U-U

Is this… considered teenage pregnancy?

I mean, 22 is still very young right? Twentytweenth?

Fuck.

The two lines permanently drawn onto the plastic pregnancy test on the counter are laughing at you and scaring you out of your mind at the same damn time.

Have you started to hallucinate already?

There is no way that the first time you get dicked down in forever results in you getting knocked up.

Actually, no.

The first time you decide to be nice and help someone out—you know that one saying that whatever you give comes back to you—ends up with you getting stuffed in the backseat of your now replaced pickup truck.

By two hot ass, successful, sexy—

That’s not the point.

By two strangers.

If you weren’t smelling the smoke from Shoko’s cigarette curling inside of the bathroom from the joint balcony, you’d be surely getting laughed at right now.

Well, you can’t hide this shit.

“What does it say?” Her head pops in with perfect timing back into the room, fingers still lazily dangling the thin lit stick between them as she flickers ash off the extension of your small college dorm.

Gosh, you’re a literal college student.

Is there even space for a joke in this tense moment? You feel Shoko’s tired, half-lidded eyes scan you like she’s already found the answer in your stiff shoulders and imaginary baby bump that’s getting carved into reality the more you keep thinking about the fact that you are pregnant.

“I am positive for hepatitis B.” You mumble with a lack of sarcasm and enthusiasm, it lands like a dry smack.

A poorly executed try at humouring yourself.

Shoko snorts from where she’s balancing her weight dangerously on the back legs of an old plastic chair, legs over the railing of the balcony.

“That’s a pregnancy test.” She quips, tone dropping an octave lower—the results quietly settling into her bones.

This situation of sorts doesn’t just change your life.

It flips hers around too.

She’s your best friend.

She will be by your side no matter what.

She’s just not sure how you both will handle a baby in the chaos that university life is.

Shoko spends her days working on rotting corpses in creepy, cold and smelly dungeons. You are a premature born baby in her eyes that she still feels the urge to protect from the eggshells she has walked on once in her life.

And now.. you’re pregnant!?!?!

By strangers!?!?!

The idea has a hard time jamming itself in her thick-skulled head.

“My god.” She breathes out a heavy drag of smoke she’d hit before, hoping it will relieve the pounding of her heart with despair.

This is probably the most her nearly braindead self has felt in a while.

You’re on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the cold tile wall opposite the sink.

Just thinking about the irony of everything—your parents have taught you everything there is to know about stranger danger yet here you are.

Not wanting to even think about how to break the news to your parents, you don’t let the thought reach your mind before bouncing back up from the floor and urgently tugging Shoko from her chair, almost making her faceplant the floor.

“What?” She grumbles, eyebrows drawn together in distress. I mean, she did almost eat shit because of your unpredictability.

Your breathing is ragged, frantic—voice frail and high-pitched from the building panic when you blurt out: “Let’s go, I have to get an abortion.”

She stands up from her seat immediately, ripping her sleeve out of your grip as she straightens up before you. Cigarette dying in her hand.

“Y/N, you’re not thinking straight.” Her voice is stern, the kind of tone that sends a chill running down your spine and migrates through every living nerve in your body.

“No–Shoko, I can’t have a stranger’s baby.” You exhale, chest so heavy with the mess you got yourself into. “I can’t have a baby.”

She looks at you with soft eyes and you feel something break inside of your chest—a look like that coming from her, now, can mean no good.

“You’re two months pregnant, Y/N. You can’t abort even if you wanted to. It’s not good for you.”

Shit.

Well that’s how you ended up living your worst nightmare.

Sick every single day for hours before having to show up for morning lectures in the baggiest clothes your closest grocery store sells.

Your face a mess—hair even worse, knotted as a result of the lack of energy you have to take care of yourself.

Its even beyond you how you let this happen—how does one go about three months without thinking once about the fact that two strangers came inside of her and that she might be pregnant.

Maybe you’re dumber than you thought.

And you feel like a corpse as you drag your limbs over to Psychology 101. It’s early morning, 10, which is criminally too soon for you to be having classes when all you want is for your feet to be kicked up because they’re starting to swell already, and a tub of ice cream on your growing bulge.

Luckily for you, you’re a late bloomer and you’ve yet to grow at a size that looks accurate to the almost three month baby you are apparently growing.

So you can still wear some clothes and pass off as a completely normal college student without drawing any eyes.

Well, only when you don’t run out of your classes at random times because you feel like throwing up everywhere.

Nearly anything sets you off—a slideshow of how different mental illnesses affect patients’ brains, and you’re beelining for the bathroom.

The smell of someone eating peanuts three rows down, you’re done for.

Let’s not mention how you’re crying at almost anything—suddenly the well known fact that cats can also be depressed is the number one world problem in your head.

Shoko is your only tether and you feel terrible about it. She’s been pushing her studies even more, trying to get ahead of material so she can prepare the both of you for unplanned motherhood.

You can barely function on your own, debating on either dropping out or quitting your part-time job.

Frankly, both sound like terrible options.

And the universe decides to factor itself into the air-tight unsolvable equation by spinning your world around another 360 on a Tuesday.

You’re somewhere with a foot still stuck in the first trimester and a foot rooted in the second—three months and two weeks in.

Slowly easing into nausea-free mornings and a growing appetite neither of your pay checks can afford.

It has completely fled your mind that…

Well…

The potential father of your child is a professor at your university!

It had been over four months since you crossed paths with either of them—never again after the hook up.

Now, you’re sitting across Suguru in his office after you’d peculiarly crossed paths.

Peculiarly meaning he caught you eating pickles on the emergency stairway, hidden from the world and with your pants unbuttoned—swollen, now quite large baby bump poking out.

Of course, you nearly died by choking on your sour pickles which resulted in him having to help you out.

When you couldn’t dodge his questions, and Suguru being the smart genius he is, put the pieces together too soon and dragged you to his office before you even thought of running.

Neither of you have said anything but you’re sure he can hear the aggressive beating of your chest practically echo through the room and cling to the walls that seem like are closing in on you the longer the silence stretches on.

You’re losing your mind as he eyes you, words beading on his tongue as he tries to arrange what he wants to ask.

Deciding that you don’t care, and that since you’re in this situation because of him and his friend, you pull back out your tub of pickles and start munching on them.

He flinches almost unnoticeably, feeling like he just got whiplash from being invisibly slapped.

After a few other seconds of heavy silence and your quiet crunching on the sour vegetable. He speaks up.

“So, Y/N… How are you?”

How are you really supposed to start a conversation with the girl you possibly knocked up.

“I’m great.” You answer, relieved to finally be feeling good after three months—or more—of horrible symptoms.

He lolls his head hesitantly to the side, catching the curve of your stomach poking through your shirt more clearly after you had discarded the sweater that was swallowing you once entering the room.

“Hm..” He hums, wondering if he should just rip the bandaid off.

Opening his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

“Yes, it’s either yours or Gojo’s.” You clarify, picking up another pickle. He cringes at the slurping sound but remains quiet.

Well, on the flip side, Suguru has always wanted to be a father. But with work and his decaying love life… he didn’t see it so probable anymore after realising he was getting older by the day.

This isn’t the preferable situation for him, but it isn’t the worst thing ever…

However, he feels a pang of guilt start to spread over him as he watches you.

You’re young, barely aware of the true horrors of the world and yet here you are, carrying a baby he selfishly might’ve put in your.

Regardless of whether it’s his or Satoru’s, he will own up to it because even it it comes out being his friend’s baby, he was also on the verge of knocking you up with his kid.

A deep sigh escapes past his lips as he starts to shuffle around for some paper. Jotting down his contacts and address, he slides the paper to your curious eyes.

“This is my number.” He points to one series of numbers then to one beneath it. “This is Satoru’s. I will call you so we can all meet up. We will take responsibility for this as I can see you will keep the baby.”

There’s a moment of silence that suffocates you as you’re hit once more with the reality of the situation.

Fuck, you’re growing a human being.

And you don’t even know who the father is.

While Suguru is caught up in his thoughts, you take a second to assess your options.

Refuse his help, end up probably in a ditch. Babysitters are expensive, Shoko can’t do that for you that much…

Food is expensive… they’re both batshit rick and you have been craving wagyu meat—which you’ve never had but seen too much on the internet—as of late..

You start wondering if they mean they will take responsibility over you too—after all, you are a broke college student.

Or if that only concerns the baby.

Questions for later.

Raking your eyes over the zoned-out man in front of you—you finally notice new details about the potential father of your belly.

Subconsciously, your hand falls over the peak of your belly as you try to envision him as a father.

In the really short moments you’ve interacted with him, he has always been calm. Which is a wonderful trait for a father.

His office is polished, dark oak and all. High-status accomplishes adorn his walls, every furniture is leather.

A few picture frames are on a shelf, your eyes skim over to see a younger version of him, Satoru and… Shoko!?!?!

You screetch so loudly that he jumps in his seat.

“You know Shoko!?” You scream, actions overtaken by shock.

His onyx eyes narrow slowly to where you were focused on before and his shoulders drop once he understands what you mean.

“Shoko is a childhood best friend of ours.”

Yeah that’s basically how your reunion with Suguru went because you fainted after he confirmed your suspicions.

Hours later, you woke back in your room with a deranged Shoko by your side.

You had barely blinked once before she was out for you like a hyena.

“YOU GOT KNOCKED UP BY SUGURU OR SATORU?!”

A loud groan pushed past your lips.

“Oh my god, shut up, Shoko. You’re so loud.” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

She apologises with a curt “sorry” and a shoulder rub before taking a step back and taking a rather large deep breath.

“Am I dreaming? Suguru is fine, I guess….” You hear her trail off and whisper under her breath, forehead creased in helplessness.

“What?” You question, wondering why she’s so worried.

“You’re pregnant with their baby?” She repeats, hoping that this is some joke that everyone is on and that you’re going to burst out laughing, say that it’s fake.

That when Suguru called her and asked her to come to his office where she found you passed out on his couch.

Told her he might be the father of your baby—or Satoru is—dead serious, was all a joke.

She would get mad at you then forgive and forget.

But god, it’s getting hard to convince herself it’s all play when you look up at her with those glossy eyes.

“Great.” She breathes out, turning away from looking at your or else she’s going to lose it completely.

Realising that her reaction might just worsen your situation, she spins on her heels and crouches by your bed again.

“Okay, it’s not so bad. I know them, they’re not… that bad.” She flashes you a tense smile, eyes growing distant.

You quirk a brow. “Not that bad? What’s up with them?”

Shoko tenses up like a deer caught in headlights. Nervously, she chuckles.

“Aha…Nothing. Suguru is fine, it’s just Satoru… He can be a bit much.”

Your mind quickly flashes to how bold he was, how touchy, how his hands felt on your body—

Your mind starts slipping into a dangerous chamber and you feel yourself growing hot way too quickly—you only come back to reality when Shoko waves infront of you.

These pregnancy hormones are really messing with your brain.

“He didn’t seem bad at all when we met.”

She deadpans. “Is that why you spread your legs for him?”

You go serious right back. Mumbling that “Technically it was him who spread them open for himself.”

She shudders, feeling like she needs to bleach her eyes after remembering that all of her best friends have fucked.

“Okay, no. Don’t tell me about that.” She takes a quick glance to her wristwatch. Sighing when she sees that she has to go.

“Listen, I have to go. But keep me posted and call me if you need anything.” Getting off her knees, she throws her lab coat back up and leaves with a wave from the front door.

It was just you and the silence of your dorm and the faint creaking of the hallway floorboards as someone passed by until your phone shattered the peace.

Unknown number turned out to be Suguru.

His steady voice rung through the speaker as you stared at the ceiling, thinking for the first time in a while of nothing in particular while he talked about meeting him and Satoru for dinner at some place.

He said he would pick you up and meet Satoru at the restaurant. You hummed and cut the call short.

Then you resumed your staring at the ceiling. Feeling the stretched skin of your belly beneath your pyjamas and the firmness of a baby growing beneath the muscles by the tips of your fingers.

Maybe things weren’t going to be so bad.

Or you could only convince yourself so.

As promised, Suguru came. Dressed casually—a zip-up sweatshirt and loose-fit jeans. He helped you with a steady hold on your hips as you climbed in his levelled SUV.

There wasn’t much exchanged on the way to the destination as he wanted both him and Satoru to learn at the same time so you wouldn’t waste your breath on repeating yourself.

You noticed a bottle of painkillers in the console and asked him if he was on any meds—he shrugged and said it was for you in case you got carsick.

You wanted to curl in and disappear.

It didn’t take long for you both to reach the place. He dropped off the keys with the valet and guided you inside a place that felt too fancy for anything you were both wearing.

Satoru was reading the menu with laser focus when you came in. Clad in a white button-up and black slacks, way more formal than how you or Suguru were dressed.

He rose from his seat when he heard footsteps approaching and a wide smile stretched across his face.

You didn’t expect for him to pick you off the floor clear when he went for a hug, mumbling in your ear how nice it is to see you again—his smell wrapping around you and sticking like a pest.

He smelled so good that your thighs were already clenching together by the time you all sat down.

The two men were opposite you, something about wanting to see you while you spoke. You didn’t mind but squirmed under their gazes.

Eventually, the waitress came the second you settled in and asked around for drinks. You reached for the drinks menu on instinct before dropping it like it burnt.

The lady gave you a strange look and you sheepishly mumbled. “Forgot I’m pregnant…” which earned a laugh from her.

After ordering a lemonade, Satoru an iced tea and Suguru sparkling water, she left with a promise to come back quickly.

Noticing they didn’t order anything alcoholic, you question. “You both don’t drink?”

Satoru smiles. “I don’t. Suguru does just a bit.”

You tilt your head, eyes setting on Satoru only. “Why?”

He tilts his head too. “Don’t like the taste of alcohol.” He grins, canines in display. You feel fuzzy that a man this attractive is so charming. But it makes sense.

And god were you cute to Satoru with those eyes and lips. Made him want to clear the restaurant out and take you over the table.

Remembering a crucial piece of information that has had his mind tangled into a delusional frenzy, he beams like the sun when he questions without thinking his words twice.

“So! You’re pregnant with our baby?”

Suguru rolls his eyes, kicking his white-haired companion under the table.

Satoru hisses. “What?” He pouts for a split second before turning back to you.

You’re shifting awkwardly in your seat, scratching your neck with your head lowered. Whispering, “Please keep it down.”

Then, you sigh and nod once.

Somehow, he doubles in joy. “I’ve always wanted to be a father!”

Suguru is softly chuckling at his longtime best friend’s enthusiasm.

Things don’t make sense to you, the situation mushing into a bunch of nonesense.

“Wait…” You interrupt his boasting, forehead tense. Temples pulsing.

“You’re both… okay with this?”

Their laughter dies down, expressions melting into something painfully soft. Intimate, creases on their faces smoothened in understanding.

Satoru is the first to continue. His hand dips in a front pocket of his pant, long fingers searching for something before eventually hooking onto it and pulling it out.

A key dangles from his hand.

One singular, metal key. Common. Leads to someplace that has a story.

“I got this today immediately after I got the news.”

He sets it down between you and them on the table.

The waitress comes back, quietly setting the drinks in their respective places after noticing she’s interrupted at the wrong time. And disappears into the noise that has faded from your hearing.

The key lays there. Meaning something only he and Suguru know like an unspoken secret you’re about to be let on.

“It’s an apartment for you.”

Your breath immediately hitches, eyes blowing wide open, stomach churning.

You can’t get a single word out before Suguru cuts in.

“Please don’t thank us or anything, don’t push us away. You’re in this situation because of us in the first place.” He stops for a second, watching your shoulders ease back into their places.

“We have more than enough means to support you and the baby.”

There it is again, that strong beating of your heart against your ribcage making you scared that it will crack your chest open and spill all of your secrets out.

All you can do is watch them, mind too scrambled to say anything.

But they understand. Satoru reaches out for your hand across the table and something in you gives it for him to hold in his large palm.

He’s warm, his hands are soft and the small squeezes he gives it makes you feel like this is fine.

For the rest of night you laugh with them like you’re just on a date with two men, and not like you’re already pregnant with one of their baby.

You learn who the fathers of your baby is.

Satoru had never wanted to work in business—he was never one for numbers like Suguru was in high-school—but after seeing the tall buildings in Dubai one summer just as he turned 18, he decided he wanted his hotels to look like that too.

Six eyes in a family-owned business passed down through generations and he prides himself with the fact that the media says that the company is at it’s peak right now with their services.

With claws everywhere around the world, Satoru gets really busy hence why he’s still in his work clothes at this hour—but he promises to try and free his schedule for the upcoming baby.

Your heart swells at his sweet words, he has such a way with them that you wonder if he does the same with other girls and accidentally ruin your mood.

Cutting your talk short with him to not ruin your night any further, you turn to question Suguru who was more interested in learning about you than letting himself talk about his life.

Yet, you find out that he pursued philosophy after his high-school teacher encouraged him to follow his dreams in becoming a professor and it worked out wonderfully in his favour.

You asked him why philosophy and he seamlessly responded with how he’s always thought outside of the box, asked about what people didn’t pay mind to and philosophy resonated with him.

Even when it doesn’t offer him answers, it has helped him keep himself grounded to earth and see it differently.

You love the way he seems to cherish life in that quiet way of his. He hikes, does volunteer work and takes special care of his students.

A small smile touches your face at the thought of how much of a good father he’d make.

Eventually, the conversation stirs to ex-relationships.

Satoru has had his fair share of girlfriends—four failed, long term relationships which similarly all ended in the girls dumping him for “not seeing themselves with him in the future”. But he countered and told us that he never found that spark within those girls either.

Saying that they all acted the same after a while, only going for his money and spreading his name across their socials no matter how much he hated it.

Suguru has dated two girls—one in highschool that wasn’t serious. And one that he almost got married to, resulting in a broken off engagement after she’d cheated on him with her boss.

You shared how you only dated one guy and how he left you a ghost of yourself. Crawling on the floor and scraping the remains of your heart off the walls.

The food was amazing and you felt great.

Throughout the night, you’d feel their gazes linger around your figure—sometimes clouded with hunger, others with something possessive underlining it.

They kept quiet and then you parted ways with Suguru as he took his car back home, saying he has class early in the morning and better get to bed immediately.

Leaving Satoru to drive you back home—an opportunity for him to learn your address too—in his low sports car that was easier for you to get in, but he helped you inside either way.

On the ride home, you were much looser than on the way to the restaurant—a lot more comfortable with them and open to talking.

So you both talked about stupid things like middle schoolers—where you studied, what you wanted to be as a kid, your favorite colors.

He listened attentively without interrupting once and answered when asked.

Eventually, he parked in front of the dorms and crawled out of his side to open your door.

You both stood beneath the yellow street lamps just looking at eachother for a second.

He eyed the way your hand was absentmindedly draped over the peak of your slowly growing bump and smiled to himself.

Silently hoping you were carrying his offspring.

It seemed like a perfect moment to scoop you up and kiss you. Satoru has never felt this attracted—as if a magnetic force were pulling him to you—and it was driving him insane.

But it’s soon, even for his touchy self, he knows the situation you’re both in is delicate.

So for once in his life, he wants to take it slow.

Maybe that’s the first step into fatherhood for him.

You wave him goodbye and disappear into the building.

People say winter always say winter passes by in a whim.

But you have a feeling that this winter will be quite slow as you grow the little baby inside of you.

The next morning you wake up with a puffy face and crust sticking to your eyes. So rested that you think you’ve slept on a cloud.

When really it’s just the relief of getting the weight off your shoulders that covers you in a thin veil of euphoria.

It’s around 11 that you get a text from Suguru.

Hey, dear. Are you free right now? I’d like to take you to see the apartment.

You drop your peanut butter pineapple cucumber concoction smoothie and immediately text back you’re free.

He’s at the dorm’s lobby in 15 minutes. You pad down wearing the only other thing that fits you—a pink sundress that cups your plush breasts like it was sewn together for that.

Leaning on the car, you see him physically rewire in real time once you appear from the building, two juicy peaches in hand.

“You want one?” You ask, padding closer to him. Your boots crunching over the brown snow.

He shakes his head, hands curling around the flaps of your jacket and zipping it up 1. So nobody else sees your tits and 2. So you don’t freeze.

“Come on, princess.” He mumbles, opening the door for you with the faintest blush on his face.

Happily jumping in, you curl into the leather of the car and smile all the way to your new house as Suguru drives.

It’s not far from campus, but halfway on the way there, your phone dings with a text from an unknown number. You show the number to Suguru, asking if he knows it, and he says it’s Satoru’s.

Saving his contact name as “Satoru Gojo.” as plain as Suguru’s is, you slide to the message he’s sent you.

Hey, angel! Heard Suguru is taking you to the apartment, hope you like itttt~

Dear? Angel? These two really like their nicknames.

Boy do you like love it.

It’s everything a girl can dream of.

Spacious. New. Bright—windows everywhere. A balcony. Four bedrooms.

Furnished with mostly plain, beige but polished and sleek pieces—nothing you can’t replace.

It already feels so cozy even without having anything of yours inside.

There is a jacuzzi in the terrace, a fireplace in the vast living room. No stairs, perfect for a baby. Doors with locks.

Two walk in closets, two bathrooms, a huge open kitchen with spruce wood details that had you screaming.

Gosh, they must have spent a fortune on this what the hell.

You squealed so hard out of excitement, flung your arms around Suguru’s neck—swollen belly slotted between you like a warm secret—and his hands found your waist instantly. Hovering you over the floor, relieving your lower back of the pressure on it in the meantime.

After realising what you did, you shyly jumped off and continued exploring.

There’s a laundry room, a pantry, a storage room you’re already think about turning into a playroom if there isn’t anything to store.

Ideas about baby-proofing and redecorating fill your mind before you stop yourself and realise you have no means to do it.

Suguru notices the way your mood dropped slightly as he trails behind you. Almost as if he could read you mind, he mentions.

“We can redecorate anything you want.”

You beam back at him, eyes sparkling. “Really?”

Before catching yourself once again.

“Ah.. I mean, no, thank you so much this is already insane.”

But he only chuckles lowly, sending a whole vibration through your whole body as he comes up from behind and hugs you—slipping his hand under your belly and just cupping it.

Your body betrays you by leaning on his shoulder, tension leaving your muscles as his scent envelops you and cradles you to sleep.

For a while, you both stay there, swaying side to side so your legs don’t get sore. His eyes are closed, head resting over yours as you both consume the faint noises of the living.

The wind brushing the plants on the balcony, the soft ding of the elevator in the hall, and the faint sound of your steady breathing.

Eventually, he locks his arms and pulls your stomach upwards again—cradling your bump for you and you accidentally moan in relief.

He tenses up behind you, trying to keep his growing boner at bay as he’s literally pressed up against the curve of your ass.

You’re purring like a cat in his arms, feeling the hard outline of him on your ass of your back growing. Tip brushing your lower back.

Your thighs subtly press together.

Eventually, he lets go. Not knowing how long he should do that or if it’s good for the baby.

The second he lets go, you turn him, panties embarrassingly soaked before pushing him by the sternum till he hits the edge of the kitchen isle’s counter.

Suguru holds his breath, eyes clouded with lust—fogging his vision of you—as you look up at him with blown pupils.

He sees you neediness in your eyes and bites back a groan when your hesitant hand brushes his boner through his sweatpants.

Suddenly, the black sweatshirt he’s wearing is suffocating him.

Snapping back to reality, he catches your hand palming him and throws it off—not harshly but enough for you to get thrown off.

Suddenly, his arms grip under your thigh from behind and he wraps your legs around his waist as he spins.

Your ass meets the cold surface of the counter as he places you, spreading your legs further as his lips come closer to yours.

He hovers there for a beat, silently asking you with his eyes if you’ll let him in, if you will let him come closer.

You reply by closing the gap between the both of you. The kiss is hungry, intense, hot… desperate.

Needy with every flick of his tongue, hungry with every invasion of your mouth.

His hips slot themselves against your wetness and you whimper against Suguru’s mouth—remembering that delicious stretch that got you knocked up in the first place.

The hand he had on your waist drops and pulls your sundress further up. He groans when he feels you so wet through your thin panties.

You thank god that you’re not wearing granny panties today.

Rubbing small, tight circles around your clit, you feel your spine go jelly. Your legs weak and your need for him tenfold.

Suguru feels your desperation oozing out of you, he breaks the kiss. Looking down at you for a second—catching the smear of your lipstick on the corners of your mouth and your flushed cheeks.

And he drops down onto his knees in a blink, face hovering over the forbidden fruit he’s so addicted to.

Satoru had a taste last time, not it’s his turn. Pulling your panties off, you barely register where they go once you feel his breath fan you leaking hole.

Coating the counter in your juices as a way to break in the house already.

He latches on and nothing could have prepared him for the sweet taste of you.

Suguru is so filthy with how he eats you out, sucking hungrily on your buzzing bud with every lick, growing sensitive by the minute.

Drenching his face in your spilling liquids and nudging his nose deep in you like he needs your essence to be the only thing he can ever smell in this life.

He’s never been so thankful of his recklessness than now—who knows if he would’ve ever seen you again if he hadn’t knocked you up.

Every prayer at night he says is a blessing he asks for to be his child inside of you.

Only time will tell.

You’re unraveling at the corners. Head tipped back, eyes clamped shut, drool spilling from the sides of your mouth and mewls ripping from your dry throat.

In no time, he has your release dripping onto his tongue and he drinks it all like ambrosia.

You’re breathless when he parts from your pussy, eyeing his boner as it sits out of reach.

You try to reach for it but he catches you hand and sternly glares at you, sending you a look that says no.

Suguru cleans you up with a towel and reluctantly wipes the counter because he felt it a shame to let so much nectar go to waste.

You both grab lunch, though Suguru kept joking that he already ate, and you fell i in the car on the way back.

Shoko, bless her soul, only got back from the lab at 10 PM and almost had a heart attack when she learned that a) you were moving and b) that Satoru gifted you an apartment.

Later in the night, you heard her screaming at her phone to said white-haired man something along the lines of “You can’t take her away from me! She’s pregnant! I need to take care of her, you moron!”

And when morning came, she announced with a nonchalant, secretly happy smile, that she will get a spare key and drop by whenever she wants and for whatever reason she wants.

You nodded, finding her outburst from yesterday funny even after the moon has swept it like a secret you weren’t meant to catch.

You’re about to get ahold of the remains of Shoko’s coffee and chug it when you instinctively drop it like it’s illegal to touch after you remember you’re going to be a mom.

And for what felt like the zillionth time since you learned that you’re expecting, you’re slapped against the face with the fact that you are going to be a mom.

A mom.

And you have not started preparing anything.

Almost four months pregnant, almost halfway and you have not done as much as touch a pregnancy book.

The horrified gasp you let out nearly kills Shoko who was halfway out the door, making her pivot on her heels and burst through the kitchen door again—searching for any sign of you in pain.

“What? Are you in pain?” Her voice booms through the cramped place, already tugging off her shoes again and stepping forward to check on you.

You put a palm up. “I haven’t started studying!”

Well, not true. You’re still going to classes, baggy clothes and head low, book bag a lot emptier than it usually was when you were a normal student.

And you were studying for your midterms which is probably why it completely fled your mind to get ready for motherhood.

Shoko stares at you like you’ve grown a head before turning back around and leaving.

You sigh, thinking of how lost you are and if you can call someone to help you but you still haven’t told your parents you’re pregnant and lowkey don’t want to.

Just as you’re about to sob, your phone starts ringing. Satoru’s name flashing on the screen.

You pick up after a few rings, sniffling the few tears that did slip. Satoru hears it immediately, flipping around the happy greeting he was going to offer into something worried.

“Hey? Y/N, baby? Are you okay?” He questions, eyebrows drawn together behind the screen.

You hum, softly greeting him. “Hi, Satoru.” The way your watery voice says his name makes his chest swarm with butterflies, a stupid feeling for a man who was yelling at a whole board of people thirty minutes ago.

“Stay there, I’m coming.”

For someone on the other side of Tokyo, he sure does make it quick to your dorm because your tears are barely dry when the front door clicks open—Shoko probably left it unlocked.

You think about asking him how he got past the lobby, since he doesn’t study here and visitors aren’t allowed—but all you do is break out in sobs once more when he comes up to you with that sweet smile.

His arms wrap around your immediately, hooking under your armpits and hands crossing over your lower back, palms holding your ribs flush against him.

He holds his whole world as the outline of his child pushes against his stomach.

You’re so warm, so soft and mellow in his arms—sniffling against his chest, pressing your head further against his collarbones and searching for comfort.

The emotional wreck you are is cute to him, even when there’s a part of him that sympathises with you because he might have put you in this position.

Thirty minutes later, and after a ten minute nap you took on his chest once he put you over him on the couch, you stir awake with dried tear streaks and messy hair.

But in a better mood.

Nuzzling your head back against his neck, Satoru’s hand starts caressing the crown of your head, feeling the silky locks of your hair between his fingers.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong now, baby?” He softly whispers next to your ear.

You shift a bit, squishing your cheek against the peak of his shoulder and mumble.

“I’m not ready to be a mom.” You confess to him and the empty house.

Satoru hums, laying his head over yours. “We can prepare you, no rush.”

You sigh. “No, I feel like I’m behind schedule. I haven’t done research over anything, don’t have any baby names, haven’t learned how to even change diapers…”

You drone on an on about random things you haven’t gotten ready till you say.

“And I haven’t even started the nursery. I’m already in my second trimester.” The topic closes with a heavy thud of your heart as a seal.

Still wrapped in his arms, he streches his legs beneath you and repositions his hands so he can carry you bride-style out the front door.

You’re panicking in his arms, still dressed in pyjamas.

“Satoru! Wait! Where are we going?! I’m in my pyjamas!” Your voice echoes through the hall, knocking on doors of people who are probably in class right now as he carries you through the building.

A light chuckle escapes him. “You look great, angel. Don’t worry.”

Placing you in the passenger seat to sit like a princess, it seems like you blink once and you’re already at a shopping centre with baby stores lined up—calling your names.

You turn to Satoru who is grinning like he holds the moon in his hands—over the moon to be shopping for his baby.

“Let’s go.” He urges, opening your door and holding your hand as he drags you to the first store.

Baby carriers stare back at you like you’re already supposed to know how they work—rows and rows of different models scream motherhood is coming to bite you in the ass.

You don’t mean to start getting nervous, but you see Satoru already glueing his eyes on some structured ones with belts, and you start losing your mind.

So much you don’t realise a woman slowly coming up to you. When she speaks behind you, you feel your soul escape your body.

“Hello, miss.”

“Oh! Hi.” You turn to see a short blonde-haired elderly woman, somewhere between her 50s and her 60s.

She warmly smiles at you when asking for help and you swear she must be the angel some superior force has sent to you.

With a grip on Satoru’s hands that could crush his bones and a racing mind, you blindly follow the saleswoman around as she shows you the difference between carriers, the different styles.

And she ends up doing so much more than what her job asks her to do.

She teaches you with a baby doll how to hold the tiny body correctly—keeping the head supported and it stabilised. How to cradle it.

Then when the time comes to actually pick a carrier, she shows you how to put them on, how to tie a baby wrap carrier or how to put a baby in a backpack carrier.

Satoru, overly excited, ended up purchasing three different kinds. A backpack one so he can hold the baby hands-free, a sling carrier for Suguru (or just in case) and a wrap-around one because he liked how it looked on you and because you vaguely said you liked it.

You tried to bring up how maybe you should wait for Suguru to come and shop with us because he also might learn from these people but Satoru said he’s busy and that Suguru knows already all there is to know about fatherhood.

“Hm? Why?” You ask, heart thumping nervously—did he have a secret family?

“Suguru fostered two twin girls when we were teenagers after he rescued from the side of the street.” He casually explains, you gasp.

“He still keeps contact with them, they are all grown up now. Turning 18 soon. They still keep in touch with him so maybe you’ll meet them one day.”

Your heart swarms with something akin to love for the raven-haired man. And your mind is put to rest.

They’re both qualified to be fathers so far.

Shopping for the rest of the basic necessities was basically the same—every salesperson was so kind to you two—confusing Satoru for your husband and him making no effort to correct them.

Shopping for strollers was hilarious—he was more into the look of it than the practicality. You both argued like an old married couple for half an hour when he liked a stroller that was gorgeous but that didn’t fold in half and therefore didn’t fit in anyone’s car.

He simply shrugged and said he’d get you a new car—then went on about getting a family car.

A Lamborghini urus.

You deemed Satoru irresponsible with his money because he nearly bought two of everything.

Then came the baby clothes.

And a lot of crying was done on your side.

And Satoru was smiling so much it hurt your cheeks too.

He kept hovering, orbiting around the baby girl clothes like a moth to a flame—you tried to remind him only to buy gender-neutral clothes because you still haven’t gotten around to finding out the gender (because you missed your last ultrasound appointment due to an exam, oops, and have yet to reschedule again).

Which lead him to immediately call the hospital you’re assigned to—the one Shoko has hours at—and ask for a reschedule right then and there as you picked up some baby socks.

Either way, after hanging up, he disappeared into the baby girl clothing aisle and came back with more small onesies, dresses and accessories that you—a fully grown woman—own.

You resulted to scolding him after that but still took with you a few cute options he’d brought because they were too cute to rest.

Who knows? Maybe you actually do have a daughter… and if you don’t, there’s always next time.

What the fuck?

Your smile falls clean off your face at that thought.

Again, mere strangers.

Pregnant by strangers.

Satoru swipes his card like he’s not going to be a father in a few months—well, maybe—and you both walk out of yet another store.

Being the smart man he is, he asked the clerks to just deliver the purchases at your apartment.

With a promise that he’d be there with Suguru to help you set up the nursery.

You felt so giddy inside, imagining them both painting the walls and building cribs.

It had been hours since you first entered the centre and you were starving by the time you came out of the baby clothing store.

Thankfully, there was a food court and now you were the eager one dragging Satoru over.

After spending another ten minutes fighting yourself over what sounded good while Satoru ordered his food, you finally settled on pasta.

He took you over to where he placed your bag as sat you down while he ordered for you and you couldn’t be more thankful because your feet were killing you.

Momentarily lost in the happiness you were overwhelmed with this day, you absentmindedly look over to where the maybe father of your child is ordering and your heart drops.

The cashier is a gorgeous girl with long blonde air, luscious eyelashes and light green eyes.

She was smiling, giggling as Satoru bent over to hear her and padding down on a screen.

You couldn’t see Satoru—only his back—but you were sure he was entertaining her.

And you suddenly felt horrible.

A gnawing sensation of jealousy or something far worse spreading over your chest, making your stomach upset and your tired legs want to run.

Deciding you can’t watch it anymore, you push yourself off your chair as he pays and thinks about going back to you, and head to the bathroom without saying a word.

He watches you slightly wobble as you hurry to the stalls, not with the kind of urgency to relieve your desires but the kind that screams you’re running from something.

Defeated, he sits down while you try to keep it together in the bathroom.

The mirror offers you the reflection of your puffy face, swollen breasts poking out from beneath your pyjamas and the unbuttoned buttons, and your protruding belly beneath the cotton material.

Feeling huge and ugly, your eyes well up with tears and you dial the one number you were told to call if you needed anything.

You know you shouldn’t overreact this way.

You’re not dating these men.

Not even remotely close to doing so.

They’re just tied to you by obligation due to a mistake the three of you committed.

Your eyes sting more when you realise that your baby is a mistake.

So you have no right to feel betrayed when Satoru, a free man, talks or flirts with other women.

No matter how he’s told you that he wants to be a father.

Maybe he’s compromising.

Forcing himself to stay around because he wants a child but since he doesn’t want you, he’s still going for other women.

Still, you can’t help but sob more when you think how he didn’t even bother to hide it.

Just plainly doing infront of you.

Pregnant woman hormones eating at you, the phone rings twice before it picks up.

Suguru’s honey voice rings on your side of the line. “Hey, darling. Is everything alright?”

He sounds so kind that it makes your heart lurch.

Thoughts of how kind they are to you clouding your mind because you know they would never if you weren’t knocked up with their kid.

