Untitled

Sighing as you found yourself standing outside his room, pausing to peek through the now cracked window, watching Sukuna sitting on his too-small bed, back against the concrete wall with his muscled arms folded across his chest, completely fucking naked as his furry ears bristled in irritation. 

He was attractive, annoyingly so, enough to remind you every time you saw him why the hybrid population kept increasing every year, but you as quick as the thought floated up, you shoved it back down. 

You knocked twice on the door before scanning your card again, peeking inside before stepping in, feeling his stare on you before you looked up at the man of the hour. Or well, tiger of the hour. 

“Took you long enough,” he tch-ed, a low growl escaping his throat as he sauntered to his feet. 

“What did you do this time?” You wryly asked, nose scrunching up as you let your eyes scan the rest of his room. Someone must have tried to toss some toys in, as if he was a cub instead of fully grown, the remains of a plush mouse scattered across the floor. 

“The blonde tried to bathe me,” he indignantly scoffed, head held proudly up. You were tempted to tell him that he had a perfectly good bathroom already attached to his room – complete with a shower and tub he could use to wash himself, if he wasn’t so high and mighty to insist on being babied. Or, according to his perspective, treated like the king of this place he frequently insisted he hated so much.

You exhaled, shutting your eyes for just a second to massage your temples in an attempt to stall the headache brewing behind them only to open them and find him standing six inches away. Looking down at you. 

“I told her you’re the only one that can touch me,” he muttered, low and almost lethal. His hand reached out to skim over your bicep, barely touching but still enough for you to feel the pressure behind his fingertips. “She sent in the fucking vet to try to sedate me.” 

“And how did that go?” You sarcastically asked, as if you didn’t have a pretty decent inkling. 

“Well, they called you, didn’t they?” He sharply retorted, cocking his head to the side, jaw clenched as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. 

He got what he wanted. 

And you got to scrub a ridiculously oversized man in a tub for twenty minutes while he complained about not having enough bath salts, rubbing a sponge over his ridiculously ripped back muscles as he muttered about how awful everyone else here was. Grumbling with gritted teeth while your hands ran over his spine, damp sleeves rolled up over your elbows as you traced shapes along his strong arms, his slightly musky scent still invading your nostrils no matter how much soap you used. 

It wasn’t bad, even if it was strong. 

All masculine and warm, whatever pheromones he was putting off having a funny effect on your head the longer you knelt so close to him, sighing as you reached into the water and pulled up the drain. 

“Bath time’s over,” you muttered softly, standing up and grabbing a thick towel to hold out for him, making a point to not look past the thick patch of his happy trail when he wrapped it around his waist, even if you couldn’t not notice the way his damp tail dripped water behind him after he got out. 

“Where are you goin’?” He growled when you started to walk back out, his claws poking out in protest as your hand paused just before you could scan your key card to get out.

“Home,” you muttered. “You better have some clothes on when I come back.” 

The shelter sure spent fucking enough on custom robes big enough to fit him. 

He snarled, two seconds from making a snide comment, but you slipped out before he could. 

You were ready to crawl back into your own bed, curl up and get some sleep, maybe message your boss before you passed out that you’d be a little late in the morning since you had to come in overnight. Let yourself get an extra hour or two of rest before you had to deal with him again. 

Except, uh, your boss was already waiting for you in the lobby, Yaga leaning back against the receptionist desk and grimacing at the fluorescent lights as you stopped and stared. 

“Is everything okay?” You blinked a few times, just for him to fix you in a solemn stare.

And still, while your brain scrambled to come up with a reason for him being here too, you didn’t expect what left his mouth now as he jutted his thumb in the direction you came from. 

“Do you think you could foster him?” 

No. No, there was no way-

Except, um, apparently, there was a way when they offered you a hefty bonus and a few days off, and Shoko slipped a strong sedative in his breakfast so you could transfer him from his room back to your place – which you promptly had to Sukuna proof. 

You expected him to throw a fit when he eventually woke up, to try and break through your front door and escape. 

But he just sniffed the air slowly before he even lazily opened up his dark eyes to glance around your apartment, a crooked smile curling up as he centered his stare on you. 

“So I’m your problem now?” 

Was it too late to take him back? 

Trade in your annoying tiger hybrid for a fluffy housecat? 

In your personal experience, all felines were funny in that they could listen perfectly fine – they just didn’t care. 

And Sukuna was no exception. 

Shredding your curtains when you went out without telling him, sinking his sharp teeth into your pillows after you made him floss between them, turning your couch into his personal little nest and dragging your clothes from your closet into it. Judging the comfort of your blankets and commenting on how boring it was being here, acting like he’d rather be back at the shelter as he ate half the food in your fridge in a few hours. 

He was insufferable and spoiled and a million other awful adjectives you could assign him, but it wasn’t totally terrible to come home from your shifts to someone warm. Who’d begrudgingly let you scratch behind his ears and stroke his pretty, pink hair. You took him to the park as much as you could, ignoring the pointed stares you’d receive and the people who muttered that he should have a muzzle on while he begrudgingly stayed by your side. 

It wasn’t like you had a backyard he could stretch his limbs or lounge in. 

And two months in, you hadn’t exactly envisioned starting off your mornings with fur in your mouth and the weight of a full-grown man on your chest, but you guessed there were worse things. 

You might even miss him when all this came to an end, which, according to the text message you woke up to from Yaga, might be sooner than you think. Some rich guy had apparently called asking about him, claiming he owned thirty acres of land he used to house exotic hybrids and wanted to add Sukuna to his collection. 

Now you just had to figure out how to tell him that he might have a new owner. 

You tried to sneak over to the bathroom after carefully extracting yourself from underneath him, bare feet padding out while you glanced over your shoulder at the slumbering mass in your bed, a little bit of drool leaking down his lips as he snored on your pillow. 

He almost looked peaceful like this. 

As if you hadn’t gotten back from work last night to discover a stash of your panties underneath the daybed he’d currently taken over in your spare room. And the, um, dried substance they seemed to be coated in you’d desperately been trying not to think too hard about. 

Okay, perhaps he was closer to a perverted roommate than a pet. 

But you couldn’t scrub out the guilt that seemed to cling to your skin in the shower, hot water running over your body as you sighed to yourself and debated on how you’d break the news when he had started to settle in here. 

At least there he’d be able to have the space he needed, time outdoors, probably better nutrition than what you could afford to keep in your fridge and pantry, even with the added provisions your work provided for him. He was about as antisocial as it came – but there might be other hybrids there that he could actually stand being around. Closer to his spot on the food chain instead of the other ones he usually sneered down at. 

His new owner might even treat him like the king he thought he was. 

The shower curtain was abruptly pulled back, your arm rushing to cover up your tits, but his eyes were just on yours, his sharp nose scrunched up in a familiar scowl as he grunted good morning, his clothes already stripped off as he stepped in after you. 

“What is your problem?” You huffed at him, but he just yawned, toothpaste stuck to his bottom lip as he reached past you to grab the bottle of specialty hybrid shampoo you bought for him. 

“Didn’t you tell me yesterday we have to conserve water or some shit?” He grunted, lathering up his hair like his rock hard dick wasn’t out and poking you in the thigh. 

“I didn’t mean-” You started to groan, lips pressed together in a flustered frown. Swallowing hard as you struggled to keep your stare somewhere appropriate. You’d like to pretend your relationship was entirely platonic. That it fit perfectly in the boundaries of what it was supposed to. 

Where the only spot of your heart he occupied was pure. That the growing intimacy you’d been ignoring was innocent. 

It was getting a lot fucking harder to believe it when he felt more and more like a person to you every day. More human. 

“You were takin’ too long,” he added, moving over to bump his hip into yours to start hogging the hot water for himself. 

You stepped back, goosebumps trailing down your arms once you were out of the stream, holding your breath as you debated on ripping the bandaid off while he was washing himself for once. 

“Someone wants to buy you,” you heard yourself say, unsure of what emotion it was in your voice as he suddenly went still, tail twitching as his shoulders straightened. “Um, adopt, I guess.” 

He turned his head, just barely, enough for you to catch his nasty side-eye and locked jaw. 

“That’s not fucking funny,” he growled. 

“Yaga texted me,” you continued, careful to keep your tone steady. “Said some guy with a ton of acres wants to take you in. Guess he like, collects rare-” 

“No.” 

“No?” You incredulously repeated. “You can’t just-” 

“I’m not going to be some fucking breeding stock for an asshole who wants to stick me in an enclosure,” he declared, your mouth hanging open at the wild assumption he jumped to just from a couple sentences. 

“Who said anything about breeding?” You gaped, eyebrows arching up as you stopped yourself from stomping your foot. 

“You’re delusional if you don’t think that’s the only reason someone would want a problem hybrid like me,” he half-glared at you, molars grinding as you tried to come up with a reason to argue with him. 

“I-” You stopped yourself, blinking too hard and fast. 

“Tell them no,” he spat the word back out, thick brows furrowed together tightly as he shut off the water. 

“What if someone else wants to-” You started, and his whole body twisted around, his arms suddenly caging you in as you shrank back against the cold walls of the shower, all the air in your lungs ripped from you as he pinned you in. 

“I’m yours,” he hissed. “You can’t just toss me out like I’m some fuckin’ stray.” 

You were pretty sure you were gawking, grasping at straws to push him away when heat was pooling and simmering in the pit of your stomach. 

“They’ll be able to give you a better life than-” 

His mouth crashed into yours, fingers tangling in your hair while he shut up your stuttered gasp with his tongue slipping past your lips. 

He didn’t ask for permission. 

But maybe it was because he didn’t need to. 

Because when it boiled down to it, you’d let him into your home. Your shower. Let him slice and carve out half of your heart, even when you knew he’d probably just chew it up and spit it out. 

