quickly there was nothing kind about it.

You were just a human, dragged in from the wreckage of a village no one would bother naming. The knights didn’t speak to you unless it was to give orders. The clerics averted their eyes as you passed, as though your very presence reminded them of everything they chose to ignore. Servants whispered about you in the halls, calling you the little rat or the dragon’s orphan when they first washed you from the charcoal.

You didn’t get special treatment. The caretakers fed you well enough to keep you standing, and gave you clothes warm enough to keep you comfy. Aside from that, you also got your own tiny room, though it wasn't anything fancy, just a bed and a chair. The only positive thing was, no one beat you for no reason, but no one comforted you either.

The only thing given freely by them was intensive training. Every morning before the sun rose, they pulled you from your narrow bed and sent you out onto the cold stone courtyard while your breath was still misting in the gray light.

Training was relentless, just as it was exacting with hours spent drilling footwork until your legs ached and practicing with daggers until your fingers were numb from gripping. On top of that, you were taught to move like a shadow, to place every step with care so no one would hear you coming when you slit their throat.

It only made sense. They expected nothing less if you were meant to follow in Ciaran’s footsteps.

Aside from intensive body and tools traning, mixing poisons was also treated like an art. You remembered making mistakes and having to start over countless times, no matter how long it took. The instructors were kind of harsh, though. They didn’t offer any praises to encourage you, only several coldings here and there when you did wrong. Yet, they were at least patient.

Though you must have admitted, their words were extremely harsh whenever they opened their mouth. It wasn’t cruelty for its own sake. You told yourself it was their own way of shaping you into something useful for the system, an assassin who wouldn’t hesitate, who could set emotions aside and do what needed to be done without backing away.

Soon enough, with lord Gwyn’s favor granting you real missions, you had the chance to prove yourself. You showed your worth with every completed task, until even the others had to admit you belonged among the Lord’s Blades—an elite circle of assassins who served Gwyn’s will without question.

From then on, life began to change. You were fed well, given better clothes, and granted your own small quarters in the castle. And you had more friends, too. Those were the signs you were no longer just a useless addition.

Much to everyone's surprise, you weren’t the inexperienced new blood anymore. You’d become an instructor at a surprisingly young age, trusted to train the next generation. People showed you respect when you passed, and some even looked up to you, watching carefully for every lesson you had to offer, eager to learn what you knew.

Nevertheless, you wouldn’t have made it that far without Ciaran’s guidance. As one of Gwyn’s Four Knights, she trained you more thoroughly than anyone else could have. Her lessons were sharp and efficient, leaving no room for weakness or doubt, perfect for someone like you.

It was through her that you first crossed paths with Artorias.

Unlike Ornstein’s strict and formal manner, his presence was warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The first time he spoke to you, he knelt slightly to meet your eyes, asking your name, where you were from, and if you’d eaten. You remember trying to hide behind Ciaran’s legs, peeking out nervously at his towering frame, surprised that someone so imposing could sound so gentle and heart-warming.

He became a constant presence in your life. You were never sure if it was simply in his nature to look after a lost human child, or if he was just curious to see how you would handle the unforgiving demands of assassin training.

Calling it "care" might have been generous. But he was there often enough to tell your handlers to ease up when they got too rough. Always stepping in calmly when you ended up on the ground with something broken, only to make sure they didn't push you past the point of getting back up.

You remembered crying on the days he wasn’t there, when the training turned harsh and left you bruised and hurting. Then later on, you would find yourself looking for him without even thinking, hoping to catch that soothing cobalt-blue. It was tragic how you were quite drawn to the quiet comfort he offered.

Because Artorias tended to more than just the wounds on your outsides. He had been the only one to listen to you when no one else would, letting you speak about things you’d never told anyone—not even Ornstein or Ciaran.

You told him about your old home, the hard life you’d left behind, and how, despite everything, you would have given anything to have it back. A lonely human girl yapping about her horrible past, yet he never interrupted or judged you. He just took everything in, with a quiet understanding that felt rare in a place ruled by beings who seemed too distant to care. Then, after you had sobered yourself to sleep, you would wake up with your head on his lap instead.

He’d bring you small gifts when he returned from missions, simple human food you actually liked, or little things that reminded you of your old home. The man paid attention to what made you smile, even if you tried to hide it. And when there was news or truths he knew would cut too deep for someone like yourself, he kept them from you.

He also had a puppy named Sif, with big, curious eyes and oversized paws that tripped over themselves. Whenever you cried telling Artorias about how your peers had treated you, Sif would nuzzle close and lick the tears from your face, tail thumping against the floor, determined to cheer you up in the only way she knew how.

It was almost fatherly, the way Artorias treated you. Some whispered he had a soft spot for the human girl among the Blades, while others insisted it was simply his nature—kind to anyone, whether they were gods or humans, friend or foe. No one really knew which was true, least of all you.

Perhaps the only one who truly knew was Ornstein. He was Artorias’s closest friend and comrade, after all.

Now, Ornstein was a special case for you, too, if only because of how closely he worked with Smough—the executioner you’d despised from the moment you arrived in Anor Londo.

Smough was everything you feared in a man: cruel for the fun of it, smiling at screams and shrieks. You’d seen enough to know he enjoyed his work too much. Just watching Ornstein stand beside him, calling him “partner” had always made your skin crawl from a thousand miles away. Plus, Smough had a boogeyman laugh, and it was terrifying for it almost made you piss yourself as a kid.

You would never ever dare to be in the same room as Smough if Ornstein weren’t there. His presence was the only thing that made it bearable, the only assurance that the executioner wouldn’t take things too far just because he felt like it.

If Artorias was like a gentle father figure, then Ornstein was the strict older brother who never let you relax. Training with the other assassins was already demanding, but he insisted you train with him too.

It wasn’t exactly required, yet he claimed it was good for you to learn from his strength, insisting that once you were old enough, you would come back and thank him. And once he decided that, there was no escaping it. He made sure you never missed a single session, no matter how tired you were.

Orstein the Dragonslayer was known for his pride and his strict, disciplined manner. But with you, that sharp edge often softened into something more playful, full of quiet teasing.

Every time you insisted he treat you seriously, reminding him you weren’t that scrawny child he’d once lifted by the collar while chuckling at your fury, he’d just wave it off. He loved to bring it up, though, saying you were “adorable” back then, pouting at him with such murder in your eyes the moment you first laid eyes on him.

Despite all the teasing and that tough, almost brotherly discipline, you knew deep down he was always the one in your corner. When the vassals whispered about your mediocre human blood, hinting you didn’t belong and urging Gwyn to send you away, it was Ornstein who spoke up.

His words were so firm, they left no room for argument, calling out the potential in you to lord Gwyn that you were worth keeping. And once he made that clear, no one dared to challenge it.

One thing you appreciated about him was that he didn’t treat you the way Artorias did. Where Artorias would fuss when you got hurt, suggesting your instructors give you days off to recover, Ornstein barely acknowledged it.

Ornstein would pick you up before pushing you to keep going like you always did. But you weren’t stupid. You knew he paid attention in his own way. The man always seemed to find out exactly who was pushing you too far. You figured that was why one particularly cruel instructor suddenly stopped showing up one day.

They were caring in their own ways. With them, you found something like belonging. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like a family in its own, strange way—except for Smough, who was more like the deranged uncle everyone avoided.

You lived among them, trained with them, and learned to appreciate every single moment duty didn't call you. Trying to carry out someone else’s will with a dagger in your soft, delicate hand.

It was going perfectly fine, in its own rough way, as you felt safe around them enough to crawl out from your hermit shell.

Until you were old enough that everything started to change. Suddenly, you weren’t just the scrappy kid they’d taken in. You were someone they all looked at differently.

You’d grown taller, though still dwarfed by the gods and beings around you. Your body had also matured, blooming into a beautiful woman with smooth curves and a flush of youth in your cheeks. At the age where men and women started to look at you with either want or jealousy.

Maybe the final blow was that mission. When Ciaran was away, they had to send you in her place to eliminate a high-profile target, a traitorous noble who needed quiet killing.

You carried it out, but it almost cost you your life, too. When the help came, they had found you half-conscious, bleeding out as you tried dragging yourself through the dark streets with your dagger still wet. So heavily wounded, they had to carry you back to Anor Londo.

Both Artorias and Ornstein came to see you while you were laid up in the infirmary, bandaged from head to toe. Even through the haze of pain and half-sleep, you could sense the tension between them. You didn't think you had ever seen them get this worked up.

Their voices were low at first, but you remembered the way it rose...sharp, angry, guilty. You couldn’t make out every word because you were too dazed from your wounds. But the sound of armored boots shifting and harsh tones cutting through the quiet room stuck with you. You remembered their shapes, looming and rigid, refusing to back down even at your bedside.

Then came the changes.

Artorias grew more distant with each passing day. It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things you usually let go of. The way he would fall quiet around you, his gaze dropping when you tried to catch it. And how he started finding reasons to be elsewhere during your training, offering fewer corrections, fewer words at all.

It almost felt like he was trying to avoid you entirely, blaming it on the missions, as if keeping his distance was the only way he could deal with something he didn’t want to admit, even to himself.

You missed his company, though you wouldn’t have said it out loud. Instead, you told yourself it was probably because of Ciaran. There had always been rumors about the two of them. And honestly, it wasn’t hard to believe, not with the way she watched over him, or the quiet looks they sometimes shared when they thought no one was paying attention.

It was easier to think he was pulling away for her sake than to consider any other reason. You were no longer a kid but a proper woman now, after all. So any type of interaction with him must have put your mentor in a weird spot and made things awkward in some sense.

Meanwhile, Ornstein was easier to figure out. You spent far more time with him now than you ever had before. As a child, you’d always tried to slip away from his training sessions just to run off to find Artorias instead.