When you don’t reply, worry starts to filter through Suguru’s tone. “Y/N?” You hear him call and accidentally sniffle too loudly before croaking out “Can you pick me up?”

You hear a shuffle on the other side then a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry, precious. I can’t, it’s in the workshop.”

You huff, cheeks filling up with air as you chew on your bottom lip.

“Are you with Satoru?” Questions Suguru, tip toeing the subject.

You hum, distant.

He breathes out exasperated. In a moment, his voice turns gruff. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” You mumble.

Suguru knows you won’t fold, so he promises to stop by your apartment when you come back and see you tonight.

Feeling a bit better, you agree and hang up.

After drying your face and getting yourself together, you emerge from the restroom and silently walk back to the table Satoru is anxiously bouncing his leg under and sit down.

Immediately digging into your now-cold plate of pasta, you cringe at the feeling and avoid all eye contact with Satoru’s prying blue orbs.

“You were in there for quite a while, sweets? Is there anything wrong?” He points out, arms crossed over eachother on his chest as he leans over.

You shake your head and continue looking down, pushing the food you don’t want anymore but eat anyway just so you can leave soon.

The ride back is full of tense air, the walls of the car become stuffy and you consider hopping off and taking public transport but your feet hurt too much for you to walk.

It’s getting harder and harder for you to keep your pregnancy under wraps—you’re pretty sure some people have already noticed and started gossiping.

But you’ve tried to keep a peaceful mindset and ignored anything that tried to reach your ears.

Satoru parks in front of your building and you rush to throw the door open, but find it locked once you pull the hook.

Slowly turning to the man, you find him looking at you with his eyebrows drawn close in a frown and something you can’t understand behind his eyes.

His mouth parts and you brace for impact, for a dismissal. For it to end now, his fake gentle act with you.

“You haven’t said a single word all the way back, Y/N. What’s wrong?”

You don’t even care that you’ve been caught, your lips press into a straight line and you rip your eyes away from his.

“Nothing is wrong.” You mumble for what feels like the first words in forever.

He sighs, remembering that he can’t pry anything out of you now because he has to go meet clients for dinner.

“I’ll come back to see you.” He says, unlocking the door. You slide off the seat without looking back or saying anything. Walk into the building with your head down low and go home.

His car lingers around the entrance for a few minutes after you go up—you watch from the window—then he drives away, leaving behind the weight of the wall you jammed between the both of you.

While Shoko does her practices at the hospital, you lay in bed thinking of the other side of the coin for the first time since this whole ordeal has happened.

The sad side.

You’d probably have a difficult time ever finding a partner after they both get over this clingy stage, after the baby is born and when you become a mother.

Who would want a girl that has a baby?

Then you start wondering if you will be even able to land a job—or graduate.

With your due date somewhere around july, it’s possible that you even miss your graduation ceremony.

Or you will have a hard third trimester and become unable to study.

Your mind races with bad thoughts.

How will you take care of him or her when they are both busy and Shoko isn’t around.

You can’t afford a babysitter, hell, you can’t even afford this baby.

What will happen if they cut you off?

Gosh, what a mess.

You don’t realise tears have started streaming down your face like a river.

Everything starts weighing down on you like an Elephant sitting on your chest, preventing you from breathing.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself down but more thoughts start to crawl in through the cracks.

Why does it hurt so much to see Satoru with another girl?

Are you unattractive to him?

You feel stupid, so incredibly stupid.

You barely don’t even know the guy, or Suguru.

But being “rejected” this makes you feel so worthless.

“Oh my sweet girl.” You suddenly hear, your eyes snap open to see Suguru hovering over you on your face. His long hair dangling just over your face.

Suddenly, you’re no longer crying, mesmerised by his black locks framing his face.

It’s the first time you see him without his signature ponytail or manbun that keeps hair from his face.

And you’re caught in a trance, fingers shakily reaching up to roll a shiny rope of hair.

You notice immediately how soft and well-kept it feels, and how good it smells now that it’s so close to your nose.

You absentmindedly hum in delight once you catch a whiff of lavender and lemon.

He smells heavenly. The bed dips with the weight of him when his knees land on either sides of your stretched out legs.

Making him perfectly hover over you. Onyx eyes close, watching your gaze move from his hair to you.

He catches the tear stains around your eyes and mentally rolls his, reminding himself to school Satoru later.

Your breath hitches beneath him as you realise how close the two of you are. He wants to chuckle but the moment is so fragile that all he can do is let his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips for a flicker of a second.

You still catch it. Your fingers drop the lock and land on his shoulder, bundling the material of his oversized black shirt beneath your knuckles.

Particles of nothing flicker between the two of you just before he gently lowers his body and kisses you.

All your worries vanish for a second as his plush lips capture yours.

This time, he’s not searching, prying or looking to take.

He’s just trying to remember the feeling of your kisses and your lips against his.

Eventually, he breaks away just before his lungs go from asking for air to begging for it.

You just stare at eachother for a beat, then he plops down on your bed, back against the wall, and pulls you against his chest.

Burying your head beneath his throat, you shut your eyes and you try to find his heartbeat.

Suguru caresses your head for a minute before speaking again. “Tell me what’s up, love.”

And you break.

Shyly admit what happened while baby shopping, and shedding a few tears again—self esteem too weak in these moments.

He sighs, hugging you tighter as you cuddle him before he huffs out Satoru is an idiot but you must have misunderstood.

“I doubt that he was flirting with her…” he trails off, doubting if he should continue.

“Girls just do that when they see him.”

You grumble against his chest. “They do it with you too.”

That earns a breathy chuckle from him. You don’t find it funny.

He resumes. “Satoru is loyal, don’t worry. A random woman isn’t anywhere near the level of the woman who could possibly be having his child.”

Inconsolable, you feel an even heavier question kicking at your being.

Almost inaudibly, you whisper. “What will happen when we find out whose child it is?”

Suguru sucks in a breath and slowly lets it go. Then he replies with the patience of a man that has pondered that question his whole life.

“Nothing will change, mine or Satoru’s, we’ll still stay. We are far too deep in to drop out.”

He takes a pause and feels your heartbeat go frantic against his chest.

“You’re not just the mother of our child, Y/N.” He whispers just as your pulse evens out and you drift off to sleep.

Things are so much more complicated than you think.

Morning you wake up without the arms you fell asleep in wrapped around you and immediately start the day on the wrong foot.

Grimacing through all of your classes and sending nasty looks to whoever hides your “weight gain” excuse beneath your hoodie.

After you wrap up with uni, you step out of the building and head to the bus stop when you see a way too familiar McLaren pull up.

Picking up your pace, you try to reach the bus stop while ignoring Satoru but he rolls down the window and starts shouting your name.

“Y/N! Y/N, honey! Wait! Come in!”

Realising he’s calling way too much attention—more than he already did for pulling up with a sports car to a local college—you stomp your feet over to the car, fling the door open and slide inside.

“What?” You huff. Pinching your eyebrows.

He looks at you like you’ve slapped him.

“We have to talk.”

“No.” You shoot back, arms crossing.

He’s about to say something back when he spots something from your window in the distance.

Noticing how he’s fallen quiet, you follow his line of sight and see Suguru talking to a student in the distance but looking directly at you in the car.

You flash him a small smile and Satoru stiffens by your side, immediately throwing the car in drive and swerving off the sidewalk when he processes the interaction.

You get whiplash, confusion washing over you at how they didn’t even acknowledge each other. Did something happen?

“Satoru.” You call, he doesn’t move a muscle or reply, hands tight on the steering wheel.

“Satoru.” You repeat. He narrows his eyes to you before glueing them back on the road.

You sign, tug off your sweatshirt and melt back into the seat while you wait for him to be over with his childish antics.

For the first time in hours today, you look down at your now big belly bump and smile just a little bit.

Satoru stops at a red light, finally turning to look you and the sweet sight of your caressing the curve of your belly.

He smiles but quickly wipes it off.

This morning he got told off bad by Suguru and he lashed out on the man saying that he had no right to meddle in what happens between you and him.

It’s an unspoken rule from the first day that they saw you that Suguru and Satoru wouldn’t keep you all to one of them.

They agreed without words like a silent vow that you’d be shared and that there wouldn’t be one of them without the other.

Where you think that when the child is born, there will be one father and one uncle, you are so wrong.

There will be two fathers and you.

No way he’s going to let himself be on the sidelines as the woman he loves is with his best friend exclusively.

Sure, he’d love to keep you all to himself just like Suguru probably would.

You have this tendency to lure everyone in.

But since it’s always been him and Suguru since the beginning, the relationship will only work of they both have you or no one else will.

Still, he didn’t like it when he got schooled for something he didn’t do this morning—he knew something happened after you came back all gloomy from the bathroom but he didn’t expect him to be the cause of it.

He wasn’t entertaining that cashier, he didn’t even clock her try to flirt with him as he dryly ordered your meal and thought about how happy you’d be.

And he came to apologise, but when he saw Suguru smiling at you like he’d won you only for him, Satoru lost it.

Finally, after excruciating moments of silence, he breaks.

“Y/N.”

You turn your head to him, eyes curious.

His eyes meet yours as the next red light illuminates his face.

“You know you’re it for me right?”

Way to go.

Confessing like a creep to a woman you barely know but love more than you can describe.

Your brain short circuits, you feel like you’ve just made up everything you heard.

But by the way even Satoru looks shocked by what he just said, it did happen.

The stoplight shines green and he quickly snaps his heqd back to the road and drives off.

You arrive in front of a building you don’t recognise but guess is Satoru’s home when a remote on his keys opens the garage.

He opens the door awkwardly quiet and still takes your hand as he guides you to an elevator that climbs twenty floors.

There is one door on the floor that he unlocks and reveals a giant duplex.

Your breath catches—it screams luxury so much you’re unsure if you can even step in it.

Satoru ushers you gently inside, taking your bad and sweatshirt before coming back and seeing you still in the foyer.

He sighs, takes a few steps and stands right in front of you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that so soon.”

So soon.

He isn’t sorry for saying it at all.

A part of your relaxes with relief.

And the other completely loses the grudge you were holding against him as your arms wrap around his waist and you breathe out for the first time properly.

Chest finally free of the knot in it and a small smile gracing your features.

He stills beneath your touch and you giggle at how firm his abs have turned.

A pair of hands land on your shoulders and he pushes you off him delicately, just till the tips of your fingers graze his ribs.

“I wanted to do this properly because for the first time in my life, I don’t want to mess up things with someone…” He starts, body lowered enough till your eyes are staring into his ocean deep ones.

“But I can’t hold back. Tell me to stop, Y/N.”

You should tell him to stop.

This is just a casualty.

You’re not dating.

But a part of you feels like he wants you to only be his.

To kiss.

When you don’t tell him to stop.

He loses it.

Crashes his lips against yours like the last thread of resistance in him burned to ashes.

And you happily take him.

Accept the kiss, hug him tighter as your back meets a wall.

You feel his desperation, his relief and happiness in the kiss. Finally feeling you against him—your lips, your soul, your body.

Your hands fist his shirt, trying to bring him impossibly close.

The kiss escalates, you both fight with a newfound fire for space in each others mouth like you were fighting a country to be with them.

He makes you jump with a pull of your legs, once they wrap around him he moves without needing to look as he continues invading your mouth.

You plop down beneath him on the couch as he hovers above, kiss finally breaking for air.

Your hands fumble with the hem of his shirt till he gets the memo to take it off and my god.

He is built like a god—muscular everywhere, carved with precision, every dip born from his own discipline and hard work that has you dripping even more than how much you already are.

You moaned at the sight, an accident reaction that only made a grin spread across his face and his hands drip to the end of your shirt.

Pulling it over your bump and pressing a kid over his child before tugging it off the rest of the way and watching how your tits spill out of your bra.

You move to hook a finger at the latch to tug it off, but he catches it and slides a hand to your back and unhooks your bra himself.

He audibly groans, deep and low, when your full breasts fall out the bra.

He wastes no time in cupping a breast and latching his mouth to the free nipple. Massaging one of them and sucking on the hardened peak of the other like a madman in head, you start to feel a bit weird as you moan at the tingly sensations travelling through you.

Then you feel him freeze, his tongue stop and his hand still.

Satoru feels colostrum bead on his tongue and immediately grows feral when he realises the very pregnant mother of his future child is literally leaking milk onto his tongue.

You don’t understand what is going on until he briefly parts from your chest and sticks his tongue out where you see the yellow-gold liquid on it.

You gasp and slap a hand over your mouth—it doesn’t matter how embarrassed you are, Satoru chuckles and dips back down.

The initial sensation of shame in your bones quickly dissipates as you feel him switch nipples and try to get the gold liquid out again.

You’re so wet that you try to grind up at his thigh close to your sopping cunt and when he notices, he flashes you a knowing grin—all canines and pearly whites.

He slips a hand past your waistband as he kisses you crazy again, you gasp against his lips when he presses a finger to your clit—slowly turning to draw lazy circles shortly after.

You whine, too impatient to be prepped when you know what he’s packing and how he knows how to use it too.

“Satoruu.” You mewl, clawing at his forearms.

“Just fill me up, please.”

You breathily begging immediately has him folding, pulling out his slicked fingers and popping them in his mouth to taste while you tug his pants and boxers off.

His dick springs out, rock hard and flushed madly at the tip. Just as he licks the last of your essence from his fingers, his hand catches his cock and starts to drag it up and down against your folds.

Making you start to tremble from anticipation over him.

And when he bottoms out in one go, he swears it’s even better than when he fucked you with Suguru.

Having you all to himself now, he can feel how you’re even tighter now than you’re pregnant—probably with him.

He starts off gently rocking once he sees you’ve settled with the pain of him stretching you.

You’re going limp against the soft and expensive material of his sofa—mind fleeing to that familiar hazy island only he and Suguru have ever shown you.

Reading your body language like he knows the tongues to it by heart, he senses when you want him to go harder and picks up the pace exactly when you set your mind to it.

Catching you so off guard that you nearly choke on your own moan—a broken whimper leaving your chest instead.

He rocks inside and out of you rhythmically deep, kissing the spongy head of your cervix. Brushing his pelvis, groomed crotch against your puffy lips begging to be kissed just like the ones of your face that he captures once more.

“Mm, look at how you fit against me, mama.” He grits out, jaw tight with the focus to not bust inside of you just yet as he feels you flutter around him.

A stupid, half unconsciously spewed yes slips past your lips as your hands circle his neck.

“Satoru.” You breathe out close to his ear. He muffles a whimper in your neck hearing you say his name.

“Don’t you want to make sure I’m carrying your baby?” You whisper, newfound confidence pushing you to challenge him in a low, sly tone that has him faltering with his thrusts.

Taken aback, he chuckles in the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth in the flesh and leaving behind a mean mark where you can’t hide it.

“You already are carrying me around, baby.” He muses, pulling away.

Just when only the tip is left in, he leans back down. Lips brushing yours, and lowly assures you. “But for good measure.”

He plunges back in, making your back arch against him. Heavy belly making him pull back.

A large palm lands on the curved surface of your stomach. “Oh, baby girl.” He coos, thrusting slowly now. “Did daddy hit you?”

You ignore how he’s so confident it’s his baby and a girl and try to not stumble over your moans because you feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

Satoru starts to weakly dive back into your cunt with the passing of minutes.

With a few final thrusts you cum with him following right behind, knocking another load of thick ropes into you. Pumping so much it comes running back down.

He slips out panting, not from the lack of exercise but because it was so intense he forgot to even breathe.

You hear him chuckle the same kind of laugh that came before you found your leather seats ruined in your truck.

Except this time you’re pregnant and cannot look over your stomach, so you look at him till he cracks.

“You know, I’d shove that right back into you. But since you’re already pregnant, I don’t think I need to.”

You groan.

Totally staining his white couch with his cum.

Your hormones are at an all time high now. Especially after you got broken in so intimately yesterday by Satoru. The delicious stretch of him leaving your inner thighs sore today as you do the walk of shame back home.

Thankfully, you enter the apartment to find it empty and almost sigh in relief but then you trip on a pair of shoes and almost face plant the floor.

What the—

Male slacks?

Did Suguru stop by?

Footsteps hit against your old wooden floor and your eyes have never darted to the origin so quickly.

You can’t believe your eyes when Hiromi Higuruma—JJKU’s law professor—stumbles out of Shoko’s bedroom with nothing but his shorts on and a display of deep purple hickeys on his collarbones.

You scream out of pure horror.

“Professor Higuruma!?”

Shoko throws the door that had been shut approximately two seconds open once she hears your voice and freezes at the entrance, cigarette dangling from her boney fingers.

She lazily drawls out “You’re literally pregnant with the head of the philosophy department, what are you screaming about?” Before grabbing his hand and pulling him back in the bedroom where the light of day can’t touch him.

The door closes behind her, but not before she sends you a sly smirk.

You stand at the entrance, one foot still over his foot and one foot still in the moment that just unfolded.

What.the.fuck.

Thankfully, the rest of the day passes by quietly after you walk in on your best friend’s one-night-stand-turned-casual-sex-friend doing the wall of shame as you were.

You visited Shoko at the hospital where she’s a practitioner and she practiced ultrasounding on you.

Seeing your baby choked you up like it did every single time.

Before Satoru and Suguru came back into your life, it used to just be you and Shoko.

And the first time she snuck in with you inside of the midwifery quarters, gelled you up and saw your baby through the echo.

Nothing solidified your love for the little body inside of you more than that day and her support.

Now, she glides the cold tip of the scanner across your belly and searches for the gender so you can surprise the possible fathers tomorrow.

“You got it?” You ask, hopeful. Eyes glued onto the small tv screen showcasing a healthy baby.

She nods, and you’re off.

The two baby daddies kept you updated about their busy schedules that day and you went to bed anticipating tomorrow.

Nothing happens till the evening, the next day.

Until you text both Satoru and Suguru to come to the new apartment.

Both of them pull up at the same time, catch up on the way to the elevator, laugh at how funny it still is that they are both somehow having a child and walk into the unlocked home.

Not finding you in any common area, they split up to search for you until Suguru finds you lounging with your legs over the coffee table on the balcony.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead with a small “hi.” To which you smile back and also offer to Satoru when he comes in and presses a firm kiss to your cheek.

Each one plops on the couch on your side, Suguru on your left, Satoru on the right.

The dark-haired has his hand on your thigh, tracing absentminded shapeless figures onto it while Satoru has a hand behind your head on the headrest.

Both of them eye the box sitting atop the peak of your belly.

You just smile at them all innocent while holding it steady.

Earlier today, you told Shoko to go to the bakery and order a small cake with the color of your baby’s gender inside since she already knows.

So she did. And since it was a small order, here you all are.

Magically, you pull out a comically large fork and turn to them as you explain.

You look at Satoru first.

“I went to Shoko today.”

Then to Suguru, “And she found out the gender of my baby.”

“Our baby.” They both simultaneously say.

“—and it’s lying right here in my hands.”

“You have a cake in your hands, honey.” Points our Satoru.

You glare at him.

“If the icing inside is blue, we are having a boy, if the icing is pink—“

“Girl.” Finishes Suguru. You smile.

Peeling the top off, there’s a basic white icing plain vanilla cake. Nothing special, nothing shiny.

Just a small cake.

“Okay, last chance to put in your guesses!” You chirp, grinning like you’re about to steal the moon.

Once more, they synchronise perfectly—best friends at heart—when they say,

“You’re having a girl.”

You sigh.

“I’m having a boy.” You mumble, balancing the cake on your belly.

You lift the fork in your hand and feel the two men beside you plotting something.

They start counting backwards.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

You dig into the pillowy goodness, fork grabbing a nice piece of cake.

And when you pull it back.

Pink.

Pink icing is wedged between the spongey layers of vanilla cake.

You smile nonetheless, wrong answer and everything. Before you have a chance to turn and beam at either of them.

They push your head into the cake.

And burst into celebration.

Both bodies lifting off the sofa and jumping like crazy people, chanting “We are having a girl!”

You stare at them wide-eyed. Half offended, half bewildered by what manchildren they have turned into.

Cackling like their guess being right on the mark is equal to winning the lottery.

Your face is sticky and sweet with the icing. Forehead coated in white, nose in pink.

You flinch when Satoru materialises by you and LICKS a clean line of icing off your face. Grabbing a piece of cake, you smear it across his face and chaos breaks out.

Suguru quickly becomes a target and you struggle to get him because they’re both ganging up on you and because you’re waddling like a heavy duck—which you might be.

It ends with you getting princess treatment—your face cleaned with a warm towel, and your feet massaged by a still cake-smeared Suguru on the edge of the couch as Satoru—also cake covered—sits behind you, you between his legs and your baby girl in his hand.

You’re both watching the sun set in the horizon, hearts full of love and excitement for what the future holds for you.

Because if there’s anything you learned.

It’s that you don’t fear what the future holds when you’re with them.

And if the future holds more light days like these, you will bravely sail off into the ocean and search for what is waiting for you.

Now all that’s left to do is enjoy the journey till little princess L/N comes home.

Still… the question remains…

Who is the baby daddy?

MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.

I am in LOVE with this. i love writing. My longest work YET. Over 6 hours of writing straight—i am riding that flow train. Love u all mwahmwah.

Reminder that once this miniseries ends, you wont be tagged for my future works unless u stop by the taglist.

Ou I TRIED PROOFREADING N IT GOT TAKEN DOWN SHHHH

By the way I am a polyglot—french, spanish, english, Portuguese and bg so please feel free to comment in your native language if its easier hihi.

The temple sat modest on its hill, cedar beams darkened by centuries of incense. You had spent your life inside its walls. Sweeping stone paths at dawn, replacing withered chrysanthemums, murmuring sutras until your voice felt less like your own and more like something borrowed from the kami themselves.

Your hands were calloused only from scrubbing floors and carrying water; your body soft in the way of someone who had never known violence except as stories whispered after dark. When war finally clawed its way up the mountain road, you did not run. You knelt deeper. Forehead to the cool floor, palms pressed together, lips shaping the same prayer you had spoken every morning since childhood.

Sukuna found you like that.

The sliding doors exploded inward in a spray of splinters. Smoke curled around his silhouette as he stepped inside, two of his arms crossed, the other two loose at his sides. Blood still dripped from the knuckles of his rightmost hand; somewhere behind him a monk’s severed head rolled to a stop against a lantern post. He tilted his head, regarding you. You did not lift your gaze. You did not scream. You only whispered the next line of the sutra, voice trembling but unbroken.

He laughed once the sound of it came out low and rough, amused in a way that made the air feel heavier.

“Still praying,” he said, voice like gravel dragged over silk. “Even now.”

You swallowed. Tears slipped free, hot against your cheeks, but your hands stayed joined.

He crossed the prayer hall in three strides. One massive hand closed around the back of your neck. Not cruel yet, only possessive. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, your knees scraping the floorboards before they left them entirely. Your prayer beads clattered to the ground. You reached instinctively for them; he caught your wrist mid-motion and pinned it behind you with casual strength.

“If I’m not there,” you managed, voice cracking on every word, “who will take care of the temple?”

He went still.

For one heartbeat the only sound was the crackle of distant fires and your own uneven breathing.

Then he leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear.

“That’s what I like about you already,” he murmured. “You think the gods still need you.”

He carried you out of the ruined temple slung over one shoulder like a prize of war. You beat uselessly at his back until your strength gave out; tears soaked the fabric stretched across his shoulder blades. The last thing you saw of your home was the torii gate tilting sideways, half-consumed by flame.

His fortress crouched against jagged black cliffs, more cavern than castle—rough-hewn stone corridors lit by flickering braziers, air thick with the smell of iron and cedar smoke. Servants scattered like leaves when he entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly kissed the floor. Only one did not flinch: Uraume, pale and composed, white hair falling straight as a blade. They regarded you with cool interest as Sukuna dumped you unceremoniously onto the wide, low platform that served as his sleeping mat.

You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall, kimono tangled around your knees, chest heaving. The room was vast, shadowed, dominated by his presence even when he turned away to shrug out of bloodied outer robes. No partition. No second mat. No door that closed between you and him.

You were his now.

He did not speak the words. He did not need to.

Uraume approached without being summoned, carrying a lacquered tray. Steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables arranged with meticulous care. A clay cup of water. They knelt before you, expression unreadable.

“Eat,” they said simply. “He does not tolerate weakness in what belongs to him.”

You stared at the food, stomach twisting with nausea and hunger in equal measure. Your fingers shook when you reached for the chopsticks.

Later, after the tray had been cleared away. Uraume returned with folded yukata of soft undyed silk and a wooden tub already filled with heated water scented faintly with yuzu. They gestured toward a screened alcove at the far side of the chamber.

“Wash,” they instructed. “He will want you clean.”

You obeyed because there was nothing else to do.

The water was almost too hot; it turned your skin pink as you sank into it, knees drawn to your chest. You scrubbed mechanically, arms and shoulders, the crook of your neck, until every trace of soot and temple incense had been erased. Your hair hung heavy and dripping when you finally stepped out. Uraume waited with a dry cloth and the yukata. They did not touch you; they simply watched until you had dressed, until the sash was tied neatly at your waist.

When you emerged from behind the screen, Sukuna was already reclining on the wide mat, one elbow propped beneath him, four eyes fixed on you with lazy predatory interest. The yukata clung slightly to still-damp skin. You felt naked beneath his gaze despite the layers.

He crooked two fingers.

You hesitated.

He crooked them again, but slower this time, deliberately.

You crossed the room on unsteady legs and sank to your knees at the edge of the mat, head bowed, hands folded in your lap the way you had been taught to approach superiors. The posture felt wrong here. Too reverent. Too much like prayer.

He reached out, caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.

“You still smell like incense,” he said, almost thoughtful. “I’ll have to fix that.”

His thumb dragged once across your lower lip rough and warm, a soft press.

Then he released you.

“Sleep,” he ordered, lying back and closing two of his eyes while the other two remained trained on you. “You’ll need your strength.”

There was no spare futon. No corner to curl into. Only the space beside him on the wide mat, close enough to feel the furnace heat rolling off his body.

You lay down carefully, on your side, facing away from him, every muscle rigid. Tears slipped silently into the thin pillow beneath your cheek.

Behind you, he let out a single exhale that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Good girl,” he murmured into the dark. “Faithful things last longer when they learn their place.”

The braziers guttered low. The fortress settled into uneasy quiet.

And you, stolen from the gods, lay awake listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the monster’s breathing at your back, knowing he had only begun to claim what he wanted.

The first days blurred into a haze of stone walls and flickering firelight. You kept to the edges of the chamber like a shadow trying to disappear into itself. Every time Sukuna moved, your body tensed up, waiting for the strike that never came. Not yet. He lounged on the wide mat most hours, sometimes sleeping with all four eyes closed (a rare vulnerability you noted and immediately regretted noticing), sometimes watching you with the lazy patience of a cat that has already cornered its mouse. Uraume appeared at regular intervals with trays of food you refused to touch. Rice cooled untouched. Fish grew dull-eyed on the lacquer. Pickles wilted. You told yourself it was defiance. You told yourself starvation was preferable to accepting anything from the thing that had burned your world down.

Hunger, though, was not impressed by principle.

Your stomach clawed itself hollow. Your limbs felt heavy, your head light. You sat with your back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them as though you could hold yourself together that way. Sukuna noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything.

On the fourth evening or perhaps the fifth; time had begun to slip like sand. He rose from the mat abruptly. Uraume had just left another untouched meal on the low table. Sukuna crossed to it in two strides, picked up the bowl of rice still faintly warm, and carried it to where you sat.

You pressed harder against the stone.

He crouched before you. He was too close, always too close. Balancing the bowl on one massive palm. The other three hands rested loose at his sides, deceptively calm.

“Eat,” he said. Not an order this time. Almost conversational.

You stared at the floor between his knees. “No.”

A beat of silence. Then a low sound escaped from him, not quite a laugh, more like air pushed through teeth.

“You think starving yourself hurts me?” He tilted his head, studying the stubborn line of your jaw. “It only makes you weaker. And I don’t keep broken things.”

“I’m not yours to keep.”

The words came out quieter than you meant, cracked from disuse and thirst. Still, they hung between you like a thrown gauntlet.

He considered them. Then, without warning, one of his lower hands lifted in a slow and deliberate motion to cup the side of your face. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just there. Warm. The calluses on his thumb rasped once against your cheekbone.

“You will eat,” he said, softer now, almost amused. “Or I will make you.”

You jerked your head away. “I said no.”

His grip tightened, just enough to still you but not enough to bruise. The other hand, the one holding the rice moved closer. He scooped a small clump with two fingers, brought it to your lips.

You clamped your mouth shut. Turned your face aside.

He waited.

The seconds stretched. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Hunger roared louder than pride.

Then slowly, so slowly you hated yourself for it. Your lips parted. Just enough.

He pushed the rice inside.

You chewed mechanically, eyes stinging, hating the way your body betrayed you by swallowing. The grains were perfectly soft, faintly sweet from whatever subtle seasoning Uraume used. You hated that too.

Sukuna watched every motion. The way your throat worked. The way a single grain clung to the corner of your mouth until his thumb brushed it away.

“Good,” he murmured.

He fed you another bite. Then another. Never rushing. Never forcing more than you could take at once. One of his free hands settled at the small of your back, not pulling you closer. Just resting there, steadying you as though you might topple sideways from the effort of hating him while your body demanded to live.

You ate half the bowl before shame choked you again. You tried to turn your head.

He didn’t let you.

The last bite he held between his fingers longer than necessary, letting you feel the heat of his skin, the faint pulse beneath it. When you finally took it, your soft lips closing around the pads of his fingers for one humiliating second and then something flickered in his eyes. Not lust, not yet. Satisfaction. The quiet pleasure of something stubborn beginning to bend.

He set the empty bowl aside. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before falling away.

“You’ll eat tomorrow,” he said, rising to his full height again. “And the day after. And every day I decide you’re still useful alive.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring up at him through wet lashes. “I hate you.”

He gave a small and sharp smile that was entirely genuine, you feared.

“I know.”

He returned to the mat, stretched out on his side, and closed two eyes while the other two stayed fixed on you. You stayed where you were, back to the wall, knees still drawn tight, tasting rice and salt and the ghost of his fingers on your tongue.

Hunger sated. Defiance cracked, just a little.

And in the shadowed quiet of the fortress, the King of Curses watched his stolen faithful with the patience of someone who already knew how this story ended.

Days bled into one another until the rhythm of captivity began to feel less like chains and more like gravity was inescapable and constant. Wearing down edges you once thought sharp. You no longer pressed yourself to the farthest wall when he entered the chamber. You no longer flinched at every shift of his massive frame. Vigilance replaced panic; observation replaced despair.

....

You learned the fortress the way a prisoner learns the bars of a cage. The low wooden chest near the alcove held his smaller blades. A curved tanto with black-wrapped hilts, edges honed to split hairs. You watched him retrieve them once, twice, committing the latch’s soft click to memory. Uraume never lingered near it; Sukuna himself seemed to forget it existed most days, as though no one in this place would dare touch what was his.

You told yourself the knowledge was survival. You told yourself the plan forming in the quiet hours, when his breathing evened out beside you and the braziers burned low....was justice that you'd claim. The temple still haunted your dreams: splintered beams, overturned altars, the last prayer dying on your lips as he carried you away. Revenge felt righteous. Necessary.

And yet.

His body had become a fixture. Four arms that could crush stone now draped carelessly across the mat at night. One slung over your waist when he slept deepest, another curled beneath his own head, the remaining two loose at his sides. The heat of him seeped through silk and skin alike, a furnace you could no longer pretend to ignore. You hated how your muscles learned to relax against that warmth instead of locking in terror. Hated how, when he spoke in low commands, mocking observations and that your replies came edged but quieter now. Less venom. More resignation. Familiarity was its own slow poison.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

Sometimes his gaze lingered longer when you answered him. A faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Something pleased. Something patient.

You waited for the right night.

It came without fanfare.

The moon hung thin and pale beyond the narrow window slits. Sukuna had returned late from whatever carnage called him away, reeking faintly of smoke and copper. His outer robes discarded carelessly near the entrance. He collapsed onto the mat with a grunt, eyes sliding shut faster than usual. Exhaustion, perhaps. Or arrogance. Two eyes closed completely; the other pair fluttered half-lidded for a moment before drifting shut as well.

You lay motionless beside him until his breathing deepened slowly, even pulls that lifted the wide plane of his chest. Minutes stretched. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were certain he would wake from the sound alone.

He didn’t.

You moved.

Silent as temple shadow, you slipped from beneath the thin cover. Bare feet met cold stone. You crossed to the chest on trembling legs, fingers numb as they worked the latch. The blade came free easily, it was lighter than you expected, wicked curve glinting faintly in the dying ember light. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.

Adrenaline sang in your veins. Fear. Fury. Something darker.

You returned to the mat.

Sukuna laid on his back, arms splayed, tattoos stark against scarlet skin. Vulnerable in sleep the way only predators can afford to be. You swallowed once hard, then swung one leg over his waist. The yukata rode up your thighs as you settled your weight astride him, knees bracketing his hips. He was massive beneath you; your thighs strained to accommodate the breadth of him. The heat of his body immediately soaked through the thin layers separating you.

You leaned forward.

One hand braced on his chest. Feeling the steady thud of a heart too strong, too steady while the other brought the blade to his throat. The edge kissed skin just below the sharp line of his jaw. A single bead of blood welled where steel met flesh, dark and sluggish.

You pressed.

Not deep. Not yet.

Just enough to feel resistance. Enough to imagine the rest.

Your breath came in shallow pants. Tears pricked your eyes. Not from fear now, but from the sheer weight of what you were about to do. What you had to do.

He didn’t stir.

Not yet.

But beneath you, his body registered the new pressure. A subtle shift of his muscles tightening minutely under your thighs, the slow rise of his chest hitching once as though some animal instinct registered weight, warmth, threat.

His four arms remained lax.

His eyes stayed closed.

The blade trembled in your grip.

And still he slept. Deep enough that the King of Curses had not yet woken to the faithful girl straddling his waist with death at his throat.

He felt you.

Not the weight of your body first, not the press of your thighs around his hips or the tremor in your knees but the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A single drop of blood had already slid down the side of his neck, dark against scarlet skin, before instinct finally pulled him from sleep.

His eyes opened slowly.

Two at first, then the other pair followed, crimson slits widening into lazy, unhurried focus. No jolt. No surge of violence. Just that deliberate unfurling of awareness, like a beast deciding whether the thing on its back was prey or amusement.

He tilted his head just enough that the blade bit a fraction deeper, another thin line of red welling up. His gaze locked on yours.

You froze.

The hand holding the tanto stayed firm, knuckles white, but the rest of you went still as temple stone. You had never been this close. Not really. Not like this. You had seen him bare-chested after baths, yukata slipping low on his shoulders, tattoos shifting over muscle as he moved. You had felt the furnace heat of him at night when one careless arm draped across your waist. But this, straddling the King of Curses, your thighs spread wide over the hard plane of his abdomen, faces inches apart, was different. Intimate in a way that made your pulse roar in your ears. His breath ghosted warm against your lips. His eyes held yours without blinking, pupils blown wide in the low light, drinking you in.

“You’re quite brave,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep, low enough that it vibrated through your joined bodies. “Finally took your chance.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. The words came anyway, cracked and furious and trembling all at once.

“You took everything from me,” you whispered. “You’ll take from others just like you did me.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. One corner of his mouth curled small, almost fond.

“I will,” he said simply. No apology. No justification. Just truth laid bare between you like an offering.

Then quieter, almost gentle: “You should follow through with something if you’ve made up your mind.”

The blade trembled. Your arm ached from holding it steady. This was it. The moment you had rehearsed in the dark, the righteous stroke that would end him, end the fear, end the slow unraveling of who you used to be.

You couldn’t.

The steel stayed pressed to his throat, but your fingers wouldn’t close. Wouldn’t push. Tears burned hot at the corners of your eyes; you hated them as much as you hated him.

His lower pair of hands moved first slow, carefully. Sliding up your arms until they settled on your shoulders. The grip was firm. Not bruising. Just enough to anchor you.