“Mmph, S’kuna,” you tried to breathe, placing a damp hand on his bare chest, fingers pressing down as he just kissed you again, struck by how strange it was to taste your own toothpaste on him, smell your soap on his skin and see the strawberry-scented shampoo suds running down his chiseled chest. His cute fuzzy ears standing up straight between his wet strands of pink hair. 

“You want me to stop?” He dared between kisses, moving down to your jaw, painting your skin with greedy wet sucks as he dragged his rough tongue across the sensitive skin. “Wanna keep pretending that I’m just your pet?” 

He wasn’t. 

And when your eyes skimmed down his pretty chest and his dripping cock, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no. 

“You know you’re not,” you whispered, as close as you could come to a confession. 

Let him grab you by the ass next, hoisting you up as his mouth returned to yours, matching his starving fervor, wrapping your wrists around his neck as he groaned into the kiss. And maybe it was how wrong it was, but you didn’t think any kiss before this had ever felt so right. 

His fingers dug into your soft flesh, dimpling it as he tried to claim you with his tongue and teeth, a low growl ripping from the deepest part of his chest you felt his cock catch right at your entrance. 

You sort of expected him to just cave into the desires you knew were hardwired into hybrids like him. Just jam his cock in and breed you until he had his fill, or uh, filled you up. It wasn’t like he could even get you pregnant, not when you’d been on birth control far before you met him. 

But before you could brace yourself for the burning stretch that was surely coming, he was ripping free from the kiss to lift you up higher. Like, a lot higher. 

Using that ridiculous strength of his to balance your weight as he pressed your damp body against the cold wall of the shower, ignoring your squirming until his your cunt was presented right in front of his mouth. 

Dragging his rough tongue across it, worming his way in before you could so much as mumble the probably needed what the hell was he doing. 

You guessed you already knew what the answer was. 

He was always starving, after all. 

You’d just become his breakfast. 

Your head leaning back against the shower wall while his hands steadily supported your weight, keeping your thighs spread enough to make room to bury his head between them. Sloppily swirling his tongue inside you, using the thick muscle to map you out, explore you with an expertise you hadn’t expected. An attention to detail you hadn’t thought he was capable of when it came to something that didn’t benefit him. 

Although, judging by the feral moans reverberating through you from his mouth, you guessed he was getting some pleasure in eating you out. 

Fingers digging in possessively to your soft flesh, his tongue flicking in-and-out fast, your chest straining to contain your rapid heartbeats as little jolts of electricity raced through the rest of you. Arousal and anticipation bleeding into each other as they overwrote your anxiety over what you were letting him do.

Just when his tongue slid back out, traced a messy line up to your needy clit, and you foolishly thought he was about to make you cum for him, his head turned up, looking up at you almost accusatory through half-lidded eyes. 

“You’re soakin’, brat,” he scoffed, and you could make out a hint of a crude smirk on his lips. 

“We’re in the shower,” you tried to retort, like heat wasn’t flooding your face – and between your legs. 

“Water’s been off for like, five minutes,” he reminded you. 

Your mouth fell open, but you couldn’t come up with a reply sharp enough to shut him up. 

It didn’t matter though. Because his hands shifted, and you were falling, a scary second passing before he grabbed you and pinned you back in the first position, chuckling with amusement as he lifted your thighs up, pressing them against your chest and squishing your tits as you tried to wiggle in his renewed grip. 

Stupid. 

He was too strong, his hold too tight, the tips of his claws teasingly pressing into your skin as you whined, more aware of the emptiness in your pussy than you’d like to be. The ache he’d left you with desperate to be soothed, stuffed. 

“You should go dry off,” he mocked, your heart stopping at his suggestion, playing right into his hand. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?” 

“Can’t you just shut up and fuck me already?” You hissed at him, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your throat instead of stomping your foot like you instinctively wanted to. A little swish, a flash of orange caught your attention in the corner of your vision, a smile curling up on your lips when you realized his tail was wagging. 

He could play coy. 

Act sly and in control. 

But his body gave him away. 

And while you were distracted, he’d taken the chance to line himself up, angle and all, just to slide himself in like it was nothing, his saliva acting as lube as he shoved inch after inch in. His rather, ah, large girth barely able to make it through, your thoughts immediately fizzling out into a chorus of holy fucking shit, how much more is there only for it to keep going. 

His mouth returned to your face, leaving messy kisses all over your cheeks, down your jaw, wherever he could reach, like it could coax you through the mean stretch of his cock spearing you open. 

“So fuckin’ tight, brat,” he groaned, teeth gritted, his breath warm on your skin as you whined at the intense sensation of his hips moving, rolling up while you were struggling to even manage breathing at all. 

“Not my fault you’re so-” You couldn’t even finish, lips clamping shut as you realized you were about to stroke his ego. 

“M’so what?” He dared you to finish anyway, stalling inside you, making it obvious he wouldn’t move a muscle until you said it. 

Biting your lip as you begrudgingly murmured, “Big.” 

You were wondering who was really the pet here when it felt like you were being rewarded for good behavior after he pulled his cock out and pushed it back in, quickly picking up a steady rhythm – one that seemed specifically designed to unravel you. 

Pull you apart until you were reduced down to your basest instincts. 

Until you were like him. 

And even worse? 

It was working. 

A babble of syllables that sounded like his name falling from your mouth when he kept grinding into the soft, spongy spot in the back, pressing into it over and over again like it was a button built for breaking you down. Your sanity slowly dissolving into something he could swallow, his sharp teeth glinting when he bared them at you in a crooked smile. 

“You love me rutting into you like this, huh?” He growled, your head bobbing uselessly as his cock split you open deeper, grinding meanly into your cervix like it was his to claim. 

You did, and it, you were his, even if you sold yourself some other story to make yourself feel better. 

“A-asshole,” you groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair to try and find something to pull on, holding onto the slivers of rationality you had left by threatening to rip some of his hair out of his scalp. 

“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” he half-spat out, kissing you again so you couldn’t argue with him. His tongue returning to your mouth as he thrusted up faster, fucking you so full you were pretty sure you felt him in your lungs. Whining into the kiss until he pulled back, his dark red eyes glinting in the warm yellow lighting of your bathroom as he smirked, “What would your friends think if they knew you let me fuck you like this?” 

Pushing his lips out in a dramatic pout, but you just pulled his hair harder, trying to make him wince to match the weird feeling he kept stuffing down your throat, the hint of humiliation at knowing what he was trying to imply. 

That everyone you knew would judge you for sleeping with Sukuna. Say that you shouldn’t fucking have sex with the hybrid you were literally fostering. For good reason, too. 

But how the hell were you supposed to say no when his hands felt like they fit you? 

When every ridge of his swollen cock stretched you open just right? 

“I-I don’t care,” you protested, puffing out your chest despite your sore thighs being pinned to them. Muscles aching, straining as the rubber band you were currently clinging to threatened to snap hard the longer he rutted into you. 

But then, right as his fat tip grinded up against your womb, he stopped, ignoring your irritated huff for him to continue. 

“Kuna,” you started, but before you could form another syllable, you felt it. Him. 

The base of his cock slowly ballooning, his knot trying to take hold and work its way up inside you, to lock himself in. You made some strangled noise you didn’t even know you were capable of, a guttural sound torn from the deepest part of your throat as the pressure built and soared, feeling yourself getting molded and practically reshaped by his size. 

“C’mon,” he growled, just as raw and rough as you expected from him, one of his huge hands slipping between your thighs, a calloused thumb covering your clit as he started rubbing mean circles over it. Distracting you from the fact you were being destroyed, remodeled around his cock, flames of lust licking over your sensitive bundle of nerves as he sent another set of shudders down your spine. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it.” 

You could. 

You would. 

Just as stubborn as he was, even if you were shutting your eyes and biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood, the pain of the stretch melting into white-hot pleasure as he began kissing your collarbone, trailing up higher until his lips were pressed against the crook just above it. 

His teeth sank into your throat, your entire body shivering under the sheer force to it, something inside you pulling tight as you gasped some broken cry of his name. But he didn’t let go. Didn’t retract. Just bit down harder, feeling you spasm and squirm around him as he held on, the knot at the base of your entrance somehow managing to inflate more. 

You dragged your nails down his back, probably shredding the skin there, leaving long scratches of your own to mark him as yours too. 

“Mine,” he growled, licking the sore spot while your brain struggled to process what was happening. What he’d just done. 

You couldn’t exactly drop him back off at the rescue when he’d made you his mate. 

Left a huge fucking hickey you’d be stuck living with, a bond forged from baths and breakfasts and boring movies. 

You knew it was a bad idea. 

But you didn’t want to break it. 

He was yours, wasn’t he? Wasn’t it only right that you were his too? 

Letting all those negative thoughts fade as you gave into how fucking good he felt, his mouth on your neck and his thumb massaging your clit and his cock filling up every crevice until you weren’t sure where you started and he ended anymore. 

“Say it,” Sukuna gruffly grunted, his thumb hesitating, knowing just how close you were and still teasing you anyway. 

“I’m your mate,” you admitted, your weak voice coming out in a whimper as he dragged you to a climax with just a harsh swipe of his thumb. White stars splotching and staining your vision, heat simmering through you as your thighs trembled, muscles begging for relief as his heavy breathing undercut the drone of the bathroom exhaust fan. 

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hissed, cumming right after you, still rubbing your clit through it, warm ropes of cum filling you up and getting plugged inside by his knot. Not even able to leak down your thighs as it held fast, your thoughts distant and dreamy as slowly floated back down to earth. 

Hesitantly meeting Sukuna’s dark eyes only to find them already focused solely on you, clouded with something that looked an awful lot like love up this close. 

“I’m staying here,” he grumbled, nose scrunching up as his tail wrapped around your leg. 