But now it was quite the opposite. Nearly every mission you took, he was there too—if not officially assigned, then somehow showing up anyway. He always brushed it off as a coincidence, but you weren’t so easily convinced.

Every time you asked if he’d been spying on you, or if he’d sent one of his knights to follow you, because there was no other way he could know every detail of your missions. He’d just give you that calm, unreadable look. Sometimes he’d act like it didn’t matter at all, other times he’d play dumb and change the subject, leaving you fuming but with no real answer.

Even the friendships and connections you’d worked so hard to build started to fall apart, one by one. People you trusted began avoiding you, their sudden distance leaving you confused and uneasy.

It all came to a head the day one knight, someone you’d been close with for years, resigned without warning. He found you before he left, eyes troubled, and asked quietly if he’d done something to offend you, if that was why both Artorias and Ornstein had sought him out. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know how to answer, let alone talk to them.

And after that, the rumors started. Ugly whispers about you sharing both their beds to earn all that “special treatment.” It wasn’t hard for people to believe, not when both of them had always been kinder to you than to anyone else. They spoke well of you to Lord Gwyn himself, made sure you had the finest weapons and tools for your missions, and no one missed how carefully they watched over you.

To them, it all looked like proof. To you, it felt like something you couldn’t defend without sounding like a liar.

What you didn’t know was everything they did behind your back. About Artorias going straight to Lord Gwyn to have you taken out of Ciaran’s care and put under his instead, making sure the missions you received were short, simple, almost insultingly easy compared to what you were used to.

Meanwhile, Ornstein quietly made it his job to scare off anyone who got too close, using little more than a glare and his reputation to keep them away. He even followed you himself sometimes, convinced he was the only one who could keep you safe, even if it meant you never realized how often you were being watched.

They only grew stranger with time. Neither of them stayed too close, but they never let you get too far away either. It was like they were always circling, watching, waiting for something to snap. You tried to ignore it, tried to tell yourself it was nothing, but the doubt kept gnawing at you.

That doubt became certainty the day you overheard them on the training field.

You hadn’t meant to listen, truly. You were just passing by, steps slowing when you heard your name in the quiet. They didn’t notice you at first, too caught up in whatever argument had been brewing for who knows how long.

"Stop coddling her, Artorias. She is no child." Ornstein’s voice was sharp as his hands were already folded. And based on your own experience with him, whenever he did that, he meant business.

"And you? Do not pretend you have not been trailing her on every mission." Artorias narrowed his eyes. You noticed his grip becoming firmer on the sword's handle. What were they even talking about?

Ornstein fell silent for a moment, head tilting slightly with a hint of wry amusement, for he wasn't able to provide an answer. That's why Artorias's voice cut through the stillness.

"Admit it. You have feelings for the girl."

"So you would let me have her then?" Ornstein’s tone turned mocking, a rare edge you didn’t often hear from him.

He probably struck a nerve because Artorias’s reply was cold, unwavering. "I do not see so."

It took you a moment to really understand what was happening. You didn’t stay to hear the rest. Instead, you slipped away before their words could dig any deeper into your thoughts.

After that, you buried yourself in missions—anything to keep yourself busy. Easy, hard, it didn’t matter. You took them all, even when it meant going against Artorias’s wishes. It was the only way you knew to avoid them both. You were confused and overwhelmed. You didn’t know how to handle any of it because they had been family to you. Especially knowing you didn’t have just one, but two gods chasing after you.

Much to your surprise, neither of them took it well. When they realized you’d been avoiding them, they started seeking you out at every opportunity. Whether it was to simply be near you or to hold onto you in some quiet, desperate way, you couldn’t tell anymore. Sometimes you wondered if you were imagining it.

You used to think you’d never understand why. But you did now. Because they’d said it themselves.

You remembered the moment clearly. In some dark corner of the castle, the two of them cornered you, their imposing forms blocking you from any easy escape. Their voices were calm but also demanding as they pressed you with question after question about why you’d been gone so much lately.

And if they had done anything to offend you. That was the part that caught you off guard...the way they actually asked. Their manners were nicer then, but no less intense. It was almost frightening, the weight of their presence in those godly armors, the way their eyes locked onto you like your answer was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You mumbled some poor excuse just to slip away, all the while feeling the tension in the air, the way both of them seemed to be holding themselves back from simply grabbing you and keeping you there. When you finally made it back to your room, you didn’t take any chances. You locked the door, bolted the windows, and checked it all twice, heart still racing at the thought of their eyes on you.

The real nightmares began when Gwyn’s firstborn betrayed him to stand with the dragons, and the Abyss began swallowing Oolacile whole. In response, Gwyn had to send Artorias to confront the spreading darkness, while Ornstein was tasked with hunting down his own mentor, his brother-in-arms.

Everyone else was tangled in politics and strategy, too busy to care about anything else. You were sent on mission after mission as well, which you counted as a blessing. Because they kept you busy, and more importantly, kept them both away from you for a while. You needed that break, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

But that break didn’t last.

They gave you command of a small team for a special mission, one meant to root out a single traitor who’d fled Anor Londo with secrets too dangerous to be left alive. It was supposed to be simple, clean, and precise, until it wasn't.

You hadn’t expected betrayal within your own ranks. But one of them turned on you, and suddenly it wasn’t one traitor you were facing, but many. You watched your comrades fall one by one, heard their screams echo in the dark. By the time it was over, you were soaked in blood, some theirs, some yours, and shaking so hard you could barely hold your dagger.

Regardless of the fleeting feelings, you finished the mission. You had tracked the traitor to their home and did what you were sent to do. Your blade was cold when it ended their life.

It was only when you turned to leave, your hand on the door, that you heard a thin, shaking cry.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned back and saw them. A child, no older than you’d been when Ornstein found you, crouched in the corner, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on their face. Clutching at the fallen body that you had left cooling on the floor.

Your fingers felt numb around the dagger. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even think anymore. You just watched as their sobs filled the small room, the sound tearing something inside you wide open.

When you returned to Anor Londo, you barely felt like yourself anymore. You spent most of your spare time shut away in your room, locking the door, shutting out everything beyond those walls. It all felt unreal, like something you couldn’t quite believe had happened.

Your missions had never been like that before. The people you were sent after didn’t have families waiting in the next room. They were just targets. Names on paper. Faces to forget once the job was done.

But this time there had been a child. A life you hadn’t meant to ruin. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the sound of their crying or the way they clung to the body you’d left behind.

It turned into weeks. Then months. You had tried burying yourself in work, taking any mission they would give you, hoping the blood and routine would drown out the guilt clawing at your insides. But it never went away.

You couldn’t eat properly. Sleep came in restless snatches with nightmares waking you in a cold sweat. There was no deny that the guilt sat heavy in your chest, a terrible weight you couldn’t shake.

Dreadfully, it started to show. You were slower in training, careless on missions. Mistakes you never used to make piled up, and for the first time in a long while, you felt weak. Breakable even. Like the life you’d built around blades and shadows was finally cracking apart.

You needed comfort, needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself completely. So you turned to the few you trusted. Ciaran listened, quiet and steady, offering gentle words that tried to soothe the raw edges. Gough laid a heavy hand on your tiny shoulder, voice deep with that calm wisdom only he seemed to carry, telling you that no warrior leaves every battle unscarred.

They did their best. But it wasn’t enough. Their words couldn’t reach the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, the heavy despair that refused to lift no matter how you tried to reason with it. All you could ever do was nodded, and thanked them. Yet nothing really eased the weight pressing down on your heart.

You were so deep in your own hopelessness that you didn’t even notice the day Artorias finally returned. Prior to that, rumours had whispered about his disappearance, stating he had long been swallowed whole by the Abyss in Oolacile. Just another hero claimed by the darkness.

You barely looked up when the knights dragged him through the gates. One of his arms was limp as his armor was scorched and cracked, that inky corruption clinging to him like a living thing.

They carried him to the infirmary with grim determination, doing their best to avoid the seeping blackness that writhed across his form. The people’s voices were hushed, tense with fear and pity, yet remained with supreme respect for their lord.

But you didn’t see much of it. You stayed in your room. The curtains were drawn tight, and the world outside felt just as black and suffocating as the thoughts you couldn’t seem to outrun.

It took you a few days before you finally gathered the will to visit Artorias, the famed Abysswalker. Even with all that had passed between you, you couldn’t ignore what he’d been through. His obsessiveness might have made you uneasy, but you couldn’t deny the truth of who he was. A kind man at heart, one who had never failed his people.

And you weren't in the wrong when the others adored him like they always had. You heard them speak in secret tones about the hero who’d braved the Abyss to save Oolacile and its princess from destruction. Thus, you felt a flicker of guilt twist in your chest for ever doubting his intentions.

When you finally stepped into the room, you found Artorias already awake. He sat propped against the infirmary bed’s headboard, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

His hood was drawn low, casting his face in dense shadow. Even in the dim light, you could see how changed he was. The edges of his armor were blackened and cracked, dark tendrils of something foul still curling along the seams like smoke that refused to clear.

His eyes were hard to catch beneath the hood, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at anything in the room. It felt like he was locked somewhere else entirely, lost in some deep, silent struggle you couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried.

You wondered if he had fully healed when looking at his limp arm. The very arm that he was best at when holding his sword.

When he finally seemed to notice you standing there, he turned his head slowly and managed a small, tired smile.

"Good evening, (Name)."

Your eyes shifted away from his hollow gaze, landing instead on the small bundle of flowers resting in a chipped vase beside his bed. You wondered if Ciaran had left them there for him.

You forced yourself to meet his eyes again, giving him a polite nod. "Lord Artorias."

"No need to be so formal." His voice was quieter now, but firmer than before, as he gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit with me,"

You hesitated, yet obeyed by lowering yourself onto the chair. He watched you for a moment before speaking again, eyes shadowed beneath the hood.