He shook you once—light, almost playful.

“Do it,” he said.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.

“If I don’t kill you,” you managed at last, voice breaking, “you’ll harm more.”

Something flickered in his eyes— amusement, maybe, or recognition. Then motion.

In one fluid roll he flipped you.

The world tilted. Stone mat rushed up to meet your back. Air punched out of your lungs. He loomed above you now. He was massive and unyielding, entirely caging you beneath the breadth of his chest and the weight of four arms. One hand braced beside your head. Another pinned your waist to the mat, your trembling fingers keeping the blade trapped between your palm and his throat. The edge still kissed skin; a fresh bead of blood slid down to drip onto your collarbone, warm and slow.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t disarm you.

He simply looked down at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in that same unreadable almost-smile.

You stared up at him, chest heaving, the tanto still clutched in your shaking fingers, steel pressed firm to the pulse at his neck.

Neither of you moved.

The braziers crackled faintly in the silence.

Blood dripped.

And in the shadowed space between your bodies. He was close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his breath against your skin and you both simply looked at each other, suspended on the razor’s edge of what came next.

His lower arms moved first, slowly. Wide palms broad and warm as they settled around your waist. Fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the dip just above your hipbones. He held you firmer then, not trapping, not bruising, just claiming the shape of you as though measuring how perfectly you fit in his grasp. The pressure was steady. Inescapable. Your yukata was already loosened from the roll, it slid higher under the coaxing slide of his hands. Silk whispered against skin until cool air kissed the bare curve of your thighs, the soft swell of your hips, the vulnerable heat between them.

You were bare underneath.

He was bare too.

The realization hit like a struck bell: the hard, thickening length of him—two cocks, heavy and hot pressed flush against the slick seam of your cunt. No fabric between you now. Just skin on skin. The blunt heads nudged against your folds with every shallow breath he took, smearing warmth, promising stretch, promising ruin. Your body clenched on nothing; a shameful pulse of wet heat answered him before your mind could catch up.

It was too much.

Too aware.

Too close.

He never looked away.

Those four crimson eyes held yours, unblinking-unhurried— watching every flicker of defeat cross your face. Your lips parted on shallow pants. Tears clung to your lashes. The tanto still trembled in your grip, edge kissing the steady throb at his throat, but the fight had bled out of your arm. You looked small beneath him. Broken open. Waiting.

He leaned forward until his mouth hovered a breath from yours.

“Stupid girl,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and almost tender.

Then he kissed you.

Slow.

Sweetly.

His lips caught yours with a gentleness that felt obscene coming from him a soft press, slow drag. His tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you opened for him on instinct. He sucked at your lower lip, gentle pull that drew a broken sound from your throat. One of his upper hands cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting you deeper into the kiss while his lower hands pushed the yukata higher still, to bare the soft plane of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts, every inch of skin he could reach.

He moaned into your mouth low and hungry, it vibrated through your chest.

The blade slipped.

Your fingers loosened. The tanto fell from your grasp, clattering sharp against the stone floor somewhere to the side. Forgotten.

Then your now empty hand rose instead, hesitant and trembling and unsure, until your fingers found the nape of his neck. Tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. Pulled.

Not away.

Closer.

You arched beneath him without meaning to, breasts brushing the hard planes of his chest, cunt sliding slick against the underside of one thick cock. The friction dragged a whimper past your lips; he swallowed it, tongue stroking deeper, tasting the salt of your tears and the faint sweetness still lingering from the rice he’d fed you nights before.

His lower hands tightened on your waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your hipbones. Keeping you pinned, keeping you open, keeping you his.

He broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat where his lips felt your pulse flutter against it. His tongue flicked over the skin there, tasting your defiance turned to surrender.

You shuddered.

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

And beneath him, bare and trembling, you stopped pretending you wanted anything else.

His lower hands tightened on your hips, thick fingers digging into soft flesh just enough to bruise tomorrow and he rocked you forward in a slow, steady grind. Your slick cunt dragged along the thick undersides of his cocks, parting around them, coating them in the shameful evidence of your want. The friction was obscene: hot, slippery, relentless. Every slide nudged the swollen heads against your clit before gliding back, teasing without entering, promising everything and giving nothing yet.

A raw and broken moan tore from your throat in an entirely involuntary rush. You couldn’t swallow it down. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

He exhaled against your skin, a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through your ribs.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “So wet for me, doll… so wet already.”

The words landed like a brand. You swallowed hard, throat clicking, but your arms only wound tighter around his neck, your fingers knotting in his hair, nails scraping scalp as though you needed to anchor yourself to the very thing destroying you. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his waist; your hips jerked once on their own, chasing the pressure before shame could catch up.

He kissed down the column of your throat, slow and open-mouthed, then lower still. His mouth found the soft swell of your breasts, tongue flicking once over one peaked nipple before he closed his lips around it. Sucked. Hard. The wet pull drew a sharp gasp from you; your back arched off the mat, offering more without meaning to. He switched to the other, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, languid licks. Your nipples throbbed under the attention, so sensitive and aching now flushed dark from his mouth.

One of his upper hands slid down the inside of your thigh, palm rough and warm, pushing your leg wider. Then the other was spreading you open until the cool air of the chamber kissed the slick heat between your thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. His cocks slotted perfectly now, the thick lengths gliding through your folds, the blunt heads catching on your clit with every roll of his hips. Harder. Faster. The rhythm built until wet sounds filled the quiet room: your arousal, his low groans, the slick slide of skin on skin.

A high and helpless whimper escaped your lips, lifting your hips to meet him, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more than friction. Tears slipped free again, sliding down your temples into your hair, but they weren’t from fear this time. Not entirely.

He lifted his head just enough to watch your face, with eyes half-lidded, mouth wet and swollen from kissing you earlier. One hand came up to thumb away a tear, almost gentle.

“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking you harder against him, letting you feel every ridged inch of him glide over your clit. “Already dripping. Already begging without saying the word.”

Your breath hitched. Your fingers dug deeper into his shoulders.

He leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours, not quite kissing, just breathing you in.

“Say it,” he murmured against your lips. “Tell me what you want, little faithful. Or I’ll keep you right here teasing your eager cunt, until you cry for it.”

Your thighs shook. Your cunt pulsed. The heat between you was unbearable now so wet, achingly unbearable.

And still he waited with slow patients, rocking you slow and filthy along the length of him. Watching every flicker of surrender cross your face.

You broke first.

The words slipped out on a trembling exhale, soft and fractured that was barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”

It wasn’t surrender spoken in anger. It was need, raw and stripped bare, voice cracking on the single syllable like glass under pressure. Your thighs shook where they cradled his hips; your fingers clenched in his hair so tight it pulled at the roots. You were shaking apart beneath him, cunt fluttering uselessly against the slow, torturous glide of his cocks along your folds, and still he waited. Watching you succumb. Drinking in the way defeat looked on your face when it finally wore your pride thin.

His mouth curved against your temple, almost gentle.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something darker than amusement. “I’ll fill you up.”

He shifted then in a slow and purposeful motion, aligning the thicker of his two cocks with your entrance. The blunt, leaking head nudged past your folds, parting slick lips that had never known anything but empty ache. You were untouched. Virgin. He could feel it in every instinctive clench, every flutter of your inner walls trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. Your body was too eager and too overwhelmed, tight untrained muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion before he’d even breached you properly.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. His lips pressed more firmly, tongue sliding slow and possessive against yours, swallowing the small, helpless sounds that spilled from your throat as he began to press forward.

The fat tip breached you.

Your cunt squeezed hard, reflexive and impossibly tight around the sheer size of him. A sharp, startled cry muffled against his mouth. He groaned low in his chest at the resistance, at the velvet heat clamping down like it wanted to strangle him already. Precum smeared inside you, thick and hot, easing the way just enough that he could inch forward another fraction. Your walls fluttered desperately around the fat crown trying to accommodate the sheer size of it. Failing and trying desperately again. Too much. Too full already and he’d barely started.

He held your hips steady with his lower hands, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the sensitive skin just above your mound while one upper hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping your mouth locked to his. The other braced beside your head, caging you without crushing.

“Relax,” he rasped against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “Breathe for me, doll. You’re taking it so well already.”

Another slow push.

Your back arched off the mat, a sharp gasp tearing free as another inch sank in. The stretch burned sweet, aching and so overwhelming. Your cunt spasming around him, milking the thick head like it couldn’t decide if it hated or craved the invasion. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; he licked them away without breaking the kiss, tasting salt and surrender.

He didn’t rush.

He rocked into you with tiny, shallow thrusts working the his fat tip deeper with every careful roll of his hips, letting your body adjust inch by torturous inch. Your nails raked down his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide around him. The second cock laid against your cunt, still hard and heavy, it dragged along your clit with every motion, smearing slick, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant even as the stretch threatened to undo you.

You whimpered into his mouth a high and broken but there was neediness layered in.

He swallowed it.

Pressed deeper.

Your cunt yielded another reluctant inch for him, your walls fluttering, squeezing then fluttering again, your walls clinged to him so tightly he had to grit his teeth against the urge to slam home. Not yet. Not when you were still trembling like this, still so sweetly overwhelmed, still giving him every fractured sound and shudder.

He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth to your ear.

“Good girl,” he breathed, voice wrecked with want. “Let me in. Let me fill that tight little cunt the way it’s begging to be filled.”

Another slow, relentless push.

Your body opened a little, just barely around the thickest part of him.

And still he kept going in slow patient amd mercilessly trusts, determined to bury every inch until you were stuffed full and weeping for more.

Too big.

The thought looped through your mind like a broken sutra, too big, too big, too big as the thick head of his cock sank deeper, stretching you beyond what felt possible. Your walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming in protest and pleasure both, forced to yield inch by merciless inch. He swelled inside you, filling you up up up until every shallow breath pushed your belly taut, until you could feel the blunt pressure of him high against the deepest place inside.

Your body had no choice but to mould itself around him.

Soft inner walls reshaped themselves to the heavy ridge of his cock, clenching desperately, fluttering around him trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once. He pushed in again slowly and relentless, and your cunt gave another reluctant inch, the stretch burning sweet and sharp until tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He was rearranging you from the inside, carving space where there had been none, claiming every fluttering inch as his.

The fat head kissed your cervix properly then, it pressed harder. You gasped, high and startled, hips jerking uselessly beneath him. He didn’t stop. Another shallow thrust and the tight ring of muscle yielded fully opening for him like it had been waiting, like your body had always known it would bend to this. He bottomed out with a low groan that vibrated through your joined bodies, cock buried to the hilt, pulsing hot against the deepest part of you.

“So tight,” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked with restraint. “Look at you… taking it all. Opening right up for me like a good little thing.”

You whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the feeling, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking the thick length instinctively, every spasm dragging a rough sound from his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every vein. Letting your body adjust to the brutal fullness.

His second cock was still hard, still leaking as it dragged heavy along your clit with every tiny shift of his hips, smearing precum and your slick in filthy streaks. He could imagine it: both cocks splitting you open, stretching your poor cunt until it gaped around him, until you sobbed from the overstimulation alone. The thought made his hips twitch forward once sharp and involuntary, bumping your cervix again and drawing a choked cry from your lips.

But not yet.

He wasn’t going to force it. Not tonight.

He wanted to work this tight little cunt open on one first, to train it to take him properly, to crave the stretch, to weep and flutter every time he sank in deep. He rolled his hips in slow, grinding circles. Keeping himself buried to the root while the blunt head rubbed insistently against that sensitive inner spot. Your thighs shook around his waist; your breath came in ragged little pants.

He kissed you again messy, open-mouthed. Swallowing every broken sound from your quivering lips as he began to move.

Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in, letting your walls cling desperately to every retreating inch. Then deeper. Harder. Each stroke dragged along your fluttering walls, bumping your cervix, forcing it to soften further under the relentless pressure until it kissed the tip of him like a welcome.

Your body trembled beneath him, you were sweat-slick, overstimulated and utterly full. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice wet and hot around him but greedy now, coating him in slick that dripped down to soak the mat beneath you.

He groaned low into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmured, hips snapping onc deeper, it felt punishing, made your back arch and your toes curl. “Let it open for me, doll. Let me ruin this pretty cunt until it only knows my shape.”

Another thrust, harder still. Your cervix yielding completely now, letting him grind against the deepest place inside you.

You sobbed against his lips, the pleasure and pain blurring into something white-hot and overwhelming.

And yet still he moved slow when you needed slow, hard when your body begged for it. Working you open, reshaping you, claiming you until there was nothing left but the slick slide of him inside you and the broken, needy sounds spilling from your throat.

Fuck, it was so sloppy.

The way your cunt finally gave in and opened wide and wet and greedy around the thick length of him, cunt making obscene, slick sounds with every slow withdrawal and deeper plunge. Your walls clung desperately, fluttering and spasming, coated in a thick sheen of your own arousal that dripped down his shaft, down your thighs, soaking the mat beneath you in dark, glistening patches. No resistance left. Just raw, yielding heat that swallowed him whole every time he sank back in.

He watched it happen.

Watched the way your soft belly began to bulge properly now, unmistakably every time he bottomed out. The fat head of his cock pressed high against your cervix, then higher still, stretching your insides until the outline of him showed beneath your skin. A slow, obscene swell that rose just below your navel, then receded slightly when he pulled back, only to bloom again with the next deep thrust. He could see it. Feel it. The way your body reshaped itself around him, forced to accommodate every ridged inch until the shape of his cock was etched into your flesh.

He was mesmerised.

One of his upper hands left the mat and slid down, his palm broad and warm. His hand settled right over that curious swell. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the hard length of himself moving beneath the soft layer of your stomach. He groaned low in his throat with rough, reverence. Hips stuttering once at the sensation.

“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with dark wonder. “Look how full you are, doll. Look how your little cunt bulges for me.”

You whimpered high and helpless, your head tipping back against the mat, tears slipping sideways into your hair. The pressure of his hand only made it worse, made you feel every inch more vividly, every throb, every slow grind against that deep, sensitive place inside. Your walls clenched hard around him in response; slick gushed anew, coating him, easing the next brutal slide home.

He rocked deeper but deliberately now. Watching the swell rise and fall beneath his palm like he was mapping new territory. His thumb traced the outline once slow, it felt possessive, larger fingers following the exact ridge of his cock as it pressed outward. Another groan tore from him, low and wrecked.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself. “I could watch this forever. Watch you take me… watch this pretty belly swell every time I fill you up.”

He leaned down, his mouth finding yours again, messy and hungry, kissing you through the next deep thrust that made the bulge bloom higher. His lower hands gripped your hips tighter, angling you just right so every stroke dragged along that spot that made your thighs shake and your cunt flutter wildly.

You sobbed into his mouth overwhelmed and overstuffed on his cock, ruined in the sweetest way, your nails still raking down his back as your body surrendered completely.

He didn’t speed up.

He kept it slow, torturously slow. Savoring every sloppy, wet slide, every visible proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. Hand still pressed to your belly. Eyes fixed on the swell. Mesmerised by the sight of his own cock reshaping you from the inside out.

And still he moved against you deeper. Watching and feeling you. Owning every trembling inch of the faithful girl who had once held a blade to his throat.

Now you only held him. Deep you felt him, tummy bulging with how big he is, you felt full. Claimed and utterly his in this moment.

The wet noises filled the chamber were filthy and unmistakable. Every deep plunge of his cock dragged slick sounds from your stretched cunt: the lewd squelch of your walls clinging desperately to him, the wet slap of skin meeting skin, the obscene drip of your arousal coating his shaft and pooling beneath you. No hiding it. No pretending this wasn’t happening. Your body sang for him in every sloppy, soaked rhythm.

He fucked deeper into you now, faster. His lower hands locked around your waist like iron bands, holding you steady while he pulled you down hard onto every thick inch. The force of it jolted through you: cervix kissed roughly with each snap of his hips, the bulge in your belly rising sharp and obscene every time he bottomed out. Your thighs trembled uselessly around him; your nails raked red lines down his back. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right. Only felt full, stretched and utterly claimed.

His second cock, still untouched against you dragged heavy and hot along your clit with every brutal thrust. The fat, leaking tip slid over the swollen bud in perfect, relentless friction: up when he pulled back, down when he slammed home. Edging you mercilessly. Building the pressure until your whole body wound tight, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering wildly around the cock already buried to the hilt.

“Fuuuck, look at you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and reverent. “Taking it so deep… dripping everywhere… gonna cum for me, aren’t you, doll?”

You couldn’t answer. Only whimpered high, broken and needy, as the dual assault pushed you higher. The thick length inside you grinding against every sensitive spot; the second cock rubbing filthy circles over your clit until sparks burst behind your eyes.

Then it hit.

Hard.

Your cunt clamped down like a vice. Cunt spasming wildly and milking him in violent waves as you came undone around the fat cock splitting you open. A sob tore from your throat; your back arched off the mat, hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through you in white-hot pulses. Slick gushed around him hot and messily coated his shaft, dripping down to slick the second cock still teasing your oversensitive clit. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, greedy and relentless, trying to pull him deeper even as your body shook apart.

He groaned low, almost sounding pained. His hips stuttering once at the sudden, brutal grip of your orgasm. His fingers dug harder into your waist, holding you pinned as he fucked you through it: short, punishing thrusts that dragged every last tremor from your cunt, making the bulge in your belly pulse with every slam.

“That’s it,” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Cum all over my cock… make it sloppy… make it yours.”

You shuddered, the aftershocks rolling through you. Hot tears now slipping down your cheeks as your cunt kept fluttering around him, still so full, still so stretched, still weeping slick with every slow grind he gave you now.

He didn’t stop moving.

Didn’t pull out.

Just kept you impaled deep on him, steadily watching your face with half-lidded eyes as your body trembled in the aftermath, the second cock still dragging lazy, teasing strokes over your throbbing clit.

Ready.

Patient.

Waiting to see how much more his sweet, ruined faithful could take.

He fucked into your creaming cunt with purpose now, his deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet and filthy against your thighs every time he bottomed out. Your slick had turned thick and white around his shaft, frothing at the base with every brutal plunge, coating him in creamy evidence of how thoroughly your body had surrendered. The bulge in your belly pulsed visibly with each thrust, rising sharp when he buried himself to the hilt, receding only to bloom again as he dragged back and slammed forward. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, milking greedily, still spasming from the orgasm that had ripped through you moments before.

He groaned low, his voice was wrecked and ragged, his hips now snapping harder with speed. Chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him like it never wanted to let go.

“Fuuuck look at this messy little pussy,” he rasped, one hand still pressed to the swell of your stomach, feeling himself move beneath your skin. “Creaming all over my cock… taking it so deep… gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna stuff this cunt so full you’ll feel me for days.”

Your head thrashed against the mat, fat tears streaming down, your mouth opened on broken moans you couldn’t swallow down. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your thighs trembled wide and useless around his waist. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, bumped your cervix, ground the fat head against that spot inside until stars burst behind your eyes again.

He was close.

You could feel it, the way his cocks throbbed heavier inside and against you, the way his rhythm stuttered, the low growl building in his chest. His lower hands clamped down on your hips, bruising and possessive. Sukuna yanked you down hard onto every upward snap as he fucked his way toward release.

Then it hit him.

A rough, guttural sound tore from his throat. Half growl, half moan as he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently inside you, swelling thicker still, and then he came..hot and it felt endless inside of you.

Rope after thick rope flooded your fluttering pussy, his hot cum spurting deep against your cervix, filling you so fast, so much, that your walls couldn’t contain it all. Your cunt clenched reflexively around the invasion, milking him greedily, but there was too much. It leaked out around his shaft in creamy white streaks, dripping down to soak the mat, yet still he kept pumping his cum deeper. His hips grinding in slow, deep circles now, forcing every last drop higher inside you.

Your belly swelled visibly, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. The bulge that had once only shown his cock now rounded softer, fuller, stretching your skin taut as cum packed your womb and pussy full. You whimpered overstimulated, overwhelmed. Feeling the obscene pressure build inside, the heavy slosh of it every time he shifted even slightly.

He stayed buried deep, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last weak spurts inside you, while one hand slid up to cup the new, soft swell of your lower belly. Fingers splayed wide, pressing gently, feeling the warmth and fullness he’d forced into you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, eyes fixed on the way your cunt bulged around him, lips stretched tight, creamy cum seeping out in slow, thick rivulets. “Look at you… stuffed so full… bloating with my cum like a perfect little vessel.”

You shuddered beneath him, body trembling, your cunt still fluttering weakly around the thick length keeping you plugged with his cum. Tears slipped hot down your cheeks; your breath came in shallow, hiccuping pants.

He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, voice dark and satisfied.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, hips giving one last lazy roll that made more cum leak out around him. “Every inch… every drop… every swell. All mine.”

And still he didn’t pull out.

Just stayed seated deep letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of him inside, the obscene bloat of your belly, the slow drip of his seed claiming you from the inside out while the braziers flickered low and the fortress held its breath around the ruined faithful girl who had finally, completely, fallen.

The chamber settled into a heavy, humid quiet.

Only the low crackle of dying braziers and the uneven rhythm of your shared breathing remained. Your body felt foreign. Softened, swollen, reshaped from the inside out. His cock still rested deep inside you, softening slowly but not withdrawing, keeping every thick drop of his release plugged tight where it belonged. The obscene bloat in your lower belly had settled into a warm, heavy fullness that shifted with every shallow inhale. When you moved even slightly, you could feel the slow, lazy slosh of cum deep within you. It was thick, warm and still too much to be contained.

A faint trickle escaped anyway, creamy white slipping from where your stretched lips clung to the base of his shaft, sliding down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you on the already ruined mat. The scent of it filled the air: musky, salty, unmistakably him. Mixed with the sharp tang of your own release. It clung to your thighs, your skin, your hair. There was no escaping it.

You lay limp beneath him, your limbs heavy and trembling faintly in aftershocks. Your cunt throbbed around the softening length still buried inside, fluttering weakly every few heartbeats like it couldn’t decide whether to mourn the stretch or beg for more. Tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty tracks; your lips felt swollen from his kisses, bruised and tingling.

He hadn’t moved much.

One lower hand stayed splayed over the soft swell of your abdomen, his palm warm. One thick thumb tracing idle, slow circles over the place where his cum had bloated you full. The other lower hand rested at the small of your back, holding you arched just enough to keep him seated deep. His upper arms braced on either side of your head, caging without crushing, while his face hovered close, his breath warm against your temple.

He watched you.

Not with hunger now. Not with that predatory gleam. Something quieter. Almost contemplative.

His thumb pressed once, gently against the rounded curve of your belly. You whimpered at the pressure; more cum leaked out in a slow, warm trickle. He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.

“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough from exertion. “Even plugged like this… your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all.”

You swallowed. Throat raw. No words came.

He shifted up slow, pulling back just enough that the fat head dragged along your oversensitive walls. You gasped sharp, startled as another thick gush of cum followed the motion, spilling free in a messy rush. Your thighs trembled; your hips jerked involuntarily.

He stilled again. Didn’t pull out completely.

Just watched the way your body reacted, how your cunt clenched around nothing now that he’d eased back an inch, how more of his seed dripped out in slow, obscene rivulets.

One hand slid up and cupped your cheek. Thumb brushing away the last damp track of tears.

“You took it well,” he said. Simple. Almost soft. “Took every drop. Look at you… all swollen and full. Marked inside and out.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just there.

Then he finally began to ease out.

Inch by torturous inch.

Your walls fluttered desperately around the retreating length clinging and fluttering, trying to keep him inside even now. When the head finally slipped free with a wet pop, a fresh flood followed thick and hot, pouring from your gaping cunt in a slow, creamy cascade. It soaked your thighs, the mat, everything beneath you. Your belly deflated slightly as the pressure eased, but the fullness lingered: a deep, aching warmth that pulsed with every heartbeat.

You whimpered again, the sound even more small and broken, legs falling open wider on instinct as your body tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness.

He stayed above you, watching silently.

One hand dipped between your thighs, then two thick fingers sliding easily through the mess, gathering the slick mix of cum and your release before pushing back inside. Slow. Deep. Plugging you again with just his fingers while the rest continued to leak around them.

“Shh,” he murmured when you shuddered. “Keep it in. Let it settle.”

His fingers curled once to press against that spot inside that made your hips twitch again, then they stilled.

He withdrew them slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then he gathered you.

Four arms moved at once, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder; your legs draped limp over one arm. Cum still dripped from between your thighs, warm trails sliding down his skin now too.

He carried you to the alcove where the wooden tub still waited, water long cooled but clean. Uraume had prepared it earlier, before everything unraveled.

He lowered you into it carefully.

The water stung at first, cool against fever-hot skin, then it soothed. He knelt at the edge, one hand supporting your neck so your head rested against the rim, the other dipping beneath the surface to cup water and rinse the mess from your thighs, your folds, your belly.

Gentle.

Methodical.

He washed you like something precious. Something his.

When the water turned cloudy with the evidence of what he’d done, he lifted you out again and wrapped you in a thick, dry cloth, carried you back to the mat (a fresh one already laid out; Uraume was nothing if not efficient).

He laid you down. Pulled the thin cover over your trembling body.

Then he stretched out beside you. Close always close, with one arm draped over your waist, palm settling once more over the soft, lingering swell of your lower belly.

“Sleep,” he said against your hair. Voice low. Quiet. “You’ll need it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave.

The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the warmth of his hand cradling the place he had filled, claimed, ruined, and somehow kept.

The flood had passed.

But the aftermath lingered, with you. You'd never been this close to being worshiped, oh how the roles were reversed and he would always keep you tethering between God and him.

Waking up felt entirely new after being so thoroughly claimed.

Your body no longer belonged only to you. Every slow breath reminded you of the night before in vivid, aching detail. Between your thighs your pussy throbbed with a deep, sweet pain that radiated outward from the very center of your cunt all the way into your womb. 

The soft folds were swollen and tender, still slick with the remnants of everything he had pumped into you. Your inner walls felt stretched and sensitive, fluttering around nothing yet remembering exactly how it had felt to be split open and filled beyond capacity. 

Your stomach carried a lingering heaviness, a warm fullness that made your lower belly feel softly rounded and claimed, as if his cum still sat heavy inside you even after the slow leak that had happened during the night.

You awoke first.

The chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of embers that had burned low through the hours. Cool morning air drifted in through the narrow slits high in the stone walls. Ryomen Sukuna lay asleep beside you, his massive frame taking up most of the wide mat. 

One of his lower arms was still draped heavily across your waist, palm resting possessively over the gentle swell of your abdomen where he had pressed so many times the night before. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that you could feel against your back. Two of his eyes were closed in true sleep while the other pair remained half lidded in that strange way of his, as though even unconscious he refused to be entirely vulnerable.

You could not sleep any longer.

The intensity of every sensation kept your mind spinning. You wanted to push him off, to scramble away from the heat of his body and the weight of his claim, to reclaim some small piece of the girl who had once knelt quietly in a temple. 

Your hands twitched with the urge. Yet when you shifted slightly, the solid warmth of him pressed closer instead of repelling you. His arm felt strangely comforting in the quiet dawn, heavy and steady like an anchor keeping you from drifting into panic. The scent of him clung to your skin, musk and smoke and something darker that made your pulse flutter even as shame burned in your cheeks.

Instead of shoving his hand away you reached down slowly and wrapped your fingers around his much larger one. You lifted it carefully and pressed his palm flat against your chest, right over the frantic racing of your heart. The contact was warm, rough, grounding. 

Your heart hammered harder beneath his touch, wild and unsteady, begging for something you could not name. You wanted it to stop, wanted the frantic beat to quiet so you could think clearly again, so you could remember how to hate him properly.

He stirred.

Not fully awake yet, but aware enough. His fingers flexed once against your skin, then pressed harder, spreading wide so the heel of his palm rested firmly over your racing heart while his fingertips brushed the upper swell of your breast. The increased pressure stole your breath. A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the weight of his hand grounded the frantic flutter inside your chest.

He opened his eyes the rest of the way, crimson gaze settling on your face in the dim light. His voice came low and rough with sleep, rumbling through the quiet space between you.

“Does that feel better?”

You could only nod, small and shaky, unable to form words. Fresh tears slipped free from the corners of your eyes, sliding silently down your temples and into your hair. They were not from pain or fear this time, but from the overwhelming tangle of sensations and emotions you could no longer separate. The sweet ache between your thighs, the heavy fullness low in your belly, the comforting press of his hand over your heart, the way his body still curved protectively around yours even in half sleep. Everything felt too much and somehow not enough all at once.

He didn't pull away.

Instead he kept his palm exactly where you had placed it, pressing with steady, reassuring strength while his thumb brushed once, almost tenderly, along the curve of your collarbone. His other arms remained relaxed around you, one still cradling your waist, the rest loose but close.

You lay there in the quiet morning light, heart still racing beneath his touch, tears slipping free, pussy throbbing with the intimate memory of how deeply he had claimed you, stomach full and warm with the evidence of his release. And for the first time since he had carried you from the burning temple you did not try to run from the monster who held you.

You simply held his hand tighter to your chest and let the tears fall.

As the tears continued to fall your breathing slowly evened out once more. Exhaustion pulled you under again, your body surrendering to sleep despite the lingering ache and the storm of feelings swirling inside your chest. Your lashes fluttered once then stilled, cheeks still damp, lips slightly parted on a soft exhale. 

The morning light filtering through the narrow slits in the stone walls painted gentle shadows across your face, highlighting the faint redness around your eyes and the way your brows had relaxed in unconscious rest.

Sukuna remained awake, propped on one elbow, four eyes fixed on you with an unusual stillness. He never wondered how he made anyone feel. Pain was something he understood perfectly well, something he could cause with casual ease and never lose sleep over. He had spilled rivers of blood without a second thought, had watched villages burn and priests scream and never once asked himself if his victims hated him in their final moments. Their pain simply existed because he decided it should.

Yet now he found himself watching the slow rise and fall of your chest and wondering.

Were you in pain because of him?

Not the sweet ache between your thighs or the heavy fullness still settled low in your belly, those he expected and even took quiet pride in. But something deeper. Did you hate him now, truly hate him, after he had taken you so completely? After he had spread you open beneath the monster who had ripped you from everything you once held sacred? After he had flooded your untouched cunt until your stomach swelled with his cum and your voice broke on moans you could not hold back?

His fingers moved without conscious thought, the rough pad of one thumb tracing the glistening path of a tear that had slipped down your temple. The skin there was soft, still warm from sleep and emotion. You looked tired in a way that went beyond the night’s exertions. A little more delicate, perhaps, the faithful servant girl who had once knelt in prayer now lying claimed and tear-streaked in the bed of the King of Curses.

And yet.

He remembered how you had pulled him closer.

When the blade had clattered to the floor your hand had risen not to push him away but to tangle in his hair and tug him down into the kiss. You had arched beneath him, thighs spreading wider, cunt clenching greedily around the thick cock that split you open. Even at the height of your surrender you had chosen to draw him in rather than shove him out.

That had to mean something.

If you had truly wanted him gone you would have pushed when the knife dropped. You would have fought when he rolled you beneath him. Instead you had whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, hips lifting to meet every deep thrust until you came hard around him and then again when he flooded you full.

His thumb brushed another tear away, slower this time, almost careful.

He studied the relaxed lines of your face, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the subtle parting of your lips. The hand you had pressed to your own chest still rested beneath his palm, your heartbeat steadier now in sleep but still quick enough that he could feel it. He did not move his hand. The weight seemed to comfort you even unconscious, and for reasons he did not bother examining he found he liked keeping it there.

Sukuna shifted slightly closer, careful not to wake you, letting the heat of his body wrap around yours once more. One of his lower arms remained draped across your waist, palm resting lightly over the soft swell of your belly where his claim still lingered warm and heavy inside you.

He watched you sleep for a long time, tracing idle patterns along your tear-damp cheek with the gentlest touch he had ever allowed himself. The questions lingered in the back of his mind, unfamiliar and strangely persistent.

Pain?

Hate?

Or something else entirely that had made a temple girl pull a monster closer instead of driving him away?

For the first time in his long, bloody existence Ryomen Sukuna did not have an immediate answer.

And so he simply lay there, holding you, watching the slow rhythm of your breathing, wondering quietly what it meant that you had chosen to keep his hand against your racing heart instead of pushing it away.

Daylight brought no mercy.

When you woke the second time the chamber was brighter, pale morning light spilling through the high slits and painting long stripes across the stone floor. Your body ached in ways you had never imagined possible. Every small movement sent fresh waves of soreness through your core. Sitting up hurt. The simple act of shifting your weight made the tender muscles between your thighs protest sharply, a deep, dull throb that radiated outward from your swollen pussy all the way into your womb. Your lower belly still carried that heavy, warm fullness, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he had flooded you. Even the soft silk of the yukata brushing against your skin felt too much against the sensitive folds that had been stretched and used so relentlessly the night before.

You moved slowly, carefully, wincing as you rose from the mat. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. The ache pulsed with every step, a sweet, shameful reminder that your body had been claimed and reshaped by the King of Curses. Shame burned hot in your cheeks. You felt weak for the way your cunt still fluttered faintly at the memory, for the way a fresh trickle of his dried cum clung to your inner thighs when you moved. You told yourself it was only pain. Only the aftermath of violence. Yet your mind kept drifting back to the heat of his hands, the low rumble of his voice, the way he had held you afterward.

Sukuna did not crowd you.

He sat across the chamber on the wide ledge by the window, one knee drawn up, four arms resting loosely. He watched you but did not rise. Did not approach. Did not speak. There was deliberate space between you now, an invisible line he refused to cross. He wanted you to come to him if you needed anything. He wanted you to choose, even in this small thing. After taking everything else he could at least grant you the right to decide when you sought his presence. He would not rob you of that last fragile scrap of agency.

You felt the absence of him immediately.

At first you told yourself it was relief. You busied your hands folding the thin cover on the mat, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist, avoiding his gaze. But the longer the silence stretched the more your body betrayed you. A quiet longing bloomed beneath the shame and the pain. You missed the solid heat of his frame behind you. Missed the weight of his arm across your waist. Missed the strange comfort of his palm pressed over your racing heart. The realization made fresh shame flood your chest. How could you want the monster who had burned your temple and stolen you away? How could you crave the very hands that had spread you open and filled you until you bulged with his release?

You felt too weak for wanting him.

When it came time to dress you turned your back to him completely. Your fingers trembled as you slipped out of the night yukata and into a fresh one, trying to hide the marks he had left on your skin, the faint bruises on your hips where his fingers had gripped, the soft swell of your belly that had not yet returned to its usual flatness. You kept your shoulders hunched, arms crossed over your chest, shrinking into yourself as though you could disappear from his sight if you made yourself small enough.

He saw every motion.

He saw the way you hid yourself from his gaze, the deliberate angle of your body, the nervous hunch of your shoulders. Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest at the sight. He did not like it. Not one bit. The faithful girl who had once met his eyes with trembling defiance now curled away from him like a wounded animal. But he made no comment. He did not rise. He did not reach for you. He simply watched in silence, jaw tight, four eyes narrowed with an emotion he refused to name.

The distance stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.

You finished tying the sash with shaking hands and stood there, back still turned, heart hammering against your ribs. Pain pulsed between your thighs with every heartbeat. Shame burned in your veins. And beneath it all, quiet and insistent, the growing need to cross the chamber and seek the very monster who had caused it all.

Sukuna waited.

Patient.

Silent.

Wondering how long it would take before the girl who had pulled him closer in the dark would choose to come to him again in the daylight.

The days that followed carried the same heavy ache between your thighs, a constant, throbbing reminder that refused to fade.

When you bathed alone in the wooden tub, the warm water only made everything more obvious. Your pussy had become a terrible, swollen mess. The outer lips were puffy and sensitive, the inner folds still slick with an unusual, persistent wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. Your fingers slipped between your thighs almost without permission, parting the tender flesh to inspect the damage. Heat bloomed instantly at the lightest touch. Thick, creamy remnants of his cum still clung inside you, mixing with your own fresh slick until everything felt glossy and overheated. Every gentle press made your cunt flutter and leak a little more, the slickness coating your fingertips in a shameful sheen.