You didn’t think you’d be able to get rid of him even if you wanted to. 

Now how the hell were you supposed to tell your work? 

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3

“You couldn’t have picked someone normal to bond with?” you ask the dragon.

Sukuna blinks slowly, entirely unfazed, then shifts his massive head a fraction closer to your shoulder. His scales catch the sunlight like dark, wet marble, but the way he’s leaning into you gives him all the menace of a particularly clingy housecat. A housecat with fire breath, razor claws, and the ability to level a village if he ever got bored enough.

Satoru, stretched out on the grass beside him, grins. “Don’t blame Sukuna,” he says, resting his weight back on his palms like he owns the hill, the sky, the whole bloody island. “He can’t help liking you better.”

“Everyone likes me better.”

“Mm. Bold claim.”

“True claim,” you retort. You scratch absentmindedly under Sukuna’s jaw, right where the scales give way to smooth skin, and he lets out a deep, throaty rumble of pleasure. It vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a sound that would send most of Berk sprinting for the hills. You barely flinch. He’s impossible not to soften toward—something Satoru has weaponised far too often.

“I’m just saying,” Satoru drawls, “you might be his favourite person on the island.”

“He doesn’t have many options,” you say.

“Wow. And here I thought we were friends.”

You roll your eyes. “We are not friends.”

“Acquaintances?” he tries, silver hair glinting in the sunlight and blue eyes far too bright and mischievous and knowing.

“Barely.”

“Brutal,” he says. “You talk to all your barely-acquaintances this much?”

“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”

“That’s most people, though.”

“Maybe you’re the problem,” you shoot back.

It’s exhausting, really, how he manages to talk in italics, every word tilted just enough to keep you bristling. He’s the single most aggravating man on the entire Isle of Berk—and that’s saying something, considering the place is full of dragon riders who think personal boundaries is a suggestion, not a rule.

You’d like to say you hate him. Really, you would. It would make things simpler. But hate implies he occupies actual space in your head, and the problem—the infuriating, inescapable problem—is that you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Why are you even here?” you demand finally, because you’ve learned the only way to deal with Satoru Gojo is to stay on the offensive.

“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.

“Pretty sure Sukuna can find his own way here.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, grinning wider, “but I can’t.”

You blink. “Are you—are you implying you used your dragon as an excuse to see me?”

“No,” he says immediately, dragging the vowel out. “Definitely not. I have so many better things to do.”

“Name one.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks for a second. “…Patrolling?”

“That’s not better.”

“Depends on who you ask.” He falls back fully onto the grass, folding his arms behind his head, one long leg bent at the knee. The picture of ease, like he hasn’t just dropped the suggestion that he wanted to see you and then refused to elaborate. Like he hasn’t steadily been driving you insane since the day you met him.

The wind shifts over the hill, carrying with it the salt of the distant sea. Berk stretches out below—scattered houses of stone and timber, smoke curling from chimneys, dragons wheeling in the sky above the watchtowers. Out past the cliffs, the ocean flashes silver under the sun, calm for now but never for long.

“Illegal trapping’s been getting worse,” Satory says idly after a moment.

You glance at him. “And yet you’re here annoying me instead of dealing with it?”

“Hey, I’m off-duty.”

“You’re never off-duty.”

“True,” he admits, shameless. “But my boss doesn’t need to know that.”

You roll your eyes. The boss in question is Yaga the Vast, chief of Berk, who has approximately zero patience for stragglers like Satoru and yet, somehow, keeps putting him in charge of things anyway. Probably because when he isn’t being insufferable, Satoru is annoyingly good at his job.

Sukuna shifts closer again, massive head nudging your shoulder with a low whuff. The force of it nearly knocks you off balance.

“He’s so needy,” you mutter, scratching under his jaw again.

Satoru props himself up on his elbows to watch. “You love it.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do—”

“Finish that sentence,” you warn, “and I swear I will throw you off this hill.”

He smiles, unbothered. “Can’t, gorgeous. Sukuna would just catch me.”

“Shame,” you say.

Sukuna rumbles again, louder this time, as if laughing at the both of you. Which is ridiculous, obviously. Dragons don’t laugh. Probably. You’re still scratching absentmindedly at his jaw when the shout comes from below the hill.

“Gojo! We’ve got movement near the cliffs!”

It’s one of the younger riders—Yaga’s apprentice, maybe. You don’t remember his name. He’s sprinting uphill, out of breath, waving both arms wildly.

Satoru sighs. “And here I was enjoying my day off.”

“Trappers?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” He pushes to his feet. “Looks like it.”

The apprentice finally reaches the top, panting. “They spotted nets near the west cliffs,” he manages. “Could be setting up for a catch.”

Satoru dusts off his hands lazily, as though he hasn’t just been summoned to go handle the exact kind of people who would love to get their hands on a Night Fury. On Sukuna. You glance at the dragon, who’s gone very still beside you. His tail flicks once, sharp and restless.

Satoru notices too. “Relax,” he tells him softly, before turning that insufferable grin back on you. “Rain check on the head pats?”

“Not my dragon,” you remind him.

He winks. “Technicality.”

With that, he swings easily onto Sukuna’s back, all long limbs and practiced motion, like he was born in the saddle. Sukuna launches into the sky a moment later, wings snapping wide, dust kicking up in their wake. You watch them go, a dark shape against the sunlit clouds, until they’re nothing but a speck over the cliffs.

You’re still staring at the empty sky when the young rider clears his throat.

“Uh… hi,” he says awkwardly. He’s about your age, maybe a bit younger, with a nervous energy that makes you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to relax. He’s holding a map, which he’d pulled out of his pocket and now folds and unfolds with frantic hands. “You’re, uh, you’re the mapmaker, right? The one who lives by the sea?”

“That’s me,” you say, forcing yourself to look away from the horizon.

He nods, relieved. “Right. Yaga said to give you this. It’s the new coastline for the north. He said you’d be able to sketch it out better than anyone else.” He holds out the piece of parchment.

You take the map, unfolding it to see the jagged lines and rough sketches of a coastline you haven’t visited yet. The lines are crude, but the general shape is there. “Thanks,” you say. “I’ll get on it as soon as I can.”

“Right,” he says. “So… you and Gojo. You guys are… close?”

You stiffen. The question is innocent, but it feels like an accusation. “No. Not at all.”

He looks skeptical. “He talks about you a lot. Like, a lot lot. Says you’re the only person who can keep up with him.

You fight the urge to groan. “He’s a liar.”

“Yeah, he is.” The young rider laughs, a short, nervous sound. “But I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s always, like, looking for you. Or waiting for you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. It’s too close to the truth. You just shrug, then look at the map. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Right. See you around, then.” The rider turns to leave, jogging down the hill with a newfound energy, happy to escape the awkwardness.

You look at the map, then at the sky where Sukuna and Gojo disappeared. You can’t stop thinking about the way Gojo smiled when he told you that Sukuna was just an excuse to see you. It was a joke, you know that. He’s always joking, always playing with words. But the way he said it… it felt like there was a kernel of truth in it, a tiny, infuriating admission that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You trace the lines on the map, but your mind is elsewhere. You’re picturing him, the way he looks when he’s serious, the way he talks when he’s trying to get under your skin. You’re picturing Sukuna, the way he leans into your touch, the way he rumbles with contentment. You’re picturing the two of them, a perfect pair of chaos, a storm of annoying energy.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You have work to do, a map to sketch. But you can’t help but wonder if Gojo and Sukuna are okay. You can’t help but wonder what he’ll say the next time you see him.

A soft breeze, smelling of salt and distant rain, carries the sound of Sukuna’s contented rumble. You look up from your work, the firelight from your cottage flickering on the parchment in your lap. The Night Fury, a silhouette against the moon, lands with a soft thud, a dark shadow in the growing dimness. You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugs at your lips. It’s a happy sound, that snort of his, and it’s hard not to feel a little bit of warmth toward the gigantic reptile. The smile vanishes the moment you see Satoru Gojo dismount.

He slides off the dragon’s back and lands on the packed dirt with a huff. His silver hair, usually perfectly styled, is now adorned with a scattering of leaves and twigs. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Looks like you had a hard day,” you say, voice dry. You don’t bother looking up from your map, a new survey of the eastern coast that is proving to be a nightmare of jagged inlets and hidden reefs.

“The hardest,” he replies, walking toward the fire. Sukuna follows, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he nudges your shoulder gently. You stroke the smooth scales under his jaw.

“Did you, by any chance, get your head stuck in a bush?” you ask pointedly.

He laughs. “Just a little turbulence. But don’t worry, it was for a good cause.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Well, you know,” he says, pulling a stray leaf from his hair. “I had to make sure the trappers didn’t get away. Can’t have them messing up the ecosystem, can we?”

“But your impeccable hair and abysmal flying skills get a pass, I suppose.”

“Priorities, you know.” Satoru sits down on a log across from you, the firelight glinting in his bright blue eyes. “What are you up to? Still drawing pretty pictures of rocks and water?”

“I’m creating an accurate navigational chart for the fishing fleet,” you correct. “So that they don’t end up on the bottom of the sea.”

“Right, right. Important work,” he says. “You’d be a lot faster if you had some help.”

“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, “a second pair of eyes could be useful. Especially mine. They’re very, very good eyes.”

You roll your own. “I’m not interested in your help, Gojo. Or your eyes, for that matter.”

Sukuna, who had been contently nuzzling your shoulder, chooses that moment to let out a slow, mournful sound, as if he understood the conversation and is deeply disappointed by your attitude. He nudges Gojo’s head with his own, then your shoulder again. He goes back and forth, like a pendulum. It’s slightly annoying.

“See?” Gojo says, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Even Sukuna agrees. He thinks we should be friends.”