"I heard from Ciaran. She told me what happened."

The words caught you off guard, tightening something in your chest. You tried to straighten your posture, forcing the guilt back down where it belonged. And here you were, wondering why Artorias never failed to know everything about you.

"My Lord, I apologize. I-"

Artorias’s gaze softened at your apology. He cut you off before you could even finish. “It’s alright. What happened was unavoidable. You did what you could.”

You swallowed hard, the words landing heavier than you expected. The aftermath had been haunting you for days, taking every ounce of sanity from you the more you kept on.

Trying to push the guilt aside, you shifted in your seat and told him everything that had happened while he was gone, while trying to hold back tears.

He seemed quite happy to finally catch up. Until you cracked a question out of curiosity.

"What about your expedition to Oolacile? How was it?"

At that, something in him seemed to tighten. His eyes suddenly dropped. “Ah...”

"…" You frowned, hesitating whether or not to pry any further due to the atmosphere changing in the room.

His hands flexed against the blanket. Then he finally found the strength to speak, spilling out his heart like how you did to him before.

"The Abyss. It was far more terrifying than the rumours themselves." His breath hitched, the words tumbling out like something he’d been holding back too long.

His shoulders trembled slightly, armor creaking as he struggled to hold himself together. The truth was only unfolded when he finally took a breather.

"They praised my name...but it was all a lie. It was not I who saved the Oolacile, or the princess. I was merely a coward who ran away.”

To see Artorias like this, crumbling under the weight of his own words, it wasn’t like him at all. He had always been so noble, so unshakable...that watching him struggle to keep himself together made something twist painfully in your chest.

Your body moved before you could even think.

Halfway through his confession, you reached out and pulled him in, arms wrapping around the cold metal of his armor. Holding tight as if you could keep him from falling apart any further.

Unlike the gods, whose emotions were nearly nonexistent, you were human. Your flesh could be torn, your bones could break, and you felt for the man before you.

Artorias didn’t hesitate. The moment your arms wrapped around his larger form, he returned it by leaning in closer. It was almost desperate how his armored arm locked around you, holding you so tightly it was difficult to breathe.

You could feel the tremor in his grip. It wasn’t just from exhaustion or pain, but something deeper. His head rested against your shoulder, raspy breath warm against your ear. He held you like he’d been starved for this simple contact.

"Don’t leave," he said with almost desperation.

You shifted, uneasy at how hard his fingers pressed into your back, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold tight enough.

Then he drew in a slow breath against your neck, one that you could barely catch. “I’ve wanted you close like this for so long,”

When you tried to ease back, his hold only tightened further. You could feel his fingers tighten under the gauntlets, as if trying to physically restrain himself from pulling you even closer. His breath was warm, uneven, ghosting against your skin.

For a moment, you realized you weren’t comforting him anymore. He was claiming you.

You found yourself making it a small routine to visit him, slipping into the infirmary when your duties allowed, just to sit by his side. It felt like the least you could do for all the times he’d comforted you when you were younger.

Whenever you were there, he seemed to relax. The tension in his shoulders eased, the harsh set of his jaw softened. The darkness that clung to him, the Abyss twisting in the edges of his gaze, seemed to settle for a while.

With anyone else, he was cold and distant, sometimes even frightening with that coiling corruption beneath his skin. But with you, it was different. He spoke softer, and looked at you like you were something grounding him to what little humanity he had left.

Then Ornstein’s return came a few days later. His armors were heavily dented when you saw him walk through the gates, still looking every bit the Dragonslayer. Even from a distance, you could tell something was wrong, the way he seemed so calm and eerie.

He didn’t speak to anyone unless forced to, and when he did, his voice was somehow colder than usual. For some reason, whatever kinds of expression he wore behind that lion helm felt darker than anything you’d seen on Artorias.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you he had failed in his mission. He hadn’t brought Gwyn’s firstborn back. And what had happened out there in the darkest places of the world had followed him home, heavy on his shoulders and festering behind his tired eyes.

Unlike Artorias, he didn’t wait for you to come to him. He showed up at your door one night without warning, armor traded for a sleeping tunic, and the lion helm was nowhere in sight. It was the first time in so long you’d seen his face instead of that regal headwear.

He looked so...dead. Like something essential had been carved out of him, leaving nothing but a shell. His eyes were flat and dim, as if his purpose had been stolen and he was on the edge of going hollow right there in your doorway.

You waited a long moment before finally opening the door to him after a while of peeking. The scent of alcohol immediately caught your nose, sharp and heavy. His expression back then was so out of touch, clouded with something you couldn’t quite explain. You cautiously asked him what had happened. He didn’t answer but stared at you for a long moment, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check.

Then he suddenly closed the distance in one step, grabbing you with hands that felt almost rough. His dry mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was all but gentle. Tongue and teeth, raw and claiming, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long and couldn’t anymore, pouring whatever sadness he had onto you just because you were his joy and pride.

It felt wrong the moment your lips met. Because you’d always seen him as an older brother, someone who pushed you past your limits but watched over you all the same. The admiration was too much to be twisted into something else.

But there was nothing brotherly in the way he kissed you, though. His grip tightened around your waist as he kissed you feverishly, strong enough to lift you off the floor without even meaning to. The height difference was making you float ridiculously in the air. Yet his mouth was diligent, all bruising insistence, as if he wanted to devour every ounce of love from you.

You could feel the desperation in it, the way his fingers dug in, holding you like he’d never let go.

You didn’t think you wanted to see either of them after that night. The memory of Ornstein’s mouth on yours, the way he’d held you off the ground like you weighed nothing...it haunted you, made your skin crawl every time you thought about it.

So you threw yourself back into your old habits, trying to reclaim the routine of an assassin, anything to feel in control again. But it didn’t last long, for grand words had come down from Lord Gwyn himself.

You were finished. Released from the Lord’s Blades.

Hells, they didn’t even try to soften it. Like a bucket of cold water to your face, they stated you were “no longer fit” for the role as they stripped you of your rank and duty.

What made your blood run cold was what came next. Gwyn’s decree wasn’t just dismissal; it was also meant to convey ownership. You were handed over entirely to Artorias and Ornstein. Like you were nothing more than something to be given away, something to be claimed.

The fury had burned hot in your chest, mixing with something cynical and hurtful. You’d given everything to this place. Your skill, your youth, your soul, your everything. And in the end, they treated you like property to be owned. It was more than enough to make you feel sick to the stomach.

People had always whispered that a human had no place among the gods. Maybe they were right.

And for a second, you decided to prove them right in the only way you could. You did them all a favor.

You went back to your room and started packing your things. Your hands were shaking from anger as you grabbed what little you owned, stuffing clothes and weapons into your own satchel. Every movement felt so heavy, like the betrayal was pressing down on your shoulders. Making you feel like you were dying from the inside.

You didn’t want to see the grand halls or those towering marble statues ever again. You didn’t want to hear another order barked at you, or see the pity in anyone’s eyes the moment you walk away from everything.

Because you were ready to leave it all behind. To leave this gilded cage once and for all. Because if this was how they saw you, something to be tossed away and handed over like spoils, then there was nothing left here for you.

Then the next thing you knew, everything went black. You didn’t even remember falling or tripping. There was only a single moment of the suffocating darkness when it swallowed you whole.

When you finally came to, your head was pounding and your vision was blurry. You blinked hard, trying to make sense of the room around you. It was unfamiliar...too clean, too richly furnished. Velvet curtains decorated barricaded windows, there was a thick rug underfoot, and a heavy oak door with a lock so sturdy nothing could break.

This place looked nothing like your messy little room in Anor Londo.

Panic began to hit when you tried to move and heard the clinking of metal. When you looked down, your breath was stuck in your throat. One of your ankles was shackled to the bedpost with a thick iron chain.

No. No, this couldn’t be real. This had to be some twisted joke.

Your heart hammered as you clawed at the shackle, fingers slipping every so often due to the unfamiliarity. Then you noticed what you were wearing in the mirror next to the bed.

A lacy nightgown, soft and delicate, nothing you’d ever owned. Someone had undressed you. Then put you in this. The thought made your skin crawl even more.

You forced your shaking hands to work, scrabbling at the lock, testing the links, tugging until the metal bit into your ankle. Anything to get free. Your breathing turned harsher and rougher in the silence of the room as you realized there was no easy escape.

Out of sheer frustration and blind panic, you didn’t even think straight. You lunged for the door, wanting to slam your shoulder against it in a desperate attempt to break it open.

But the chain snapped taut with a harsh metallic clank, jerking you back so hard you lost your balance. You fell hard, scraping your poor elbows on the rug with your face planted on the ground.

You lay there for a moment, gasping, eyes fixed on the doorknob that was just out of reach. Your ankle throbbed where the shackle bit in, a cruel reminder you weren’t getting anywhere.

Then came the hot sting of tears gathering in your eyes, making the fury and terror even more ugly in your chest. This couldn’t be happening. But the cold weight of the chain against your skin told you it was all too real.

You scrambled back upright and fumbled for the small pick you always kept hidden. With shaking hands, you jammed it at the shackle’s side, searching for any catch, any lock to work at. But there was nothing. No keyhole or seam but solid iron clamped around your ankle.

Your heart sank as you realized that it wasn’t even locked. It was forged shut. As if someone smithed this onto you while you were unconscious. The pick fell from your fingers as you stared at the unmoving metal. You felt sick at the thought of them working over you while you were limp and unaware, binding you like some animal.

A sudden click echoed in the quiet room, and your head snapped up instinctively, making you go still on the velvety rug.

The litte doorknob began to turn slowly, in perfect time with the frantic pounding of your heart. The metal then creaked as it twisted, and you could only watch in terror at the cobalt-blue that was slowly peeking from behind the frame.