You hated how aware your body had become.

Your eyes kept drifting to him whenever he was near. You told yourself you were only looking, only noticing. But the stares lingered. Over the sharp lines of his face, the powerful set of his four arms, the broad expanse of his tattooed chest, the hard ridges of his abdomen. Then lower. Always lower. The heavy, intimidating weight between his thighs that you now knew so intimately. Your imagination supplied every detail without mercy: the thick veins, the way both cocks had throbbed against you, the brutal stretch, the endless flood that had left you bloated and dripping.

Your cunt clenched hard at the memory, another rush of slick slipping free to trail down your inner thigh. Shame burned so fiercely you had to turn away and press your forehead to the cool stone wall until the feeling passed. Your body knew exactly what it wanted now. Your pussy knew what it craved. The knowledge made you feel impossibly dirty, impossibly weak. You pushed the thoughts aside with gritted teeth and forced yourself to finish bathing.

Eventually the longing for the outside world grew stronger than the shame.

One quiet afternoon you finally gathered the courage to approach him. He was lounging on the wide ledge again, watching the horizon through the window slit. You kept your gaze lowered, voice small and hesitant.

“May I… go outside? Just for a little while. I miss the feel of grass beneath my feet. Sunlight on my skin. Fresh air.”

He studied you for a long moment, crimson eyes unreadable. Then he gave a single nod.

“I will take you.”

He did not make you walk far. He carried you most of the way, one set of arms cradling you against his chest while the others remained free. The journey ended at a secluded lakeside not far from the fortress cliffs. Tall reeds swayed gently at the water’s edge. Smooth rocks lined the shore, warmed by the sun. The air smelled of pine and clear water. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface like scattered jewels.

You had not asked for the lake specifically, but Sukuna had chosen it anyway, thinking the open view and soft grass might please you. He set you down on a broad, flat rock near the water and stepped back, giving you space once more.

At first it was perfect.

You closed your eyes, tilted your face toward the sun, and let the warmth sink into your skin. Bare feet pressed into cool grass. Fresh air filled your lungs. For a few blissful moments the constant ache between your thighs faded into the background.

Then you sat.

The moment your weight settled on the rock the soreness flared again. Your swollen pussy lips spread slightly against the smooth stone through the thin layers of your yukata. The unusual slickness that had been building all morning could no longer be contained. A warm trickle escaped, then another. You felt the wet heat seep out of you in slow, shameful pulses. Your cunt clenched uselessly around nothing, leaking more with every flutter. Within moments a small, glistening puddle had formed beneath you on the dark rock, catching the sunlight in a blatant, shiny evidence of your body’s betrayal.

You froze.

Heat flooded your face. You pressed your thighs together tightly, but the damage was already done. The puddle shimmered between your legs, unmistakable.

Sukuna noticed immediately.

He had been standing a few paces away, arms crossed, scanning the treeline out of habit. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath you. Four eyes narrowed, then darkened with recognition. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something far more dangerous. He took one slow step closer, then another, until he loomed over you.

His voice came low, rough, and far too knowing.

“Look at that.”

He crouched, bringing himself eye level with the evidence. One large hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the glistening puddle without touching it.

“Still leaking for me, even out here in the sunlight. Your greedy little cunt doesn’t care where we are, does it?”

You couldn’t speak. Could only sit there burning with shame, the warm slick still slowly dripping from your swollen folds onto the rock while he watched every shameful drop with open, hungry fascination.

The lake sparkled innocently behind you.

The sun continued to shine.

But the ache between your thighs had just become impossible to ignore.

You stuttered the moment his words landed, voice cracking like thin ice.

“It is not… I did not mean…”

The denial died on your tongue. Heat crawled up your neck until your entire face burned. You swallowed once, twice, then forced the truth out in a trembling whisper.

“I have been… wetter there. Since that night. It will not stop.”

Sukuna’s smile widened, slow and wicked, four eyes gleaming with dark delight. He stayed crouched in front of you, one hand still hovering near the glistening puddle on the rock.

“Yes,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Why did you not tell me about that specifically earlier? I could have helped.”

You stared at him as though he had begun speaking in some ancient, forgotten tongue. Your mind refused to process the casual way he offered to fix the mess he had made between your thighs. The sheer audacity of it stole every thought from your head.

Tell him.

Tell the King of Curses that your pussy was a leaking, swollen, dripping mess because of him.

The words would not come. Humiliation crashed over you so violently that you twisted away, turning your back to him completely. Your shoulders hunched, arms wrapping tight around your middle as if you could hide the evidence of your body’s betrayal. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt scalding hot.

Behind you, Sukuna let out a soft, amused huff.

A big hand settled on your shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle. The weight steadied you even as your heart hammered wildly. His fingers brushed upward, threading carefully through your hair, stroking slow and soothing from crown to nape.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost tender. “Do not cry.”

You were mortified anyway. Tears slipped free despite his words, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your swollen cunt continued to leak in slow, warm pulses, the slickness soaking through the thin fabric of your yukata and making the rock beneath you even wetter. Every tiny shift reminded you of the mess, of how your body refused to forget the way he had stretched and filled you.

Sukuna’s hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, turning your face back toward him with careful insistence. His thumb brushed a tear away.

“Come on,” he said, the words rough but coaxing. “I can make it all better.”

He glanced around once, scanning the quiet lakeside until his gaze settled on a nice, soft patch of grass beneath a large pear tree. The branches hung heavy with white blossoms and early green fruit, casting dappled shade over the thick carpet of clover and soft earth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in gentle golden patches. It looked peaceful. Private.

Without waiting for permission he scooped you up, four arms cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You gasped at the sudden movement, the ache between your thighs flaring sharply, another rush of slick escaping to smear warm and wet against his skin.

“Sukuna, what are you doing?” Your voice came out high and shaky. “Put me down!”

You had no idea what crazy idea had taken root in his head. Your heart hammered wildly as he carried you the short distance toward the pear tree. One of his upper hands came up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking slow and soothing along your scalp.

“Do not make a fuss,” he said, low and calm, the words rumbling through his chest into yours.

Then you saw the tree.

He carried you beneath its wide, blossoming branches and lowered you carefully onto the soft grass. The ground was cool and yielding beneath your back, blades tickling your bare calves where the yukata had ridden up. Sukuna settled himself on the grass beside you, massive frame casting you in cool shadow. His big fingers brushed along your thigh, gentle but possessive, tracing the sensitive skin just below the hem of your robe.

You squirmed under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of you. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark and intent.

“You do trust me, right?”

The question caught you off guard. You nodded shyly, barely able to meet his eyes. The heat was unbearable now. Being held so close in his arms had stirred something deep and needy inside you. Whatever he was about to offer, your body already wanted it.

Sukuna knelt between your parted knees, his massive frame blocking out the sky. One of his lower hands rested on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over the tender flesh. His eyes never left your face.

“Lie back,” he told you, voice dropping into that low, commanding timbre that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “Let me see how much of a leaking mess this pretty cunt has become for me.”

Your breath caught hard in your throat. Shame and desperate want twisted together so tightly you could barely breathe. But the gentle pressure of his hand, the patient way he waited, and the memory of how good his touch had felt even through the pain chipped away at your resistance until nothing remained.

Slowly, trembling all over, you leaned back onto the soft grass beneath the pear tree. Your cheeks still burned crimson. Tears still clung to your lashes.

Sukuna’s smile returned, darker this time, full of wicked promise.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open your legs for me. Let me take care of what belongs to me.”

You obeyed.

Your thighs parted wider on the grass, yukata pooling around your hips. The moment the cool air touched your exposed pussy a fresh gush of slick slipped free. Your cunt was soaked, puffy and glistening, inner lips swollen and shiny with the constant leak that had tormented you for days. Creamy strands of his earlier release mixed with your own arousal, making everything look obscenely wet and needy.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the sight. He leaned in slowly, lowering his head between your spread thighs. His breath ghosted hot over your dripping folds.

“So needy,” he growled softly. “This cunt is dripping and aching so much. All this slick just for me.”

He spread you open with two thick fingers, parting your swollen lips so he could see every glistening inch. Then he gave you the first slow, broad lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.

The moan that tore from your throat was loud and broken. His tongue was hot and rough, dragging through your creamy mess with deliberate hunger. He licked again, slower, savoring the taste of you mixed with the remnants of his own cum. A low, appreciative groan vibrated against your pussy.

“Relax,” he murmured against your folds, the word warm and wet. “All this mess… you should have told me sooner.”

He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside your fluttering entrance to scoop out more of the creamy slick. Your hips jerked involuntarily. Another moan spilled from you, high and helpless.

“How could you keep this from me?” he continued, voice rough with something close to anger, though his tongue never stopped its slow, thorough exploration. “I would have licked this pretty cunt the moment I knew it was leaking for me. Would have buried my face between your thighs and cleaned every drop until you stopped aching.”

He sucked gently on your swollen clit, then licked back down to push his tongue inside you again, fucking you with slow, wet strokes. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling tight as pleasure crashed through the soreness. Your cunt fluttered and leaked even more onto his tongue, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet shade of the pear tree.

Sukuna growled against your pussy, clearly enjoying the taste, the mess, the way you trembled and moaned beneath his mouth.

“Never hide this from me again,” he ordered between long, hungry licks. “This cunt is mine. If it aches, if it leaks, if it needs to be eaten until you cry… you tell me.”

He sealed his mouth over you once more, sucking and licking with renewed intensity, determined to devour every drop of the slick, creamy mess he had created.

And beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight, Sukuna feasted on your dripping cunt like a starving man who had finally been given exactly what he craved.

He was greedy for it.

Ryomen Sukuna lapped at your cunt with shameless hunger, broad tongue dragging slow and heavy through your soaked folds again and again. He could still taste himself from that night, the thick, musky flavor of his cum mixed with the sweet, slippery heat of your arousal. The combination made him groan low against your pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your swollen clit and deep into your core.

His large tongue tunneled inside you without mercy, thick and hot, working your tight walls open with every wet push. Your cunt fluttered desperately around the intrusion, trying to clench and pull him deeper at the same time. One of your hands flew to his hair, fingers clutching tight in the coarse strands as you unconsciously fed his tongue even deeper into your leaking heat.

Deeper.

Deeper.

His saliva mixed with your slick and the remnants of his earlier release, turning everything into a messy, creamy glide. He fucked his tongue into you in slow, deliberate strokes, curling the tip to press against that sensitive spot inside that made your thighs shake violently. Then he pulled back only to seal his lips around your fat, aching clit. He sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two of his fingers spread your pussy lips wider, exposing every dripping inch to the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.

The pleasure was overwhelming.

Patches of golden light sparked across your skin as the breeze moved the branches above, warm little spots dancing over your bare thighs and heaving chest. The grass beneath your back was soft and cool, blades tickling your spine every time your body arched. In the distance the lake lapped gently against the shore, a soft, rhythmic hush that blended with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt.

It all felt too surreal.

Too good.

You moaned loudly, the sound breaking into a whimper as he sucked your clit harder, tongue still thrusting deep inside you. Your hips rolled up against his face without shame now, chasing the relentless pleasure. Slick poured from you in fresh waves, coating his chin, his lips, dripping down to soak the grass beneath your ass. Every greedy lap of his tongue pushed more of his saliva into your fluttering hole, mixing everything into a warm, slippery mess that made your cunt feel even more open, even more sensitive.

Sukuna growled against your folds, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine.

“Look at you,” he rasped between long, filthy licks, voice thick with lust. “Soaking my tongue like a good girl. This cunt was made to be eaten. Made to leak for me.”

He spread you even wider with his fingers, thumbs pressing firmly on either side of your clit while his tongue drove back inside, fucking you deeper, harder, faster. Your hand tightened in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your back bowed off the grass. The ache that had tormented you for days melted into liquid heat under his mouth. Every suck, every thrust of his tongue, every wet slurp dragged you closer to the edge.

The pear blossoms continued to drift down around you like soft white snow.

Golden sunlight danced across your trembling body.

The lake whispered in the background.

Sukuna was still buried face-first between your spread thighs, your cunt pulsed and leaked and fluttered around his greedy tongue while pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to drown you completely in the most surreal, overwhelming bliss you had ever known.

He was getting hard from your scent alone.

The sweet, musky smell of your dripping cunt filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, thick and heady, making both of his cocks twitch and swell heavy between his thighs. They hung thick and full, the fat heads already glistening with beads of precum that dripped slowly onto the soft grass beneath him. The more he tasted you, the harder they throbbed, veins standing out sharply along the thick shafts, the second cock brushing against the first with every slight shift of his hips. Yet Sukuna refused to touch himself. Not yet.

He wanted you to cum on his tongue first.

His large tongue kept tunneling deep inside your fluttering cunt, fucking in and out with wet, obscene strokes while his lips sealed tight around your swollen clit. He sucked harder, tongue curling and pressing against that sensitive spot inside you until your thighs trembled violently around his head. Your hand clutched desperately at his hair, fingers twisting tight as you fed him deeper, hips rolling up to meet every thrust of his mouth.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he growled against your soaked folds, voice muffled and rough. “Let me taste how much this greedy little cunt needs me.”

He spread you wider with two thick fingers, thumbs holding your puffy lips open so he could bury his face even deeper. His tongue plunged in again, long and hot, licking up every creamy drop of slick and leftover cum. He drank you down like he was starving, saliva mixing with your mess until everything was sloppy and shining. Then he pulled back just enough to suck your fat, aching clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud while two fingers replaced his tongue inside you, curling hard against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your moans grew louder, broken and desperate, echoing softly under the pear tree. The golden patches of sunlight danced across your arched body, highlighting the way your breasts heaved with every panting breath, the way your stomach tensed and quivered. The grass felt cool and soft against your back, blades sticking to your damp skin as you writhed beneath his relentless mouth.

Sukuna’s cocks leaked harder, thick strings of precum stretching from the tips to the ground, but he ignored them completely. His focus remained entirely on you, on the way your cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, on the sweet, slick taste flooding his tongue.

He sucked your clit harder, tongue lashing fast and firm, fingers thrusting deep and steady.

“Come on, doll,” he rasped against your pussy, voice dark and commanding. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue like a good girl. Let me feel this pretty cunt squeeze and flood my mouth.”

Your whole body tightened, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing sharply off the grass. The pressure built unbearably fast, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filling the quiet air beneath the tree. The lake whispered in the distance, blossoms continued to drift down like gentle snow, but all you could feel was the hot, greedy pull of his lips and tongue dragging you right to the edge.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the vibration shooting straight through your clit as he sucked harder, fingers curling relentlessly inside you.

He was not going to stop until you came undone on his tongue.

He kept licking you with long, greedy strokes of his tongue, lapping deep into your fluttering cunt while one thick finger circled your swollen clit in slow, firm spirals. The dual sensation was relentless. His hot, wet tongue fucked into you in steady thrusts, curling and dragging along your inner walls, while that single finger pressed and rubbed your clit with perfect, merciless pressure.

Your legs shook violently.

Sukuna noticed. With a low growl he shoved your thighs wider apart, spreading you obscenely open on the soft grass. Two of his hands gripped the backs of your knees, pinning them down and outward so nothing could stop the building storm inside you. The position left your dripping pussy completely exposed to his hungry mouth and the warm daylight filtering through the leaves.

It built fast. Too fast.

A strange, overwhelming pressure coiled low in your belly, heavy and urgent, completely different from the orgasms he had already forced from you. Your cunt clenched hard around his thrusting tongue, walls fluttering wildly as slick poured out in thick, continuous streams. Your hips tried to twist away, but his grip held you firmly in place.

“No… Sukuna…” you gasped, voice high and broken. “It feels weird… feels like you’ll make a mess…”

He did not stop.

If anything, your desperate little plea only made him hungrier. He shoved his tongue deeper, fucking it into you harder, faster, while his finger rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. His saliva mixed with your slick, making everything wetter, sloppier, louder. The obscene squelching sounds of his mouth devouring your cunt filled the quiet shade beneath the pear tree.

“It is going to feel good,” he growled against your folds, the words vibrating straight through your oversensitive clit. “Let it happen. Do not fight it.”

You whimpered, head thrashing side to side on the grass. The pressure kept building, sharp and terrifying and impossibly intense. Your stomach tightened, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his iron grip. Every lick, every circle of his finger pushed you closer to something you had never felt before. Your pussy felt too full, too hot, too ready to burst.

“I… I’m gonna…” Your voice cracked into a sob. “It feels like I’m going to make a mess… Sukuna, please…”

He sucked hard on your clit, tongue still thrusting deep inside you, finger rubbing faster. His crimson eyes flicked up to watch your face, dark with lust and wicked satisfaction.

“Then make a mess for me, doll,” he rasped, voice rough and commanding. “Squirt all over my tongue. Flood my mouth like the needy little thing you are. I want every drop.”

The words pushed you over the edge.

The intense pressure suddenly snapped. Your entire body seized, back arching sharply off the grass as a broken, keening cry tore from your throat. Your cunt spasmed violently around his tongue, walls clamping down hard before releasing in powerful, rhythmic pulses. A hot, clear gush of fluid burst from you, squirting hard against his tongue and chin, soaking his face and dripping down onto the grass beneath you.

You kept squirting, wave after wave, unable to stop as he continued licking and sucking through it all, greedily drinking down every drop while his finger never stopped circling your throbbing clit. The orgasm crashed through you harder than anything you had ever felt, leaving you shaking and sobbing, pussy gushing messily all over his mouth and the soft ground.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your oversensitive folds as he lapped up every bit of your release, refusing to pull away even as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.

Now you were ready.

Your body had gone completely limp on the soft grass, every muscle loose and trembling in the aftermath of that shattering release. Sukuna could feel how thoroughly he had wrung you out. Your cunt still fluttered weakly, puffy and glistening, but the desperate, aching need had finally eased into a deep, hazy satisfaction. He pressed one last slow, reverent kiss to your swollen pussy, lips brushing tenderly over the oversensitive folds. His tongue gave a few final, gentle laps, licking up the last of your slick with lazy indulgence, savoring every creamy drop. His chin was shiny and wet, glistening with your release and his own saliva.

He eased your trembling legs down carefully, letting them rest on the cool grass instead of holding them pinned wide. Then he shifted, stretching his massive frame out beside you on the soft ground. One of his lower arms slid beneath your shoulders, pulling you close until your face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. His skin smelled of smoke and salt and something darker, masculine, grounding. The other three arms settled around you, one hand gently threading through your hair, stroking slow, soothing pets from crown to nape. His fingers were careful, almost tender, as they combed through the strands damp with sweat and grass.

You felt weightless.

The warm sunlight filtered through the pear leaves above, painting shifting golden patterns across your skin. The faint sound of the lake lapping at the shore blended with the soft rustle of blossoms drifting down. Your body melted against his, boneless and heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel how hard he still was. Both thick cocks pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, leaking steadily, the blunt heads smearing warm precum across your skin with every subtle shift. Yet he made no move to take you. He simply held you close, petting your hair in slow, rhythmic strokes while his chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek.

You closed your eyes.

The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the gentle drag of his fingers through your hair, the heavy, comforting weight of his arms wrapped around you. For the first time since he had stolen you from the temple, the ache between your thighs felt soothed rather than tormenting. Shame still lingered somewhere distant, but it could not reach you here, not while he held you like this.

Sukuna’s voice rumbled low against your ear, rough but quiet, laced with quiet satisfaction.

“See?” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. “Didn’t I help?”

You did not answer with words. You simply pressed your face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you further into the soft, floating haze. His hand continued its slow, comforting strokes through your hair. His cocks remained hard and leaking against your thigh, patient for now.

Beneath the pear tree, in the warm daylight and drifting blossoms, Sukuna held his stolen faithful close, content to let you rest against him while the evidence of your messy release dried on his chin and the grass beneath you both.

You fell asleep on the way back, cradled securely in his arms.

The walk from the lakeside to the fortress was not long, but the warm afternoon sun, the soft sway of his steps, and the deep exhaustion that had settled into your bones after everything beneath the pear tree pulled you under almost immediately. Your cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest, one hand loosely curled into the fabric of his robe. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the faint heat rolling off his skin lulled you deeper into sleep, safe and heavy in his hold.

Sukuna carried you without effort, two arms supporting your body while the other two remained free. In one of those free hands he held a small cluster of ripe pears he had plucked from the tree before leaving. Their smooth, golden-green skins caught the light as he walked, stems still bearing a few delicate white blossoms. He did not eat them. He simply carried them, turning one slowly between his fingers every so often, as though the simple act of holding something soft and sweet pleased him.

The fortress loomed ahead, stone walls dark against the bright sky. Servants scattered at the sight of their lord returning with the sleeping girl tucked against his chest, but no one dared speak. Uraume stood waiting at the entrance, pale eyes flicking once over your relaxed form and the pears before offering a small, knowing bow and stepping aside without a word.

Sukuna moved through the familiar corridors in silence, careful not to jostle you. When he reached the chamber he lowered you gently onto the wide mat, arranging your limbs with surprising care so you lay on your side, facing inward. The yukata had slipped slightly during the journey, baring one shoulder and the soft curve of your breast, but he did not adjust it. Instead he set the cluster of pears on the low table beside the mat, their faint sweet scent already beginning to fill the room.

He stretched out beside you, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours once more. One arm draped possessively over your waist, palm settling lightly over the lingering softness of your lower belly. The other three hands found their places, one beneath his own head, the others resting near enough to touch if he wished.

You remained asleep, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The faint marks of grass and blossoms still clung to your hair. A small smear of dried slick still glistened on the inside of one thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he had taken care of you by the lake.

Sukuna watched you for a long time in the quiet of the chamber.

He did not wake you.

He simply lay there, the stolen pears resting nearby, their sweetness mixing with the heavier scent of sex and skin that still clung to both of you. One of his fingers idly traced the curve of your shoulder while his mind turned over the strange, unfamiliar feeling of carrying something fragile and warm back to his den instead of leaving it broken behind him.

Outside the narrow windows the daylight slowly began to soften into evening.

Inside, the King of Curses kept his faithful close, pears and all, letting you sleep undisturbed in the circle of his arms.

You woke up dazed, the world soft and hazy around the edges.

For a long moment you could not remember the walk back. The lake, the pear tree, the overwhelming rush of pleasure beneath its branches, all of it felt like a fever dream that had slipped between your fingers. Your body was still coming down from the high, heavy and languid, every limb weighted with sweet exhaustion. A faint fever lingered beneath your skin, a warm flush that made your cheeks glow and your breathing slow and shallow. Between your thighs your pussy still throbbed gently, swollen and tender, the constant low ache now mixed with a deep, satisfied warmth that refused to fade.

The chamber was quiet, lit by the golden haze of late afternoon light slipping through the narrow windows. The faint sweet scent of ripe pear filled the air.

Sukuna was already awake, propped on one elbow beside you. In two of his hands he held the cluster of pears he had carried back. With the third he used the small, curved tanto to slice one open with precise, unhurried movements. The same blade you had once pressed trembling to his throat now moved steadily through the soft fruit, juice glistening along the edge as he cut neat, crescent-shaped slices.

He noticed the moment your eyes opened.

Without a word he brought a fresh slice to your lips, holding it between two thick fingers. The sweet, juicy flesh brushed against your lower lip, cool and sticky.

You stared at the knife for a heartbeat, then at the slice, then up at his face. A slow roll of your eyes was the only protest you could manage in your dazed state. Still, your mouth opened obediently. You took the piece of pear from his fingers, lips closing around the pads of his fingertips for a brief, intimate second as you accepted the offering. The fruit was perfectly ripe, bursting with cool sweetness that soothed your dry throat and made your fever-flushed cheeks feel a little less warm.

Sukuna watched you chew with dark, half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth curving in quiet satisfaction. He cut another slice, juice dripping slowly down the blade, and brought it to your mouth again. This time you did not roll your eyes. You simply parted your lips and let him feed you, the sticky sweetness coating your tongue while his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.

He fed you piece after piece in silence, the ironies of the moment hanging thick between you. The same knife that had once promised death now delivered something gentle and sweet. The monster who had stolen you from your temple now sat patiently slicing fruit and pressing each slice to your lips with careful fingers. Your body still hummed with the memory of his tongue between your thighs, yet here you were, drowsy and fever-warm, accepting every offering like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the pear was nearly gone he set the core aside and wiped his fingers on the edge of the cloth nearby. One large hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly through the strands while another rested possessively over the soft swell of your lower belly.

“Better?” he asked, voice low and rough, but quieter than usual.

You swallowed the last sweet bite, the fever making your thoughts slow and heavy. Instead of answering with words you simply turned your face into his palm, pressing a small, tired kiss to the center of it.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened further at the gesture. He did not speak again. He only continued to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, letting you drift in the warm, hazy space between sleep and waking while the faint scent of pear and the lingering taste of sweetness stayed on your tongue.

The blade lay forgotten on the low table beside the empty core, its edge still faintly sticky with juice.

And in the quiet chamber, he kept feeding his stolen girl small, sweet pieces of fruit, watching every flutter of your lashes with something dangerously close to tenderness.

Later that evening the air in the fortress had grown cooler, the faint scent of cedar smoke drifting through the corridors as braziers were lit for the night.

Sukuna had risen from the mat without a word, shedding his outer robes as he moved toward the private bathing chamber attached to the main room. You watched him from beneath half-closed lashes, still drowsy and warm from the pear and the long rest. Then you noticed.

His two thick cocks were fully hard, heavy and flushed dark, the fat heads glistening with steady beads of precum that dripped in slow, shiny trails down the veined lengths. They bobbed slightly with each step he took, leaking openly, untouched since the lake. He had given you everything beneath the pear tree and taken nothing for himself.

Something hot and liquid stirred low in your belly.

You crept after him on silent feet, heart hammering, the fever still lingering in your cheeks. The ache between your thighs had returned, softer now but insistent, your pussy growing slick and warm again at the mere sight of him. When he stepped into the bathing chamber you followed, hovering just outside the doorway, hidden in shadow.

He stood beside the large wooden tub already filled with steaming water. One of his lower hands reached down, wrapping loosely around both cocks at the base. He gave a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, smearing the leaking precum over the heads with his thumb. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he palmed himself, thick fingers barely able to circle both shafts together. The motion was lazy, almost absent, like he was simply easing an ache rather than truly seeking release.

Your breath caught.

He looked beautiful like this, massive frame backlit by the flickering lanterns, tattoos stark against scarlet skin, four arms moving with powerful grace. And those two leaking cocks… heavy, dripping, untouched because he had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you instead.

Your pussy clenched hard, fresh slick coating your folds and beginning to trickle down your inner thigh. Shame and desire twisted together until you could no longer stay still.

You slipped out of your yukata without a sound, letting the silk pool at your feet until you stood completely naked. Cool air kissed your fever-warm skin, making your nipples tighten and your swollen cunt throb. Heart racing, you stepped forward and pushed the sliding door wider, the soft wooden sound announcing your presence.

Sukuna turned his head slowly.

Four crimson eyes locked onto you immediately, taking in every inch of your bare body, the way your thighs pressed together, the faint sheen of wetness already visible on your skin. His hand stilled on his cocks, still gripping both thick lengths, the heads flushed and glistening.

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

Then his voice came low and rough, laced with dark hunger and something almost surprised.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dragging slowly down to the slick glistening between your legs. “Coming to me naked and wet again. Did watching me stroke myself make that greedy little pussy leak for me?”

You stood there in the doorway, completely exposed, chest rising and falling quickly, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. Your eyes kept flicking down to where his hand still held those two heavy, leaking cocks, precum still dripping steadily from the tips.

Sukuna’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He gave himself one more lazy stroke, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Are you just going to stand there… or are you going to come here and help me with this?”

Steam rose from the bath behind him.

Lantern light flickered across his skin...

You stepped inside.

Shy, but eager.

Your bare feet padded across the warm stone floor until you stood right in front of him. Sukuna’s four arms opened for you without hesitation, the gesture surprisingly gentle. He reached down, large hands sliding beneath your thighs, and lifted you effortlessly into the air. The moment your body left the ground you felt weightless again, cradled against his broad chest as he stepped into the large wooden tub with you.

The water was warm, almost hot, fragrant with yuzu and something faintly herbal that Uraume must have added. Steam curled up around you both as he lowered himself slowly, settling against the back of the tub and pulling you with him. He pressed you flush to his front first, your soft breasts squishing against the hard planes of his chest, your legs automatically parting to straddle his hips. The heat of the bath seeped into your skin, soothing the lingering ache between your thighs even as fresh slick continued to gather.

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, slow and surprisingly sweet, lips lingering against the flushed skin. The contrast between that tenderness and the heavy, leaking cocks trapped between your bodies made your head spin.

You settled fully against him, thighs spread wide over his lap. The sight of the large, grinning mouth on his stomach made your breath hitch. The moment your belly pressed against it, the thick pink tongue flicked out, dragging a wet, playful stripe across your soft skin. It curled lazily, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and the sweetness still clinging to you from the pear. One of Sukuna’s big hands settled on your lower back, holding you close while his thumb stroked slow circles over your spine.

He teased you then, voice low and rough against your ear.

“Your eager little pussy is still greedy for more, hm?”

You looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, heat flooding your face. You could not hold his gaze. Your eyes dropped instead, lashes fluttering as you watched your own finger trace the seam of the stomach mouth. The moment your fingertip brushed the soft lips, the large tongue flicked out again, wrapping playfully around your finger and sucking gently before letting go with a wet pop.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I shouldn’t have all the pleasure.”

The guilt was quiet but real. He had taken nothing for himself earlier, only given and given until you shattered on his tongue. The thought made your chest tight.

Sukuna stilled for a moment, studying your downcast face. Then understanding softened the edge of his smirk.

“Guess we really should stop keeping secrets from each other then,” he murmured.

He tilted your chin up with one gentle finger, forcing your eyes to meet his again. Before you could look away he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and thorough. His tongue slid against yours, tasting of pear and your own slick, claiming your mouth with the same lazy hunger he had shown between your thighs.

You melted into the kiss, arms winding around his neck as you settled fully against him. His two thick cocks pressed hot and slick between your bodies, trapped against your soft belly and the dripping seam of your cunt. They throbbed heavily with every beat of his heart, leaking steadily, the precum mixing with the bathwater and your own fresh arousal until everything felt slippery and warm.

His stomach mouth continued to lick lazily at your skin, tongue dragging slow stripes across your abdomen while his hand on your back kept you pressed close. The other three arms held you securely, one cradling the back of your head, another resting possessively on your hip, the last stroking gently along your thigh.

He broke the kiss just enough to speak against your lips, voice dark and rough with want.

“No more secrets tonight, little one. Tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.”

The steam rose thick around you both.

The fragrant water lapped gently at your joined bodies.

And in the warm bath, straddling him, his leaking cocks pressed slick against your greedy pussy, you felt the last fragile wall between you begin to crumble.

“Please…”

The word slipped from your lips, soft and trembling against his own. “Need you.”

Sukuna’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against yours. He did not answer with words at first. Instead one of his lower hands slid down between your bodies, gripping the thicker of his two leaking cocks at the base. He dragged the fat, precum-slick head slowly through your folds, teasing the blunt tip up and down your dripping slit. The heat of him was searing, the sheer size of just one cock already making your pussy flutter in anticipation and nerves.

Your slick coated him instantly, mixing with the steady leak of his precum until the glide became obscenely wet. Every slow pass nudged against your swollen clit, then dipped lower to kiss your entrance, spreading your puffy lips around the wide head before pulling back again. The teasing made your thighs tremble on either side of his hips.

He kissed you once more, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice low and rough with hunger.

“Let’s just start with one tonight then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how good you’ll stretch for me.”

He lined the thick head up with your entrance and began to push.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even after everything he had done to you earlier, your cunt still had to open wide around the fat crown. A broken whimper escaped you as the head popped inside, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. He was so thick, so hot, the veins along his shaft dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he slowly fed you the first few inches.

Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Fuck… still so tight,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other kept guiding his cock deeper. “Look at this greedy little pussy swallowing me up. Taking it so well already.”

He rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, working himself in inch by inch, letting your body adjust to the brutal girth. Your slick and his precum made the slide easier, but the stretch still burned sweetly, forcing your cunt to mould around every thick ridge. When he was halfway buried he paused, letting you feel the heavy throb of him inside you, the way your belly already began to bulge faintly from just one cock.

His stomach mouth licked a slow, wet stripe across your abdomen, tongue flicking playfully over the small swell as if tasting the place he was claiming from within.

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin, forehead pressed to his as you panted against his lips. The water lapped gently around your joined bodies, steam curling thick in the air.

Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice dark and coaxing. “Take all of me tonight. Let me feel how deep this pretty cunt can take one cock before I decide whether you’re ready for both.”

He rolled his hips again, sinking another thick inch inside you, stretching you open with slow, deliberate patience while the bathwater rippled around you both.

And in the fragrant steam, you gave yourself to him once more, soft pleas and broken moans spilling from your lips as the King of Curses began to fill you all over again.

You felt him immediately.

The thick head pushed past your entrance and the stretch bloomed all over again, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. Your cunt had to open wide once more, soft walls yielding around the heavy girth as he sank deeper. Every slow inch forced your body to remember him, to take his exact shape again until the blunt head kissed high inside you and the thick veins dragged along every sensitive spot. Your belly swelled faintly beneath the water, the faint outline of his cock visible just under your skin.

Sukuna let out a low, satisfied groan, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face.

“Looks like your cunt didn’t forget me after all,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “Still so tight… still sucking me in like it missed being full.”

Your hands pressed flat against his broad chest, fingers splaying over the dark tattoos as you tried to steady yourself. The water lapped gently around your hips with every tiny movement. He kept one large hand on your lower back, holding you close, while the other guided your hips down to meet his slow upward thrusts.

He fucked up into you with unhurried strokes, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch slide out until only the fat head remained inside, then pressing back in until he bottomed out again. Each thrust made your breasts bounce softly against his chest and sent ripples across the fragrant bathwater.

You were trembling.

The stretch felt so good it bordered on too much, but your body craved more. The empty ache where his second cock should be became impossible to ignore. Your pussy clenched hard around the one already buried inside you, leaking fresh slick around his shaft as the need built higher.

“Please…” you whispered, voice small and breathless against his neck. “The second one… I want both…”

Sukuna stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt. Then a dark, amused chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“Fuck… you’re eager,” he said, the words warm against your ear. One of his hands slid up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Already begging for both after I’ve barely given you one. Greedy little thing.”

He rocked up into you again, slower this time, grinding the thick head against that deep spot inside while the second heavy cock rested hot and leaking against your lower belly, trapped between your bodies.

“You sure?” he asked, voice dropping even lower, teasing but edged with hunger. “You want me to stretch this pretty cunt even wider tonight? Fill you so full you can barely breathe?”

You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, eyes glassy with need. Your hips rolled down to meet his next thrust, taking him deeper as you whimpered.

“Yes… please… both…”

Sukuna’s smile turned sharp and satisfied. He tightened his grip on your hips with two hands while the other two cradled your face and back, holding you steady as he began to shift beneath you.

“Alright then,” he growled softly, pressing a slow kiss to your swollen lips. “Since you’re asking so nicely… let’s see how well this tight little pussy takes both my cocks tonight.”

He kept the first one buried deep inside you, holding still for a moment while the fat, leaking head of the second cock nudged insistently against your already stretched entrance, sliding through the mess of your slick and his precum.

The water steamed around you both.

Your hands clutched tighter at his chest.

He worked the second cock in slowly.

The thick, leaking head pressed firmly against your already stretched entrance, nudging beside the first one that was buried deep inside you. The stretch was immediate and brutal. Your cunt had to open wider than it ever had, soft walls straining around two heavy girths at once. You clenched up instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second cock forced its way in inch by slow, relentless inch.

“Oh fuck—”

The curse slipped out before you could stop it, raw and broken. The temple girl who once spent her days murmuring sutras had never spoken such a word in her life. Sukuna’s eyes flashed with dark delight at the sound.

“Oh?” he teased, voice low and rough even as he fought to keep his composure. “The temple girl’s first swear. Committing so many sins tonight, aren’t you?”