“Sukuna thinks you should be less annoying,” you counter, reaching out to pat the dragon’s large head. He lets out a low rumble, pleased.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Satoru says. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me on the way here that he thinks we would make a very handsome couple.”

You snort. “He has terrible taste. You’re lucky he hasn’t left you for a better rider.”

“Impossible,” Satoru scoffs. “I’m the best. And he knows it.”

“And the most modest, too,” you mutter.

Sukuna lets out a deep, throaty rumble, and gently nudges you closer to the fire. The action is subtle, but a piece of your parchment slips off your knee and lands with a quiet rustle on the ground near Satoru’s feet. He bends down to pick it up, his long fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back.

“Clumsy,” he says, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not talking about the paper.

You ignore him, focusing on the map, but your hand trembles slightly, and the ink bleeds on the line you’re trying to draw. You let out an exasperated sigh, and Sukuna, with a loud huff, settles down between you and Satoru. It’s a deliberate move. The dragon’s nothing more than a massive, scaly chaperone.

“Look at him,” Satoru says, his voice softer now. “He’s tired. Trappers, you know. They’re more persistent than usual.”

“Did you catch them?”

“Most of them. They had nets—one almost got Sukuna. If he hadn’t been so fast, it would have been a rough night.”

You look at the dragon, who is now snoozing with one eye open, the firelight catching the dark, wet-looking scales on his hide. A sudden wave of protectiveness washes over you, a familiar feeling when it comes to the dragon. But then you look at Satoru, and see the deep weariness in his eyes, the faint lines of stress etched around his mouth, and that familiar wave of protectiveness becomes tangled with something else, something you refuse to name.

“You should get some rest,” you say, the words feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue.

He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”

“I’m worried about Sukuna,” you shoot back, and the warmth in your stomach curdles into a familiar acidity. “He needs his rider to be in top form. The last thing he needs is to be stuck with a tired, insufferable oaf.”

He laughs. “You wound me. But thank you. It’s nice to know someone cares.”

“I don’t care,” you insist, and you know you’re lying. You also know he knows you’re lying. It’s a game you play, a tense, stupid dance.

Sukuna lets out a snort. He flicks his head towards Satoru, then towards you, as if to say, just talk to each other, idiots. You want to kick him. Affectionately, of course.

“Well,” Satoru says. “I suppose I should go. Duty calls and all that.” He stands up, stretching his arms over his head before shaking it.

“You’re going back out?” you ask, a note of alarm in your voice that you can’t control.

“Nah,” he says, smiling a little softer now. “Just kidding. Yaga told me to stay put until morning, ‘cause he said I caused enough trouble for one day.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He reaches down and ruffles Sukuna’s head, though his words are addressed to you. “I’ll be back tomorrow for some more pats, okay?”

Sukuna huffs happily in response.

Satoru turns and walks away, a long, lanky shadow disappearing into the darkness. Sukuna watches him go, then turns his gaze back to you, his garnet-coloured eyes flashing. He nudges your hand again. You know what he wants. He wants you to talk to Gojo. He wants you to go after him.

You sigh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not his keeper. I’m not yours, either.”

Sukuna snorts, a clear, exasperated sound, and settles his massive head on your lap. He’s warm, a solid weight of comfort in the cool night. You don’t bother to shoo him away. You simply sit there, under the moonlight, and stare into the dark where Gojo disappeared.

“It’s a fool’s errand,” you say, dropping the rolled-up parchment onto Yaga’s desk with a resounding thud. The Chief of Berk, a man with a beard as formidable as his temperament, looks up from the horn he’s polishing.

“What is?” he asks.

“This,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at the map. “The north coast. It’s impossible to draw from the ground. I’ve only been there twice, and I spent most of the time trying not to fall to my death. The cliffs are sheer drops. The inlets are jagged and hidden. I need to map it from above.”

Yaga stares at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. You hold his stare, a silent challenge. You’ve never been one to back down from the Chief, a fact that both annoys and impresses him.

He sighs. “Fine. You’re right. You’ll need a rider.” He looks around the hall, his eyes scanning for a likely candidate. Your heart sinks into your stomach when he lands on the very last person you want to see.

“Satoru!” he bellows.

Satoru Gojo, leaning against a support beam, in the middle of conversation with Yaga’s apprentice, gives you a little wave.

“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.

“You’re taking our mapmaker to the north coast,” Yaga says. “She needs to draw it from the air.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Chief,” he says, sauntering over to the desk. “North coast, huh? A little chilly for you, isn’t it?”

You resist the urge to punch him. “I’ll manage. Let’s just get this over with.”

He claps his hands together. “Excellent! My calendar is wide open.”

The next morning is cold and brisk. A light mist hangs over the village, and the air smells of wet stone and woodsmoke. You’re waiting by the flight academy, a satchel slung over your shoulder and your sketchbook clutched in your hands. You’ve been waiting for ten minutes, which is ten minutes longer than you’d like.

Just as you’re about to turn and leave, you hear a loud, familiar whoosh of wind and the deep, throaty rumble of a Night Fury. Sukuna lands right in front of you. Satoru leers at you, seated on his back.

“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.

“I’m ready to get this done,” you correct.

You climb onto the dragon’s back, settling behind him on the saddle and placing your sketchbook and charcoal pencils carefully in your lap. Sukuna lets out a low purr, a rumble that you can feel vibrating through your body. He nudges his head back, giving your hand a soft, affectionate lick.

“He’s excited,” Satoru says. “He loves when we all go out together.”

“He’s excited about the snacks I brought him,” you say, pulling a piece of dried fish from your satchel and holding it out to Sukuna. He devours it in one gulp.

“You brought snacks?” Satoru asks. “For the dragon, and not for your very handsome and talented pilot?”

“You are not my pilot, and you are not getting any of this fish.”

He kicks his feet against Sukuna’s side, and the dragon launches himself into the air. You grip the saddle, your knuckles turning white. The wind whips at your hair and clothes, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of flight wash over you. It’s a feeling you’ve never gotten used to, and it’s always a little terrifying, a little exhilarating.

Satoru leans back. “You’re good at this. Not screaming, I mean.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m a mapmaker, not a child. I’m used to dangerous situations.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re the one who saved my ass, remember?”

The memory of that night, of his blood on your hands, of the raw fear in your gut, flashes through your mind. You shiver, a cold feeling that has nothing to do with the wind.

“I’d rather not,” you say.

He doesn’t respond. Sukuna, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, lets out a low, questioning snort. He banks left, heading toward the northern cliffs.

The gentle, rolling hills of Berk give way to a brutal, unforgiving coastline. The cliffs are dark and jagged, the sea a churning mass of white foam. You pull out your sketchbook and begin to draw.

You work for hours, meticulously sketching every rock formation, every inlet, every hidden cove. You direct Satoru to turn this way and that, and he, for once, doesn’t argue. He lets you work, his body a steady, comforting presence in front of you, ensuring Sukuna’s movements are smooth and controlled.

At one point, you get so focused on a particular series of sea caves that you lean too far over the edge of the saddle, and almost lose your balance. A long, strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You stiffen, your body rigid with surprise.

“Careful,” Satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t want you falling to your death.”

You push him away, heart pounding. “I had it under control.”

“Sure, you did.”

Sukuna lets out a low, knowing chuff, a sound that makes you want to smack him. You ignore him, focusing back on your drawing, but it’s hard to stop thinking about the feeling of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body against yours.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a while.

“I’m working.”

He hums. “Right. I just thought, you know, we could talk. Get to know each other. Since we’re going to be hanging out more often, we might as well be friends.”

“We are not going to be friends,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.

“We are,” Satoru says. “We’re a team. You and me. And Sukuna, of course.” He reaches forward and strokes the Night Fury’s head, and the dragon rumbles with contentment.

“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.

“He likes you, too. More than me, I think,” Satoru says, and there’s a flicker of something in his voice—something soft and genuine—that makes you look away from your sketch and at him instead. His eyes are fixed on you, a strange mixture of warmth and… something else. You can’t quite place it.

You look away, your heart pounding again. You can’t handle this. You can’t handle this man, this dragon, this strange, dangerous intimacy that has sprung up between you.

You land back in the village as dusk is falling. The air is colder now, and the stars are beginning to peak out. You slide off Sukuna’s back, your legs shaky from the long flight. You feel a hand on your arm, steadying you.

“You did good,” Satoru says.

“So did you,” you say.

He smiles, a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. It’s a smile that you realise you haven’t seen very often. It’s a smile that makes the hollow cavity inside your chest where your heart lies skip a beat.

You turn away, clutching your sketchbook to your chest. “I’ll bring this to Yaga in the morning.”

“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

You walk away, but you can feel his gaze on your back. You can feel the warmth of his hand still on your arm. You don’t look back.

You make it to your cottage, but you don’t go inside. You sit on the stone step, your sketchbook still in your hands, and stare at the sky. You think about the north coast, about the cliffs and the caves, but also about Satoru. About the way his arm felt around your waist, about the way his smile made you feel, about the way he wasn’t being annoying for once.

You hear a soft thud. Sukuna stands behind you, a small branch in his mouth. He drops it at your feet. A branch from a Night Fury’s nest. He jabs at your hand with his nose, his eyes fixed on yours.

You know what he’s doing. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to tell you that Satoru is not so bad. There’s a place for you in his life, in their life.

You reach down and pick up the branch, then look back at the dragon. You sigh, a long, drawn-out sound.

“You’re a terrible matchmaker, you know that?” you whisper to him.

Sukuna lets out a low purr and nudges you again. You don’t know what to do. You’re a mapmaker, a person of logic and order, and this man and his dragon are nothing but chaos. There’s absolutely no way anything good could ever come out of this.