“Good evening, my dear. You are awake at last.” Artorias’s voice was calm, almost gentle, as he stepped through the door. He didn’t even take his eyes off you while he shut it behind him with a quiet click, then turned the key in the lock with care.

The softness in his tone sent a cold shiver down your spine. You hated it.

“W-what is the meaning of this?!” Never had you ever dared raising your voice at him. But you guess it didn’t matter anymore.

Artorias didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even bother answering your question. Instead, he simply lifted the small sack in his hand, the sound of wrapped food rustling as he shook it lightly.

“You must be hungry yeah? You have been asleep all day, after all.”

His tone was maddeningly calm, patronizing even, as if you were a child throwing a tantrum instead of someone chained to a bed. The worst part was he didn’t even try to hide it, like he was waiting for you to stop fussing and behave.

The man crouched down in front of you with unsettling ease, as though the chain on your ankle didn’t exist. He opened the sack with his usable arm and carefully took out a piece of crispy bread with a small container of hot stew, setting them on the floor just within your reach.

Then he settled there, elbow resting on his knee, chin propped in his palm, watching you with that infuriating tilt of amusement as your stomach betrayed you with a loud rumble.

You glared at him, the heat of your anger mixing with something far more bitter.

Because you recognized that meal immediately. Your favorite childhood dish. The very one he used to sneak you when the standard rations for training made you gag.

You never thought he would stoop this low, using old comforts against you like you were still that scared little girl clinging to him for safety. You could feel your jaw tighten, and the anger simmering in your chest. If he thought he could buy your obedience with warm food and old memories, he was wrong.

Without breaking eye contact, you lifted your hand and slapped the bowl away, sending the hot stew splattering across the polished floor in a messy arc. The rich, familiar smell filled the room as it soaked into the rug.

Your glare was unflinching, even if guilt twisted in your gut at the waste. You just wanted to see something from him other than that stupid void where his face was. Anything to prove you could still get under his skin so you could talk some sense into that thick head of his.

There was a moment of numbing silence.

“Hm. I do not recall you ever behaving quite so badly,” Then Artorias remarked, his voice hauntingly calm, an indication that the spilled meal on the floor meant nothing at all to him. He didn’t even blink, either, only watching you with unsettling patience.

Your fingers dug into the rug so hard your nails bent painfully. Every muscle in your arms became tense. “Stop with this stupid play and release me right now!”

He had yet to answer, as if waiting for you to tire yourself out.

“Artorias!”

Your voice cracked as you shouted, rage and fear spilling out all at once. Yet it couldn’t get a reaction out of him, like your words were wind against stone, a cup of water to raging forest fire.

“Naughty girl. You should learn never to raise your voice at your lord.” The man sounded so collected after a while, but there was nothing kind in it anymore.

He rose to his full height, towering over you so completely that craning your neck to meet his gaze actually hurt.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped forward. Before you could even think of backing away, his hand already clamped around your arm.

“Wait—!”

Artorias dragged you across the floor, the chain rattling harshly with every movement until you hit the edge of the bed.

“And I shall teach you that.”

You barely had time to gasp before he hauled you onto his lap like you weighed nothing at all. The chain clinked and tugged at your ankle with every struggle, but it didn’t slow him in the slightest.

“Stop! What are you doing? Stop—stop!” Your voice cracked in horror when you felt him lift the delicate fabric of the lacy gown, cold air hitting your exposed skin.

Then the slap came. It landed hard and fast, the sharp crack ringing out so loud it felt like it split the silence in two, making your ears ring. The excruciating pain flared instantly across your skin, sinking deep enough to drag a startled yelp from your throat.

Tears stung your eyes as you tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, refusing to let you go.

“It hurts! You're hurting me—” Your voice cracked as you clawed at his limp arm, nails scraping uselessly against the cold metal of his gauntlet. In return, he only pressed you harder against his lap, locking you in place as another harsh smack landed, and then another, then another.

Each strike burned hot across skin that had never been touched this way before, the sensitive flesh stinging and throbbing in brutal waves.

You'd had your bones broken and flesh torn before, but nothing felt like this. Like every humiliating, punishing impact was designed not just to hurt but to brand you. To remind you exactly who held you there and why you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

He only stopped once he decided you’d had enough. When your voice broke pitifully, and your sobs turned frantic. The beautiful eyes that had once looked at him with admiration, were now wet and shining with humiliation.

Artorias’s breath came heavy as he finally let his hand fall still. He watched you for a moment, the rise and fall of your shoulders, the way you refused to look at him.

His gloved hand moved then, slower, gentler. He rubbed the reddened skin where he’d struck you over and over, feeling a tinge of guilt coiling around his chest.

But then his eyes flicked downward, catching the shift of your hips, the subtle tremble in your thighs...and the unmistakable glistening wetness between them. Not only were you a naughty girl, but a lying one as well.

“Ah,” he murmured. “So that is it. Look at you. Did you enjoy this? Being reminded where you belong?” The corner of his mouth must have twitched as something dark flickered in his tone.

“No…” You whimpered as you fought to steady yourself.

But your breath hitched in betrayal when one of his thick fingers pressed firmly between your folds, spreading you open.

“No?” he repeated softly, mocking the quaver in your voice. His head tilted as if studying you from a new angle, and you stopped breathing when that gloved hand settled fully between your thighs.

“Then what is this?” He pressed in harder. That single finger slid along your slit, dragging slowly from your entrance up to the sensitive nub, spreading the wetness over your skin. The noise was so shameless, you actually whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.

“Listen,” he ordered. He moved the finger again, even slower this time, letting you hear every squelch that filled the silent room. Your whole body jerked in his lap at the humiliation.

“Does that sound like ‘no’ to you?”

You struggled under his painful grip, your throat worked as you tried to answer, but all you managed was a sob. He clicked his tongue and stroked again, thumb joining in now to part you further, exposing every glistening fold to his scrutiny.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, leaning close enough you could feel his breath against your ear. “Absolutely drenched from getting spanked like a disobedient child. Do not lie to me.”

Artorias resumed stroking, fingers gliding over your slick folds to tease your clit, coaxing fresh wetness with every friction. In response, you thrashed helplessly on his lap, but your frail human strength was nothing against his unyielding, godlike grip.

"How about we put this place of yours to good use."

He shoved you down onto the bed, pinning your wrists tight despite your frantic struggles and shrill screams. In seconds, black tendrils of abyssal darkness slithered around them, coiling and tightening until they bound you like cuffs.

"Hey, stop it—"

Your words got cut off in a gasp when his face dipped between your thighs. You couldn’t see him clearly beneath the shadow of that cobalt-blue, but the hot breath ghosting over your aching core made you cower.

He held your legs wide apart with such strength, the armored weight of his arms pinning you so firmly you could barely twitch. From the roiling darkness beneath his hood, the slimy tendril uncoiled fully, glistening black and wet as it snaked down between your thighs.

You sucked in a desperate breath, eyes wide with terror and humiliation as it slithered over your folds. The first contact was cold and slick, making you jolt and cry out, your cunt reflexively clenching around nothing yet.

“Easy,” he rumbled with dark amusement. His grip only tightened, keeping you spread open and vulnerable while the tendril stroked you endearingly, dragging hot trails across your sensitive flesh.

It prodded at your entrance and your clit in turn, rubbing circles that left you soaked and twitching. Every squelching noise it made filled the room, drowning out your high-pitched whimpers.

Then it pressed in, punching a sob out of you when it forced its way inside, the cold slickness stretching you open, making your walls clench. He let out a guttural sound of pleasure at the sight, head dipping lower.

Much to your horror, from the hooded void, more blackness pooled out, tendrils wrapping around your thighs to hold you even more still..

He didn’t give you time to adjust either. The main tendril inside you began to pump, slow first, while another smaller one emerged to flick and lash at your swollen clit. Your back arched hard off the bed as you shrieked, breathing heavily when that second tendril wrapped around your nub and squeezed, pulsing with a rhythm that sent brutal sparks through your belly.

Your slick drooled down onto the bedding below, strings of it glistening in the evening light as he kept working you with those abyssal limbs.

“Listen to yourself,” he growled, voice muffled from where he watched between your legs. “So damn wet for me.”

For a moment, he let out a deep moan of his own as if savoring your taste through the tendril. It pulsed in response inside you, grinding mercilessly against that sweet spot until you were thrashing in his hold, babbling nonsense and sobbing for mercy.

"Ah...stop. Stop this, please..." you cried out. Yet, your hip wouldn't stop thrashing for more.

The tendril on your clit tightened, vibrating just slightly, making you spasm around the one buried in you. Artorias watched it all with amusement, holding you down so you couldn’t squirm away.

He blamed the Abyss for making him this obsessed.

The abuse your clit was getting soon became too much when he hauled your hips clean off the bed, folding you nearly in half without a hint of care for your frantic cries. The chain on your ankle swung wildly, clanging against his armored shoulder with every desperate kick, but he ignored it completely.

If anything, it only seemed to excite him more.

Your eyes watered from the burn in your stretched muscles as he forced you open even wider, leaving you shamefully exposed to the writhing tendrils. They lashed and rubbed with merciless precision, one flickering your swollen clit to squeeze and pulse until you screamed, while another kept thrusting deep inside you, the lewd noises sounding impossibly loud.

Every time you struggled, he let out a hungry laugh, the shadows under his hood churning with feverish delight. The more you resisted, the more brutal the tentacles became—fucking you harder, tighter, wringing out every single reaction from you.

Your orgasm slammed into you before you even realized it was coming, ripping a raw, strangled scream from your throat. Your body convulsed hard in his grip, back arching until it hurt.

Artorias actually flinched in surprise when your tight little hole spasmed and squirted a sudden gush of glistening fluid all over the probing tendril and his armored torso, splattering wetly as if your body itself was trying to reject the overwhelming pleasure he forced on it.