Your cunt was impossibly tight around both cocks, fluttering and squeezing in panicked little pulses that made sweat bead along his temples. He could feel every ripple, every desperate clench as your body struggled to accept him. It hurt for you too. The burn was fierce, stretching you to your limit, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling down your flushed cheeks.

Sukuna kept one big hand stroking slowly up and down your back, never stopping the gentle, soothing motion. His palm was warm and steady against your spine, thumb tracing comforting circles while he held perfectly still inside you, giving your body time to adjust.

“No, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your temple. “Relax for me. Breathe.”

You whimpered, forehead pressed to his shoulder, nails digging into his chest. The stretch felt like too much and not enough all at once. Both cocks throbbed heavily inside your overstuffed cunt, leaking steadily, the dual pressure making your belly bulge noticeably even through the bathwater.

“You said you wanted both,” he reminded you softly, pressing a slow kiss to your wet cheek. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart. Let me in. Let this greedy little cunt take everything I give it.”

His hand kept stroking your back in that same soothing rhythm, slow and patient, while the other three arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another gripping your hip to keep you steady. He rocked up into you with the tiniest movements, just enough to ease the second cock deeper, letting your walls flutter and slowly loosen around the impossible fullness.

Tears kept slipping down your face, but the pain was already beginning to melt into something hotter, something deeper. Your cunt clenched again, this time less in resistance and more in desperate need.

Sukuna groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your ear, still stroking your back with steady reassurance. “Good girl. Just relax and let me fill you completely. You’re doing so well for me.”

Both thick cocks pulsed inside your stretched, dripping cunt as he waited for you to open up fully, the warm bathwater rippling gently around your joined bodies while he coaxed you through the overwhelming stretch with patience and dark, hungry praise.

Your cunt kept stretching.

It hurt, it burned, it felt impossible, but it took him.

More and more. Inch by thick, veined inch, both of his heavy cocks sank deeper into your fluttering heat until the stretch became something else entirely. Something overwhelming and perfect. Your walls yielded slowly, clenching and fluttering around the brutal double invasion, molding themselves around his shape like they had been waiting for this exact moment.

The way your tummy bulged was obscene.

You could feel it, see it, the soft skin of your lower belly rounding outward, the clear outline of both cocks pressing up from inside you. Every shallow breath made the swell shift and move. Deeper and deeper he pushed, until the fat heads nudged against your cervix and then beyond, forcing the tight ring to open for him, letting him claim space no one had ever touched.

Your eyes slid shut, lashes wet with fresh tears. A broken little sound escaped your trembling lips.

Sukuna cupped your face in two large hands, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in the steamy air.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough and awed. “Taking both my cocks so deep. Your pretty cunt is opening so well for me.”

He kissed your tears one by one, slow and tender, lips brushing over your closed eyelids, the corners of your eyes, the salty trails on your cheeks. When he finally reached your mouth he kissed you deeply, swallowing the soft whimper that left you as your cunt gave one last fluttering pulse and took the rest of him.

He was fully seated.

Both thick cocks buried to the hilt inside your overstuffed pussy, stretching you wider than you had ever been, your belly swollen and round with the proof of it. Your walls clenched helplessly around him, rippling and squeezing in waves, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness.

Sukuna held perfectly still, forehead still pressed to yours, hands cradling your face like something precious.

“There you go,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and soothing. “That’s my good girl. You did it. You took all of me.”

Your lips trembled. Another tear slipped free and he caught it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss it away again.

The bathwater lapped gently around your joined bodies. Steam curled thick and fragrant between you. Your hands stayed pressed to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms.

He stayed buried deep, letting you feel every throb, every pulse of both cocks stretching you open, while he continued to kiss your face softly, patiently, giving your ruined little cunt time to settle around the overwhelming fullness he had given you.

“You feel that?” he whispered, one hand sliding down to rest over the swollen curve of your belly. “That’s me. All the way inside you. No more secrets. No more holding back.”

Your cunt fluttered hard around him at his words, another rush of slick leaking out around the tight seal of your stretched lips.

Sukuna smiled against your mouth, dark and satisfied.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now breathe for me… and let me feel how well this greedy cunt is going to take everything I give it tonight.”

Your cunt was sucking and pulling at both of his cocks with every tiny movement.

The slightest shift of his hips made your walls flutter and clench desperately around the thick double intrusion, greedy and overwhelmed all at once. Any little motion sent sparks of too-much pleasure shooting through you. The stretch was constant, burning and perfect, your swollen folds stretched shiny and tight around the bases of both cocks. Your belly bulged obscenely, the rounded swell rising and falling with every shallow breath you took.

Sukuna watched your face with dark, hooded eyes, one hand still cradling your cheek while the other rested possessively over the swollen curve of your stomach.

“You’ve already done the impossible,” he murmured, voice low and rough with restraint. “Taking both my cocks all the way inside this tight little cunt. Such a good girl.”

He could feel every ripple, every helpless suck of your walls trying to milk him. But he insisted on doing the work now.

“You’ve done enough,” he told you softly. “Just let me take care of you.”

When he asked if you wanted him to move, you could only nod, lips trembling, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensation.

That was all the permission he needed.

Sukuna lifted you sweetly with two strong arms beneath your thighs, raising you just enough that several thick inches of both cocks slid out of your dripping heat. The drag was slow and devastating, your cunt clinging wetly to every veined inch as he withdrew. Then he rocked you back down, sinking both cocks deep again in one smooth, controlled motion.

A broken moan tore from your throat.

He set a slow, steady rhythm, lifting and lowering you on his lap with careful strength. Each time he pulled you up, your cunt fluttered and sucked around him, trying to keep him inside. Each time he rocked you back down, both cocks plunged deep, bumping your cervix and pressing against that spot that made your toes curl in the warm water.

The bath rippled around you with every gentle rock, fragrant steam curling thicker in the air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into scarlet skin as he fucked you on his cocks with slow, deliberate strokes.

“That’s it,” he praised quietly, forehead still pressed to yours. “Just let me move you. Feel how deep you’re taking me, sweetheart. Feel how full you are.”

Your belly bulged visibly with every downward rock, the obscene swell pressing against his stomach mouth. The large pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking across the rounded curve as if tasting how thoroughly he had stuffed you.

You whimpered helplessly, eyes fluttering, tears still clinging to your lashes. Every rock sent waves of overwhelming pleasure crashing through you. Your cunt kept sucking and pulling at both thick cocks, greedy despite how impossibly full you already were.

Sukuna kept rocking you sweetly on his lap, never rushing, letting you feel every inch, every throb, every slow slide as he filled you completely again and again.

His voice stayed low and soothing against your ear between soft kisses to your temple.

“Good girl… such a good girl for me. Just keep taking it. Let me rock this pretty, stretched cunt on both until you can’t think of anything else.”

The water lapped gently around your joined bodies.

Your swollen belly rose and fell with every controlled thrust.

And in the warm, steamy bath, you were held close and rocked slowly on both of his thick cocks, letting your greedy, ruined little pussy suck and flutter around him while he took perfect care of you.

Huge.

That was all you could think as Sukuna rocked you on both of his thick lengths.

Your pussy stretched impossibly wide around the twin girths, soft walls squishing and clinging, milking him in messy, greedy pulses with every slow lift and drop. Wet, filthy sounds filled the steamy bath each time he moved you, slick and precum mixing together until everything between your bodies was slippery and obscene.

He pressed one large hand firmly against the swollen bulge under your tummy, feeling the way both cocks moved inside you, the heavy ridge of them shifting beneath your skin with every rock. The pressure made you whimper, made your cunt flutter harder around him, sucking desperately at the thick lengths as if trying to pull him even deeper.

One of his lower hands settled on your waist, holding you steady while he began to fuck up into you with more purpose. The thrusts stayed controlled but deeper now, lifting his hips to meet every downward rock, driving both cocks into your overstuffed cunt with wet, heavy strokes. Your belly bulged more noticeably with each upward thrust, the rounded swell pressing against his palm.

His other lower hand slipped lower, palming the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh to spread you open even wider. He used the grip to help guide you, lifting and lowering you onto his cocks while he fucked up harder, the head of both lengths kissing your cervix with every deep plunge.

You were a trembling, moaning mess in his lap, forehead pressed to his, lips parted on broken little sounds. Your pussy kept milking him greedily, fluttering and clenching, leaking fresh slick around the tight seal of your stretched folds. The water sloshed gently around you both with every thrust, fragrant steam curling thick in the air.

Sukuna groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed harder against the bulge in your belly.

“Feel that?” he rasped against your mouth, voice dark and rough. “Feel how deep both are? Your greedy little cunt is sucking me in so messily… taking me so deep like it never wants to let go.”

His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, spreading you wider as he fucked up into you with slow, powerful strokes. The other hand stayed pressed to your swollen tummy, feeling every movement of his cocks inside you while he rocked you on his lap.

You could only moan helplessly, eyes glassy, body trembling as he took you apart so sweetly and thoroughly in the warm bath. Your pussy continued to milk him in wet, greedy pulses, stretched and full and completely his.

Sukuna kissed your trembling lips, then your tear-damp cheek, never stopping the slow, deep rhythm of his hips.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, palming your ass and pressing against your bulging belly at the same time. “Keep  me in just like that. Let me feel how much this pretty cunt loves being stuffed full.”

Every slow rock of his hips made both thick cocks rub deep inside your pussy, dragging heavily along your fluttering walls in a constant, filthy grind. Your swollen clit caught and rubbed against the dark, coarse hair of his happy trail with every downward motion, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The friction was relentless, perfect, turning every thrust into something overwhelming.

You were creaming on his cocks.

Thick, white rings of your arousal coated both shafts, frothing messily at the stretched entrance of your cunt with every deep plunge. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder, echoing softly off the stone walls of the bathing chamber as your pussy milked him greedily, sucking and fluttering around the double intrusion.

Sukuna groaned low, one hand still pressed firmly to the bulging swell of your tummy while the other palmed your ass, spreading you wider so he could fuck up into you just a little harder. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the swollen bud while he kept rocking you on his cocks.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and coaxing. “Make a mess all over both my cocks like a good girl. Let me feel how much you want it, how much you pretty pussy will take.”

The added pressure on your clit was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, sharper and sweeter than before. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips, your cunt clenching hard around both cocks as the orgasm crashed through you.

You moaned, high and broken, body seizing in his lap as sweet, pulsing waves rolled through you. Your pussy gushed around him, fresh slick mixing with the creamy mess already coating his shafts. Sukuna kept rubbing your clit through it all, drawing the orgasm out until your vision blurred and your moans turned into soft, helpless whimpers.

When the peak finally began to ebb you collapsed forward into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, trembling and panting against his skin. Your arms wound weakly around his shoulders, body limp and spent in his hold.

Sukuna did not stop moving.

He kept fucking you deeper now, hips snapping up with more force, driving both cocks into your creaming, fluttering cunt with steady, powerful thrusts. The water sloshed harder around you, splashing against the sides of the tub as he used the grip on your ass and waist to pull you down onto him again and again.

His breathing grew rougher, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your cheek. You could feel his cocks swelling even thicker inside you, throbbing with his building release.

He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, voice wrecked and low.

“Fuck that's it! He said sharply.“Good girl… such a good girl for me… let me give you every drop, let me fill your cunt full.”

His thrusts grew deeper, harder, chasing his own pleasure while he held your limp, trembling body close, fucking up into your messy, overstuffed cunt with raw, building need. Your pussy continued to milk him greedily, squirting and fluttering around him as he drove closer and closer to the edge, determined to flood you full once more.

His cocks throbbed with heavy, insistent pressure deep in his abdomen.

The stomach mouth on his torso had its jaw locked tight, lips pressed into a thin line as if even that part of him was fighting to hold back. Both thick lengths swelled impossibly larger inside your already overstuffed cunt, stretching you even wider, the veins pulsing strongly against your fluttering walls. The first cock twitched hard, swelling thicker at the base, the fat head pressing flush against your cervix.

Sukuna’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked up into you with deeper, more urgent strokes. His hands gripped your ass tighter, spreading you open while he drove both cocks as far as they could go.

Then the first one came.

Hard.

Thick ropes of hot cum erupted straight into your womb, flooding you in heavy, pulsing spurts. The force of it made your belly swell even more, the rounded bulge growing visibly as he pumped you full. Your cunt clenched violently around him, milking every drop while creamy white seed leaked out around the tight seal of your stretched lips, mixing with your own slick in the bathwater.

Before the first cock even finished pulsing, the second one followed.

It swelled even thicker, stretching you to the absolute limit as it began to cum deep inside you. Another powerful flood joined the first, hot and endless, filling your womb until you felt impossibly bloated, stuffed beyond reason. Both cocks throbbed in tandem now, pumping load after thick load into your greedy, creaming cunt while your walls fluttered and sucked desperately around them.

You moaned weakly against his neck, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks again from the sheer intensity of being filled so completely. Your belly rounded out heavily between your bodies, the soft skin taut from the sheer volume of cum he was forcing into you.

Sukuna held you close, one hand still pressed firmly over the swollen curve of your tummy, feeling every powerful spurt as it filled you. His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure.

“Take it all,” he growled softly, still rocking you slowly on his cocks even as he came. “Every drop. Let me fill this pretty cunt until you’re dripping with me for days.”

His stomach mouth finally relaxed, the large tongue slipping out to lick lazily across your bulging belly, tasting the evidence of how thoroughly he had claimed you from the inside.

You stayed collapsed against his chest, limp and shaking, your pussy still milking both throbbing cocks as they continued to empty into you, flooding your womb with thick, hot cum while the warm bathwater rippled around your joined bodies.

Sukuna kissed your temple, then your tear-streaked cheek, murmuring low praises against your skin as he kept you impaled deep on both of his cocks, letting the last heavy spurts pulse into your overstuffed, creaming cunt.

You had never felt so full.

So claimed.

So completely his.

Twin loads poured into you, thick and heavy, flooding your womb in endless, pulsing waves.

Sukuna kept fucking them deeper, hips rolling up in slow, deliberate thrusts even as he came, pushing every thick spurt further inside you. The obscene wet sounds of his cocks churning through the mess echoed in the steamy bath, cum and slick mixing together until your overstuffed cunt could barely contain it all. Creamy white seed leaked out around the tight stretch of both shafts, floating in cloudy ribbons through the water, but he refused to let any of it escape without effort. He rocked you down harder, grinding both cocks as deep as they would go, forcing the heavy loads back into your womb with every thrust.

He was sure it would take.

So much cum. More than your body had any right to hold. Your belly was already swollen and round, taut beneath his palm, and still he kept pumping more into you. He imagined it so clearly, his eyes sliding shut as pleasure and something darker, more possessive rolled through him. In weeks or months to come you would still be swollen, but not just with his cum. He pictured you utterly round and heavy with his babies, belly stretched tight, breasts full, cunt still greedy and leaking for him even while carrying his heirs.

A low, guttural groan left his throat.

His hand pressed firmer against the swollen curve of your stomach, fingers splaying wide as if he could will it to happen by touch alone. He pushed gently, feeling the way your belly gave under the pressure, feeling the obscene slosh of cum inside you as he fucked it even deeper.

“Take it,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “All of it. Let it settle deep. Let it take root.”

Your cunt fluttered weakly around both cocks, still milking him through the last heavy spurts. You whimpered softly into his neck, body limp and trembling, completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume he had pumped into you. Your belly felt impossibly full, heavy and warm, the skin stretched tight over the twin loads he refused to let leak out.

Sukuna kept his hand there, palm pressed possessively over the swell, thumb stroking slow circles as if soothing the place he had just flooded. His other arms held you close, one cradling the back of your head, another wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled deep on both cocks while the last thick pulses emptied into your womb.

He stayed buried inside you long after the last spurt, breathing hard against your hair, eyes still closed as the fantasy lingered behind his lids. You, swollen and glowing, carrying his children. The thought made his cocks twitch again inside you, another small leak of cum escaping despite how tightly he filled you.

He kissed your temple, then your cheek, voice low and dark with satisfaction.

“You’re going to look so beautiful like this… all round and full with what I put in you.”

The bathwater had gone cloudy around you both, thick with the evidence of his release. Your belly rose and fell heavily with every shallow breath, swollen and claimed, while Sukuna held you close, hand never leaving the soft, rounded swell he had created, already imagining how much more he would fill you in the nights to come.

After you took both his cocks, he held you like something breakable.

The water had gone thick and cloudy with his cum, the fragrant scent of yuzu now drowned beneath the heavy musk of sex. Sukuna felt a flicker of something close to guilt when he looked at the mess he had made of you, but it was quickly swallowed by the deeper satisfaction of seeing you so thoroughly claimed. Still, he needed to clean you. He could not leave you like this, leaking and trembling and swollen.

When he finally began to slip free, both cocks sliding out of your ruined cunt with a wet, obscene sound, you cried.

A soft, broken sob left your lips the moment the thick heads popped free. Immediately a flood of creamy white poured from your stretched hole, thick ropes of his cum gushing out in heavy pulses, sliding down your thighs and swirling into the already filthy water. Your poor pussy gaped for a moment, puffy and red, unable to close after taking both of his cocks so deep. More cum kept leaking, slow and endless, as if your body refused to let go of what he had given it.

You did not let him go.

The moment he tried to shift you, your arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapping around his torso with surprising strength. You clung to him like a vine, face buried in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Tired as you were, every ounce of remaining energy seemed to have gathered in your limbs. You would not release him, not even for a second.

Sukuna exhaled softly, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other supported your ass, holding you securely against his chest even as cum continued to drip from your cunt onto his skin.

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and soothing against your ear. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

He shifted carefully in the cloudy water, you still attached to him like a second skin, legs locked tight around his waist, arms wound around his neck. With one free hand he grabbed a clean cloth from the side of the tub. With another he reached over and unplugged the drain, letting the filthy, cum-laden water begin to swirl away. Fresh warm water poured in from the spout, clear and steaming, slowly refilling the tub around your joined bodies.

He held you the entire time, rocking you gently, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time a fresh sob slipped from you, every time more cum leaked out of your swollen pussy and trickled down his abdomen, he murmured quiet reassurances.

“Shh… I know, sweetheart. I know it feels like too much. But I’m not going anywhere. Just let me clean you up.”

He dipped the cloth into the fresh water and began to wipe you gently, starting with your thighs, then carefully between your legs. The warm cloth soothed the tender, puffy folds, but every pass still made you whimper and cling tighter. More thick white continued to spill from your cunt no matter how carefully he cleaned, as if your body was determined to keep every drop he had pumped into you.

Sukuna did not mind.

He simply held you closer, kissing your closed eyelids, stroking your back with slow, steady hands while the clean water rose around you both. Your legs stayed locked around his torso, arms tight around his neck, face hidden against his skin as you trembled and leaked and refused to let go.

“It’s okay,” he whispered again, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’m right here, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Let it all out. I’ll take care of everything.”

The bath slowly filled with fresh, steaming water.

Your cunt continued to leak his cum in slow, creamy pulses.

And Sukuna held you through it all, cooing soft praises and gentle reassurances while you clung to him with every bit of strength left in your tired body, safe and claimed in the arms of the monster who had ruined you so sweetly.

When he had you mostly cleaned, Sukuna gathered you up once more.

You were still latched onto him, arms locked tight around his neck, legs wrapped firmly around his torso as though letting go might make the world disappear. Even in your exhaustion your body refused to release its hold. He did not mind. He simply rose from the tub with you attached, water streaming off both of you in rivulets, and stepped out onto the cool stone floor.

One of his large hands petted your hair in slow, soothing strokes, fingers combing through the damp strands while he murmured quiet words against your temple.

“I’ve got you. Just keep holding on, pretty girl.”

He reached for a thick, soft towel and dried you as best he could while you remained clung to his chest. He wiped your back, your shoulders, the curve of your ass, moving carefully around the places where your bodies pressed together. The towel came away damp with bathwater and the last traces of his cum that still leaked slowly from your swollen cunt. Every gentle pass made you whimper softly, but you only tightened your grip, face buried deeper into the crook of his neck.

Sukuna carried you like that all the way back to the main chamber, your legs locked around his waist, your arms wound tight around his neck. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand supporting your weight beneath your ass while the other continued to pet your hair in steady, comforting rhythms.

When he reached the wide mat he lowered himself down carefully, keeping you cradled against his chest the entire time. Only then did he try to coax you into drinking.

He reached for the clay cup of water Uraume had left on the low table, bringing it to your lips with gentle insistence.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and patient. “Just a little. You need it.”

You turned your face away at first, eyes still closed, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but cling. Sukuna did not push. He simply waited, stroking your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair until you finally parted your lips. He tilted the cup slowly, letting you take small, careful sips. Cool water slid down your throat, soothing the dryness left from all your moaning and crying. You drank in tiny mouthfuls, swallowing obediently each time he encouraged you with quiet praise.

“Good girl… that’s it. Just a little more.”

When you had taken enough he set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around you again, holding you close against his warm body. Your legs stayed wrapped around his torso, your arms locked around his neck, your face tucked safely into the curve of his shoulder. Fresh tears slipped from your closed eyes, but they were softer now, exhaustion winning over everything else.

Sukuna continued to pet your hair, slow and steady, his other hands resting possessively along your back and the curve of your ass. He could still feel the occasional warm trickle of his cum leaking from your cunt onto his skin, but he made no move to clean it further. He simply held you, letting you cling as tightly as you needed.

“Sleep now,” he whispered against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”

You stayed latched onto him, trembling faintly, body heavy with fatigue and the deep, lingering fullness he had left inside you. The chamber was quiet except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady rhythm of his hand stroking through your hair.

And Sukuna held you through it all, content to let his stolen faithful remain wrapped around him like you never wanted to be anywhere else.

He eventually pulled your tired arms away from his neck.

It took gentle coaxing, his fingers carefully unwinding your grip until your limbs fell limp and heavy against his chest. Even in sleep your body protested the loss of contact, a small, unconscious whimper slipping past your lips. Sukuna gathered you closer, all four arms cradling you against him like something infinitely precious. One pair supported your back and thighs, another rested along your sides, keeping you secure in the wide span of his hold. His massive frame curled protectively around your much smaller one on the wide mat.

He looked at you.

Really looked.

This small woman who had taken all of him so eagerly, who had cried and begged and still opened wider when he asked. He had put you through so much. From the burning temple to the blade at his throat, from the first brutal claiming to the bath where he had stretched you beyond reason and flooded you until your belly swelled. The memory of your tears, your broken moans, your desperate clinging lingered in his chest like an unfamiliar weight.

Guilt, quiet and unfamiliar, settled deep inside him.

One large hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing slowly across your cheek. Your lashes were still damp, lips slightly parted in exhausted sleep. So delicate. So human. And yet you had taken the King of Curses into your body twice tonight and held him there like you never wanted him to leave.

His gaze drifted lower.

His hand slid down to rest over the soft, swollen curve of your tummy. The skin was warm and taut beneath his palm, still rounded from the sheer volume of cum he had pumped into you. He caressed it gently, fingers tracing slow circles over the place where his seed now rested deep inside your womb. The thought of it taking root sent a strange ripple through him.

He had never cared for heirs.

Rulers did not need bloodlines. Conquest was eternal. Legacy was written in blood and fear, not in small hands and soft cries. It was such a human thing.

But then he remembered the lake earlier that day.

You beneath the pear tree, sunlight dancing across your skin, blossoms drifting down while you came apart so sweetly on his tongue. The image shifted in his mind, unbidden, and suddenly he saw you again, months from now, belly round and heavy with his child, glowing, soft, still looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes.

It was not such a bad sight.

In fact, it felt… right.

The realization clicked into place with surprising clarity.

He would only want that with you.

Not with any trembling village girl or fearful shrine maiden he could have taken on a whim. Only with the faithful one he had stolen, the one who had once held a knife to his throat and then pulled him closer instead. The one whose body had learned to crave him, whose heart still raced beneath his palm even in sleep.

Sharing a life with you suddenly seemed possible.

Not just possession. Not just claiming. Something quieter. Something that looked like mornings with pears and evenings in the bath and nights where you clung to him even after he had ruined you.

Sukuna’s hand stayed cupped over your swollen belly, thumb stroking slow, almost reverent circles. His other arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your cheek rested against his chest and your legs draped over his hip.

He pressed a single, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

“Sleep, little one,” he whispered into your hair, voice barely audible. “I will take care of you now. Whatever comes… I will take care of you.”

The guilt still lingered, but it was softened by something warmer, something dangerously close to tenderness. He kept his hand on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of your breathing, imagining the day it might flutter with something more.

For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna allowed himself to picture a future that was not only conquest and fear, but one that included you, soft and full and his in every possible way.

He closed his eyes, still cradling you close, and let the quiet thought settle deep inside him.

You.

His.

Perhaps even carrying his child.

The King of Curses held his stolen faithful through the night, one hand never leaving the gentle swell of your belly, already wondering how soon he could make that vision real.

You laid on your back in the cool hush of his chamber, the thick bedding Sukuna had carefully arranged around you cradling your body like a nest. The night air was still, carrying only the faint crackle of a low brazier and the soft rhythm of your breathing. From across the room Sukuna stood watching for a long moment, four crimson eyes fixed on the peaceful sight of you.

Your eyes were closed in deep sleep, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. The thick layers of bedding he had swaddled you in kept you warm, but every time you shifted even the smallest amount the weight of your growing swell became more and more apparent. The soft curve of your belly rose gently beneath the covers, rounder now, heavier, undeniably full with the life he had planted inside you. The sight held him transfixed, something ancient and possessive stirring low in his chest as he stared at the proof of what you had taken from him and made your own.

You were pregnant.

The knowledge still felt new, strange, and yet utterly right.

The moment you began to shift again, a small furrow appeared between your brows. Your hands moved restlessly beneath the bedding, fingers clutching at the empty space beside you, searching, reaching for the solid warmth that was no longer there. A quiet, distressed sound slipped from your throat, barely more than a breath.

Sukuna was already moving.

He crossed the chamber in three silent strides, sliding onto the wide mat beside you before your hands could grasp at nothing again. His large palms found yours immediately, fingers threading through your smaller ones, pulling your hands against his chest. He drew you close with all four arms, carefully turning you onto your side so your swollen belly rested safely against the hard planes of his body. One arm slipped beneath your head as a pillow, another curled around your back, the third settled protectively over the curve of your tummy, and the last stroked slow, soothing lines along your spine.

The moment he had you tucked against him your breathing settled. The tension melted from your shoulders, your face relaxing once more into peaceful sleep. You nuzzled closer, cheek pressing to his collarbone, one leg instinctively draping over his hip as if even unconscious you needed to be as close as possible. A soft, contented sigh left your lips.

You had found utter comfort in Sukuna now, even more so since the pregnancy had begun to show. The fear that once lived in your eyes had long since softened into something warmer, something that sought him out in sleep and in waking. He had become your safety, your anchor, the only place where the weight of your changing body felt bearable.

Sukuna kept his hand splayed wide over the swell of your belly, feeling the faint, steady pressure beneath his palm. He could sense the life growing there, the subtle movements that had only just started to become noticeable. His thumb traced slow circles over the taut skin, reverent and quiet.

He had never imagined he would want this.

Yet here you were, swollen with his child, clinging to him even in dreams, trusting him completely with the fragile new life you carried. The guilt he had once felt had faded into something deeper, something that made him hold you a little tighter every night.

He pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering in your hair as he whispered against the strands, voice barely audible in the quiet chamber.

“I’m here, little one. I’ve got you both.”

Your fingers tightened faintly around his in sleep, as if answering him. Your breathing stayed even and deep, your body heavy and warm against his, the swell of your belly pressed safely between you.

Sukuna closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.

He simply held you, one hand never leaving the gentle curve where his child grew, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing and feeling the quiet wonder of how completely you had changed everything.

The King of Curses laid awake in the cool darkness, cradling his pregnant faithful close, already certain that he would burn the world again if it meant keeping this peace intact.

In the quiet dark of the chamber, with you safely tucked against his chest and the soft swell of your belly pressed between your bodies, Sukuna let his mind drift back.

He remembered the first time you had started craving fruit.

It began with pears, ironically enough. You would wake in the middle of the night and ask for them in that small, shy voice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had laughed low and fetched them himself, slicing the sweet golden flesh with the same blade that had once rested against his throat. You ate them with such quiet greed, juice running down your chin, eyes fluttering in simple pleasure. He had thought nothing of it then, only that his stolen girl had developed a taste for something soft and sweet.

Then the sickness came.

Mornings where you would suddenly turn pale and rush to the basin, retching until there was nothing left. He had frowned and blamed the pears at first, muttering that perhaps they had been too ripe, too cold, too much. He brought you warmer broth instead, held your hair back, and told you to stop eating so many. You had only shaken your head weakly and asked for another pear once the nausea passed.

Then your body began to change.

Your breasts grew heavier, more sensitive. Your hips softened. And your belly… your belly started to round in the gentlest way. At first he told himself it was only the constant fullness he kept pumping into you every night, the thick loads he refused to let you waste. But the rounding stayed even on the rare days he did not fill you.

The truth finally struck him one evening after you had bathed.

You were still wet and naked, skin glistening, towel having slipped from your fingers to pool on the floor. You bent to retrieve it, back arching, the curve of your spine leading down to the plush swell of your ass. Sukuna had been behind you in an instant, drawn by the sight like a moth to flame.

He stepped close, chest brushing your back, and slid one large hand around to cup the front of your tummy. The moment his palm settled over the gentle curve, something clicked into place. The weight felt different. Warmer. Alive.

His voice had come out low, almost hesitant, each word measured and slow as if he were testing the shape of something dangerous and beautiful.

“…It is not the pears,” he had murmured against the damp skin of your shoulder, fingers spreading wider over your belly. “I think… something else has taken root here.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his hand and the weight of his meaning.

“Life,” he said at last, voice dropping even lower, almost reverent, “is growing inside you.”

Your breath had stilled completely.

Your smaller hands flew to cover his where it rested on your tummy. You exhaled shakily, the sound trembling in the quiet room.

“Pregnant…” The word left your lips in a stunned whisper. Then again, softer, disbelieving, “I’m pregnant.”

It sounded surreal even to your own ears.

Sukuna had pulled you back against his chest immediately, both arms wrapping around you from behind, holding you tighter than he ever had. No discussions had come before this moment. You had both known the possibility was there, after all the countless nights he had come deep inside you again and again, flooding your womb until it overflowed. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made the truth settle heavy and wonderful between you.

You looked down at your own tummy, watching the way his large hand cradled the gentle swell, and a soft, overwhelmed laugh bubbled up through your tears.

Sukuna’s chin rested on top of your head. His voice rumbled through you, low and teasing, but warm.

“What was that just now?” He gave the slightest roll of his hips, pressing the heavy line of his cocks against the curve of your ass. “Having lewd thoughts about how I filled you so well that it took?”

Your face burned, but you could not deny the fresh slick that had gathered between your thighs at his words. You nodded shyly, biting your lip, still staring down at the place where his hand protected the new life growing inside you.

He chuckled softly, pressing a slow kiss to the side of your neck.

“Good,” he murmured, hand gently rubbing circles over your belly. “Because I plan to keep you this full for a very long time.”

Back in the present, lying together in the cool chamber, Sukuna’s hand remained exactly where it had been that day, splayed protectively over the now much rounder swell of your pregnant belly. He felt the faint, fluttering movements beneath his palm and smiled into your hair.

The pears had only been the beginning.

Now you carried his child, and every night he held you just like this, quietly marveling at how completely one stolen faithful girl had rewritten his world.

vacancy and blankness become common themes in your mind whenever the avatar dares to be near. he leans down to your height, an easy going smile slanted onto his lips with the type of carelessness that comes with throwing caution into the wind too many times to count. “hm?” he’ll often say, as though the added height makes it harder to hear and aang is always so keen to listen, clinging onto your every word as though it’s ancient scripture. you’ve never had this problem before, not growing up glued to his side and watching him become the world’s hero — at least you think. 

perhaps your heart has always fluttered for him like petals in a breeze.

it’s just worse. now that you know each other intimately. 

aang takes up space.

the tent you’ve set up for the night feels cramped, fit for a bird who doesn’t dare fly free. what one might call a prison, another would call a dwelling for something precious. the width of his shoulders, down to the angular taper of his torso are somehow large enough to shield the bare bones of your body from any one who may happen to pass by. you feel sheltered underneath him, daunted by his mountainous shape that seems to cast a shadow over you — one where you can hide the quiver in your bottom lip, not from fear but from anticipation. a root in your lungs that intermingled with the bronchial trees that help you breathe. the root then florets and flutters, bringing a pleasant tingle south of where your mind grows misty as though a cool fog has broken over a calm body of water. 

it’s all because of how…thickset and strapping he’s become. 

your dainty fingers traverse the mountainous man like an explorer trying to reach the top, you feel the way the jus les in aang’s back ripple and interlock underneath his clothes that strain to keep him contained. he peers down at you with a kind of … alluring patience. the fact that he’s willing to wait, won’t use his strength against you, worsens the lurch of lust in your lower stomach and between your thighs which part to make room for his waistline. through the smog that clouds your sensibilities, you manage to take a peek at the avatar, let your gaze fall over the edge to admire the sights of his plush heaving chest and the sky blue arrowhead markings that he wears proudly on his sleeves — you can’t believe how beautiful he is. that he’s yours. that he puts his shoes next to your own when he steps into your home, that he’s got a favourite pillow on his side of the bed that you share, that he—!

“are you sure you want to do this?” his voice breaks through the clouds like a striking ray of sunshine ready to ghost its warmth over your skin. when you blink, aang is already looking, already analysing you the way one would read over their favourite passage in a book to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. he drinks in the details of your visage, the breathless part of your lips and the dilation to your sparkling eyes — there’s hunger within them, an appetite only aang has the ability to appease. he knows the answer to his question before he’s even asked it, unspoken as the words hang his perfect pearly white teeth. hooked there like they’re the keys to your heart.  

“aang,” your heart, that organ of yours — the one that keeps you alive and present and in the moment. it skips a beat, enough to make you notice but not enough to make you worry. it won’t beat out of your chest, you won’t die of a heartache if the way he looks at you doesn’t kill you first. something out of history, something timeless to be admired for generations to come. you wait for your heartbeat to settle under the nightly ambience outside of your tent, though you’re sure aang might have picked up on it already. “i said yes.” 

he leans away from you to shrug off a flurry of orange and yellow fabrics — revealing a battle scarred and well-carved body. there’s so many colours within aang, the sun, the sky at golden hour, the brilliant blue of the morning, the stormy grey whirling in his eyes. he could be a painting, a work of art they’d speak of for millennia to come… but he’s yours. taking up space in your mind as though he hasn’t a dime of rent to pay.

there were times where you’d hesitate to reach out and touch the avatar, to smooth over the sketching of his scars in the middle of his chest. now you’re sure, certain, pressing your fingers into it because it has to mean something. you have to affect him as much as he affects you. 