“Head pats? Again?” You shoot Satoru an unimpressed glare, though the effect is rather diminished by the fact that you’re hanging upside down, trying to fix a hole in your roof. “At least come up with a better excuse.”

“Can’t. The dragon wants what the dragon wants,” Satoru says. “And what the dragon wants, the dragon gets.”

You grunt, shoving a loose thatch of straw back into place. Your ankles are looped around a wooden beam, your torso dangling over the edge of your cottage’s roof. The world is a strange, inverted place from this angle. The grass is a vibrant green sky, the clouds are a white, fluffy ground. Satoru Gojo’s annoyingly perfect face is floating in the air below you. He’s leaning back, his hands in his pockets, watching you with a smile. Sukuna is a little ways off, chewing on a large branch.

“And what the dragon wants is for me to risk breaking my neck just so you can make a terrible joke?” you ask.

“No, no, the dragon wants head pats,” Satoru corrects, shaking his head. “I’m just here to deliver the dragon to the head pats. A simple go-between.”

“You’re a go-between for your own dragon?”

“Look, it’s a complicated relationship,” he says. “He’s a very discerning dragon.”

You roll your eyes, a motion that makes your head throb. You pull yourself up, muscles straining, and clamber onto the roof. You sit on the ridge, straddling the peak, and pull a loose piece of wood from the hole. The wood is rotten, and the smell of mold and wet earth makes you wrinkle your nose. A sudden gust of wind snatches a loose piece of cloth from the edge of the roof, and you watch as it flutters to the ground and lands directly at Satoru’s feet.

He picks it up and says, “Lost something?”

“It’s just a rag,” you say.

He examines it, shaking it out with a flourish. “Looks like a perfectly good rag to me.”

“It’s not,” you say. “It’s old and worn out. Just leave it.”

He doesn’t. He folds it carefully and places it in his pocket, before walking over to where Sukuna is lying, and pulls out a piece of meat from his saddlebag. He tosses it to the dragon.

“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”

“No,” you say, “I just enjoy dangling from high places.”

He laughs, a clear, loud sound that makes your stomach feel weird. “I get it. You’re a thrill-seeker. It’s one of your many charming qualities.”

“I’m not a thrill-seeker,” you say. “I’m a mapmaker. I prefer quiet, predictable things.”

“Still,” he says, “here you are, hanging from a roof, and here I am, your friendly neighbourhood… well, whatever I am.”

You groan. “You’re a pain. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re my favourite pain,” he says. “You’re the only person on the entire Isle of Berk who doesn’t fall all over themselves to talk to me.”

“That’s because I have a working brain.”

He laughs again, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s leaning against Sukuna’s side, his arms crossed over his chest. His silver hair catches the sunlight, and his bright blue eyes are fixed on you. He’s the most infuriating man you’ve ever met, but you can’t deny that he’s also breathtaking.

You tear your gaze away, a flush of heat creeping up your neck. You turn back to your roof, your hands shaking slightly as you try to hammer a loose piece of wood into place. You miss, and the hammer clatters to the ground, landing with a soft thud on the grass.

“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.

Satoru bends to pick up the hammer, turning it over in his hands. “For someone who claims to like quiet, predictable things, you have a funny way of living on the edge.”

You scowl down at him from the roof ridge. “I’m fixing a hole, Satoru. Not fighting a dragon barehanded.”

“Could be both, if you fall on Sukuna.”

Sukuna, hearing his name, glances up, tail flicking idly. He looks like he’d catch you if you fell. Probably. Maybe. If he felt like it.

“Very reassuring,” you mutter. “Give it back.”

“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.

You glare at him. He leans back against Sukuna’s side, one long leg crossed over the other. He looks like he could stay here all day, bothering you from ground level while you slowly lose your mind above him. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist. The sun’s beating down hard, pressing heat into the back of your neck. Your hands are already splintered from the wood, your hair sticking to your cheeks. You have an entire day’s worth of mapping to do but here you are, arguing with Berk’s most irritating dragon rider over a hammer.

“Fine,” you say. “Keep it. I’ll just tell everyone you bullied me into falling off my own roof.”

“But you didn’t fall,” he says. “Yet.”

You wish you could throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. Like a rock. Or maybe the entire cottage.

Instead, you clamber down from the roof ridge to the small platform just under it, wiping your palms on your trousers. From here, the world tilts alarmingly close. Satoru watches your careful descent with the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

When you reach the edge, you stretch your hand out. “Hammer.”

He taps it against his chin thoughtfully. “What do I get in return?”

“Your continued survival.”

“Tempting.” He tosses it up, easy and careless, then finally lobs it towards you. It arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and you snatch it out of the air just in time, the impact jolting through your wrist.

“Show-off,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

You don’t dignify that with a response, instead crawling back to the hole and fitting the new piece of wood into place. The hammer thunks steadily as you nail it down, the sound mingling with the wind and the distant crash of waves against cliffs. Satoru hums something under his breath, a lazy, tuneless thing. It carries upward, curling under your skin despite yourself.

You focus very, very hard on the roof.

When the piece finally holds, you sit back, wiping your forehead again. Your arms ache, your knees are bruised, and you can feel bits of straw clinging to your hair. Glorious, really.

“Done?” Satoru asks.

“For now,” you say.

“Good,” he says, pushing off Sukuna’s side. “Because Sukuna’s patience is running out.”

At the mention of his name, the dragon lets out a short, sharp huff, nostrils flaring. The branch he was chewing lies in two neat halves at his feet. His pupils have gone wide, round as coins—his version of puppy eyes.

You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”

“It’s effective,” Satoru says cheerfully, already strolling over to you. “C’mon, he’s been waiting all day.”

You glance from the dragon’s enormous, hopeful stare to Satoru’s infuriating grin and feel, very distinctly, like you’re being tag-teamed.

“Fine,” you mutter, hopping lightly off the lower edge of the roof. You land in a crouch, knees absorbing the impact, then stand and dust yourself off. “But only because he asked nicely.”

Satoru bows low, one hand over his heart. “As the humble messenger of the dragon, I thank you for your generosity.”

“Shut up,” you say, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Sukuna lowers his massive head as you approach, scales gleaming like wet stone. He makes a low, thrumming sound as your hand comes to rest between his eyes, the tension in his frame melting instantly. It’s absurd, how such a creature—so powerful, so feared—can melt into warmth at something as simple as a touch.

You scratch behind his jaw, feeling the rumble travel through your palm. “You deserve a better rider,” you murmur, just loud enough for Satoru to hear.

Satoru presses a hand to his chest. “Wounded. Absolutely gutted.”

“You’ll live.”

He leans against Sukuna’s shoulder, close enough that you catch the faint scent of wind and leather and something warm underneath. “You always say that like you’re sure.”

“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.

“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”

You roll your eyes. The wind picks up again, tossing Satoru’s hair into his eyes. He doesn’t move to fix it, just grins at you through the mess like he knows exactly what kind of picture he makes—irritatingly golden in the sunlight, with the dragon at his side and the whole damn world under his heel.

“You really are full of yourself,” you say finally.

He tilts his head. “Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the trappers that thought they actually had a chance against Sukuna? Even I don’t stand a chance against Sukuna, and that’s saying something.”

“Trappers?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping your hand moving against Sukuna’s scales. “I thought you lot scared them off two weeks ago.”

“We did,” Satoru says. “Or so we thought. But the funny thing about pests—” He leans lazily against Sukuna’s massive shoulder, folding his arms. “—is that they always crawl back when you’re not looking.”

You frown, not at him for once, but at the idea of it. “Where?”

“Southern Coves,” he says. “A little group at first—three, maybe four men. We figured they were amateurs, probably thought they’d make their fortune dragging a few Terrible Terrors back in cages. Easy enough. Send them running, burn a net or two. Job done.”

The way he says it—casual, dismissive—doesn’t sit right with you. It rarely does, when Satoru Gojo talks about problems like they’re inconveniences rather than… well, problems.

“But then?” you prompt.

“But then,” he says, drawing out the words, “we found another group. Bigger. With better equipment. Steel nets, reinforced cages, the whole shebang.”

Your hand stills against Sukuna’s jaw. “Reinforced cages?”

“Mhm.” He tilts his head, watching your reaction like it’s more interesting than the story itself. “Not something you find lying around unless you’ve got coin. Or connections. Or both.”

Sukuna shifts beneath your touch, nudging his head into your palm like he can sense the tension in your shoulders. You scratch harder, both to soothe him and yourself. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” you say.

“It doesn’t sound like much of anything,” Satoru counters flippantly. “Could just be a few desperate men pooling what they’ve got. Could be something else. Either way, we’re keeping an eye on it.”

“And by we you mean…”

“The riders. Me, Suguru, Kento, Haibara—the usual.”

You narrow your eyes. “You mean the same group that considers dive-bombing into cliffs a legitimate training exercise?”

“Worked out fine for me,” Satoru says with a shrug.

“Everything works out fine for you,” you shoot back.

That earns you a flash of his grin—bright, boyish, and infuriating. But it fades, just a little, and he says, quieter, “Doesn’t always.”

It’s the kind of admission that makes your stomach twist, because it’s true. Riders don’t always come back. Dragons don’t always survive. Trappers—real trappers, the kind with coin and steel and a hunger that isn’t easily sated—don’t play fair.

You exhale slowly. “You think they’re after Sukuna.”

“Everyone’s after Sukuna.” He says it like it’s a joke. “Last Night Fury, blah blah blah. People can’t help themselves.”

You glance at Sukuna. His pupils are still round, content beneath your touch, but his tail lashes once, like even he knows the weight of those words. A rare thing: fear dressed up as restlessness.