For a moment, he was stunned at the mess you'd made. Then a delighted laugh rumbled from his heaving chest. The slick tendrils finally slid free from your drenched cunt with an obscene squelch, leaving your hole twitching and gaping slightly from the relentless abuse.

You barely had time to come back from the high when the door behind Artorias creaked open. Heavy, thudding footsteps echoed through the room, so familiar they made your blood run cold.

Ornstein stepped inside without a word, golden armor catching the glow as he surveyed the scene. He set his spear casually in the corner, its bottom scraping the floor. Then the lionhead turned slowly toward you, taking in the scene while you were completely sprawled out and shaking in another man's grip.

“I was out there fighting for my life with the dragons,” he drawled, folding his arms over his broad chest. “And you two were having fun without me? That hurts.”

You didn’t miss the mocking tilt of his head, the false wounded tone. He was lying, obviously so. If anything, you knew the dragons had been the ones fighting for their lives just to keep him at bay.

"You are back early, Ornstein," Artorias remarked. His attitude was deceptively calm as he shifted just enough to let his comrade approach, though his hand stayed clamped possessively around your waist, fingers digging in.

"Lord Gwyn let me off early this time," Ornstein replied with a lazy smirk in his tone. "Plus, I missed the girl."

The bed creaked under his weight as he sat down beside you, the thick golden armor now gone, leaving only the layered cloth and lean muscle beneath. He stretched an arm across the mattress behind you, eyes roaming over your spent, trembling form with open hunger.

"Ornstein, if you were wise, you would let me walk out of that door." You ground the words out through clenched teeth, still pulling frantically at the writhing darkness binding your arms together above your head.

Your defiance drew a moment of silence from Ornstein. His visor tilted slightly, studying you in that eerie, predator's stillness before he finally reached out, gloved fingers brushing your tear-streaked, sweat-dampened cheek.

"You are as amusing as ever," he murmured, voice dropping to a condescending softness. "Why would you wish to run away now, when we are both here for you?"

Until he leaned in closer. "You should know the moment you walk out of this place, you will make all of Anor Londo your enemy. Would you want that?"

Then it twisted into something worse, just enough to make your blood run cold. "For us to hunt you down and kill everyone you love?"

"What? W-what are you blabbing about?!" You spat, voice shaking with anger and terror.

"Now, now. There’s no need to be so agitated," Ornstein cooed, sounding downright soothing in his condescension. "Be a good girl and let us make love to you, okay?"

Right when the words left his lips, he pushed them your dry, cracked ones, trying to coax them open. You turned your head frantically, trying to escape the kiss, disgust churning in your gut at the thought of him daring to threaten you one moment and feign tenderness the next.

But Artorias wouldn’t allow it. He held you down ruthlessly, one massive hand splayed over your stomach to keep you pinned while the other flipped the delicate lacy gown up, bunching it around your waist. His hooded face dipped low, shamelessly basking in the sight of your supple breasts spilling free, his breath hitching with raw hunger at the sight of your vulnerable, exposed flesh.

Ornstein’s tongue pushed insistently into your mouth, tasting you deeply, drinking in every muffled whimper you couldn’t hold back. His kiss was wet and greedy, forcing you to gasp and shudder beneath him.

At the same time, Artorias lowered his head to your chest, lips sealing around one of your perky nipples. He sucked carelessly, tongue flicking and lapping at the sensitive bud as if he expected milk to pour out for him before grazing it lightly with his teeth, making your back arch helplessly despite your muffled cries into Ornstein’s devouring mouth.

From below, you felt a hand slide possessively over your inner thigh, fingers pressing into the soft, abused heat that had been left pulsing and raw from Artorias’s earlier torment. The contact was firm, almost casual in its cruelty, dragging your folds apart to expose you fully.

You let out a muffled cry against Ornstein’s mouth when two thick fingers pushed in without warning. The obscene squelch filled the room once more as he spread you open around them, forcing your walls to stretch and squeeze around the rude intrusion.

He didn’t pause to let you adjust. Instead, he fucked you with those fingers immediately, pumping in and out with a steady rhythm that made your hips twitch with each thrust. The chain on your ankle rattled uselessly. You tried to squirm away, but Ornstein’s arm kept you pinned in place, his mouth still locked over yours, swallowing your every broken noise.

The soft tongue explored your mouth desperately, hot and heavy, coiling around yours and forcing it to dance with him. You whimpered, trying to turn your head away. Yet his grip on your jaw was iron, making every protest die in breathless gasps while his fingers curled inside you, seeking out that sensitive spot.

When your walls fluttered helplessly around him, betraying you with gushes that made each pump wetter, noisier, he moaned approvingly into your mouth.

Above you, Artorias was just as sedulous. His hood shadowed his face but couldn’t hide the deep, scary sounds he made as he worshipped your chest. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud until it ached and tingled.

He shifted to the other breast, licking wet stripes over your skin before sealing his lips around the peak. You felt his teeth graze it back and forth again. He became creative when his gauntleted hand came up to squeeze and knead your breasts roughly, toying with them like they were stress-relieving tools.

“Look at you,” Ornstein finally murmured against your lips, voice hoarse with lust as he pulled back just enough to speak, thumb brushing your spit-slick lower lip. His fingers never stopped moving inside you, pressing ruthlessly at that sweet spot until your legs shook. “Making such a mess on my hand. You are so, so wet it’s dripping.”

He twisted his fingers with a wet squelch, making your hips buck despite yourself, while Artorias’s tongue lashed at your nipple, warm breath heating your skin.

“Stop…please…” You sobbed from the humiliation and overstimulation.

But they only chuckled at the adorable plea.

"Artorias has a thing for helpless, begging girls, you know?" Ornstein drawled with a smirk. His fingers suddenly sped up, thrusting faster, thumb slipping down to grind circles over your clit until your entire body shook in their grip.

"Only when it’s her," Artorias growled in response as he dipped lower. Mouth pressed to your chest, teeth sinking in to leave stinging bite marks all over your tender skin.

They worked you over and over, hungry in their assault of kisses, roaming hands, and shameless teasing touches. Every wet lick, every squeeze, every thrust of fingers made you squirm and sob so bad, your heat coiling in your belly until you were right on the edge of cumming again.

But just as you were about to burst, they stopped.

Your breath came in broken sobs as you were left dazed and aching, core throbbing with cruel, unsatisfied need. Frustration twisted in your gut. Your head rang with static noise, making you wish desperately that this was all some sick nightmare you’d wake from.

Too bad it wasn’t.

You barely realized what was happening when Artorias shifted behind you, his massive arm sliding under your limp, trembling form. He hoisted you up easily, as if you weighed nothing at all, settling you in his lap with your back pressed firmly against his chest.

Your eyes flew open in panic when you felt Ornstein move in closer, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you wide open. The cold, heavy weight of his cock rested against your slick, abused entrance as he lined himself up, his golden eyes burning with predatory hunger at the sight of your hole twitching and dripping for him.

“W-wait—!” you babbled, thrashing weakly in Artorias’s iron grip, but all it did was make Ornstein’s smirk widen as he pushed the swollen head of his cock insistently against your yielding folds.

He moaned out loud as your prepped little cunt clamped down on him with a near-death grip the moment he forced his thick length inside. After so many years spent yearning for you, his lovely, stubborn apprentice, finally having you like this, spread open and trembling, felt like a gift sent from above.

"Refrain yourself from breaking her," Artorias said from behind you, his arms like iron bands around your legs to hold you steady even as you thrashed.

"Don't think I can guarantee that," the dragonslayer shot back with a savage grin.

Then he laughed lustfully in his chest, chivalrous eyes locked on the sight of you stretched tight around him, before he thrust in again, harder this time, pounding into you without mercy as your pitiful cries filled the room.

Your head lolled back onto Artorias’s shoulder with every pound. Hazy eyes glazed with tears, every breath coming out of you either as a whimper or a scream. And Artorias hadn't looked away—not for a second. He held you open for Ornstein.

Massive, clawed hands gripped your thighs so hard to keep you from sliding forward, you’d feel the bruises for days. He forced your legs wide apart, spreading you indecently so Ornstein could drive in as deep as he wanted, your stretched pussy swallowing every inch of him despite your body’s resistance.

Artorias’s hood shadowed his face, but his breathing was harsh. Beneath the dark folds, his eyes burned with naked hunger, sp locked on the sight of your hole clenching around his comrade’s cock. Not to mention, he could feel the heat of your slick dripping onto his armored thighs, and the way you spasmed every time Ornstein’s length dragged along your walls.

He was painfully hard himself.

You could feel it, the thick ridge pressing insistently into the small of your back every time you writhed. But he didn’t move to take you, not yet because of the promise he made with Ornstein.

“Good girl,” he growled in your ear. “Take all of him.”

Ornstein let out a laugh, head thrown back slightly as he felt you squeeze tighter with every savage thrust.

“She’s so fucking tight,” he panted, licking his lips as he watched your breasts bounce from the force of his thrusts. “Listen to her, Artorias. She’s crying for it.”

Artorias’s arm tightened across your waist, pulling you back hard against his chest as he forced your legs even wider in response.

“Don’t break her too soon,” he warned again, but his voice shook with lust and betrayal at the sight of you being fucked to the brim.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but curiosity and horror made you peek down at where your body was joined with Ornstein’s. You were so slick that your cunt swallowed his thick cock without protest. It only terrified you more.

There was no hint of the brotherly love you once remembered. That was long gone, replaced by some twisted perversion and obsession. If only you knew, you would have left this wretched place before they could even make it back.

"Fuck, think I'm close," Ornstein grunted. He slammed into you harder, making the entire bed shake with each brutal thrust. His eyes then flicked up to Artorias’s larger frame, a mocking grin twisting his lips. "You think I should do it inside? Give her a child and have you be the uncle, yeah?"