“aang.” you repeat all the letters of his name, seriousness stirred between them — blending like honey in milk.

an infallible, perhaps teetering on the edge of omniscient, beam breaks out on the smooth canvas of the avatar’s face. no longer youthful like you remember, but older, handsomely aged like a brew perfected over time. “if you’re positive.” he says, cheerful — so maybe a little childlike, tongue darting out to playfully nip your fingers that now cup his chin. wagging his clean shaven head from side to side.

so handsome, there’s barely enough room in your head to think anything else in the world could be this pretty.

you almost forget that you’re bare. naked as the day you were born. you shudder when aang’s bare hand presses firm against your sternum — warm because, of course, he’s the avatar who can bend the elements at his skilled will. it’s heated a touch, but still goosebumps rise on your skin in a tidal wave, and your nipples harden into whipped peaks. aang ignores them in search of something more, not that he doesn’t want to take his time with you. you’re just undeniable, you’ve been waiting all day for more than intimately placed touches and soft lips against your forehead. there’s more he intends to give to you. 

the avatar finds your slick entrance with the kind of practised ease only a man in love would possess. there’s no need for guidance when he can effortlessly find the points and spots that have you dulcetly drawling his name as though it’s one of your prized possessions. a best kept secret. a hidden treasure. two digits, thick and calloused, slide in with little to no resistance and curl almost instantly in search for your sweet spot — pressing down hard on the gooey nub nestled further along your walls. for the whole duration, aang waits for your silent please, consent for more, with baited breath. his lungs full of enough anticipatory air to give birth to a thunderstorm.

that’s all the sign he needs to navigate further south, follow the pulse of your blood flow to the aching buzz hardening in your clit. cheekily, the avatar tacks the pad of his thumb to the pleasure button, brushing it from side to side, round and round in tight circles — launching you into the stratosphere with what feels like a gust of blistering hot wind. meanwhile, his deft fingers between pudgy thighs get to work — the pace aang begins with reflects exactly who he is, unyielding and unpredictable. the intensity doesn’t build slow, it’s rapid akin to that of a dangerous river sectional. though his movements are not rushed, the flex of his wrist aids the two digits scissoring you open for the stretch that’s yet to come.

your entrance grows sappy and filthy around what manages to fit inside — filling you and dragging along your molten ichorous walls, so hot you’d put a fire bender to shame. the little squeaks  that escape you, airy and feather light layer messily over lewd squelching sounds echoing from between your shaky legs that tremble as though the earth has decided to split in two. grey eyes start to glimmer, mimicking the moonshine through nightly cloud cover, and a wry grin splinters on the avatar’s soft lips — a result of your precious cunt, making a spectacle around aang’s fingers. rippling and drooling down arrow shaped tattoos that twist around the length of his muscled arm and wrist. 

aang maps you out, travelling your gooey walls as though he’s trying to rediscover a place he once called home. familiar. welcoming. like discovering a new island, he pinions against pleasure spots lining your walls that you’d never be able to reach without him . although your tightness presents as resistance, the manner in which you paw at his wrist in a quiet plea for more and anything further to placate the twist in your gut, tells aang that you want this. need this. soaring high, aang flies you to new heights of ecstasy — sets your body adrift, floating above cloud nine.

he’s mesmerised, watching his favourite view, the squeeze of your cunt around him to prevent escape. each time his digits pump in and out of you, you cutely clench at the knuckle, as if to stop him from going too far. under the candle light, the avatar can’t help but flux into the giddy feeling like a slow drip of pale candle wax pooling at the base of its holder. simply knowing that he is the one making your pussy gush, translucent essence sliding down the length of your swollen slit and into the rustling fabrics below, licks his ego. stokes it like coals on a flame. 

“so wet here, so soft.” aang makes a sort of chuffing noise against your hairline, swooping down to level flat against the flooring of your tent. chest to chest, hearts beating in sync as though they’re drums following a similar tune. though aang’s voice dips low, the baritone register winding ropes within your lower stomach,  his intonation is cheery — bright like the sun at noon. “pretty baby, just look at you chasin’ it.” 

your hips twitch upwards at the avid taunting, called upon by his convincing siren’s song. you wonder if he’s bending your body in the same way he does with the four elements because you arch your back into the centre of him, magnetised by the lull of his heart beating for you. 

“someone’s impatient, easy baby.” neither mean nor gentle, aang divulges objective fact — sweat settling into the smile lines that bracket his subtle smirk. his teasing is as relentless as the press of his digits against the one special spot that clears your mind completely. he gives, gifting you another slab of arcadia until it stacks high to come tumbling down because aang has always been so, so kind. your quivering hole stretches wide over the broad stroke of his fingers, clear and sticky essence a glimmering glaze over them, wetter and wetter by the second beside you can’t stop bucking against their force. 

you point him in the right direction as he navigates your ecstasy, helping him erratically assault your pussy even though the avatar is more than capable of crumbling you like precious stone. but you burn everywhere, in your pelvis and your muscles pulled tight with the tension of holding back — flames burn at the oxygen nurturing your lungs and if aang weren’t the center star that boils to a billion degrees, the heat in your face would be enough to rival him. 

a dopey, delirious smile creates a habitat amongst your sweat-slicked features — carved against them like ancient scripture on stone only a man such as aang has the skill to decipher. “been waiting all day...” waiting for more than just hands under clothes. more than just yearning gazes swapped between the motions of your friends. “please, please, please. need you more…” the plea tastes like desperation against the tip of your tongue, the kind you only feel when your whole world is about to cave in, the sort that brings a tear to your eyes with the same sharp rapidness of a tidal boar. 

aang grounds you, soothes you, becomes the very force that brings you back to land out of fear the waters may wash you away. he takes up that space around your heart that knocks the beat down to a level that’s sustainable. with sweltering kisses marked against your hairline, chaste balmy from his own layer of perspiration, appearing almost like a second skin.  in response, a heatwave crashes through your body like a desert breeze — particles of unadulterated lust and hunger catching on the high points of your body. 

the back of the avatar’s head is clammy where you reach to it for leverage, crossing your arms at the back of his head. you bring the hardline of aang’s body against you, his stomach meeting yours with a wet slap because so much arousal has pooled there. his cock, leaky, hard and monstrous, rocks against soft flesh — jumping between you both like a glaring warning sign because he is just so big. 

“i don’t want to hurt you, might not be ready yet.” he says with the same restraint as a child being told to wait until after dinner for a sweet treat. aang is good, he regards you gently as though you’re something that might fracture with too much pressure — yet he knows what you can take, how much you can endure for the sake of losing yourself to him for a little while. just like his body on top of yours, aang’s large palm slots perfectly against your pussy — the seat of his palm grinding against your puffy clit alongside the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. nirvana begins to flash behind your eyes, blurting your vision as you blink up at him meekly. 

you like the burn. the stretch. the pain that comes with taking aang and he reads it in your darkening eyes, open like a book.

“it won’t hurt,” you argue back, though your words carry no weight. they taper into a cottony sigh, whisked away from the night’s breeze — icy against your temperate skin. sweat drops from his shoulders to your chest, glueing him to you. he’s a solid mass on top of you, contrary to the silky webbing of your mound, ruined beneath his fingers that work you unrelentingly. pleasure breaks through you like the sun rising above the horizon, highlighting the glow of your body as an orgasm nears. “please don’t make me wait, aang…”

aang chuckles, the weight of it carried by whirling winds and his fingers leave you for just a moment, an empty hole waiting to be filled – trembling without him. seamlessly, his delicate caress glides over your throbbing mound, growing cold and slick as time passes by. strings of clear, tarry elixir pruriently prevents his touch from straying too far from where you need him most. “you’re so pretty when you say please.” he exhales through his nose in a serene gust, spreading his fingers to watch your arousal web amidst them.

“aang–!”

“how about i make you cum?” he volunteers, and you despite the steamroll of fog starting to cloud your mind, you fail to miss the playful lilt that clings to his every word. it’s more of a statement than a suggestion, with aang riding the clouds between your thoughts, there’s no room to argue either. he acts first, on the same kind of brave impulse you’ve seen from him in battle many times before, delivering a few sappy love taps to your unattended sex. toying with you through a guise of a half-lidded smile that lures you into feeling safe.

he discerns your swollen clit from equally swollen folds once more, a muddlement of sin to be solved by one of the most powerful beings on earth, and draws his name across the hood of the sensitive little nub — drawing back the extra skin just to press your own slick into it. your back peels away from the tent’s flooring from where sweat had gathered to cleave the skin to it, trembling and twitching as you bow into aang, invade his space, crawl into it for sanctuary. though, in this safety net – you find yourself pincered, caught between his lips that descend upon yours and the lengthy, agile pointers that act with the alacrity of the sky’s breath. aang licks into your mouth briskier than your brain can keep up, stealing every soft breath and shackly snuffle that lays underneath your tongue. he tastes you like he’s losing a memory he wants to keep, tracking your flavour in your breezy breath before you have the sense to plead for more.

in due time, he’ll give it to you.

he’ll instimulate the careful crease between your brows and the petulant little pout that drags down the corners of your mouth even as you meet his with the same balance of the elements. harmonious and restorative all at once. he kisses you like it’ll heal him, the dulling phantom ache in his scars, the mass of loss in his past and the burdens of the future. you take it all to your lungs, inhale it into the space within your vital organs because pain like his should never be borne alone.

even still, the avatar hisses with a mix of awed ail when your nails break carmine crescent moons against the blue sails of his arrowhead tattoos. you grasp at his sinewy forearms for stability, something grounding like a plant taking root in new soils, and clench around dexterous digits that once more reclaim the claggy path of your ruined insides. whilst you howl like a storm’s winds and chase the seed of pleasure flourishing within your bubbling tummy – aang has a vision, like one of those who have walked the same path before him, casting imagery of hurricanes pulled from skies and storm clouds torn to little tufts in the name of you. 

because he loves you. 

your struggling, shuddering thighs and aerated gasps. the way you hold onto him like a lifeline as your orgasm brings you right to the edge of balance – the pendulum threatening to knock you off. aang’s fingers twist and brush amongst your sensitivity and it’s not long before all the pleasure that had been building crumbles under the tidal wave of arousal that crashes through you. “let go for me, baby,” he whispers earnestly against your cupid’s bow, hoping that it coaxes you along and unties the tightness lingering there. “there you go, good girl…” 

his words undo you like your binding holding you together never existed, weakened by time and attention. the care aang takes to bring you to heaven pushes you into release, one that has your juices splashing down the length of aang’s burly arms as though he’s squeezed a ripened fruit. all at once, you seize beneath him and gush into his palm seat, quaking through aftershocks where your cunt is the epicentre. he finds your mouth, fallen open in a whiney mewl, and wheedles you into a soothing wet kiss where tongue’s tangle and breathing draws ragged like the sharp edge of an earth-bended mountain.

once you’re calm, reduced to the gentle rock of a boat on the very water aang controls, your needy screams retreat too. everything melting  into soft pants and a dreamy gaze through your droopy eyelids. 

your appetite remains unruly, however.

“wan’ more.” you mumble in a quiet wisp – demanding, nearing playful. a challenge laying in the candle light like a trap for the avatar, plans barely concealed by the mirth swirling in your clearing, glassy eyes.

in their reflection, aang sees himself. body worn but spirit never tired of the games you play with one another. he heedily lowers you back to the flooring of the tent, arranges you neatly amongst fur pelts and blankets that soften like his leer on you.a picturesque view, skin shining like the surface of silk, thighs sticky with your body’s syrup, bare chest heaving like you’ve got oxygen to spare. you’re so beautiful it's easy to give into you. if there were any weakness the avatar were to possess, it would be you.

silence, bearable and conservant, is born between your bodies. it steals space, not unkindly, because you know aang’s quiet  gives way to his next actions, the plan he’ll take to bring you to bliss once more. his large palms, coarse from weathering the elements, span down your being again – through the valley of your breasts, down your sternum and into the soft fleshiness of your tummy.

“you’re sure?” he laughs, holding breath under his tongue. even as he questions you, aang shuffles onto his haunches to shred the last of his dignity – the fabric of his pants whirring across the tent.

your vision stoops low, following the arrows that point to the one thing you’ve been craving all evening. to say the avatar is … gifted… would be an under estimation – his shaft is ample in both size and weight, dripping from the dull tip and seedy slit, slightly curved with balls that are pink and plump. ripe with seed. you feel your stomach twitch underneath his touch and he does too – as though its preparing to take his size fully. grey eyes darken with a storm of lust once you find aang’s face again – merriment dawning on his features.

“you’ve asked me that a million times already,” you huff, cadence carrying petulance. “you don’t think i can handle you, avatar?’

he shakes his head. “i know what you can handle, i pay attention to your limits.” he says it like he knows something you don’t, a trick up his metaphorical sleeve to be unveiled the further this game advances. your move. it reads.

crawling over you once more, broad upper body blocking out the world and a slender waist shuffles between your thighs. aang is at your neck this time, gently nipping at your neck to leave his mark in the same manner that you’ve left one on his heart. saliva soothes the crease of his teeth indented into your skin, warm and distracting while the hands once at your stomach press into the lissome fat at your hips – manhandling you in the position he desires most. 

there’s no space between you know, not even a millimetre, ardent flesh bonding and soon to become one. the beat of your heart links like the next note of a song, nipples brushing sensitively as they harden under the night air. aang throws your legs over his wide-set shoulders, spreading you open and parting the webs of slick glueing together your swollen folds. a warm, gooey pressure burns against your entrance, his hips jutting forward to run his cock through the length of your slit – the sensation is not unwelcome, the slight sting of pain feels just like returning home after a long journey. where everything aches and nothing seems to settle.

his tip dully breaks through the translucent netting gathering at your entrance, gradually filling you inch by inch until you physically feel swole just from the tip. you flutter around him weakly, once for every throb of his girth against your nociceptive ridges.

only half of what he has makes it in, and even then, you experience the kind of fullness that comes with that of a full moon. hard to ignore, a sight to behold. you lift your lower half, circling your hips down to swallow what he offers, because too much is never enough and you have always been greedy when it comes to aang.

he’s a hero to the world, barely something you get to keep sacred and to yourself.

it’s hard to miss, impossible not to notice and aang bucks forward ever so slightly, rewarding you with more stretch, more burn, more of his cock. you suction around the rippling pang and clasp the back of his damp neck while your body accommodates for his size. “aang…m-more!’ your voice is raw, throat bobbing from the delighted tears you’ve been holding back and the avatar’s strong hands lift your lips higher, hoping it’ll alleviate the ache for more.

“baby, you’re being so greedy tonight, what’s with that?” the question slips into the sudden torrid atmosphere, though it’s amused – sitting behind a smile you can’t see ( it blurs as you sniffle ), aang groans. fractured, lust living between the cracks. “just take this much for now,” he doesn’t bottom out, only thrusts shallowly, letting the sweltersome head of his cock nudge your ribbed walls. “can’t give you all of my cock… have to be somewhere you can get help if it goes wrong,” 

that should be enough to destroy you.

aang fucks you half way down his length all whilst caging you in, his sweet mouse caught in a trap, pushing and pulling from your adorably selfish hole – beginning a sensual, swing to his own hips. you feel the wiry muscle of his thighs crook against your ass as the avatar practically puts you through the bedding. in your mind, aang makes up the middle of the universe, yet to him, your pleasure becomes the heart of his – he uses the strength bursting from his biceps to jerk you back and forth on what plugs you full. 

he is not rough, but focused, relishing in the juices you baste him in – smearing your juices along his hard stomach, where it pools against his tattoos and his belly button. the force he uses to roll into you lulls a symphony of whiney bleats from between your wet and kiss swollen lips, a sweet song that mingles with the soft slap of skin on skin filling your tent.

your body threatens to break once more, your arms like a loose neck tie around his thick throat and your shaky  hands finding purchase on his clean shaken head. all you can do is sink into him, let him overrule your body, taking it over— mind, body and soul. in return, he frees a hand to angles in your roots like the winds rushing through your hair, hugging you close so that you never fade away. even then he kisses you as though the world has taken you from him, too much all at once, overwhelming you with the curve of his tongue breaching realms beyond your pearly white teeth. aang tastes you, and tastes you, lips balmy  moving against yours with such vigor it nearly distracts you from the intensity of his thrusts.

where aang usually carries the scent of freshly cut grass and freedom – the fragrance twists into something more profane, the husk from your cunt and the sweat evaporating on your skin from how frequently it all meets. the atmosphere tingles with his devotion to you. 

your calves start to tingle where they violently shake on aang’s shoulders, every part of you spasms even down to your cunt that wraps around him like a vice. you feel ravaged, fractured, pathetically split open on his thickness even though it’s still only half. 

it doesn’t matter how you thrash and whine in a desperate effort to swallow another inch, aang remains sturdy above you. immovable. where the blankets and pelts begin to slip from the motion of your bodies working together, the avatar allows his mouth to cover you – silken spit drying against your breasts that bounce from passionate motion. he acts with the motion of a starved man who cannot go a second without another meal, tongue circling your areolas at a speed that matches the feverish punch of his weighty girth against your g-spot.

you cannot imagine a world without aang in it, without aang’s presence filling every corner like the sunrise in an empty room. kisses golden and glowing. the way he looks down at you like you’re worth a war and regards you with cool toned eyes that feel free of burden when you’re in view – draws you closer to a peak. there are so many feelings in aang’s eyes, slithering between your bodies, he fills you with more with each rut of his hips into yours, a creamy and lewd ring frothing around what doesn’t fit inside. 

“y-you’re so good,” you babble him earnestly, losing breath to his intensity, pussy pulsating over the prominent veins and ridges twirling around aang’s chubby girth. his thrusts pull and push at your spongy insides – bumping against pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had. “c-can you please just…give me more…?”

“you’re so needy, baby,” aang circles an arm around your waist and leans back on his haunches. his knees resting pelts whilst he manoeuvres himself  in a kneeling position. this time, he is able to bottom out fully, unexpectedly. he hits the hilt with a low, rumbling sound against the crown of your head – as if finally being sheathed inside of you has pulled him to pieces before you.“how’s this? d-deeper? fuller?”

in this new position, you’re sure you’ve crossed over to the spirit world. the new pressure is blinding, the assault on your g-spot is constant and mimics the ever-turning of the planet you live on. if you could, you’d cry out for the aid of a spirit but instead, through the lasciviousness lodged in your throat, his name is born like a prayer on your lips. “a-aang!”

“yeah, i know,” he mutters, overcome with emotion, eyes on you everywhere. the angelic contortions of your face, the drip of nectar from your hypersensitive cunt to his balls. everywhere.  “gods i know, you’re practically choking me out down there. that’s nice… so nice.”

your eyes become misty and aang’s voice becomes a murky strain, breaths of exertion coasting over your heated face as he strikes up an almost bullying, breezy pace to his slender hips as they pummel into your sex. now, he is able to hit deep — twist and turn your gummy organs up and drag over the sensitive ridges you can’t reach normally.

clawing at aang’s neck, you use the last of your vigour to grind against him. futile but sweet. your second release borders on pain since you’re spread over him, dull head of his cock near kissing the entrance to your womb. you asked for this, now you’re slumped and weak in his lap. a pathetic ragdoll that’s loved more than it’s toyed with. neither of you mind the fade in your endurance, after all the support and care you’ve given to aang through his hardest moments – he adores being able to return the favour like this. watch himself bulge in your tummy whilst your mind slips away from you. watch the faint part of your lips as you cry his praises and flit of your lashes whilst you attempt to hold his gaze.

“you like it better like this, i know.” aang coos, tone not too far off from wonder. lilt a little more than condescending. without disparaging his strength, he hauls you back and forth on his soiled shaft, a crude mix of precum and the sweet nectar your cunt drools helping him glide through your tightness.   “when i…. move you up and down up and down… there we go,” for the millionth time that night, he laughs. pure and bright, sparking your nerve endings. that’s when you gush, when the chord of tension snaps and you begin to violently convulse with your second orgasm.

he leans an arm past your back to steady himself with balls of air at his finger tips, other hand jumping up to span into the curve of your spine whilst you keen into him. wailing high like whistling winds. “you’re so cute when you’re cumming.” he purrs, boyishly devoted to your pleasure  just as you reach the summit on the mountain, your peak, squirting all the way down aang’s thickness. 

the world around you blurs as though water has mixed with wet paint used to capture darling memories,. a scream rips through you and burns at the fraying edges of your voice. clear streams of arousal shoot from your sluice sex and dampen the pelts, soak aang to the bone – nearly forcing his drowning dick out of you.

his rhythm barely wavers; not even when he is chasing both of your releases, running with the wind as his tip nudges against your pleasure spot over and over. moans rising in octave with every step he takes closer to orgasm.

for a moment, you think, your presence fills aang with as much light and life as he does with you. 

a thumb winds down to your clit with a brand new purpose, noting the aftershocks running through you that bring him his own sense of euphoria. he’s careful with you now, gently jerking you in his lap while his thoughts turn blank, mind crowded with thoughts of only you.  “so small… compared to me. it’s adorable, god, you really are —!” when aang cums, his forehead falls to yours, grey eyes brimming with a glowing blue that extends to the tattoos painted permanently into his body. he glows bright, a beacon of love in the night. then he hiccups, airy and low, succumbing to your shuddering warmth – ecstasy twisting through him like a tornado that’s grown over time. “perfect.”

opaque white shoots into you in viscous ropes, clinging to your wet walls – gathering in a frothy ring at your entrance. none of it is wasted, the avatar insistent on plugging you full. he finds sanctuary in the curve of your neck, breathy curses tattooed into your skin which tickle pleasantly. aang keeps you in his arms before exhaustion settles into your bones and his body threatens to cop out completely—  he just about manages to land on his side before his weight crushes you.

a pregnant silence takes up space in the tenant. tender as your weary eyes meet and heart rates slow to a standstill. aang’s face creases with adoring attachment, triumphant and adoring and childish. you don’t need words to know that he loves you, that he would give up anything to stay right here with you.

i love you.

it comes easy, reciprocating – you find his fingers in your heap of lips and brush a kiss against them so briskly one might mistake your light affection for a breeze.

i love you always.

aang takes up space, in your room next to your things. in your mind where all your best memories lie. and most importantly, in your heart.

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

the first thing zayne noticed about the arctic was the silence. not the absence of sound—there was always something. wind scraping against metal siding. boots crunching through snow. the low mechanical hum of generators beneath the station floors. but the silence here felt different from linkon. vast enough to swallow thought whole.

by the time dr. noah's snowcat pulled up beside the research station, zayne had been awake for nearly thirty hours.

"you look terrible," dr. noah said plainly as they stepped out into the storm.

zayne adjusted the strap of his bag, "thank you, professor. i hadn't noticed."

"hm", noah squinted at him through the snowfall. "at least exhaustion hasn't damaged your sarcasm."

the station doors slid open before zayne could respond, releasing a burst of warmth into the cold. the station was more lived in than he expected. the narrow hallways were filled with bulletin boards crowded in field notes and weather warnings. various research awards, and documents along with photos were framed.

and then he saw you. you stood near the entrance bundled in far too many layers. there was snow dusting your boots and a clipboard was tucked against your chest. you blinked at him once, then twice.

"oh", you said softly, "you actually came."

dr. noah sighed heavily beside him, "that is an unfortunate way to greet my resident."

"i just thought he'd be older."

zayne stared at you. you didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. instead, you walked closer, openly studying him with curious eyes that were far too awake for the middle of the night.

"you're dr. zayne?"

"unfortunately," he answered before he could stop himself.

something bright flickered across your face, "you sound exactly like uncle noah."

"i'll take offense to that," noah muttered, already removing his coat.

you ignored him entirely, extending a gloved hand toward zayne instead.

"i'm sorry. i'm his niece." you told him your name.

"i help manage the wildlife rehabilitation wing here."

your handshake was warm despite the cold seeping through the station doors.

zayne nodded once, "nice to meet you."

somewhere deeper inside, zayne could hear muffled barking. he glanced toward the sound automatically. you noticed immediately.

"that's the recovery room," you explained. "we brought in two snow leopards yesterday."

"at three in the morning," dr. noah added dryly.

"they would've died outside."

"and now i'm sleep deprived because apparently every living thing in this region becomes your responsibility."

you grinned without remorse. zayne watched the exchange quietly. there was something strange about this place already. something unguarded. in linkon, everyone moved with urgency. conversations were short and to the point. efficiency was key as every second belonged to something productive.

but here, you paused in the middle of speaking to fix a crooked photograph hanging on the wall. you asked whether they'd eaten before discussing research schedules. you smiled too easily. it should've felt childish, instead zayne found himself staring.

"zayne."

he looked toward dr. noah.

"you'll start observation rounds tomorrow morning," noah said. "assuming you remain conscious long enough."

"i can manage." he muttered out

you tilted your head slightly. "when was the last time you slept?"

"i don't remember."

"that's concerning," you responded, a hint of worry in your voice.

"that's residency."

your expression faltered for just a second. most people heard 'resident' and thought impressive. you heard exhausted with little to no life. before he could say anything else, one of the station staff hurried down the hall toward you.

"they're awake."

your eyes widened instantly, "both of them?"

the researcher nodded. you brightened so quickly it transformed your entire face.

"i'll be right there."

then, as if remembering yourself, you turned back toward zayne.

"it was nice meeting you, doctor zayne."

the title sounded oddly formal coming from you, and for reasons he didn’t understand, he suddenly disliked it.

you disappeared down the hallway in a rush. for a moment, the station felt quieter after you left. dr. noah noticed him watching.

"she's been here her whole life...far too kind for her own good," he said.

zayne looked away, "that usually ends badly."

noah hummed, "yes," he said after a moment. "it usually does."

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

the station ran with brutal efficiency beneath dr. noah's supervision. daily schedules were followed down to the minute. reports were meticulous. equipment checks happened twice daily.

you, however, moved through it all as swift as snow falling. one moment you were assisting noah with thermal scans, quietly reading data over zayne's shoulder with surprising precision. the next, you vanished halfway through lunch because someone had spotted an injured snowy owl near the ridge.

"you indulge her too much," zayne remarked one evening while reviewing reports with dr. noah.

noah didn't even look up from his notes. "you say that as if i've ever successfully stopped her."

as if summoned by the conversation, the station doors burst open. cold air swept inside alongside you.

"there's blood on your sleeve," noah said immediately.

at the mention of blood zayne found himself wanting to run to your side to inspect you for any injuries. he wasn't sure if it was simply doctors instinct or concern for you.

"it's not mine." you said before kneeling beside the heater.

curled tightly against your chest was a small arctic fox pup wrapped in layers of cloth. the fox blinked weakly. zayne's gaze shifted between the animal and the fresh scratches along your hands.

"you carried it back yourself?"

"well, it wasn't going to walk here."

noah pinched the bridge of his nose. "one day you are going to freeze to death because you refuse to think before acting."

"but he's alive." you said it so simply. like that alone justified everything. and maybe to you, it did.

you carefully unwrapped the fox from the blankets before checking its injured leg. the movement was practiced. gentle despite your obvious exhaustion.

the fox made a small sound when you touched the injury. immediately, your expression softened.

"hey," you murmured quietly. "you're okay."

zayne watched from across the room longer than he intended. the animal should have been terrified. instead, it settled the moment your hand brushed through its fur.

"you named this one yet?" noah asked.

"pie."

zayne looked up slowly, "pie?"

you glanced at him defensively. "he likes pie crust."

"you fed an injured wild animal pastry?"

"it was a very small piece."

noah sighed the sigh of a man deeply accustomed to losing arguments in this exact tone. yet you smiled without shame and somehow, before zayne realized what was happening, he found himself standing beside you.

"may i?"

you blinked up at him, then shifted aside immediately to make room. up close, the fox looked smaller than he expected. frail beneath layers of white fur.

"he's dehydrated," zayne observed.

"i know." you frowned slightly. "he won't drink enough."

zayne reached carefully toward the injured leg while you steadied the fox against your chest.

"most people don't volunteer for this part," you said after a while.

"what part?"

"the messy part." you adjusted pie gently. "everyone likes research until something starts bleeding on them."

zayne glanced sideways at you, "good thing i'm a doctor then and not a researcher."

after that, he started showing up in your wing more often. at first under the excuse of helping noah collect data. then because without discussion, helping you became part of his routine too.

he learned quickly. how to calm frightened animals by lowering his voice. how you organized medication alphabetically despite claiming you 'weren't obsessive like uncle noah.'

he learned how pie only tolerated exactly three people: you, noah, and, begrudgingly, zayne.

"you've been accepted," you told him solemnly one night after pie climbed into his lap voluntarily.

"i feel honored." he said lightly brushing his fingers through his coat.

"you should he bites everyone else."

pie looked suspiciously pleased with himself, as the two of you softly laughed.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

the storm outside had been raging for hours, trapping everyone indoors again. you sat cross-legged on the floor beside the heater while sorting supplies. zayne was supposed to be reviewing charts. instead, he found himself watching snow collect against the windows.

"you're staring," you said absently.

"so are you."

"i was trying to figure something out."

"what?" he asked

you rested your chin against your sleeve. "you're different here."

the words hung quietly between you. zayne looked down, "different from what?"

"from when you first arrived."

you smiled a little. "when you came here, you looked like you were waiting for something terrible to happen."

he didn't answer immediately because the truth was in linkon, something terrible was always happening. another emergency. another patient. another impossible expectation. his life had become a constant state of anticipation. waiting for alarms. waiting for failure. waiting for exhaustion to finally outweigh competence.

but here, the station lights glowed softly against snowfall and you sat beside him half-buried in blankets. pie snored quietly between your bodies. and for the first time in months, his mind was silent.

before he could respond, cold shimmered suddenly across his fingertips. his evol reacted before he consciously thought about it. frost curled through the air in pale silver threads.

zayne immediately stiffened. most people reacted one of two ways to his evol - fear or fascination. he disliked both, but you only watched quietly as ice slowly formed against his palm, delicate and precise beneath the station lights.

then your eyes widened slightly, "a fox?"

he looked down. somehow between distraction and exhaustion, he'd shaped the ice unconsciously. a tiny formation of a fox sat curled against his gloved hand. for a moment, neither of you spoke. then carefully like he was handling something fragile, zayne held it out toward you.

your expression changed instantly. not amazement. something gentler.

"you made this?"

"i suppose."

you accepted the tiny fox with both hands. the ice should've melted quickly from your warmth, but his evol held steady beneath your fingertips.

"it looks like pie," you whispered, suddenly a bit emotional.

he huffed out the faintest trace of laughter. you looked at him then and something in zayne's chest tightened unexpectedly at the softness in your eyes—trust. that was what this was. not because he showed you his evol, but because he hadn't meant to hide it from you at all. it happened naturally.

somewhere along the way, zayne stopped counting how long he'd been at the station. the weeks folded into each other with comforting ease. mornings in the research wing beside dr. noah. evenings spent in the rehabilitation center because you inevitably dragged him there under increasingly weaker excuses.

"you have medical training," you told him one night while placing supplies into his arms. "that makes you useful."

"i'm beginning to suspect you are trying to turn me into a veterinarian so i will stay here full-time."

"that too." you muttered under your breath.

and somehow, despite himself, he smiled and followed your lead anyway.

the station settled differently at night. those were the hours he liked best. the hours he found you most often. sometimes in the rehabilitation wing asleep at your desk beneath scattered reports. sometimes sitting leaning against each other on the floor beside recovering animals, reading softly aloud from whatever book you'd dragged along that week.

one night he found you outside instead. snow drifted steadily through the darkness. the aurora shimmered faintly overhead in ribbons of pale green. you sat atop the observation deck railing despite the freezing temperature.

"that seems unsafe," zayne said immediately.

you startled slightly before looking back over your shoulder.

"oh. you're awake."

"you say that like i should not be."

"you've been averaging four hours of sleep."

"five..." he corrected

"like one hour really makes that much of a difference"

he stepped beside you carefully. "dr. noah would be furious if you fell."

"he'd be more furious if he had to explain my death paperwork."

the corner of his mouth twitched. you smiled triumphantly like you'd accomplished something significant. for a while, neither of you spoke. you lifted your hands to warm them against a cup of tea balanced beside you. immediately zayne frowned, as he noticed you weren't wearing your usual pair of gloves.

"you'll freeze."

"i'm fine."

before you could protest, he reached for your hands instinctively. his gloved hands covering your small ones. he didn't really have a use for them, as his evol left him used to the feeling of the cold. but he wore them anyway knowing one day they might provide useful. and tonight was one of those times.

warmth slowly returned to your fingers. when you looked back up at him, your expression had gone serious.

"you're always taking care of everyone," you murmured.

the words caught him off guard. because no one had ever said them like that before.

zayne looked away first, "it's my job."

"not always." you whispered

snow drifted between you in slow white spirals. then, very carefully, you turned your hand slightly in his hold. not enough to pull away. enough to hold on properly.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

after that night, things shifted. not suddenly but just enough for everyone else to notice before either of you did. dr. noah started looking deeply inconvenienced whenever he found the two of you sharing meals at ungodly hours.

zayne started leaving work occasionally on time. which, according to dr. noah, was 'a medically significant improvement.'

your co-workers stopped questioning why zayne appeared in the rehabilitation wing after shifts ended.

he drank the tea you made before it went cold now. he smiled more—not often, not dramatically, but enough that people looked a little startled every time it happened.

and he had apparently started talking about you. you discovered this accidentally.

you blinked at the researcher across from you, "what?"

the woman smiled while organizing sample containers. "he talks about you all the time."

your entire body froze, "no he doesn't." you protested

"she's right," another researcher called from across the room. "yesterday he spent ten minutes explaining how artic hares can camouflage themselves into their surroundings because apparently 'you found it interesting.'"

you stared in horror, "he said that?"

heat rushed straight to your face. zayne talked about you? voluntarily? to people? the realization was somehow more intimate than kissing.

you confronted him later that evening. or at least attempted to.

"you discuss me with your coworkers?"

zayne looked up from his notes calmly. "frequently."

the immediate honesty nearly killed you.

"why are you saying that like it's normal?"

"did you want me to lie to you?"

"no, but you can't blame me for being a little surprised. you barely talk in general!" you exclaimed

he set his pen down slowly before giving you his full attention. you instantly regretted this conversation.

"you're making this sound more dramatic than it is."

"you explained traits of an arctic hare to a bunch of researchers, why should they care about it?"

"well because you care about it."

your expression faltered for half a second. the teasing atmosphere shifted subtly around the edges. you opened your mouth trying to come up with a response then closed it again.

for a moment, zayne simply stared at you. then slowly, deliberately, he reached stood up before you and adjusted your scarf where it had loosened near your throat. the movement was careful enough to make your breathing catch.

"you're terrible at dressing for cold weather," he murmured changing the conversation.

you looked up at him then. close enough that he could see the exact moment realization flickered across your face.

and very quietly, like this was something inevitable rather than sudden, you asked, "are we together?"

zayne should've answered immediately. instead, his gaze lingered on you for one second too long.

then, "aren't we?"

your cheeks warmed instantly - not from the cold.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

once it became official, surprisingly little changed. being with zayne wasn't dramatic. there were no sweeping love declarations. no reckless passion. it was steadier than that.

you started carrying spare gloves because he kept losing his, claiming he really didn't need them. he reached for your hand absentmindedly when you walked beside him. when people looked for one of you, they usually found both. it settled naturally between you.

zayne glanced up from the table as you dropped into the seat across from him still covered in snow, cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

"i saw the migration today," you announced.

immediately, zayne's attention shifted fully toward you. the change still startled you sometimes - how completely he listened.

"the reindeer?" he asked.

you nodded quickly. "near the eastern ridge. there had to be hundreds!"

your hands moved while you spoke, animated despite your exhaustion.

"i thought the storm would push them further north, but they stayed close instead and—"

you stopped suddenly. zayne was staring at you again.

"what?"

"i like how excited you get when you talk about animals"

something warm unfolded painfully in your chest, because he appreciated things no one else did. the small things. the things you cared about.

later that night, you found him asleep at his desk in the station's library again. papers scattered everywhere. lamp still on. glasses slightly crooked where exhaustion had finally won.

you stood in the doorway for a moment just watching him. there were shadows beneath his eyes deeper than usual lately.

carefully, you set a fresh cup of tea beside his arm before draping a blanket over his shoulders. you started to leave when you heard his voice behind you.

"stay."

your footsteps halted. zayne hadn't opened his eyes.

still half-asleep, voice rough with exhaustion, he repeated quietly, "stay."

something about it undid you instantly. not because he sounded needy, but because he almost never asked for anything. slowly, you walked back toward him.

"you should sleep properly," you whispered.

"hm."

you smiled helplessly. then, after a moment's hesitation, you sat beside him instead. almost immediately, he shifted closer unconsciously. forehead resting briefly against your shoulder. that was still what affected you most. not the kisses he'd started pressing absentmindedly against your temple when passing by. not the way his hand always found yours beneath tables.

it was this. the fact that zayne who carried himself like tension personified around everyone else rested around you without thinking.

"you know," you murmured eventually, brushing fingers through his dark hair carefully, "you're very clingy for someone who pretends not to be."

his eyes remained closed, "you're still here."

"as opposed to?"