An unease worms its way beneath your ribs. It feels like the calm before a storm, the air just a shade too still, the sea too quiet. The trappers Satoru described don’t seem like scavengers chasing scraps. They’re organised. Equipped. Waiting for something—or someone. You hate it. You hate that Satoru can stand opposite you, hands tucked in his pockets, as though the world isn’t about to tip over its edge.

“You should be more worried,” you say finally.

“I worry plenty.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“Would it help if I wrung my hands and wept dramatically at your feet?”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” you say automatically. Sukuna nudges you again, harder this time, nearly knocking you off your feet. You steady yourself with a laugh that comes out thinner than you’d like. Satoru watches the two of you, his smile softened into something that almost looks like thought. Then, just as you’re about to ask another question, a shrill whistle splits the air from somewhere down the hill.

“Show time.” Satoru straightens, stretching his arms overhead. “Sounds like they’ve spotted another group near the coastline.”

Your stomach sinks. Already?

Satoru clicks his tongue, turning back to Sukuna. “Up, big guy.”

The Night Fury rises in a smooth, graceful motion, all coiled muscle and gleaming scales. His wings snap open, blotting out the sun for an instant, and you step back instinctively. Satoru sings into the saddle. He doesn’t look at you until Sukuna’s already crouching low, ready to launch.

“Don’t worry too much,” he says. “We’ve got it handled.”

“You don’t know that.”

He grins down at you. “Sure I do. I’m me.”

“Again?” You stare at Yaga the Vast like he’s sprouted another head—which, considering the man’s already broad shoulders and beard thick enough to hide a small family of sparrows, would be quite a sight. “You want me to map out the north coast again?”

“Yes,” Yaga’s voice rumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. The firelight in the great hall casts half his face into shadow, making him look even more immovable than usual. “But this time, you go deeper. Past the cove, beyond the breakers, to the inlets we’ve yet to mark. Unless we map out our neighbouring areas, how will we be able to defend Berk?”

You blink slowly, as if stalling will make the task shrink back into sanity. “Defend Berk from what, exactly? The world’s deadliest flock of puffins?”

“From anyone who thinks Berk is ripe for the taking,” Yaga replies. His thick fingers drum against his arm. “We can’t pretend we’re isolated forever. Already, the trappers sniff at our borders.”

You mask the prickle of unease that shivers down your spine with a scoff. “So your solution is to send me to traipse along the most dangerous stretch of coast known to dragon or man?”

“You won’t be alone. Take that scoundrel of a dragon rider with you.”

You groan, dragging both hands down your face. “Not him.”

“As if there were any other scoundrel I could mean,” Yaga says, almost indulgent.

“Satoru Gojo,” you say, lowering your hands and scowling, “is less of a companion and more of a—what’s the word—parasite. Loud, obnoxious, impossible to get rid of once he latches on.”

“He’s effective,” Yaga says.

“He’s insufferable,” you say.

“Both can be true,” he says. “And if you want Berk defended, if you want us to have some place to safely hide, or if you want your precious maps to mean something, you’ll take him with you. End of discussion.”

You gape at him, outrage coiling hot in your chest. But before you can muster a reply sharp enough to singe even Yaga the Vast’s vast beard, a familiar voice cuts through the hall.

“Did somebody say my name?”

Of course. Speak of the devil and his Night Fury, and both shall appear.

Satoru Gojo strolls in; his hair is a windswept mess of silver, his tunic is half-untied, and there’s a cocky grin already plastered on his face. Sukuna pads in behind him, the great black beast moving silent as shadow, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim hall light.

“Perfect timing,” Yaga says. “You’ll be escorting our mapmaker along the north coast. Deep waters. High cliffs. Dangerous territory. See to it that she comes back alive.”

“Yes, boss,” Satoru replies. His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens. “Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Believe me, if I had a choice between this and swimming naked through eel-infested waters, I’d be halfway to drowning by now.”

“Romantic. You always know how to make a man feel wanted.”

Sukuna rumbles low in his throat, the kind of sound that could be a laugh if dragons were capable of such a thing. You swear he’s mocking you, too.

Yaga heaves a sigh. “Enough. The pair of you leave at dawn. Supplies will be waiting at the stables. Make sure you chart everything—caves, currents, shoals, nesting grounds. The more detail, the better.”

You open your mouth to argue, to plead, to hurl one last desperate objection into the flames. But Yaga fixes you with the kind of look that ends battles before they begin. You clamp your jaw shut.

“Fine,” you mutter. “At dawn.”

“Looking forward to it,” Satoru says brightly, clapping you on the shoulder. “You, me, the sea, a few deadly cliffs. It’ll be fun.”

You glare at him. “You have the worst definition of fun I’ve ever heard.”

He leans down, so close you catch the faint scent of leather and salt. “That’s because you haven’t tried my kind of fun yet.”

Before you can throttle him, Yaga clears his throat. “Gojo,” he says. “I want your usual post-mission report for this one as well. How Sukuna flies, how he fights—everything. Not a single detail should be omitted.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru says. “Wingspan, firepower, mood swings. Got it.”

“Not just that,” Yaga presses. “Every maneuver. Every burst of speed. How he responds under pressure. The trappers are adapting. If they’ve learned to counter one type of dragon, they’ll learn to counter another. We need to be ready.”

“Of course, boss.”

Satoru says it so confidently that it makes you want to hit him with the nearest tankard. He doesn’t care about reports—he’s probably never written anything down properly in his life—but somehow Yaga keeps trusting him with “observations” and “evaluations.” And somehow those “reports” always end up getting him exactly what he wants: more freedom, more lenience, more time spent to annoy you.

“I’m serious,” Yaga says. His gaze sharpens, sliding briefly to you before returning to Satoru. “I want precision. Not exaggerations, not flourishes. If there are trappers along that coast, I want to know how they move, what they use, where they hide. If Sukuna faces them, I want to know every reaction. Understand?”

It’s subtle, that pause on Sukuna’s name, but it hooks in your gut like a barbed fishing line.

“Your last report,” the chief continued, “was ten pages of what Sukuna ate, and a drawing of your own face in the margins.”

You can’t help it—a bark of laughter escapes you. Satoru grins wider, like he’s proud of the memory.

“Historical accuracy,” he defends breezily. “Someday, bards will want to know I was the handsomest man alive while Sukuna was saving lives.”

Yaga doesn’t look amused. In fact, the firelight catches on the hard planes of his face, casting the deep creases at his brow into shadows that look almost like cracks. “Enough,” he says, but this time there’s a finality to it—like stone slamming into place, sealing a tomb.

You should probably let it go. Keep your head down, accept the assignment, and try not to imagine all the ways you might die tomorrow. But Yaga’s words stick in your ears like thorns. He’s always been thorough, sure, but the way he said it makes something twist uneasily in your gut.

Why does it feel less like he wants a record of Berk’s defenses and more like he wants a catalogue of its weaknesses?

You frown, shoving the thought down before it can root itself. Paranoia. That’s all it is. Spending too much time around Satoru Gojo rots the brain.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Satoru says, snapping a salute. “We’ll chart your cliffs, your caves, your currents, your… cozy little hidey-holes. And if the trappers do come sniffing around, we’ll have a nice little map all drawn up for them, won’t we?”

It’s meant to be a joke. You know it is.

Yaga’s eyes cut to him, sharp and assessing, but then—to your surprise—soften into something close to approval. “Just bring me the report.”

You’re dismissed. Or maybe exiled. Hard to tell with Yaga.

Satoru stretches like a cat as you both step out into the night air, his hair catching silver in the moonlight. Sukuna slips behind him, shadow melting into shadow, only the gleam of his garnet eyes betraying him.

“This is gonna be fun,” Satoru says.

You snort. “You heard him. Reports, details, flight maneuvers—like you’re some glorified scribe. What’s he going to do, publish a book?”

“Who knows? Maybe Yaga just really likes bedtime stories.”

“You’re going to fall if you keep bending over like that.”

The words brush the back of your neck, almost lost to the roar of the wind. Satoru’s voice, of course, because if anyone was going to ruin the thrill of flight over the North Sea cliffs, it was going to be him.

“I’m not bending over,” you snap, leaning forward on Sukuna’s broad back to adjust the rolled parchment strapped at your hip. “I’m securing the maps so they don’t blow away. Some of us actually care about documenting this trip.”

“Mm,” he hums, far too close behind you. “You say that, but it looks a lot like you’re presenting yourself to me.”

You jerk upright so fast you nearly throw yourself off balance. “I will throw you off this dragon.”

Sukuna rumbles beneath you, wings slicing through the wind. The cliffs roll past below—jagged teeth rising from the sea, waves smashing themselves to froth at the base. A treacherous coast, all jagged rocks and narrow inlets, the sort of place even seasoned dragon riders avoided unless they had a death wish. But, you remind yourself, you’re riding with Satoru Gojo. Death wishes are practically stitched into his skin.

“Relax,” he says lazily, shifting so that his chin rests on your shoulder, bold as anything. “If you fall, Sukuna will catch you. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Eighty percent sure.”

You elbow him hard in the ribs. He laughs. The wind whips against your face, tugging at your hair and lashing past your chin. You should be focusing on the coastline, on the cliff formations and hidden coves Yaga wanted mapped. Instead, you’re stuck with Satoru practically wrapped around you like an overgrown barnacle.

Below, the sea shifts from deep sapphire to frothing white, currents curling against each other in unpredictable swirls. You sketch the outline hastily, balancing parchment on your knee, your fingers stiff from the cold. The smell of salt, the tang of brine—it all presses sharp in your nose, mixing with the faint smoke curling from Sukuna’s nostrils as he exhales.

“You’re making that bay too small,” Satoru says, peering over your shoulder. “It’s at least twice that size.”

Your head snaps towards him. “You’re a dragon rider, not a cartographer. Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he says. “If you want this to be accurate, maybe listen to the guy who’s actually looking down at it.”