Your eyes went wide in horror. A sob tore from your throat as you started thrashing wildly in Artorias’s iron grip, chains rattling madly against the bed.

"N—no, you can’t!!" you screamed, voice cracking with terror.

But Artorias didn’t budge. His arms were unmovable bands of steel around your waist and thighs, forcing you open even wider for his friend. His dark, hooded head turned slightly, watching with gleaming eyes as your body was pounded without mercy.

"If you are so confident in your seed," His tone was low and mocking despite the lust that thickened every word, "then be my guest."

The mental image of you swollen with child made his cock twitch so hard he wished he could pounce you right now.

Ever since you were a kid, just a tamed little wild thing. Trouble always found you, or maybe you went looking for it. Always so damn hard-headed, forever talking back but never knowing when to shut up. Always so eager to square up with him, too, even though you never stood a chance.

Maybe having another little version of you didn’t sound so bad.

He could see the appeal in it, actually. The thought of you waddling around carrying his child, of helping you raise it, of scolding a stubborn little brat with your same spark and fire, made something fierce and almost possessively tender burn in his chest.

Yeah. He could get used to that.

Without warning, Ornstein’s grip on your waist tightened like a vice, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises as he hauled you flush against him in one savage motion. The swollen head of his thick cock rammed hard into your cervix, sending a sharp, dizzying shock up your spine that made your vision blur and your toes curl helplessly.

You choked on a scream, eyes rolling back, whilst he groaned loudly with satisfaction. In a matter of seconds, you felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum flooding deep inside you, coating your walls and painting your womb white. The wet heat spread through you in humiliating pulses, leaking around the seal of your stretched cunt as he stayed buried to the hilt, making sure not a drop could escape.

It took Ornstein a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving with each inhale. Sweat glistened on his forehead, matting fiery red strands of hair to his skin; the usually tidy mane was now wild and tangled.

He let out a satisfied chuckle as he finally pulled out, a wet squelch marking his exit. Sharp eyes instantly locked on the mess he’d made—thick, pearly ropes of his cum spilling freely from your abused, gaping cunt, trailing in lewd strings onto the sheets below.

“With that much,” he drawled lazily, completely mesmerized, “I wouldn’t even be surprised if you were with child by tomorrow.”

He laughed again with the same cruel amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"Shut up, you—you—" you stammered, trying to think of some insult as you weakly kicked out at him.

Ornstein just caught your ankle effortlessly, smirking. He pressed a teasing, mocking kiss to the inside of it, the gesture making you shudder in disgust.

"Complain to me later," he murmured with a lazy drawl. "Because I doubt Artorias can wait any longer."

With that, he shifted to the side, finally giving the other man room.

Artorias wasted no time. He leaned in close, the shadow under his hood pressing to your tear-streaked cheek, like he was kissing you. But all you could feel was the cold, suffocating Abyss that clung to him, seeping into your skin and making you shiver.

Then he moved back with predatory calm, letting you fall limply onto the bed. In a blink, the black tendrils binding your wrists vanished into nothingness, freeing you just in time for you to throw your hands over your chest in reflex.

You tried to push yourself up with terror pounding in your veins, but froze when you saw him loosen the front of his dark trousers.

It sprang free with a heavy, lewd slap against his own stomach, massive, pale, and veined so thickly it looked monstrous. Far thicker and longer than Ornstein’s had been. Your eyes went impossibly wide, throat closing up.

There was no way you could take the head alone, let alone the entire thing.

Artorias watched you stare with shaking horror. One of his massive hand wrapped lazily around the impossible length, stroking it.

“Impressive, right?” Ornstein drawled lazily, now lying on his side next to you, head propped on his palm.

His eyes gleamed with open amusement as he watched your face twist in panic. Meanwhile, his free hand roamed over your chest, fingers squeezing and kneading your bite-marked, sensitive breasts, rolling your sore nipples between rough fingertips until you squirmed helplessly.

“No way…I-I can’t take it, he’ll tear me up,” you choked out in fear as you gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped from your temples, your whole body trembling.

“No need to worry,” Artorias said from above. “Soon enough you’ll take pleasure in it.”

You sobbed once in horror as he shifted closer, heavy weight pressing the mattress down on either side of your quivering hips. He angled his thick, monstrous cock with one massive, armored hand, lining the veiny length up perfectly with your entrance.

You could feel the hot, heavy head nudging insistently against your drenched folds, the threat of it sinking in making you writhe and squirm in mindless panic.

His grip on your waist was so strong you couldn’t move an inch even if you wanted to. You could only thrash weakly, crying out when you felt the swollen head of his cock press hard against your slit, trying to spread you around something impossibly thick.

Artorias let out a growl the moment he pushed forward, the wide head catching on your stretched entrance but refusing to slide in.

“Too tight,” he snarled with frustration before withdrawing an inch only to shove forward again, grinding the head against you in delicate thrusts that forced your folds apart. Yet still couldn’t bury him even halfway.

You screamed, tears streaming, fingers clawing at the sheets. Your legs kicked weakly.

“Stop. Ah—too big! It won’t fit!”

Beside you, Ornstein let out a dark laugh, watching you squirm with gleaming eyes. He reached over, strong fingers wrapping around one of your thighs to hold it wide and steady. His other hand went between your legs, fingers parting your slippery folds even further, spreading you for Artorias.

“I’ve got you, little assassin,” Ornstein crooned, still using that childish nickname he gave you in the past.

Artorias groaned. He pressed in harder, feeling the resistance given by cruel, grinding inches.

You nearly died when he finally bottomed out inside you, the fat head of his cock slamming into the very deepest part of your core. Your breath hitched on a silent scream as you felt your belly distend slightly with the sheer size of him, the obscene bulge tracing his length beneath your skin.

Your cunt clamped down violently around him, the slick, trembling walls spasming in panicked reflex. It was too much—too big—forcing you open in ways you never thought possible.

Artorias shuddered at the sensation, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he held you locked in place. His breath grew laboured and unsteady. The hood shadowed his face, yet unable to hide the way he trembled with need.

“Gods,” he hissed, voice breaking with dark delight. “You’re too tight…it’s—fuck…it’s perfect.”

He didn’t want to move yet, simply savoring the crushing, molten grip of your cunt around him. The way it pulsed and squeezed like it was trying to force him back out, even as it held him in a vice, was undeniably deadly that...

“I might never want to leave you.”

All hells broke loose the second Artorias began to move. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, dragging that impossibly thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, making your entire body jolt against the mattress.

The pain was immediate, tearing a raw scream from your throat as your walls fought to accommodate the brutal intrusion. But with every thrust, the searing burn slowly blurred into something else…hot, tingling pleasure that crawled up your spine, making your legs tremble and your toes curl.

It was humiliating. Psychotic even...how you were falling apart under his charm.

You went from shrieking in pain to letting out these breathless moans you didn’t even recognize as your own. Your mouth fell open, eyes already rolling back with drools slipping from the corner of your lips as Artorias forced your traitorous body to submit.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he thrust harder, grinding so deep you could feel the head of his cock battering the very entrance to your womb, making your belly bulge slightly with each stroke.

Beside you, Ornstein lay propped on his elbow, watching with predatory glee. His sharp eyes tracked every twitch of your face.

When he saw your drool glistening on your chin, he let out a chuckle.

“Look at you,” he drawled, fingers idly playing with the bruises and bite marks on your tits. “Already drooling for him. Didn’t know you could get so desperate for cock.”

Your sobs mixed with keening moans as Artorias’s thrusts only grew faster. The room was soon filled with wet, rhythmic slaps and your own pitiful sounds of unwilling pleasure.

“A-Artorias!” Before you knew it, you were already cumming. Your back arched violently against him, every muscle locking tight while your cunt clamped down in spasming pulses around his thick cock.

He let out a breathless laugh, sounding more like himself.

“Goodness,” Artorias groaned, the sensation of your walls milking him nearly buckling his control. He had to brace himself, arms trembling as he fought to keep from spilling inside you right then and there. Every pulse of your tight heat was sending bolts of unbearable pleasure through him.

Despite the savage need in his eyes, he was generous enough to slow down, pulling his cock out with a wet slide that left you gasping and twitching on the sheets.

He let you ride out your own orgasm. With tears streaming down flushed red cheeks, you shook with the aftershocks, your chest heaving for breath, clinging onto Ornstein's hand when it took yours in.

Then Artorias moved, looming over you in the dim light. With unsettling ease, he lay back and hauled your limp, quivering body on top of him, settling you astride his broad torso like you weighed nothing at all.

Your arms trembled uselessly at your sides, unable to hold yourself up as he lined himself up again. This time, slick with your own wetness and the copious remnants of Ornstein’s cum leaking out of you, he sank back in with disgusting ease.

From this angle, his size was even more apparent so holding you like this was like having an oversized doll in his lap, completely at his mercy.

Without waiting a second longer, Artorias’s massive hand clamped around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he yanked you downward at the exact moment he thrust up from below.

“Ah—ah!!”

Your shriek split the air as his cock slammed impossibly deep, the new angle forcing him even further inside you. The fat, veined length speared into that devastatingly sensitive spot deep in your core, the one that made you see stars and scream every single time he hit it.

Your voice cracked on a desperate wail with tears streaming down your cheeks. Even Artorias couldn’t keep quiet, for he groaned and moaned, sounding more like the animal he was becoming.

“Fuck yes,” he growled ferally as he bottomed out once more, grinding that swollen tip against your sweet spot again just to hear you scream so sweetly. “So fucking tight…so good.”

He kept that savage rhythm the same, hauling your hips down every time he thrust up, using your limp body like his personal toy, making sure you felt every last inch of him splitting you open.