"leaving."

the answer came so quietly your chest tightened. you looked down at him properly then. at the exhaustion carved into his features. at the man who gave every piece of himself away so easily to everyone except himself.

and gently, before you could stop yourself, you pressed a kiss against his hairline.

"i'm not going anywhere," you whispered.

zayne remained half-asleep against your shoulder, breathing slow and even for once. you brushed your fingers carefully through his hair again.

"you're going to ruin your neck sleeping like this," you murmured.

your gaze drifted toward the reports spread across the desk. most were covered in dr. noah’s sharp annotations alongside zayne’s impossibly neat handwriting.

"you work too hard."

this time he actually opened one eye slightly. you took a deep breath before continuing.

"i just…" you exhaled softly. "sometimes i think you forget there are things outside of work that matter too."

the room fell still. for one awful second, you thought you'd pushed too far. then zayne reached for your hand beneath the blanket.

"i'm here, aren't i?"

the answer settled somewhere deep in your chest—because he was. even after thirty-hour shifts. even after exhaustion hollowed him out. he still came looking for you at the end of every day.

you squeezed his hand gently, "barely conscious," you muttered.

"still counts."

a laugh escaped you quietly. god, you loved him. the realization came suddenly. completely. like knowing snowfall would return every winter.

you looked at him carefully beneath the dim lighting. and quietly, before fear could stop you, "i think i'm in love with you."

the words settled gently into the room between you. zayne went completely still. for a second, you panicked. this was too soon. too honest. then slowly, he sat up properly. not pulling away from you, just looking at you now with full attention.

"what," he asked softly, "do you mean think?"

your face immediately burned. "that's the part you focused on?"

"i'm asking for clarification."

and then to your complete horror, zayne smiled. not the faint almost-smiles he gave everyone else. a real one.

"you're deflecting."

you narrowed your eyes. "you're enjoying this."

"a little." he smirked.

"oh my god."

his thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. then, quieter now, "say it again."

your heart nearly stopped, "zayne—"

"please."

you stared at him helplessly for a moment before finally whispering, "i love you."

this time there was no joking attached. no nervous laughter. just truth. the station suddenly felt too quiet. zayne looked at you like the words engraved themselves deeply into his being.

then he lifted your joined hands slowly and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. your entire body forgot how to function.

"you should not do things like that without warning," you whispered weakly.

then, after a long moment, he finally said it back. not quickly. not automatically. like he understood the weight of it.

"i love you too."

your eyes stung unexpectedly. immediately, zayne frowned slightly.

"why are you crying?"

"i'm not crying."

"there are visibly tears in your eyes."

"you said it very intensely."

"i said three words."

"exactly. three very important words."

for a second, he just looked at you. then quietly, "come here."

you barely had time to process the words before he was pulling you gently into his lap beneath layers of blankets and oversized coats. warmth surrounded you instantly. you buried your face against his shoulder in immediate embarrassment.

"this is humiliating."

"it's not."

he said, bringing your face up to meet his gaze. brushing a thumb to dry your eyes before cupping your cheek gently. a faint breath escaped him and he looked at you for a long moment before his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. then back to your eyes. the pause lasted barely a second. long enough for you to understand what he was asking without words. you leaned in first. and zayne kissed you like he had been holding it back for months. not rough. not rushed, just overwhelming in its sincerity.

one hand moved carefully against your waist while the other slid gently into your hair, holding you close beneath the blankets as the storm battered against the station walls around you.

the kiss deepened slowly. you felt him exhale softly against your mouth when your fingers curled into the front of his sweater. and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing differently. you laughed quietly out of nervousness more than anything. you touched his face again instinctively.

"i like you like this," you whispered.

"like what?"

"happy." you responded.

something unguarded crossed his expression then. so brief you almost missed it. zayne leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

"i don't think i've been happy in a very long time," he admitted softly.

your heart ached hearing it.

"but i am when i'm with you."

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

you climbed off his lap and zayne nearly groaned at the absence of your warmth. you took his hand in yours though, leading him to your room.

your room was warmer than the rest of the station, firelight flickering softly from the stone fireplace near the window.

zayne stopped just inside the doorway. looking around carefully.

"you've never been in here before," you realized.

"no."

"and?"

his gaze moved around the room. at the posters and photos plastered on the walls of artic wildlife. at the pile of blankets and laundry in the corner. the plants hanging and growing from the window sill. the plushies on your bed that must be remnants of your childhood spent with dr. noah. then slowly his eyes returned back to you, "it feels like you."

that alone nearly made your knees weak. you tried to hide it by turning toward the fireplace, kneeling to adjust the logs. behind you, you heard him step closer. then warmth at your back. zayne's hand settled gently at your waist, almost hesitant for the first time that night.

"you're nervous now," he murmured.

"yes." you turned slightly in his arms, surprised, "you?"

"i've never done this before."

your expression softened immediately. not the physical closeness. this - loving someone openly. wanting to be loved back.

you touched his cheek gently, "you're doing okay so far."

a quiet breath escaped him, then he kissed you again. the fire crackled softly nearby as his hands gradually grew more certain against you, careful touches becoming lingering ones. every kiss felt like discovery, like zayne was learning you with the same quiet intensity he gave everything else in his life.

only this time, there was softness in it too. you felt it when he held you close against his chest. when he brushed his thumb against your cheek between kisses. when he whispered your name against your lips like it meant something precious.

"i don't think you understand what you've become to me," he admitted quietly at one point, voice rougher now.

your heartbeat stumbled, "what am i to you?"

zayne looked at you for a long moment beside the firelight, then answered honestly.

"home."

the word settled into you completely. and when you kissed him again after that, pulling him down with you onto the thick blankets near the fireplace. his hand slid under your sweater, fingers splaying across your stomach, warm and possessive. he traced the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, watching your face for any flicker of uncertainty. when you arched into his touch, he smiled a rare, genuine smile that made your heart ache.

you reached up, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, letting the fabric fall open. his chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. zayne lowered his head, kissing your neck and collarbone before pulling your sweater over your head.

he watched you for a moment. messy hair, cheeks glowing, and chest rising and falling steadily. you were the epitome of the word beautiful. he leaned in to kiss the swell of your breasts through the fabric and his hand slid lower, but instead of rushing, he paused, his fingers resting at the waistband of your jeans. he looked up at you, his gaze searching.

"is this your first time?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. there was no judgment in it, only a gentle reverence, as if he wanted to handle something precious.

you nodded, your cheeks flushing even deeper under the firelight. "i've…never done this before. with anyone."

something shifted in his expression—an almost unbearable tenderness. he leaned up and kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, slow and sweet.

"thank you," he murmured against your mouth, "for wanting it to be with me. i'll be careful. i promise. tell me if anything hurts, or if you need me to stop."

he resumed his exploration, but now with an even more deliberate gentleness. his fingers worked the button of your jeans open, easing them down your legs along with your underwear. the air was cool against your skin, but the fire and zayne's body shielded you from the rest of the cold.

he shrugged off his own shirt completely, then unfastened his pants, letting them pool beside him. his cock was already hard, thick and flushed at the tip. he stroked himself once, twice, then he lowered himself over you again, his weight pressing you into the soft rug. his mouth found yours, kissing you deeply as his hand slid down between your legs. his slender fingers traced your folds, finding you already slick with arousal. he circled your clit gently, making you whine against his lips.

he whispered, awe in his voice. "is this okay?"

"yes," you breathed, your hips bucking into his touch.

he moved lower, finding your navel kissing gently as you sucked in a harsh breath at the feeling of his mouth so close to where you wanted him. then he moved again, lips pressed against your inner thigh, lightly nibbling the supple skin. you whimpered, the feeling was new and electrifying.

finally his tongue made its way to your entrance where he lapped gently at your folds. nose bumping your clit every time he moved a particular way. he took his time, ravishing every part of you. the way you started to find your voice, moaning softly. the way your hips twitched from pleasure every so often. your senses started to blur together. you weren't entirely sure where you ended and he began.

"more, zayne please i need to feel you." you whispered, throat going dry.

he reluctantly pulled himself away from your heat and positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your slit. he looked into your eyes, holding your gaze.

"i love you," he said again, and then he pushed inch by inch inside.

the stretch was sudden and intense, a sharp pressure that bordered on pain. you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. zayne froze immediately, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged.

"shh, i know," he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "just breathe. i'll wait."

he stayed there, buried only halfway, letting your body adjust. his thumb found your clit again, massaging gently, coaxing pleasure to mingle with the ache. slowly, the tension began to ease. you felt your inner muscles relax around him, the initial burn softening into a deep, strange fullness.

"i'm okay," you whispered. "keep going."

he eased deeper until his hips were flush against yours. he paused again, letting you feel the weight of him inside you, the completeness of it. a tear slipped from the corner of your eye, not from pain, but from the overwhelming intimacy of it.

zayne kissed it away. "you're so brave," he murmured. "so beautiful"

he began to move—slow, shallow thrusts at first, each one coaxing a little more pleasure from the initial discomfort. his mouth never left your skin. kissing your jaw, your throat, your breasts, whispering love and praise into your flesh.

the fire crackled beside you, casting flickering light across the tangle of your bodies. his pace increased gradually, finding a rhythm that made you let out high pitched moans, your hips rising to meet his. the pain completed gone and replaced by a building pressure, a coil of heat low in your belly.

you clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. your orgasm built slowly, like the fire's warmth spreading through the room. when it crested, it washed over you in waves, your walls clenching around him, drawing a desperate groan from his lips.

he buried his face in your neck, his hips stuttering as pulled out to release on your inner thighs. you whined at the loss of him inside you as you continued to ride out both your climaxes with trembling control.

the fire popped and settled. the room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the crackle of flames, the beating of your hearts. for the remaining of the night, the rest of the world disappeared into snow, warmth, and the sound of him finally loving you out loud.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

after another month, you and zayne had discussed how you hadn't actually been on what most people would consider a 'proper date' even after all this time.

that's how you ended up staring at him suspiciously while bundled beneath layers of clothing beside a frozen lake miles away from the station.

"you planned this?"

"i'm capable."

"that remains under review."

ignoring you entirely, zayne unpacked a thermos and two containers from his bag.

"is that homemade food?" you asked, mouth beginning to water

"dr. noah said if i took you somewhere involving cafeteria meals again, he would personally intervene."

the aurora shimmered faintly overhead, reflected across endless ice. for a while, the two of you simply sat together in comfortable silence, eating your meal while snow drifted lazily around you.

then quietly, thoughtfully, you said, "i think this might be the happiest i've ever been."

the words slipped out before you could stop them. immediately, you looked down in embarrassment. when you finally glanced back up, zayne reached for your gloved hand slowly. held it carefully between both of his.

and very quietly, he said "me too."

before you could respond, he spoke again — quieter this time.

"i need to go back to linkon."

you shouldn't have been surprised. as a matter of fact, you weren't. and yet the words still landed wrong and your body went still.

"when?"

"a few weeks." he responded carefully

you nodded slowly, processing it. zayne didn't look away from you.

"there's a position i accepted," he continued. "cardiothoracic research. surgery rotation as well."

you let out a small breath, "that sounds like you."

"it's exactly what i have always wanted to do"

then he added, quieter like he didn't want to say it, "i will have to return."

not if. not maybe. just fact. you understood that immediately. zayne didn't drift. he moved with intention.

"okay..." you said softly.

that made his gaze sharpen slightly, "you're not asking anything."

you shrugged faintly, "there's nothing to ask."

then you added, more gently, "you worked for this."

zayne didn't speak immediately. when he did, his voice was lower.

"come with me."

that was it. no buildup. no hesitation. an invitation spoken like it had already been sitting in him for a while.

your breath caught slightly. you looked at him properly now.

"to linkon?"

"yes."

zayne waited. he didn't interrupt your thought process. didn't push. just watched you like he always did when you were deciding something important.

finally, you exhaled. "i can't," you said quietly.

zayne didn't react immediately and a pause stretched between you.

then you continued, "i've lived here my whole life."

"and uncle noah—this place, everything i do is here."

then you reached for his hand again. slowly. deliberately.

"i think," you said carefully, "i have a lot more to learn here still."

"i thought you might say that." he said

"i'm not saying i won't ever leave," you continued. "but not this way. not now."

you looked at him, "are you disappointed?"

the question came out before you could stop it.

zayne tilted his head slightly, "no."

you searched his expression. he didn't look away. then, after a pause, "i would have liked to have you there," he admitted.

"but i will come back here."

you nodded, "i know."

"and you will be here."

it wasn't a question. it was trust. you squeezed his hand once more.

"waiting for you," you said. and for now, that was enough.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

the first three months of being apart were almost good. not perfect, but close enough that you let yourself believe distance might actually be survivable.

at first, it looked like it would be. zayne called when he said he would. sometimes early mornings for you, sometimes late nights for him, but he always showed up on the screen in some version of exhaustion that still softened when he saw you.

you learned to time your days around him. he learned to end his meetings early when he could. it wasn't ideal. but it was something. and for a while, something was enough.

then the work started to take him. slowly, at first, then all at once.

"i'll call you tonight," became "i'll try."

"i'm free at 10," became "i might still be in surgery."

then one day, it was just a message.

'sorry. emergency case. talk later.'

you stared at it for a long time before replying.

'okay. stay safe.'

that was the pattern after that. you told yourself it was fine, because your life didn't stop either. animals still got injured. storms still trapped people in places they shouldn't be. you stayed busy. you had to.

at first, you were still the one trying harder. you sent updates. pictures from the rehabilitation wing. voice messages during late shifts. small things that said i'm still here with you.

zayne always responded. just…later.

'i saw this during surgery. that's good. be careful in storms.'

short replies. functional yet not unkind.

and you started noticing something worse than distance. you were still building your life around him yet he wasn't building anything around you.

the turning point wasn't dramatic. it was a missed call. then another. then three in a row that he never returned.

one night after about two weeks you got through. zayne sat in a dim office somewhere in the hospital, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, exhaustion carved into his face in a way that looked almost permanent now.

"you look tired," you said softly.

"i am", he admitted.

you watched him carefully, "did you eat today?"

"yes."

you waited. he didn't elaborate. you nodded slowly, "okay."

silence. not comfortable anymore. zayne glanced at something off screen, then back at you.

"i have rounds early tomorrow," he said.

you blinked looking around your room, "it's already late where you are."

"i know."

you waited. nothing else came. no question about your day. no follow-up. no lingering moment or hesitation to hang up like there used to be.

then you finally said, "i think i'm the only one trying to keep this going."

zayne looked at you carefully through the screen.

"that's not true," he said.

but it didn't sound like denial. it sounded like regret finally pushing back.

you shook your head slightly, "it feels like it is."

"i'm trying, but i don't think i'm doing this well. i keep thinking i'll get back to the way it was, but—"

he stopped, because you both already knew. you spoke gently.

"i think we've been trying to hold onto something that doesn't have space to exist like this anymore.”

his eyes didn't leave you. "are you asking me to end it?" he asked quietly.

you shook your head once, "no...i think we already did," you said softly.

there was no anger. just truth settling into the place of silence. zayne closed his eyes briefly. when he opened them again, his voice was steady.

"i don't want to lose you."

that part didn't change. it never had.

you nodded slowly, "i know." you held back the tears in your eyes, before continuing, "but i think a part of you lost me when you left and now the rest followed."

and this time, he just looked at you for a long moment, like memorizing something he didn't know how to keep anymore.

"i'm sorry," he said finally.

you smiled faintly, even though it hurt.

"i don't think either of us did anything wrong."

zayne nodded once. final in a way neither of you had really chosen, but both of you understood.

"okay," he said softly. not agreement but acknowledgment.

you both lingered for a second longer on the call. neither of you wanting to be the one to end it. then you did, and this time it was for good.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

five years later

the convoy arrived without warning. machines cutting through white silence, tires biting into packed snow with controlled precision that felt almost disrespectful to the landscape. linkon always moved like that. like the world was something to be managed.

you stood beside your uncle at the edge of the station platform, coat pulled tight, watching the vehicles settle into formation.

"you knew they were sending hunters," you said quietly.

"no," noah replied. "but i knew they wouldn't send anyone unarmed."

the lead vehicle door opened. zayne stepped out first, and your body registered him before your mind did.

five years layered into a single second.

he looked different. more aged and refined. linkon had hardened the edges of the residency once carved into him. his posture was precise, his coat structured, and his presence controlled. but his eyes—his eyes still found you immediately. no hesitation. just recognition held steady across distance.

a second figure stepped out behind him. a women in a deepspace hunter uniform that is reinforced, functional, designed for field work. she moved like someone used to instability and still choosing control anyway.

she took in the station in one sweep. then her gaze landed on you.

"dr. l/n," she said.

you nodded once, "deepspace hunter mc."

"mission lead actually," she added calmly.

dr. noah exhaled behind you. "of course linkon sends hunters for retrieval."

mc glanced at him, "we were assigned recovery of a lost research unit."

"lost," noah repeated. "meaning they are already gone or worse."

"that is unknown," she replied evenly. "that is why we are here."

zayne still hadn't spoken, but he also hadn't looked away from you. mc turned slightly toward the group.

"we are conducting a classified retrieval operation," she said.

a holo-map activated from her wrist device, projecting terrain into the air between you. "a linkon research team went dark three days ago following confirmed wanderer engagement in the northern ridge sector."

the arctic terrain that you called your home appeared in layered light—fractures. it was danger mapped into geometry.

zayne stepped closer to the map. mc adjusted her position beside him without hesitation. it was familiar, like two people who had done this before. done it often. dr. noah noticed. so did you. you just didn't comment on it. because it was clear—without anyone saying it. that this wasn't just a work dynamic. mc was not an unfamiliar colleague. she was his partner, and it all existed quietly in the space between them.

dr. noah leaned slightly toward you. "that explains why they sent him specifically."

you didn't answer. your throat suddenly closing up and feeling dry.

"we require local terrain navigation support," she said, turning her attention to you. "dr. l/n. you are recommended."

that pulled you fully into the moment. zayne's gaze flicked to you again - just briefly.

mc continued without pause, "you are the most familiar with unstable ridges and animal migration paths in this region."

noah answered before you did, "she knows the terrain better than anyone in linkon or arctic combined."

mc nodded once. "then she is essential to the mission."

this was not a request. it was an assignment.

"understood," you said.

mc shifted slightly, "we deploy at first light."

the briefing dissolved into logistics. everything had order. everything had purpose.

you stepped outside onto the observation deck without really deciding to. the wind hit your face immediately and for a moment, you just stood there.

"you still do that." a voice called

you didn't turn right away. you already knew. zayne stood a few steps behind you with the same controlled posture, but now there was no professional buffer. just empty space.

"you mean stand outside in subzero wind voluntarily?" you asked.

"yes."

you exhaled faintly, "it helps me think."

"i remember," he said.

then you looked at him properly, "you look different. linkon suits you," you added lightly.

his gaze didn't leave you. yet something in his eyes looked wounded at that statement.

"and you never left." he said

"no stayed right here like i promised."

that came out a bit harsher than you intended, but this was your truth.

zayne studied you for a long moment. then, carefully, "i did not expect it to feel like this."

you tilted your head slightly, "like what?"

he hesitated just once before stepping closer towards you.

"like i didn't leave everything behind."

your breath caught slightly, but you didn't step forward to meet him halfway. you couldn't bring yourself too. inside the station, movement returned. mc had followed. she stepped out into the wind, adjusting her gloves as she approached. she looked at zayne first.

"everything finalized?" she asked.

"yes," he replied.

mc's gaze shifted briefly to you, then back to him, "i'm sorry was i interrupting something?"

and just like that—he stepped into motion beside her. returning to the role he occupied in this moment.

"no i was just leaving"

that stung more than you cared to admit. then they disappeared back inside and the arctic wind filled the space they left behind like it had never been interrupted at all.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

the next day you were completely focused on one thing only. retrieving the lost group quickly and safely and returning to your normal life. you moved ahead of the group, boots cutting a line through packed frost, your gaze tracking terrain changes that didn't show up on any linkon feed. behind you, footsteps matched yours. not perfectly but closely enough that you didn't have to check. zayne. mc followed a few paces behind, scanning the ridge line with precision, eyes moving between the earth and the two of you ahead.

she noticed everything. she just didn't interrupt it. not yet anyway. it happened again an hour later. wind picked up along the ridge edge, visibility dropping into shifting white.

you raised your hand slightly without thinking, "stop."

the group halted. zayne was already scanning ahead.

"pressure shift incoming" you said.

he nodded once, "a storm from the west corridor."

you glanced at him briefly, "that wasn't in the forecast."

"it rarely is accurate in this sector," he replied.

you exhaled softly, "then we wait it out in that cave up ahead."

there was no discussion. just agreement that didn't need negotiation. mc stayed back as you and zayne moved forward slightly to assess shelter structure. she watched the two of you step into the rock fold at the same time. not coordinated. just…synchronized.

inside the shelter, wind muted slightly. you removed one glove, flexing your fingers and zayne did the same out of habit. she stood far enough away giving space without needing to be asked. that was when she saw it more clearly. you and him. the way he passed you a heat pack without you asking. the way your eyes lit up ever so slightly before you nodded a thank you his way.

later, as the group moved again, mc finally spoke over comms.

"you two move well together," she said.

you glanced back slightly. "we've worked this terrain before."

"i don't mean the terrain," she replied.

zayne didn't respond immediately. neither did you. then he said quietly, "history helps."

it wasn't until much later, when you paused again at a ridge overlook, that she saw it fully. you were pointing out structural collapse points ahead, voice steady, grounded in familiarity with the land. zayne was watching you. not the landscape—you. and when you spoke, he responded without delay because he already knew what you would say.

mc adjusted her grip on her weapon slowly. not because she felt excluded, but because she realized there was a threat. one that was precise and quiet. she had known zayne in linkon. he was controlled and efficient, always slightly distant in a way she assumed was just him.

but here with you, he was something else. her zayne didn't belong to this place. but a version of him did. and that version— was already walking ahead of her instead of with her. and mc realized, with clinical clarity, that she had never actually seen him like this before. not once in the years she had been beside him.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

the aurora didn't fade that night. it thinned out like something deciding it had already been seen enough. the research team had been retrieved hours ago. alive and shaken but stable. the mission was no longer urgent, it was concluding. and this was the final night.

you and zayne ended up at the overlook again. not by agreement but by inevitability. the arctic made patterns out of people without asking permission. the sky above you moved in slow ribbons of light—fainter now, almost hesitant.

zayne broke the silence first. "you did well," he said quietly.

"i was just doing my job"

"you kept us from losing the southern corridor," he continued. "without your route correction, we would have lost two hours. possibly the team."

you looked away toward the snowfield below. "it was obvious," you said.

"it wasn't," he replied. that made you pause slightly. then you heard him continue, softer. "you still underestimate what you see."

you didn't answer immediately because that used to be something he said years ago. back when things were simpler and you were young and naive.

then you said, quietly, "you're exactly where you were always meant to be. saving people. making decisions no one else can make under pressure. you don't hesitate, you just act. that's who you are."

zayne didn't respond immediately, his gaze stayed fix on you. then he asked almost unsure, "and you?"

you exhaled slightly. "i stayed," you said. "and i became someone who understands what survives out here."

the wind shifted just enough to move the edge of your coat. zayne stepped slightly closer to block you from the breeze—not deliberate at first, just closing distance as naturally as he always did.

you didn't step back and the space between you narrowed until it stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like choice. zayne looked at you longer than before. different than before. something in him had stopped calculating and started remembering. his hand lifted slightly. just enough that it existed between intention and action. neither of you moving.

for a second, everything else fell away. there was no mission. no mc. no years lost. zayne's gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes and he leaned in, slow and controlled. you didn't stop him but you didn't move toward him either. you simply stayed right there where the past and present finally touched the same point. the distance between you nearly disappeared when—"zayne."

mc's voice cut through the ridge wind. not sharp. not panicked. just real. the world returning. zayne stopped immediately. his hand lowered before it ever reached you. the moment didn't break, it simply ended before becoming real. he turned his head slightly toward her voice. mc stood nearby, posture steady, expression controlled—but her eyes were clearer now than they had been all mission.

"i've been calling you," she said. "we need to finalize departure prep."

zayne didn't move away from you immediately. for a fraction of a second, he still stood too close. then slowly—he stepped back.

"i know," he said quietly.

mc waited not intruding. zayne finally turned fully toward her and something settled back into place when he did.

"let's go," he said, voice low.

mc nodded and then she looked at you. not suspicious or territorial. just keenly aware of what might have happened between the two of you had she not shown up.

"i'll see you at departure," she said calmly.

then she turned and walked with him. side by side. as they always moved in linkon, and as they would continue to move.

you stayed on the ridge a little longer. the aurora was almost gone now. just traces of light dissolving into dark sky. and for the first time since he arrived—you understood that nothing about this mission had ever been about retrieval to either of you. it had been about return, and what could no longer fully return to where it once belonged.

the journey back to the station was quieter now that there was no more stakes. snow outside the convoy moved in long, indifferent sheets. mc sat beside zayne. they had done this before—long returns after completed operations. exhaustion softened into routine, but this time, zayne wasn't fully there.

"you've been quiet since we left," she said.

zayne didn't look up from the data pad in his hands.

"i keep thinking," he said quietly, "about how easily i adapted to leaving."

mc didn't respond immediately. it wasn't often zayne talked about his past. those grueling years she thought he had spent here during his residency.

"i told myself it was necessary. that distance was part of the work. an inevitable part of my future."

his voice lowered slightly, "and i believed it."

mc's gaze stayed on him now. letting him continue without interruption.

"but i don't think that was the full truth. i think i just stopped returning to what mattered most because i was good at not looking back."

mc didn't react outwardly, but she understood immediately. the arctic had not just been a mission. it had been a return to something he had never processed leaving behind. zayne's gaze stayed on the fading white outside.

"i thought i had moved forward," he said. "but i think i just built a life that didn't require me to resolve anything i left unresolved.”

"and now" he said slowly looking forward towards where you were sitting. " i don't think i want to leave again.”

mc looked at him for a long moment then said with a hint of sadness in her voice, "then you'll have to decide what you're willing to sacrifice."

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

the station was already in departure preparation when you arrived. too many people moving with practiced efficiently. and mc—she was leaving. you saw her near the vehicles already packed. zayne stood nearby, not with her, yet not without her either. somewhere in between.

you caught fragments of conversation without meaning to.

"you're not returning on schedule?" she asked him.

"i'll follow later," zayne replied.

there was no explanation. simply a decision. mc studied him for a moment.

then said, quieter looking down at her feet, "it's her isn't it?"

she finally reached that conclusion and zayne didn't deny it. mc exhaled once.

"i see" she said. "you didn't used to hesitate like this."

zayne's gaze stayed forward. "i didn't used to have anything i refused to leave behind," he said.

you stepped back before either of them noticed you. you hadn't intented on listening, but you already had and it didn't feel like something you could unhear. you left the station without announcing it. the frozen lake wasn't far. the same lake where you left a piece of your heart behind. you intended now to collect it.

the ice stretched wide and pale beneath you, reflecting a sky that you replayed so many times in your memory. this was where you and zayne had once had a date. where he asked you to move to linkon with him...and you said no. some days part of you had regretted that decision and wondered what your life might have turned into if you had gone with him. but now here you were as you stood at the edge waiting for your thoughts to stop sounding like his voice.

the station felt at peace after mc left. zayne didn't board with her. he watched the trucks depart until the last vehicle disappeared into the white horizon. only then did dr. noah speak.

"you're not going with them."

zayne didn't turn immediately, "no."

noah studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose.

"i was wondering when you'd stop running on habit and start making choices again."

zayne's gaze shifted slightly toward the direction of the frozen lake.

"i came back because i finally understood the severity of what i left behind."

noah watched him carefully following his gaze. he knew where you had gone. "you're talking about her."

zayne didn't deny it. but noah saw the flash of every emotion he was trying to suppress behind his hazel eyes.

noah exhaled slowly, "linkon will keep functioning," he said. "it always does. it replaces people. it adjusts...but it doesn't replace people like her."

zayne looked at him fully now. noah stepped closer slightly. his tone shifted—not softer, just direct.

"so whatever you do next, make sure you understand something important."

zayne didn't speak as he gave him his complete attention.

"don't come back into her life like a man trying to fix what he broke just because he finally noticed the damage."

noah's gaze didn't waver. "if you're going to go to her, don't break her heart again trying to learn how to stay."

that landed differently. not as warning. as permission with consequence.

"i wont. i don't think i can afford to."

noah studied him one last time then nodded once, "good because she's not someone you can leave and assume will still be standing in the same place twice."

zayne's eyes shifted slightly toward the exit. toward the path. toward the frozen lake once more. where you already where. and this time—he moved.

❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎❄︎

he found you there yet didn't call out immediately. he just walked forward until the distance between you was small enough that warmth settled between you.

"you left without saying anything," he said.

you didn't turn fully, "i needed somewhere to think."

the frozen lake stretched beneath both of you.

"i spoke with mc before she left," he said.

that made you glance slightly in his direction.

"she noticed what i didn't want to name for a long time."

"and what's that?" you asked hesitantly

"i shouldn't have left you," he said.

the words didn't rush into your heart, they settled like a heavy blanket. you didn't respond immediately, so he kept going.

"i told myself that i was choosing a path i had to follow. but i never realized there was always another choice."

you finally turned toward him as the wind moved between you, cold and unforgiving.

zayne met your gaze fully, "and i found something out there," he said quietly.

"not in linkon. not in the mission."

you knew where this was going and tried to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes.

"i found that i never actually stopped belonging to you in the way i thought i had.”

he stepped slightly closer hands reaching for yours and when you didn't pull away he carefully interlinked your fingers.

"i don't want to lose you again to something i convinced myself was more important than this," he said.

"i don't want to keep living a life where i leave the most important thing behind and call it responsibility."

the frozen lake held both of your reflections now—guilt, regret, and yet still hopeless love. for a brief second you saw your younger selves staring back at you.

zayne's voice lowered, "i found myself again in the arctic, but i think i only recognized it because you were still here."

that hit your heart in a way you weren't anticipating. you knew this place like the back of your hand because it was your home. but you were always his.

he exhaled once then said, "i'm not asking for what we were. i'm asking if there's still something here that we never actually finished becoming."

the silence after his words didn't feel empty. it felt full, like the lake beneath your feet—frozen, holding everything that had ever fallen into it.

zayne didn't move. he didn't push forward. he just waited, and just like the night where you bared your souls to each other, he let you be the one to decide what came next.

you exhaled a long breath you didn't realize you had been holding in. you didn't break eye contact, and for the first time since his arrival, you grounded yourself in the fact that he was actually here. not a memory. not a version. him. your zayne.

"you don't get to say things like that and expect it to erase what it cost," you said quietly.

zayne's expression tightened slightly, and you saw the faint line of water threatening to spill from his eyes.

"i stayed here after you left and told myself i understood why you had to go."

your voice stayed steady, "but that didn't mean it didn't hurt."

you looked around you, at the nature you had grown accustomed to, "i built a life that didn't require me to wait for anyone, because i couldn't afford to keep doing that."

"and when you came back," you added, softer now trying to keep your voice from breaking

"you didn't feel like someone returning. you felt like something i had already learned how to live without."

you saw it in him then—real understanding.

"and yet i still love you," you said voice finally cracking.

"even when i had to survive you not choosing me anymore."

zayne's gaze never left you, and when he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.

"i didn't stop loving you," he said.

the words felt like they were finally escaping something that had held them too long.

"i love you, even when i didn't know how to say it properly. even when we were thousands of miles apart. even when we...broke up."

his hands tightened around yours, "i've always loved you and i don't want to go back to a life where i come and go from you like you're something temporary in my existence."

"i want to come home," he said softly. "not to linkon or the arctic...to you."

you stepped forward this time without hesitation. zayne met you halfway. not pulling too fast. not holding back either. just finally allowing the distance to close properly. and when you kissed him it wasn't fractured by timing or interruption. it was shared. his hand steadied at your waist like he was making a promise with his body as much as his words.

when you pulled back after a few moments, neither of you fully stepped away. your foreheads resting close and breath shared in the cold air. zayne closed his eyes briefly.

"i'm not leaving," he said quietly.

you studied him for a moment, hand resting brushing lightly against his cheek, "you already made that mistake once."

his grip on you tightened slightly, "i know but i will never make it again. i'm staying where i belong."

your reflection stared back at you through his green eyes, and for the first time in the past five years, you saw happiness in your expression.

"good because i am not letting you go." you said pressing your lips to his again. as your lips moved in tandem, the frozen ice stretched endlessly beneath you both, only this time it didn't feel like something separating anything at all. it felt like something that finally held strong.

The world was ending. And some strange part of you knew this would happen. Humans were quite horrible. They steal, cheat, destroy without care for the planet, nature or natural order. Nothing new for the N109 zone.

The day the world ended was like any other, you and Sylus were getting ready to attend a fancy restaurant dinner together, investigating a target, but that would have to wait. Honestly, it was annoying, you were really looking forward to eating that steak.

“Sweetie.”

Sylus’s footsteps approach and you remain fixed to the emergency broadcast on the tv.

Imminent planetary destruction. T-50 mins.

You only had 50 minutes to live.

Sylus watched beside you, already changed into his suit for the dinner. When he realised what the announcement was for, he lets out a deep sigh and pulls you into a hug.

His warmth envelopes you like it’s the only life left in the world. And it very well may be. The announcement flickers in and out of view before cutting off completely, leaving you and Sylus huddled together under the light of the red emergency lights.

You can just make out his features in the reflection of the smart screen. He doesn’t look afraid.

“Sylus… what do we do now?” Your cheek rests against his chest. His heartbeat was fast.

He swallows and brings a hand up to your head. “I guess… whatever we like.”

Inside, Sylus’s mind was racing. He thought the end mind come, but not this soon. He thought of how he could make you feel okay about this, like there was anything he could do. He thought about Luke and Kieran. Mephisto. Nothing else but thinking of the ones he loves and tried to protect for so long. Not that you needed his protection, you’d kill him for saying that. But he certainly liked protecting you.

“Boss! Whats going on boss?!” Luke and Kieran burst into the room.

“Boss, what do we do?” Kieran adds.

Clearly, they had seen the announcement. Sylus smiles, they had actually thought to report to him.

“I want you both to do whatever the hell you want,” Sylus speaks loudly and clearly.

“But- boss…”

Luke and Kieran let a sadness pass over their faces. They would have to say goodbye, to you but to Sylus especially. They were forever grateful for him. For giving them the chance to live.

“It’s okay,” Sylus says. “I know what you’re both thinking, you don’t need to say anything.”

Sylus opens out an arm, inviting them to join the hug. They barrell into the both of you and squeeze hard.

“Boss?” They ask.

“Yes.”

“Just… thank you.”

“Of course.”

Sylus is a man of few words, mostly. But he tried to keep it together. None of you were crying, but it felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside.

“Now go do whatever you want,” Sylus says after a moment. “And that’s an order.”

“Yes boss,” they nod, and with a double salute at the both of you, they disappear from the doorway. They let out a few yells of freedom, echoing from far away in the mansion.

A minute after the announcement, loud sounds filled the air.

Bombs, fireworks, cars, planes, utter chaos. And Luke and Kieran were about to join them. No doubt, they’d give it their all. The most mischief they could conjure up would happen.

Both you and Sylus smile at the sound of the twins yelling and turn back to each other.

“What about Mephie?” You ask.

Sylus nods, “let’s go set him free.”

You take his hand and go in search for his nest. There were various he created around the mansion, but luckily you find him quickly. Sylus motions to a bedroom and tugs you inside. Mephisto was on the balcony.

Despite the world ending, the air was pleasant. Like Mother Nature wanted to send an apology. One final way to settle the score between humans and Mother Nature. Nature was kind even when humans were not.

You pull open the iron cast balcony door and admire Mephisto’s nest.

Raven’s collected. Even mechanical ones. And shiny things to be more exact. There was a glittering sea full of so many jewels and luxuries that would make anyone a billionaire.

“Mephisto…” Sylus starts but he pauses. How do you say goodbye to your bird? Your pet? Not just your pet but your own creation, your child? The one you engineered and shaped with your own two hands, has been by your side through countless missions an-

“Mephie… you’re free to go anywhere now. We’d just like you to know.” You say.