You jab your charcoal against the parchment with unnecessary force. “I am looking down. You think I’m staring at the clouds?”

“Wouldn’t blame you. They’re very fluffy today.”

You grit your teeth. It’s either throw him off Sukuna’s back or commit to your map and pretend his voice doesn’t grate against your ears.

The coastline curves sharply, forcing Sukuna to bank hard. The sudden tilt knocks your knee against the saddle, the parchment slipping sideways in the wind. You swear under your breath, catching it just before it can flutter away.

“Careful,” Satoru drawls. “Wouldn’t want all your precious squiggles to drown.”

“They’re maps,” you snap, tucking the roll more securely under the leather strap. “Not squiggles.”

Sukuna lurches again, this time with a force that wrenches you off balance completely. One moment you’re clinging to leather straps, the next, you’re weightless—dangling over empty air, your stomach dropping out as the sea roars up to meet you. Your scream is swallowed by the wind.

Cold air slams against your face, your limbs flailing as the ocean surface rushes closer, white spray licking like fangs. You think, absurdly, that this is it. Yaga will get his precious map back water-stained and half-torn, and Satoru will laugh at your funeral pyre.

The sea devours you whole. Salt scorches your mouth, icy shock steals the breath from your lungs, and the water closes like a fist around your ribs. You kick, thrash, but the waves drag you under, tangling your limbs. The North Sea swallows you whole, dragging you down, down, down. Your maps slip free, parchment dissolving into sodden clumps as the current claws them away. Panic claws harder.

Through the blur of bubbles, a shadow streaks above—massive wings cutting the sky. Sukuna. You can just make out the gleam of his scales as he dives, but the current twists you sideways and drags you deeper.

You feel hands.

Hot even through the freezing water, strong fingers hook beneath your arm and haul you against a solid chest. Your head knocks against leather and chainmail. You cling without meaning to, nails biting into Satoru’s sleeve as he kicks upward, legs cutting the water with terrifying strength. The world tilts again, the suffocating weight of the sea giving way to open air as he breaks the surface.

You cough, choking up brine, the cold biting so deep it feels like your bones are splintering. But there’s air—ragged, salty, glorious—and Satoru’s arms are still wrapped around you, keeping you afloat.

“See?” he says, breathless. “Told you one of us would catch you.”

“Shut—” you hack, spitting seawater in his face, “—up.”

With one arm, Satoru signals upward, and Sukuna swoops low, skimming the waves. The dragon’s vast shadow falls over you both, wings slicing the mist. With a smooth, practiced motion, Satoru boosts you toward the saddle. You land gracelessly, half-sprawled, coughing into your sleeve. Sukuna steadies his flight. Moments later, Satoru swings up behind you, water dripping from his hair.

You twist, glaring, salt-stung eyes narrowing. “You dropped me!”

“I saved you,” he says.

“If you’d stop distracting me, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.”

“Aw, admit it,” he says, tugging you back against him as Sukuna banks into the wind again. “You wanted me to play hero.”

Your jaw locks. You want to scream, punch him, and shove him straight off Sukuna’s back. But the truth sticks bitter at the back of your throat: without him, you’d be a corpse rolling in the tide right now.

Instead, you grit out, “The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m too cold to kill you.”

“Sure, gorgeous,” Satoru says, far too cheerfully for someone who just dove into the North Sea like a loon. He pats Sukuna’s neck. “Land over there, big guy.”

Sukuna banks again, wide wings slicing through the mist as he angles toward a rocky shelf jutting from the cliffs. It’s not much—a spit of grass clinging stubbornly to stone, slick with sea spray and battered by wind—but it’s flat enough for a Night Fury to perch. The dragon’s claws scrape against the stone before he settles down.

You peel yourself upright, every muscle trembling from the cold. Water streams from your hair and sleeves, soaking into the saddle leather, dripping in miserable rivulets down your legs. You feel like a half-drowned cat.

Satoru swings off Sukuna and immediately shivers, shaking out his hair. Droplets fly everywhere.

“Ah!” You swipe your face with your sleeve. “Do you mind?”

“Not even a little,” he says.

You clamber down less gracefully, boots squelching against stone. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the wind slices through your wet clothes. Your teeth chatter so hard it feels like they might rattle loose.

“Right,” you say, hugging your arms around yourself. “Let’s make this quick. I need to salvage what I can of the map before—”

“Before your hands freeze off?” Satoru interrupts. He crouches to scratch Sukuna’s chin, even though he’s dripping seawater like a broken barrel. “Sorry, cartographer, but your squiggles can wait. We’re both shaking. That’s a fast track to hypothermia.”

“I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles with a shiver. “We don’t have time to—”

“You’re not fine.” He straightens, eyeing you in that annoyingly perceptive way of his. “Your lips are purple. You’re shivering so hard I can hear your knees clacking. Don’t make me be the sensible one here, sweetheart—it feels unnatural.”

You glare. “If I die of cold, I’ll haunt you.”

“Oh, you already haunt me.” His grin softens the jab. “Now, strip.”

“I— Excuse me?” you splutter.

“Your clothes are soaked,” he says matter-of-factly, already tugging at the laces of his tunic. “Wet fabric sucks the heat right out of you. The best thing we can do is get ‘em off, huddle together, and hope Sukuna doesn’t roast us in our sleep.”

You blink at him, scandalised, even as another violent shiver racks your body. “You’re insane.”

“True. But I’m also right.” He pulls his tunic over his head in one easy motion, tossing the dripping cloth onto the stone. The setting sun’s light catches across his bare skin—broad shoulders, pale scars scattered across his abdomen, lean muscle shifting as he moves.

You pointedly do not stare.

“You’re ogling me,” he says.

“I’m glaring at you.”

“Your glare looks a lot like ogling.”

“Die.”

“Already almost did,” he says lightly, wringing out his sleeves. “Your turn.”

Every inch of you bristles at the command. Still, the damp fabric clinging icily to your ribs argues louder than your pride. You peel off your own tunic with stiff fingers, ignoring his wolf-whistle, and spread it on a rock to dry. The wind hits your bare skin, covered only by the slip you’ve worn inside, cold and merciless, goosebumps rising instantly.

Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, lingering longer than you like. He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t need to. The curve of his mouth says enough.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” you warn, hugging your arms over your chest.

“Not one word,” he promises. “Plenty of thoughts, though.”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “This is torture.”

“No, this is survival.” Satoru pats Sukuna’s flank, and the dragon obligingly lowers himself, curling his massive body into a crescent. His wings arch inwards, a living shelter against the wind. Heat radiates from his scaled belly.

“See?” Satoru gestures grandly.

You want to argue. You really, truly do. But your legs wobble under you, and the promise of warmth tugs at you. So you crawl into the nook of Sukuna’s body, pressing against his side. Satoru follows, sprawling next to you, then tugging you firmly against him. His skin is startlingly warm, even damp as it is, and his arm slides around your shoulders.

“Move,” you grumble, trying to twist free.

“Nope,” he says, tucking his chin on top of your wet hair. “You’ll freeze.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”

You want to snap back, but the heat of him seeps into your skin. Sukuna’s breathing is a thunderous rhythm behind you, the rise and fall of his chest as steady as the tides. Satoru’s warmth presses into your back, his heartbeat steady against your spine.

The shivering ebbs. Your eyelids grow heavy.

You think, just before sleep drags you under, that maybe it isn’t so bad—being held like this, the storm kept at bay by dragon wings and an irritating idiot who refuses to let you drown or freeze. You’d rather die than admit it out loud.

“Oh, my Gods.”

The voice snaps you awake like a slap. Your eyes peel open blearily, gritty from salt and sleep. The first thing you see is scales—Sukuna’s broad, ridged side, still warm beneath your cheek. The second is pale dawn light seeping over the horizon, turning the sea into hammered silver. The third, and the worst by far, is Yaga’s apprentice standing ten paces away, gawking at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

You jolt upright so fast your skull cracks against Satoru’s chin.

“Ow—fuck!” Satoru lurches back, clutching his jaw. His hair is sticking up in ten different directions, his chest bare, his arm still heavy across your waist. He blinks owlishly, still half-asleep, then follows your line of sight.

“Oh,” he says. “Morning, kid.”

The apprentice—gangly, freckled, barely old enough to grow a proper beard—turns a shade of crimson so bright it could signal passing ships. His dragon, a lumbering Gronckle, looks pointedly in the other direction as though it, too, is practicing modesty. The apprentice’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “I—uh—you—Chief Yaga sent me—”

You scramble upright, hugging your damp tunic to your chest as though it might shield you from the apprentice’s wide-eyed horror. “It’s not what it looks like.”

The boy squeaks. “It looks like you and Gojo—”

“It doesn’t,” you snap. Heat crawls up your neck, sharp as the morning chill.

“Actually,” Satoru drawls, still lounging half-naked against Sukuna’s side, “it’s exactly what it looks like.”

You kick him in the shin. He hisses through his teeth but grins anyway. Bastard.

The apprentice makes a strangled sound and stares very hard at the cliffs instead. His ears are scarlet. “Chief Yaga said—he said it was urgent. Two dragons were stolen last night.”

“Stolen?” you ask.

He nods quickly, eyes still fixed anywhere but at you. “By trappers. They slipped past the watch posts by the southern coves. Took a Nadder and a Zippleback. Riders tried to give chase, but they were gone before dawn.”

You freeze, cold in a way seawater could never manage. Images slam unbidden into your head: chains biting into scaled hides, muzzles forced over mouths, wings bound and flailing. Dragons screaming as they’re dragged into cages.

“Shit,” Satoru says, the first hint of sharpness cutting through his lazy tone. He pushes to his feet, water-dark trousers hanging low on his hips. Sukuna rumbles beside him, wings twitching restlessly.