When the days were harsh with doubts dangling in his clouded head, you were the answer he had been longing for.

He loved you so much it hurt. The consuming obsession that had festered for years in him, loving you, knowing deep down you would never feel the same way. The Abyss might have ruined him, but it had also given him the courage to take you like this.

Every muffled scream, every pleading sob that fell from your lips would forever be with him in ways he’d never admit. As he forced your hips down onto his rod over and over, feeling you clamp so tight and hot around him, his mind was heavy with the weight of that truth.

Because he remembered.

He remembered every time you’d run to him crying, pleading for that everlasting comfort. Every time he had sat there, ever the stoic knight he was, offering you his shoulder while your tears soaked through his heart. It had taken everything he had to hold back then, to be the good man you needed instead of the selfish monster he felt himself becoming.

But he was done faking it. He was done being just the shade you found comfort in on a hot summer day.

He wanted to be something else to you entirely—a lover, a mate, the only one who could hold you like this, make you feel this way. Even if it meant forcing himself on you.

You were the final flicker of light holding him back from tumbling completely into the madness the Abyss had brought about. He would never let you go, even if it meant death.

As his thrusts grew more desperate, the hand from his non-limp arm snaked up your trembling body to find your neck. His fingers wrapped tight around your throat, squeezing firmly until your breath hitched in a strangled gasp, eyes flying wide with panic.

The pressure was like a stimulant, making your walls clamp down even tighter around his thick cock, eager to milk him with every involuntary spasm.

It felt so damn good that for one brief, perfect moment. That Artorias actually believed your cunt was driving the Abyss right out of him. Every squeeze, every flutter of your adorable, helpless cunt, felt like it’s chasing away the corruption in his bones.

He let out a roar as he came with one brutal, final thrust that drove you down onto him to the hilt, grinding so deep you saw stars. Hot, thick spurts of his cum flooded your puffy pussy, warmth spreading as he filled you up, claiming every last inch of space inside you.

Yet, Artorias kept moving. Hips jerking in messy, unsteady thrusts, he fucked you through the gut-wrenching high. To the point his cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, still unloading more with every spasm, refusing to pull out.

It was like you were some succubus conjured to drain him dry—your body sucking the very life out of him, taking every ounce of his strength, his sanity, his love. He groaned in your ear one last time, voice breaking with a helpless desperation when he gave you all he had left, thrusting sloppily until his limbs trembled and gave up.

You unconsciously clung to his massive frame, fingers digging weakly into the hard lines of his armor when he crashed down, barely holding himself up with one arm.

He had given your womb a second, merciless chance to get bred full of him. And you loathed how your body betrayed you completely when his seeds flood your garden. Because the pleasure he brought was too much, searing your nerves until you couldn’t even tell what was happening anymore.

Maybe you came. Maybe you pissed yourself.

You weren’t so sure. Your body convulsed and shook, leaking slick and seed and everything else onto his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

The only thing grounding you in that dizzy, drowning haze was Ornstein’s slow, surprisingly gentle kisses pressed to your temples. His lips were warm and patient, brushing over your sweaty, salty skin as if to remind you to come back to them.

The redhead clicked his tongue, shaking his head with feigned annoyance when he saw how heavy your eyelids had grown, fluttering weakly before finally closing. You looked so small like that, limp and boneless in Artorias’s bruising hold.

Artorias let out a low, uneven exhale as he finally lifted himself off you, the creak of the bed groaning beneath his weight. His hands then moved with uncharacteristic care, adjusting your slack form so you wouldn’t suffocate under him, though the worry flickering behind his abyss-tainted eyes was unmistakable. He looked down at you, taking in every detail. From your tear-streaked cheeks to your swollen, well-fucked cunt, which was leaking with their mixed release.

And in that moment of quiet, your body finally gave up its fight.

Your breathing slowed prominently with relaxed shoulders. Foggy head lolled back against the pillow seconds after, you drifted off without another sound, slipping into a deep, healing slumber.

Ornstein watched you with a small, knowing smirk, thumb brushing idly across the bruises on your thigh.

“Soft little thing,” he muttered, voice softer than he’d admit.

“Think she’ll want the north wing for a nursery?”

Artorias didn’t answer. He was watching your face with quiet hunger, as if memorizing it for every nightmare the Abyss would give him.

“I like the east wing better. It is more secluded there.” He finally spoke, pulling out just enough to let his seeds spill freely.

“No one would have to know about her whereabouts.”

Ornstein then huffed in defeat, watching over your sleeping form before admitting the corruption out loud. “The Abyss sure did change you, huh?”

“Hey,” He gave a nod. His brows furrowed for a second as you crossed the driveway before relaxing.

“Moving everything in today?” He shook his head at your question.

“Just the basics. Movers are bringing the rest tomorrow.” He tucked the box underneath his arm. He closed his trunk and then held out his hand, “Leon,”

“Nice to meet you, Leon. I’m (Y/N),” You shook his hand, “I’m guessing you’re sleeping on an air mattress tonight?” He chuckled at your joke and shifted the box to hold it with both hands.

“Nah, I can’t do that. I don’t think it would be good for my back if I wake up on the floor.” Leon matched your friendly energy. He gave you another once over, a strange feeling of familiarity settling in his chest. “I booked a hotel not too far from here.”

Oh, that was such a good idea. Why didn’t you think of that when you were moving? That first night was the worst, so you focused on assembling your bed the next day. Once again, there went your new neighbor’s scrutinizing gaze. He was assessing you. It didn’t make you uncomfortable, but he definitely needed to learn to control his expressions.

“I don’t know why it had been on sale for that long. It’s a pretty house,” You motioned to your homes, “I actually checked out both of them when I was deciding. But I liked mine more.”

“Ah, so what you’re saying is you got the better one of the two?” He smirked.

“Sorry, Leon. Shoulda came five years earlier.” You shrugged, “Anyway, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll keep that in mind.” Leon said as you left. His brows furrowed in thought. He shouldn’t linger on it too much. But it bothered him more than he would admit not being able to figure it out. It was on the tip of his tongue.

He was going to lose sleep over this.

Leon made his way to his house. He set the box down beside another one. He glanced around the empty living room with scattered cardboard boxes. Eventually he’d get it all fixed up. He didn’t have much of a reason to move. He didn’t really need to at all. But an apartment was starting to feel cramped and this house was rather quaint.

… Now that he thought about it, you said his house had been on sale for a while. And the realtor did mention that too. Maybe that should have been a warning.

Oh well. He got a pretty neighbor as a bonus. Let the roof cave in.

He wanted to get back to the hotel and relax. His next few days would be very hectic with unpacking. He grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter and made his way. He closed the front door, searching for his new house key amongst the few others. As he was locking it, he lifted his gaze slightly enough to see your house.

You kept it in tact. Clean, freshly painted, grass trimmed, and a few little decorations. There went that sudden itch again, insisting that he’d seen you somewhere before. He shook it off. It was just the stress from packing and deciding what he was going to keep.

Meanwhile, inside your house, you were discreetly peering through your window blinds. You watched him go over to his car, “Damn…” You clicked your tongue, letting go of the blinds, “They don’t make them like that no more.”

Leon settled in the neighborhood very quickly. You were a very friendly woman and made it easy for the two of you to get along.

Mrs. Beamon from across the street kept telling you to snatch him up before she did. The elderly woman had her priorities straight, you’d give her that.

Most of the time, you two had dinner together. His busy schedule made it a little harder to do anything besides that. Either at your place, sometimes at his, or booking a reservation. Other times you’d rant to him, fresh off work, about your least favorite coworker editing your spreads again while he fixed his bike in his garage.

He never went into details as to what he did. For him, it was nice to have a friendship with someone who wasn’t from work or relating to his missions. So he’d rather spare you from the details of his messed up life. A simple “I work for the government” was good enough. You took note that he’d rather not bring his mysterious job home with him.

Now what did he think? That you were a very, very gorgeous woman. He was so confused as to why you were single. You never mentioned a boyfriend, and never had a man come over. Plus, he was fairly certain that if you did, your boyfriend wouldn’t be too comfortable with you being as friendly with him.

A boyfriend or a man on the side didn’t matter. He still couldn’t pinpoint where he might have seen you before.

And how long did it take him living as your neighbor to finally figure it out? Three entire years. Three.

Is there still time to meet up for lunch? She’s in my ear and getting on my nerves again.

Leon snickered at your message, typing up a reply.

Too late. You had your chance to see me. But I’ll let you meet me for dinner instead. Your turn to pick.

“The would be 20th anniversary of Monroe Magazine.” He jolted in his chair. He looked over to see another agent sitting on the break room couch, reading over his phone. He somehow managed to slip past Leon without alerting him. “Man, time flies, huh?”

“Monroe Magazine?” Leon sat up in his chair. He locked his phone and placed it face down on the table. He rubbed his jaw, “20 years? I haven’t heard about them in a while. Didn’t they shut down in ‘09?”

“Yeah, and they used to be good before they switched owners in ‘06. They went downhill fast after that. You could tell the guy was a creep.” The agent gave Leon a side eye. He scrolled through the article on his phone. “The original wanted pretty girls to shine. The second made it a degenerate’s magazine.”

“I remember that.” Leon scoffed lightly. “They lost that classy style. Their sales tanked, right?”

“Of course they did! They lost half their audience! Women got the magazines because they would buy the clothes the models wore. Like at the back, there was a catalogue and all those codes.” The agent made motion with his hand as if he were flipping through a book.

“So that’s what all those things were in the back…” Leon said to himself.

“My favorite was Cecilia. So beautiful, you only had to say her first name. You remember that tagline?” The agent raised a brow and grinned.

“My favorite was—” Your name left Leon’s lips subconsciously. It dawned on him in that very instant and he swore the room became smaller.