Sylus just swallows, waiting beside you.

Mephisto jumps up to a higher jewel encrusted branch and tilts his head.

“You’re free,” Sylus says thickly. Why was this the thing that almost broke him?

Almost. He didn’t even want to think about how to say goodbye to you. He pushes that thought deep into the back of his mind.

Mephisto trains his beady eyes on both of you in turn and dips in what looks like a bow. Even he knew the end of the world was here. Spreading his wings in a wide arc, he flaps before taking off in the wind. You both watch him fly over the city, free.

Below, it was smouldering. In less than a few minutes the world really had descended into chaos. Fireworks bursted into the night sky, polluting the air. Flares from the streets below.

“Even Mephie wanted to be free,” you comment.

“He’s an animal after all,” Sylus just says simply, watching the city as the mechanical bird flies out of sight.

He turns back to you and pulls you in by the waist gently. Sylus brings his forehead to meet yours and you both try to relax.

A bomb goes off somewhere nearby and you flinch. Sylus holds you tighter.

“The end of the world… is really noisy,” you can’t help let out a laugh.

It’s either laugh or cry, and you both knew laughing was the option you'd both pick.

“It really is loud,” Sylus nuzzles his forehead against yours. “I just…” You notice his gaze dips to your lips for just a second, and you don’t mind at all. “I just really want to hear you.”

“Where do you want to go?” You ask.

“Somewhere quiet, where we won’t be disturbed,” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smile.

“Hmm… the firing range?”

He takes in your face, looking for any sign of stress or protest. All he sees is devotion.

“Then let’s go.”

He lets you lead the way there, a little hurried to make the most of the time you both have together. Sylus is happy to slip into a silence thinking about you, listening to your laugh echoing in the mansion he built from the ground up. It lit him up like he was on fire, his love for you. And his need followed.

You laugh, looking back at him, and when you reach the stairs, needing to descend, you have the audacity to let go of his hand to take off your heels. He lets you, before scooping you clean off your feet into his arms.

“Sylus!”

“Relax, I’ve got you.”

You can feel his arm muscles harden beneath you, just slightly. He carries you down the stairs and across the ground floor. You watch his face carefully as he holds you. He looks down occasionally to make sure you’re still smiling at him, and you are.

“Take the couch with us, and your record player,” you suggest.

He looks down at you and lets himself smirk a little.

“Of course, kitten.”

The most comfortable couch and his favourite record player trail behind the both of you as he carries you down the final set of stairs. Past the armoury and into the shooting range.

The room was soundproof, of course, and so you focus on the sound of Sylus’s even footsteps on the ground.

He sets you carefully on your feet, keeping you close with a hand around your waist, as the couch and record player settle gently onto the floor.

“What do you want to play handsome?” You ask him. He still looked calm. A man at the end of the world, and he still looked calm.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies. But you notice he takes a moment to select what you recognise as his favourite record. He puts it carefully onto the turn table and drops the pin before turning back to you.

“Sylus…” you trail off.

“You know I’m not fond of big speeches, but I want to say this...” He takes your hand and brings it up to the side of your face.

The vinyl crackles and the first track begins to play. By the time it finishes, both of you will not exist. You push that though out of your mind as Sylus kisses your hand, bringing you back.

“Lost for words?” You laugh quietly.

“I just want to make them count.” He says slowly. “...I love you.”

“I love you too, Sylus.”

Despite everything, the both of you smile like idiots. All of this just felt so right. The faint smell of gunpowder and steel faded into the background as Sylus kisses you.

Sylus kisses you like you’re the only thing in his world, and you kiss him back like he’s the only thing in your world. And maybe the truth of it was really that simple. Everything was falling apart, but you both had each other. Always. To the very end.

You tug down on his tie so it loosens, and you feel Sylus give in slightly. Hell, he could not care where he was, except that your lips were on his. His favourite vinyl and being this close to you and Sylus had already entered heaven.

Your mouth is hot and deep on his, and you slowly push his backwards. He feels for the couch behind him with one steady arm and finds it, pulling you onto his lap.

He softens the kiss, bringing a hand up to your chest. You both part slightly. Following his gaze, you find your chest glowing red, emanating from his hand. But it came from you. Sylus could feel your bond pulling tighter and tighter between you.

“Our love,” you pant out, finding his eyes. His left eye lets out a red flash, a reflection. Leaning forward carefully, Sylus holds you as you kiss the corner of his eye. It lifts up in a smile, crinkling.

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls you closer, in front of him, heart racing. He dips his head slightly, but hovers, giving you every option to protest before he kisses your cheek. Once gently. Before moving to your jaw, pecking kisses along it before touching his lips to your neck.

He chuckles deeply at the sigh it produces from your lips. Even that laugh reverberates against your skin and makes you shiver. Sylus takes his time to wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him in his lap, hands steady against your back.

He dives back in so eagerly, so keen to worship you. Every inch of you. If this life with you was going to be over, he wanted to make you feel good one last time. At least before you find each other in your next life.

He sucks at your neck gently as you cling to him. “S-Sylus?”

“Shhh sweetie, I’ve got you. This is where I want to be. Making you feel good.”

The honesty in his words and deep voice sends a ripple through you as he returns to your neck, letting out small laboured breaths against his shoulder. He brings his hand to the top of your dress where he’s left marks on your skin, just above the red glow.

He asks for your permission like he hasn’t seen you naked a thousand times before. And the raw need in his eyes completely undoes you. You could tell his devotion was deep and pure. Here he was, the leader of Onychinus, the N109 zone’s most feared and dangerous individual, below you, before you, and deeply craving you.

You agree, sharing a smile before you lean forward to kiss him. He runs his hands up and down your spine, like he was committing it to memory. He wanted to remember your love and your body on his until the end of time. His fingers find the zip, and he gently tugs it down. You don’t even notice the chill of the air against your back, so warm and intertwined with him.

Sylus traces over your collarbone before slipping his hand deeper, under the top of your dress. You let out a surprised noise that Sylus smiles at. Damn him. But you couldn’t care less, you were already hazy at his touch.

He palms your breast as he kisses the middle of your chest. Sylus gives you one look, to see the look of bliss in your eyes before he replaces his hand with his mouth.

He sucks, keeping your hips close against his.

Fuck. If this is how the world is going to end. It feels so fucking good, you think.

He laps faster, more ardently. Like having access to you only drives him more crazy. Makes his need worse.

“Sylus,” he lets you call out his name as you run your finger through his hair, cradling him closer. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls back, kissing your resonance mark.

Your eyes look down at his, now clouded in a bliss. “I’m just… so hungry,” he bites his lip. His hair is long since ruffled by your hands, and he looks so cute like this beneath you.

“I’m sorry,” he continues, thinking he’s being too much, but you stop him. Push him back onto the couch gently and finally undo that tie. He catches your hands in his, but doesn’t stop you as your fingers trace down his chest. He takes your wrists gently as you slowly unbutton his black shirt and untuck it.

“Good thing I’m a snack.”

“And a tease.”

He doesn’t bother to take off your dress. He could access the most important thing anyway, so he decides to gather the hem in his hands and pull it up gently. The fabric pools against your stomach and chest as he moves you onto your back. You feel the fabric of his coat at your back, and you realise he must have spread it for you to lay on. Sylus was always this considerate, and you feel tears suddenly swell in your eyes.

Sylus’s firm hands find your thighs to caress them. He kneels and leans over you to press a gentle kiss against your mouth, another even softer against your forehead.

He moves back down your body, and gently opens your thighs. His fingers cuff your ankles, spreading you a tiny bit more open than before. You reach down to cover his hand with your own, watching in anticipation as Sylus gets closer and closer.

“Relax sweetie, I’ve got you.”

He presses a kiss right against your entrance and you realise just how wet you are. Sylus nuzzles you gently, but you’re still so sensitive. The fabric was wet and heavy already, his mouth so so warm. And Sylus was already hard.

As he reaches a finger up to the edge of your underwear, you speak out, “Wait Sylus…” His attention was instantly on you. Was this not what you wanted?

“Sylus, are you sure you want to spend your last moments like this?”

His eyes soften as he looks at you in adoration.

“There’s nothing I want more.”

His stare fixes on you as he settles back between your legs. You reach out to swipe the hair out of his face, before he fully pulls back the fabric and brings his mouth up to you, kissing gently.

The sudden sensation makes you inhale, and with every gentle lick and suck, you feel like you can never catch your breath. Like when you miss a step while walking down the stairs, or when your heart skips a beat, you just don’t feel the same for a while.

And Sylus just makes you feel so good. He moans against you, eating you, and it makes you tremble. That this is what he wanted to do with his time. And he fucking loved it.

Sylus was dying a happy man.

Laying against his coat, coming undone on him like this was the only thing keeping you sane right now. As he guides you through the waves of your orgasm, he takes everything from you until you don’t feel like moving.

He comes to lay beside you, letting you wrap yourself around him, wanting to be as close as possible.

It was at this point you realise the vinyl was still running. You recognise it as track nine of twelve.

“You missed your favourite piece,” you point out, utterly breathless.

“It’s okay sweetie, I heard it.” He nuzzles into your shoulder. “Came so well for me.”

You can’t be any more flushed or embarrassed, so you just shamelessly say, “Want you inside.”

“Hmm, what was that sweetie?” Sylus tilts your chin towards him.

“I want you inside.”

“You sure kitten? I’m already satisfied, I promise.” Sylus had already finished from eating you out. “At the sight of you I couldn’t help-”

“I’m the one not satisfied then,” you tease him.

“We can’t have that now, can we?”

Sylus wasn’t going to complain. He’s always been so happy to indulge you, and at the end of the world he wanted to spoil you.

He holds onto your thigh as he rests gently at your entrance.

His only regret was that he couldn’t have planned this out more. Not like he could have predicted when the end was. But he just hoped that you were happy.

Sylus enters you slowly, making sure to ease in.

“Feels so good,” you sigh, and he kisses your cheek, pulling you into the crook of his neck. Your hips move to meet his instinctively.

He inhales and exhales, trying to calm his racing heart but he gives up and just loses himself in your warmth. So fucking wet and warm for him.

“That’s it…” he encourages you, holding you in just the way he knows you like. “That’s it. You’re taking me so well, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Sylus imagines that that this life never ends. That the record keeps playing and doesn’t stop after the final track. But he also knows that his book has already been written. And that your fate is inevitably tied to his. That was more than enough.

“Just wanna be close to you,” you breathe out, hand across his back and in his hair.

“Me too sweetie. I’m right here.”

He strokes your hair, wrapping your body in his arms. You meet his eyes and can’t look away, wanting to memorise every fleck of colour, feeling of safety.

Sylus calls your name softly, “… thank you for making me so happy.” You let out a small sob, senses completely overwhelmed, but Sylus continues, adamant to let you know he loves you. Always and forever. “I love you, and I’ve cherished every moment with you. You’re the light of my life sweetie, don’t forget that.”

You rest your forehead close against his, sure and calm. “I won’t forget, I swear it… I love you Sylus.”

He pulls you closer one last time. The vinyl stops playing.

There was no panic in your eyes as the world ended. And Sylus was relieved to see that there wasn’t. Only pure love. For him.

If humans were so horrible, horrible enough to destroy a whole world a million times over, it didn’t matter to Sylus. He would be just as greedy to know you in every lifetime.

In the end, you don’t remember when the world collapsed in his arms.

It just…

did.

You and Sylus wrapped in each others arms, your minds and bodies made a silent vow, resonating in the dark of a decaying world: this wasn’t going to be the end.

You’d find one another again. And that was a promise.

© xavibloom 2026

"I can't wait to read it," Suguru teased, trying to peek down at your laptop before you shut it. His cute little antennas twitching in annoyance at your refusal to let him peer at a single page. These days, you'd traded your old office for writing in his room, sprawled out on his bed or comfortably reclined back in his armchair while he handled his...cult duties.

You'd never been embarrassed over any of your work before.

But it was all about him, after all.

"I think I need some more material," you muttered, caressing his cheek just before he laced his fingers through yours to pull you up to your feet from his chair. "Care to inspire me?"

"Now's not a good time," Suguru softly said, his face scrunching up while your smile twisted into a pout.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You grumbled, feeling childish as you snatched your hand back from him to cross your arms.

He'd been taking good care of you since he saved you from Sukuna and Satoru. But he still hadn't, y'know, taken care of you. Petting you and promising a later that still hadn't come, making excuses that you were still too hurt, or he was too tired before coaxing your attention away.

"I have a mating cycle," he muttered, cocking his head to the side as he resigned him to stroking your hair soothingly to dissolve your annoyance. "I can't ask you to-"

"You can't ask me to what?" You demanded to know, one hand sneakily untying his robe as he sighed at you.

"Let's just say it won't just be cum in you," he warned, lips pressed together in a thin line you ached to kiss away.

"What will it be then?" You pressed, breath getting caught in your throat as you dragged your stare down to the thick outline of his cock against his thin boxers.

"Eggs."

It should've scared you.

So much of him probably should've terrified you.

He wasn't entirely human. He would never be. But you wanted him more than you'd ever wanted anything before.

Because in all the places you'd been, in all the adventures you'd experienced, you found something you'd never known you were even looking for in him.

Love.

"I can take it," you whispered.

However impulsive your promise was, you couldn't find so much as an inch of regret when you were finally back beneath him, his big hands slipping your panties down your thighs before he dragged his tongue over your skin. Licking a clean stripe up along the inside of your thigh, both of you pretending not to notice the bandage still wrapped around your leg, concealing the scar tape plastered over your healing wounds.

It would take a while.

The scar might never go away.

But it didn't matter. Not when you won.

What did Sukuna and Satoru get?

Nothing. Neither of you even spoke of them anymore. Left them as little more than ruined pages in a story that you were both better off ripping out.

"I missed this," he muttered into your skin, inhaling the scent of you as he ran his tongue over your entrance.

"You waited for it," you reminded him, fingers tousling his hair as he nudged the sharp tip of his nose against your clit.

"The last thing I want is to scare you," he retorted, oh-so-responsible as he started working his tongue in-and-out of your slick folds.

"You're not going to scare me," you scoffed back at him, thighs attempting to close around his head as you rested your head back against his pillow. Arching your back off the bed as you bit back a moan, lungs starting to ache with the effort of sucking in breaths.

Suguru already committed murder for you.

What more could you ask from a man?

"Are you sure?" Suguru dryly mocked, peeking up at you with those pretty, hypnotizing eyes.

"I'm sure," you breathlessly replied, throat constricting when his warm chuckle danced over your sensitive clit.

But the moment he traded his tongue for his cock, you weren't quite so confident. Assurance melting with how much of him was pushed against you, his palms traveling over your body like he couldn't stand even an millimeter going untouched.

Unloved.

His thick girth stretching you out, the familiar burn searing through you, setting every nerve ending in your body on fire as he pinned you down hard into his mattress.

"You wanna change your mind?" He offered, ever the tease as he rolled his hips down, holding you hostage with that deep stare as your body quivered at being broken in.

"No," you answered fast, brows immediately furrowing in frustration when he stalled mid-thrust just to make you squirm and shudder.

Amusement sparkling in his eyes as one of his hands slowly skimmed between the valley of your breasts, up to your throat before stopping just over your face.

"That's my good girl," he murmured, slipping his thumb inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to make you part your lips more. Returning to fucking you, slow at first, picking up the pace as he felt your walls start to greedily suck him in.

"Mm, mhm," you moaned, lashes fluttering as kept sucking on his thumb. He pressed it against the roof of your mouth, distracting you from his size by giving you something to do, you supposed.

The fat tip of his cock was grinding greedily against your cervix, pushing, pushing, pushing like he wanted to pry it open and plant himself inside. It hurt. At first.

But it was like the pain was being overwritten, your body rewired to want it. To need it there, like each thrust of his hips was carving himself a place in your pussy - and your heart.

"My precum," he started, sucking in a shaky breath as he struggled to keep a leash on his self-restraint. "It makes it easier."

"Makes what easier?" You gasped when he slipped his thumb back out of your mouth for a moment, tugging at his roots, pulling at his hair as he rubbed right up against that spot he knew left you seeing stars.

"To fill you up," he cheekily answered, smirking as his other hand pushed your unwounded thigh firmly against your chest. Opening you up nice and wide for him to plunge himself deeper inside.

Pleasure warping your sense of self, nearly shattering your sanity as his base began to balloon.

"It won't hurt," he promised, pressing a brief kiss to your lips before slipping two thick fingers back inside. "I swear."

You didn't know what you expected it to feel like.

Your walls stretching and straining to accommodate the swell of his cock, the eggs slowly traveling up and pushing up past your cervix. It wasn't painful, but it was some other feeling entirely. Something foreign and strange, splintering you just to stitch you back together as the first egg edged up against your womb.

It wasn't hard, but it was a bit bigger than you expected, a slight squish to it that made your stomach flutter and twist as he tenderly murmured your name.

Shallow thrusts forcing it through, like he was trying to go slow to ease you into this, to not break you while he molded you around him. Made you wholly his as he started to pump one egg after another inside your waiting womb.

The pressure was mind-melting, walls struggling to make enough space to him as the eggs rubbed against each other, your whimpers coming out strangled when your tongue was busy swirling around his thick digits.

"Fuck," he hissed, antennas vibrating as your own hands slid down to skim over his thin wings, finding a sensitive spot that made his cock throb and pulse inside you.

You wanted him to cum.

Wanted to be so full you wouldn't be able to so much as roll over aafter this.

Stuck in bed while he sunk his teeth into your skin and leave a thousand love bites littered across your body.

Tracing little hearts over his wings, some invisible thread deep inside you pulling taut as his cock rammed right up against your cervix, your body clinging to him as you practically tasted your own climax.

Clawing for the release, his fingers pushing down on your tongue and one last egg shoving its way inside to join the rest, his cum warm and wrapping you in a warmth you immediately wanted to live in as stars scattered across your vision.

A desperate whine ripped from you as his hips drove all the way down, trapped between the bed and his broad frame, toes curling and thighs aching as you glanced down at the connection between you and him.

The way you almost looked pregnant, unable to even see where his cock was currently keeping you plugged full of his cum and eggs. Beads of sweat rolling down his chiseled and scarred chest, heaving with long breaths as he stared at the shape of you.

He didn't want to pull out.

And you couldn't find it in yourself to want him to either.

Almost pouting when he did, eyeing his leaking cock as he stroked one final drop of thick cum out onto your skin with a sigh.

"So this is happily ever after, huh?" He exhaled, rubbing the slight swell of your stomach with a content sigh. Pressing down experimentally just below your belly button, the eggs shifting around inside of you as you squirmed and shifted over his sheets.

"I guess so," you mumbled in agreement, exhaustion lingering in your bones as he pulled you in against him. "So, are these, going to like, hatch?"

He smiled at you, pretty purple eyes shimmering and swirling as the little lines by them crinkled softly.

"Do you want them to?"

a very happy ending for our mothman. i'll leave it up to you guys if they have cute little moth babies or not. reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3

some sort of protofield fluctuation has you both trapped together in a close environment, pink fog permeating the air, heating up your bodies to the point of feverish delirium. both your clothes and his clothes are torn from battle. his eyes can't help but linger on your skin, on the soft expanse of your stomach and thighs, your tits threatening to spill out through the torn white fabric of your hunter's uniform.

caleb knows he shouldn't be looking at you this way. he knows this is wrong, he knows you're his precious little sister and big brothers don't look at their little sisters like they're meant to be fucked.

but your face is flushed and your chest is heaving and each breath has you squeezing your thighs together while caleb's hard-on grows. years and years of repressing his feelings, of watching you grow and pretending like it doesn't kill him to see you not needing him anymore, of stealing your under and jacking off to the scent only for the guilt to eat him alive afterwards—it's mint dropped into a shaken up can of soda ready to burst.

so when you grab the back of his neck and pull him towards you for a kiss of sweetness and scorn alike, he clings to you and doesn't let go. his large hands grabbing and squeezing every place he can reach, tearing apart the fabric, the cold metal of his mechanical arm teasing your nipples into growing hard. caleb kisses you with a desperate need, a yearning that can't be explained with words but can be encompasses in the frantic rolling of his hips against yours, and in the breathless gasps in between your lips and his.

"we can't—" caleb chokes out, even as your hands roam his stomach and unbuckle his belt. "we shouldn't—"

you shouldn't and yet you are and you're enjoying it. hands which held your heart like no one else finally holding your body and touching you in places you've never shared with anyone else before. caleb moans when you bite the column of his throat, teeth sinking into flesh, reclaiming the rib which came out of your chest. he lives for you and you can't live without him. twisted snakes like an ouroboros of sin, eating each other until the end of time.

"gege, please," you whisper in his ear, rubbing his shaft with the heel of your hand. "it's the only way out."

caleb's hands rest on your hips, violet eyes which hold the weight of the universe gazing back at you the way stars gaze at humans. he can't, he shouldn't, he won't—and yet, he will. he will for you. no matter how wrong it is, he always will for you.

“don’t,” you whisper, taking a step back. “don’t you dare stand here and crack jokes. you don’t get to do that anymore”

the smile vanishes, replaced by weary resignation. he takes a step forward, and you take another back, a pathetic little dance in the narrow space of your hallway. he stops, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “okay, okay. . . no jokes. i’m sorry.”

“your apologies are worthless to me, getō.” he flinches. you see it clearly, the tightening around his eyes, the subtle clenching of his jaw. good. you want him to feel a fraction of the void he left inside you.

“you’re right,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, serious hum. “i’m not sorry for leaving jujutsu high. i’ll never be. i’m only sorry that it hurt you.”

sometimes the truth cuts deeper than any lie ever will.

“get out,” you say, the words rendering your throat raw. “get out of my apartment.” he doesn’t move. violet eyes unreadable. “i’ll call satoru. i’ll tell him you’re here. i swear to god, getō, i’ll do it”

“you don’t mean that,” he says, with a certainty that makes your blood boil. “you want me here. you missed me” he’s right. and you hate him for it. you hate him for knowing you so well.

“you’re delusional,” you spit, “you must be. what makes you think you have any insight into what i want ? you left. you chose your cursed ideology over me. so don’t stand here and tell me what i want as if that’s ever mattered to you”

he takes another step closer, and this time you hold your ground, your chin lifted in defiance. he’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the chill that has settled deep in your bones. his scent, sandalwood and something metallic, maybe blood ? you wouldn’t be surprised at this point, wraps around you, a phantom limb you’ve been trying to amputate for months. years.

“i know you’re angry,” he says, cooing in a way that used to make you melt, but now only makes your skin crawl. “but underneath all that . . . you missed me. just like i missed you.”

“missed you ?” you can’t help but laugh “i miss the boy i thought i knew. i miss the future we were supposed to have.”

he flinches again, harder this time. “that’s not fair.”

“fair ?” you’re shouting now, your voice echoing in the small space, raw and ragged. “you want to talk to me about fair after everything you’ve put me through ? what’s fair about loving someone who chose to become a monster ?”

“say it again,” he murmurs, “call me a monster.” he’s cupping the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you flush against him.

you should be fighting, screaming, clawing his eyes out. but your body remembers him even when your mind wants to forget. “you’re a monster, suguru,”

“i know” his gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. instead, he just rests his forehead against yours, eyes closing, breath fanning against your skin. “that’s why i came to say goodbye,“ the words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

goodbye ? what the actual fuck ? he’s been gone for three months, and now he’s here to say goodbye ?

“what ?” you manage to choke out.

“it’s not safe for me to be here anymore” he says, his voice quiet. “it’s not safe for you if i’m here. i won’t bother you like this anymore”

“no,” you shake your head fervently. “no, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to just . . . end it.”

“i have to . . . you’re so much better off without me. i know. you know” he says, his voice softening. he releases his grip on your neck, thumb stroking your cheek, a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache. he leans in just a fraction more, lips hovering a breath from yours. “so let me be with you one last time.” he whispers, “can i ?”

you pull back just enough to meet his violet gaze. you see the man you loved, the monster he’s become, and the ghost of what could have been, all tangled together in the face of the man who is about to break your heart for the very last time.

it’s the cruelest question he’s ever asked you. because saying yes is an act of self-immolation. it’s agreeing to let him burn you one last time, knowing fully well he’ll walk away and leave you in the ashes. but saying no . . . means extinguishing everything you have left of him. and you’re not sure which will hurt more. you hate him. you love him. you want him to leave. you want him to never let you go. “yes” what even is self-respect ?

he presses his lips against yours without hesitation. drawing you into a kiss that tastes of regret and longing and all the years you’ll never have. he pours everything into it, all the words he can’t say. he kisses you until you’re breathless, until you’re clinging to him, fists bunched in the fabric of his robes.

he doesn’t even try to lead you to your bedroom. he doesn’t have that much time to spare. he nudges you backward until your legs hit the edge of your couch and you tip over, sprawling against the cushions.

he falls to his knees, settling between your thighs, looping his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. the smooth fabric drags against your skin as he bares you to him. he’s starved for it, for you, his movements imbued with hunger that makes you shiver.

the first slow drag of his tongue against your clit is electric. a jolt of pure pleasure shoots up your spine, and you gasp, your back arching off the couch. he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves slowly, before dipping lower to lap at your slick. he groans, a sound of pure satisfaction, and the vibrations travel through you, making your thighs tremble. “god you taste even better than i remember”

he borderline worships you. his tongue a litany of apologies, his lips a prayer against your slick folds. he’s trying to cleanse himself of his sins through your pleasure, to find a moment of grace in the sanctuary of your body. to burn himself into your memory, to give you something to hold onto in the long, dark years to come.

“say my name, angel” he pleads, a saccharine string connecting his glossy lips to you. you want to deny him. you want to hold onto your anger, to your resolve. but he’s sucking your clit into his mouth so sweetly and the coil in your stomach is threatening to snap.

“suguru,” you gasp, his name a torn sob. “please.”

“that’s it,” he he hums in approval, his tongue flicking faster. “that’s my girl.” your hands fly to his hair, your fingers tangling in the thick, soft strands. you need to anchor yourself to him as he unravels you. you need to anchor yourself to him so he doesn’t disappear again.

he groans as you tighten your grip, pulling just enough to make him still for a moment. he looks up at you, his chin glistening with your arousal. a slow smile spreading across his lips. “pull it harder,” he murmurs, lowly “don’t be gentle, mhh, i don’t deserve that.”

he really doesn’t. so you let your fingers flit over his scalp and twist them in his hair, harder, pulling his head back, baring the long, elegant line of his throat. he hisses, his eyes fluttering shut, a look of pure bliss on his face. over the years, you’ve forgotten the power you have over him. to hurt him, to make him feel something other than the weight of his own convictions. you use it, your grip tightening as his mouth returns to your cunt

his tongue speaks of a hunger that can never be sated. he’s no longer just worshiping you; he’s using you, using your pleasure to drown out the voices in his head, to silence the ghosts that haunt him. and you let him, because you’re using him too, using his body, his mouth, to fill the gaping void he left inside you.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your clit, voice thick with emotion. “i’m so sorry beautiful” you don’t grace him with a response. you simply pull his hair again, harder this time, a silent punishment for all the times he’s left you, for all the promises he’s broken. he whimpers, a symphony of pleasure and pain, and redoubles his efforts, tongue incessantly flicking over your sensitive cunt.

his veiny hands keep your thighs firmly planted around his head. your fingers are trembling in his hair,?your hips bucking against his mouth. he can feel it, the way your muscles are tensing, the way your breath hitches, and he pulls you over the edge with a harsh suck on your clit.

“f-fuck sugu” you cry out, your thighs clamp down hard around his head as you cum, your body arching off the plush cushions. he laps up your release, leaving a trail of kisses between your folds, saliva becoming one with your slick

you’re well past the point of making a mess on his face but he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even slow his movements. he’s too drunk on you. too wrapped up in making you feel good to care about his cock dripping with pre-cum beneath his robes. he keeps going, the tip of his nose brushing against your bundle of nerves. his tongue relentless against your oversensitive slit.

suguru’s tongue circles your spasming hole as your second orgasm builds, far more intense than your first. your head is spinning and all you can do is tug on his hair, eliciting another low groan from him. “suguru,” you gasp,

he flattens his tongue, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your puffy clit. “i’ve got you,“ he murmurs, slipping two fingers inside you without much of a warning, lithe fingers curling upward justtt right “let go. let me take care of you.”

and you do. you let go of the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. you let go of everything but the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you. the way his hand grips your thigh, the sound of his voice as he whispers bittersweet nothings against your core.

your second orgasm leaves you limp and pliant in his arms but it’s not enough. suguru can’t get enough of you. he’s a man dying of thirst in the desert and you’re the only oasis he’ll ever know. he knows he has to leave, knows he has to walk back into the scorching sand and the cruel, unforgiving sun, but for tonight, for these few precious hours, he’s going to drink his fill. to absorb as much of you as he can, to memorize the feeling of your skin against his, the sound of your breath hitching, the way your fingers clench in his hair.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot against your slick flesh. salty tears brimming his waterline “so perfect —hck— i could stay here forever.”

it’s lie, and you both know it. he can’t stay forever. he can’t even stay until morning. but in this moment, you let yourself believe him. you’re too far gone to form a coherent response

he alternates between soft, teasing licks and hard, sucking kisses, a maddening rhythm that pushes you higher and higher. he’s not just trying to make you cum and repend up for lost time; he’s trying to give you both a taste of heaven, “remember me like this.” he begs, “remember that i loved you.”

you want to promise him that you will, that you’ll forget the monster and remember the man, that you’ll hold onto this memory and let it sustain you. but you can't speak. you can only gasp his name, your fingers tightening in his hair as your third orgasm ravages you.

when he finally pulls away, his face is glistening, his violet almond-eyes are heavy-lidded with satisfaction. he moves up your body, his mouth finding yours. you can taste yourself on his lips. his forehead pressed his forehead against yours, “i love you,” he whispers, “i’ve always loved you. i always will”

you don’t say it back. the tears you’ve been holding back for months finally break free, tracking paths down your cheeks. you let them fall, silently.

suguru lets out a wounded whimper, leaning in and kissing your tears away, his lips soft and salty against your skin. a sob tears from your throat and then his arms are around you, pulling you off the couch and onto his lap on the floor, bundling you in his robes, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe.

you cling to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs, your soul. you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, his arms around you, his love.

“shh, i’ve got you,” he murmurs, his lips muffled against your hair, huge hands stroking up and down your back in a soothing rhythm. “i’ve got you. it’s okay.”

you cry for all the time you’ve lost, for all the words you’ll never get to say, for the future that was stolen from you. he just holds you, letting you fall apart in his arms again. he doesn’t try to justify his choices. he doesn’t make excuses. he lets you grieve.

when your tears finally subside, you’re left feeling hollowed out, limp and exhausted in his arms. he shifts, soft lips finding your temple, his breath warm against your skin. he holds you for a moment longer. then, with gentleness that belies his strength, he eases you off his lap, hands supporting your waist until you’re sitting on the edge of the couch.

and like clockwork, there’s a void where his warmth used to be. you’re used to it, but it hurts all the same. you don’t look up, you can’t. you just stare at your hands, balled into fists in your lap.

this is it — you’re certain — the part where he leaves. the end of the storm. but he’s only shrugging off his gojo-kesa, the dark fabric pooling on the floor. suguru’s not done with you. not yet. and part of you, the part that still loves him after everything, is glad.

It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).

At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.

"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."

"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.

"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."

Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."

An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.

After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.

Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.

Or… didn't want to?

***

One basketball match changed everything.

"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.

"Geez, finally, where have you been?"

Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.

"There was a line!"

"Huh? What?"

"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"

She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."

Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.

"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.

"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.

"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"

Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.

Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.

Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.

"Who are you gawking at, huh?"

Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.

You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.

Your hand fell limply to your side.

"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"

The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."

Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.

The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.

But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.

Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.

"This is for you."

He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.

Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.

Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.

You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.

A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.

Gojo found you later, at the party.

You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.

"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"

Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."

"They both are, actually."

A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.

He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.

A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."

At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.

"You think so?"

"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.

Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.

No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.

His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.

"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.

Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.

"You are?"

"Yeah".

The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.

You already missed its warmth.

"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."

You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.

"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.

"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."

"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"

You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."

"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"

You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."

A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"

Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."

A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"

Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.

Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.

He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.

You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.

Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.

The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.

Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.

"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."

A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.

"Of course."

Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.

"I love you."

Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?

And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.

For you knew that night would be your last one.

Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.

A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.

"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.

The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.

"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."

A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.

"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"

Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."

"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"

You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.

"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."

He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."

His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.

And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.

"I love you. And I am so sorry."

***

You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.

"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."

"I think we should break up."

Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."

Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?

"I said we should break up."

That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."

"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."

The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.

"Care to explain why?"

A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."

All of them lie, of course.

So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.

"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."

The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.

"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."

You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.

The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.

"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"

"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."

His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."

Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."

You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.

He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.

And never would.

Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.

"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"

Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.

"What?"

A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."

"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"

"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"

"And as I said, I don't care — "

"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.

"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."

Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.

"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."

Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.

He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."

"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."

"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"

The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?

But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.

"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.

Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."

You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.

"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."

You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.

"Is that what you want?"

"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."

The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.

After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.

Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.

"Satoru."

His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Yes?"

That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.

"I love you."

Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.

***

These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.

You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.

Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.

What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.

Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.

What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?

The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?

Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.

You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...

A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.

You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.

You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.

"Satoru? What are you doing here?"

Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.

But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.

"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."

The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.

"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.

"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.

"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.

You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.

"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."

That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."

His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"

Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.

Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."

"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."

He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.

But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted?  To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.

"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."

That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.

Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.

Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.

After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.

"Get in."

Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.

"Yes, ma'am."

The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.

You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.

"Whoa, marshmallows."

"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."

Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.

Damn those puppy eyes.

Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"

He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.

Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.

"Not so good."

You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea ​​buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.

Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

"I am sorry, but —"

Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.

That was all because of you, right?

Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.

You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?

"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."

You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"

He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.

"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"

You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.

" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."

Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.

Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.

"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."

A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.

"What have you done, Satoru?"

He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."

"Oh —"

"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."

You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.

"Have you fucking lost your mind?"

Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.

"Are you an idiot?"

Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."

"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All because of me!?"

Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.

"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"

"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"

"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"

Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.

You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.

He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."

You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"

Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.

"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."

Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"

Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?

Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.

"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."

You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.

"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."

"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"

"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."

A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.

"Where do you live now?"

"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "

Your smile slowly disappeared.

" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."

"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.

"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"

Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."

"Where?"

Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.

"Eh…France."

He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"

Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.

"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."

Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.

"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."

"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"

What about me?

"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."

"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."

"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."

As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.

Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.

"What about Nobara?"

Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.

"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."

"Huh?!"

"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."

Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.

The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.

He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…

He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"

Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."

Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?

Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"

"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."

"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."

Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?

One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.

"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."

You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.

"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?

It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.

So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.

You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.

Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"

Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.

"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."

"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."

As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."

"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."

A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.

"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.

"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.

"Oh, fuck."

Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.

"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."

Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.

Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.

After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.

You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.

You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.

You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."

Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.

"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."

"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.

"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.

"It's okay, you can laugh."

The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.

"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"

Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."

Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.

"Were you serious?"

He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"

The next words came in a hesitant whisper.

"Moving with me to France."

Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"

You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."

"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."

You couldn't fight with that argument.

"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."

And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.

"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"

You wordlessly glanced at him.

" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."

His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.

"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"

Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.

"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."

You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.

"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."

"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."

"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."

Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."

"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."

Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.

"So…we are really going to France."

Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.

"We really are."

***

The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.

A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.

"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."

Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"

Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.

"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.

"Ah, Satoru…"

When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.

Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.

Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.

"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.

"Satoru…"

"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."

You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.

"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."

With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"

Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.

Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.

"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."

You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."

Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.

"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"

With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.

"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.

Wrong move.

Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.

"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."

Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.

The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.

Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.

"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "

Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.

"I love you."

Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.

"I love you more."

You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.

"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"

"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."

Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.

"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"

"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."

"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.

"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."

Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.

Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.

"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."

She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.

"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."

You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…

"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.

"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"

"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."

"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.

"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"

In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"

So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.

"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.

And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.

Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.

You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.

You were worth everything.