Monroe Magazine. It all came rushing back to him. How did he not piece this together sooner?

The first time he bought a magazine from them was at 22. He considered himself to still be rather innocent. Honestly, young Leon didn't have the confidence to buy a more explicit magazine. He promised he’d work his way up slowly. What he settled on was a far, far better choice.

The issue he bought had four gorgeous women dressed in flappers. It was a special edition showing the fashion of women over the decades. His eyes were glued to only one amongst those four.

Somehow, amongst the hectic routine he was thrown into, he kept himself up to date with any issue releases you were featured in. You were on the front covers, runways, billboards, even perfume commercials he might have taped. Gone was his whole idea of working his way towards explicit magazines. And good, because it was never his style to begin with.

“The Golden Girl! I bet you were the reason why she always got the spotlight.” The agent joked. He exhaled and became rather pensive, “Kind of sad she disappeared out of nowhere once they switched owners.”

“Right, right.” Leon forced out a small chuckle. Internally, he started to panic. Monroe’s Golden Girl didn’t disappear. She was living next door to him working as some editor. Why were you working at an office job? Shouldn’t you be on some beach in Miami telling a boy toy to rub sunscreen on your back?

His mind began racing, different thoughts all swirling at once. The agent he had been speaking with focused his attention to his phone. Then, guilt settled in Leon’s gut. After the fall of Monroe Magazine, he didn’t have time anymore to keep up with your public appearances, and you did suddenly stop making them.

But there was one thing he didn’t do. He absolutely refused to throw out those magazines he carefully collected. He still had them. He still had them. They were in one of those boxes in his attic and he knew exactly which one. He kept telling himself he’d look through them again for the fun of it, and put it aside each time.

It ate at him for the remainder of the work day. He was supposed to have dinner with you. His appetite was gone and he no longer wanted to know what restaurant you might have chosen.

“Shit—” Leon ducked his head when his car parked and he saw yours pulling in from his rear view mirror. “Damn it—” Just behave normally. Yeah, sure. Behave normally around his first ever celebrity crush.

“Hey,” He heard you call out to him as soon as you were both out of your vehicles. “Did you see my text? I was thinking about that new place that opened last month. We still haven’t tried it out! All the reviews say it’s good!”

“Rain check. I’m not feeling well.” He lied, then rushed off to his house. You were left stunned by your car. He didn’t even wait for you to offer bringing him some medicine or if he needed anything.

“Okay…” You dragged out, giving a suspicious glance at his house. “That was weird…”

He probably needed some rest and everything would be better by tomorrow. Except the same thing happened. He didn’t respond much to your texts or have the same energy. You asked if he felt better but he left your message on delivered. When you got home, he sprinted to his house to get away from you.

Then, the next day.

The day after that.

The day after that. He was giving you the cold shoulder and avoiding you like you had the plague. Now the mere thought of Leon annoyed you the same way your colleague at work did. Let him be like that. Mrs. Beamon could have him.

One month and two weeks. That’s how long he kept this charade going. His guilt followed him like a dark cloud hanging above his head. He barely acknowledged you anymore. And the cardboard box upstairs in his attic containing those magazines repeatedly called his name.

Another day, you two arrived at the exact same time. He gripped his steering wheel tightly. He refused to look over in your direction. Deep down though, he owed you an explanation. You had every right to be upset about a friend randomly starting to avoid you.

With a heavy sigh, he got out of his car and called out your name. In response? You didn’t turn his way and slammed your car door loudly. The freshly cut grass crunched under your shoes as you made your way to your porch. You disappeared inside, leaving him standing there all the more stupid.

His feet dragged all the way over as he slowly made his way over to your house. He stood right outside your front door. Of course the Golden Girl didn’t chase, she attracted. Knock, knock, knock. The door opened, you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Hi, hello.” Your snarky tone made him feel worse, “Are you done being weird yet?”

Rip the bandaid off. Get it over with. He was a grown man that shouldn’t be avoiding you all because he used to mail in a vote so you could be featured on the cover of the next issue.

“I used to buy all your Monroe Magazines when I was younger.” Leon blurted out.

You blinked. He felt the heat rising up his neck. There was a better way he could have gone by that. You huffed. He half expected you to start yelling and calling him all the names in the book. Instead, you ended up bursting into laughter and giving him a bit of relief from this tension. His embarrassment skyrocketed when you doubled over, a hand slapping against your thigh.

“Okay, okay, okay,” You spoke once your laughter died down, “I already knew that. You did not have to go avoiding me.”

“What do you mean you already knew?” He refrained himself from scoffing. He shifted on his feet. The embarrassment might have subsided for the time being, but it was very much present. “I didn’t even remember until some guy at work told me about the 20th anniversary.”

“I mean when I meet people my age or older, I automatically assume they know I used to be a model.” You explained, “It’s literally no big deal. Definitely not for you to be acting the way you did.”

He knew he overreacted by avoiding you. It just caught him off guard and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He rubbed the back of his neck, “How come you never mention it to me?”

“And make it seem like I was still living in the glory days, fishing for compliments? Tch, no thanks.” You flicked your hand dismissively. Then, you frowned and poked his shoulder, “Plus, let’s not forget. You haven’t once told me what you do besides working for the government.”

Really? You were comparing being a former top model across the globe to fighting bioweapons as if it were the same thing. He still hadn’t explained everything he did and what all those “trips” were where you’d house sit for him.

“You keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine. Now that you’re done avoiding me,” You said, “I expect to be at that restaurant at 8 PM. No more ‘rain checks’.”

“Fine.” He scowled, pretending like he hated the idea. You gave him the same expression in return which made him break character. “I’ll pick you up or whatever.”

“You pull that stunt again, and I’m telling Mrs. Beamon that your type are seventy year old retired women with dentures.” He froze on the bottom step of your porch.

“Yes ma’am.”

The street parking right in front of the restaurant was taken. Leon had to drive around the corner and you two had to walk. There weren’t any complaints since the cool air felt nice tonight. As part of his apology, he let you choose where to sit and to get as much as you wanted from the menu.

You made conversation in between bites. Leon was very curious about how you lived during that time. You spoke fondly about the founder of Monroe Magazine. He learned the man wanted to be a fashion designer, but never had the opportunity. Even though you were seen as the magazine’s favorite, Cecilia was the founder’s muse. It was a rivalry for a show, but a bond behind the scenes.

“You still get followed by paparazzi? Seriously?” He asked in a surprised tone.

The waiter had long since cleared your table. The restaurant stayed open late. It gave the current patrons enough time to chat and enjoy their food. There were two wine glasses on the table, slowly being sipped on as the conversation continued.

“It’s mostly just people with a camera trying to make extra money on the side. Tabloids buy anything these days.” You said as if it were nothing. He wasn’t too familiar on how the whole celebrity industry worked.

Paparazzi pictures of retired celebrities, such as yourself, would surface around the internet.

He was more familiar seeing candid photographs of you being used in gossip columns. He found it so ridiculous how they’d twist up the story, trying to make it seem more scandalous than it actually was. Things were different back then. At least it calmed down a bit. Some people were built to withstand the pressure and stupid rumors. He liked his privacy, so he knew he wouldn’t have the mental capacity to handle all those cameras pointed at him and bright flashes going off.

“On rare occasions, I will get professionals. I actually got followed by one not too long ago. But they eventually go away after a while.” Back then, you used to play around. Either by winking or blowing a kiss to the cameras.

“Did they run you out of the spotlight? You just…” He shrugged his shoulders, “Disappeared out of nowhere.”

“No, I left the magazine after the new owner came in. Then I started going through some personal matters that I’d rather not talk about which made me choose to step away.” You sipped from your wine glass. You set it aside, “Enough about me. I need to know what young Leon looked like.”

Young Leon? You wanted to see him when he was fresh faced and barely made eye contact with the cashier as he passed the magazine over the counter.

He let out a nervous chuckle and rolled his eyes. You were trying to get him to expose himself.

“Come on,” You egged, moving closer. He held up a hand and reached in his back pocket for his phone.

“Alright, alright. I probably have a picture somewhere.” He muttered. He noticed his pointer finger trembling more than usual as he swiped through his camera roll. He eventually found one. He was going through some old mission files and one of his older ID pictures slipped from the folder.

It was worn out. Something compelled him to take a picture. Maybe it was him feeling nostalgic. He turned the phone around, showing you the screen. You leaned over slightly, grabbing the top part of his phone and tilting it back to see it better. Young, handsome. It was hard to believe this was the same man sitting beside you. You would have confused them for two different people.

“Oh, if I’d met you back then? Things would be very different between us.” You glanced up, noting the flustered expression that quickly formed on Leon’s face.

“Stop it,” Leon wasn’t used to being on the opposite end of flirtatious remarks anymore, and especially not ones that made him flustered. And you laughed behind your hand. He felt the shyness from those years breaking through his well built confidence. “You stop that. I’m still that kid at heart.”

“I can just imagine it now.” You rested your elbow on the table and your chin on your palm. He can see it. The shift in your model persona with those captivating eyes he dreamt of. What did he do? Start taking his sweet time in putting his phone away to avoid your intense gaze. “Young Leon grabbing his wallet to pay for a scented magazine.”

His head jerked up, “Scented? … There were scented magazines?”

“It was to sell perfume, and people started buying them as a collectors item.” You nodded your head. You placed your hand on the cushion, scooting closer to him, “You know…” He didn’t like that tone you said that in.

“Knock it off.” He sternly said, trying to come off as unbothered. But as he tried, he failed.

“I have tons of copies at home in pristine condition,” You teased. “I’ll give you some if you give me something in return.”

It was one thing to see your stare from a high print page in a magazine, and it was another to see it in person. Although he bravely held your gaze this time, you saw the red hue on his cheeks. He feigned annoyance, “I’m getting the check. Pay for your own meal.”