The apprentice swallows, wringing his hands, as his Gronckle hovers above the ground. “The Chief sent me to find you. He said you’re needed immediately—both of you. He was… angry that you weren’t at the watch last night, Gojo.”

You flinch. Angry. Of course he was. You were out here, tangled up in a mess of salt, warmth, and sleep, while dragons were dragged away into darkness. Your stomach knots.

Satoru’s hand brushes yours. “Not your fault,” he murmurs.

You want to believe him. You don’t.

“Which direction?” Satoru asks crisply.

“East,” the apprentice answers. “Towards the mainland, we think. Scouts found broken nets on the tide and claw marks on the rocks, but… there were too many tracks. More than just one ship. It’s—bigger than usual.”

You hug your tunic tighter, your unease curdling into something colder. Too many tracks. Bigger than usual. And Yaga, always conveniently aware of where the trappers struck, always pushing for maps that stretched further, deeper, as though he wanted Berk’s vulnerabilities laid bare on parchment. Something ugly stirs at the back of your mind.

“Great job finding us, kid,” Satoru says. “Go on back, tell Yaga we’re on our way to Berk.”

The apprentice nods and urges his Gronckle away. Silence stretches after his wings vanish into the horizon. The only sound is the crash of waves and Sukuna’s low, restless growl.

You finally tug your tunic over your head, the fabric clammy against your skin. “Two dragons. Gone. While we—” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “While we weren’t there.”

Satoru’s gaze flicks to you. “We’ll find them.”

You want to argue. Want to spill the unease clawing at your ribs—that this isn’t coincidence, that someone is feeding the trappers information, that Yaga’s heavy insistence on maps and watch-posts feels less like defence and more like design. But Satoru swings into the saddle, his hand extended down to you, and all you can do is shove the suspicion somewhere deep down where it won’t choke you.

Later. You’ll think about it later.

The ride back to Berk is wordless. Sukuna cuts through the dawn sky with a speed that makes your bones rattle, the wind lashing your damp hair against your cheeks. The village comes into view—first the crooked rocks of the cliffside, then the smoky thatched rooftops, and finally the wide stone courtyard where riders and dragons gather in knots of uneasy conversation.

Yaga waits at the centre of it all, arms folded across his massive chest. His scowl alone could ward off a sea storm. You’ve seen him angry before, but this—this is something else.

Sukuna’s talons scrape stone. Riders hustle across the square, tightening harnesses, checking saddlebags, shouting clipped reports to one another. Dragons bristle and shift, their restlessness bleeding into their humans. You slide down from Sukuna’s saddle, boots hitting the stones. Satoru follows, rolling his shoulders once.

“Come,” Yaga’s voice booms from the centre. “Where were you?”

“Taking the north coast maps you wanted, remember?” Satoru says. “Thought you’d be proud I was finally listening.”

Yaga’s jaw ticks. “While you wasted time drawing cliffs, two dragons were stolen from right under our noses. A Nadder and a Zippleback. Good, loyal beasts, now likely in chains.”

You open your mouth—an instinctive we didn’t know, we would have been there if—but Yaga’s eyes cut to you, and the words wither in your throat.

“And you,” he says, quieter but no less cutting. “Distracted.”

Your cheeks burn hot as a furnace. You force yourself not to look at Satoru, not to flinch under Yaga’s disappointment.

“Careful, Chief,” Satoru says, stepping forward. “Sounds almost like you’re blaming us instead of the ones who actually stole the dragons.”

Silence. Riders shuffle uneasily at the edge of the square, pretending to busy themselves with tack and gear. Yaga exhales. He gestures with a curt hand, and says, “Enough. We’ve no time for excuses. Gojo, you’ll take Sukuna east. Track the trappers. If they’ve gone towards the mainland, we need to know which paths they’re using. Don’t engage. Don’t be reckless.”

“Reckless?” Satoru echoes. “Chief, that hurts me.”

“It’s meant to.”

Yaga turns to you. You think—hope—he’ll send you with Satoru. You’ve flown the coasts enough times now, you know the currents, the cliffs, the possible landing points. Together, you’d be faster.

“You,” Yaga says instead. “Stay here. The maps you made—finish them. Copy them properly, mark all the coves and hideouts. We’ll need every detail if we’re to tighten our defenses.”

“But—” You start. “With all due respect, I should go too. I was with Satoru when we—”

“No.” Yaga’s eyes harden, the finality in them brooking no argument. “We need accuracy more than we need an extra set of hands in the sky. Your maps will serve Berk better than you will.”

Heat floods your chest: anger, shame, suspicion all jumbled together. The same suspicion that had gnawed at you when the apprentice spoke of too many tracks, bigger than usual. The same suspicion that whispers now: why does he care so much about these maps?

Satoru’s hand brushes yours again, quick, almost hidden. When you glance at him, his expression is unreadable, but his mouth quirks, almost imperceptibly, in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he says aloud, stretching his arms. “I’ll bring your lizards back safely. Maybe even some extra, if they’re feeling friendly.”

“Go,” Yaga growls.

Satoru vaults back into Sukuna’s saddle. The Night Fury launches skyward in a storm of wings and air, climbing so fast your stomach flips just from watching. He doesn’t look back, but you feel his absence immediately, like the ground beneath you has shifted.

“Chief,” you try again, forcing the tremor out of your voice, “if there are more ships than usual, if this is bigger than—”

“Finish your maps,” Yaga cuts you off, turning away.

You stand there for a long moment, your fists clenching around nothing, as riders murmur and scatter and dragons snort restlessly at their sides. Something in your gut twists again, sharp and certain. Yaga doesn’t just want you out of the mission. He wants you blind, and you don’t know why.

Satoru Gojo doesn’t arrive back with the rest of the riders and it takes you about four hours to swallow down your pride and admit that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

At first, you tell yourself he’s late because he’s lazy. Because he got distracted chasing a gull or decided to nap on Sukuna’s back somewhere over the cliffs. That’s his style, isn’t it? Careless, infuriating, utterly impossible to pin down. But when the other riders return—faces set in grim lines, dragons shuffling uneasily on the packed earth—there’s no trace of him.

The knot in your stomach hardens into stone.

The courtyard empties slowly, mutters and wary glances trailing after you as you linger by the dragon pens. You can’t ask them where he is, not when your throat is tight with fear. You can’t ask Yaga either—at least, not openly, when you already suspect he doesn’t want you to know the answer.

Instead, you find the apprentice.

He’s lugging a basket of fish towards the Gronckle pens, shoulders hunched. You stride over and plant yourself in his path.

“Where’s the Chief?” you demand.

The boy nearly drops the basket, mackerel slopping over the edge. “Wh-what?”

“Yaga,” you say. “Where is he?”

He stammers. “He—uh—he’s in the great hall, I think. With some of the elders. I’m not supposed to—”

You move before he can finish. The great hall looms at the centre of Berk. Its roof rises steeply, carved dragon heads snarling from the beams. The heavy double doors are shut, but a warm glow seeps from the cracks—torchlight, flickering against the chill dusk. You shouldn’t be here. Yaga will flay you alive if he catches you sneaking where you don’t belong. But the thought of waiting, sitting idly while Satoru doesn’t come back doesn’t sit right with you.

You slip inside.

The hall stretches wide and long ahead of you, the walls lined with shields and old weapons that gleam in the light. Long tables stretch out across the floor, empty, a few littered with tankards and scraps of parchment. The far end is dominated by Yaga’s chair, carved from mahogany, massive enough to dwarf even him.

It’s empty.

You turn away from the chair—because on the nearest table is your map.

Or rather, it should be there. The stack of parchment you left after your last session of furious sketching is gone, only a faint smear of charcoal dust staining the wood. The straps you’d used to tie them together still sit at the edge of the table, neatly coiled, but the maps themselves have vanished. Your stomach lurches.

The map of the north coast. The one you risked half your life to sketch, nearly drowned for. Every cove, every inlet, every hidden path marked out in careful strokes of charcoal—gone.

Your hand curls tightly around the strap left behind, the leather cutting into your palm. The room spins, your thoughts snarling into one conclusion: if Yaga has the maps, he didn’t take them to protect Berk. And if he doesn’t have them, then someone else does. And Satoru still hasn’t come back.

You hurry out of the hall, past the empty pens, past the wary stares of villagers who pull their cloaks tighter as you barrel through. The sky is already bruising into night, gulls wheeling overhead in harsh cries that grate against your nerves. You don’t think. You just turn—towards the cliffs, the only place that makes sense. The north coast, where your maps pointed. Where Satoru isn’t supposed to be.

The path narrows as you climb. The wind rises, sharp and cold, tugging at your tunic. The sea roars below, white foam smashing itself against black rock. Each gust shoves at your balance, each step rattles your teeth. You know these paths—you’ve sketched them, charted them—but tonight they feel alien, hostile.

Your lungs burn. Your legs ache. Still, you push forward, clutching your side, muttering curses under your breath.

A shadow moves above you, massive fast, cutting across the purpling sky. The figure drops lower, angling towards you. You stumble to a stop, heart hammering, and tilt your head back.

Sukuna.

The Night Fury flies through the dusk, scales glinting dark blue where the light catches. His cry rips through the cliffs—sharp, haunting, enough to send a flock of puffins exploding from their nests. The wind from his wings slams into you, sending you staggering backwards.

He’s alone. The dragon banks sharply, almost skimming the sea, and you see a saddle still strapped tight, leather dark with seawater, reins dangling loose.

He lands on the cliffs just ahead of you, talons tearing furrows in the stone. His wings flare wide before folding in, each movement rippling with tension. He’s restless, furious, his chest heaving and his tail lashing like a whip.

“Sukuna,” you breathe, your voice cracking.

He turns at once, those twin rings of garnet eyes locking onto you. Recognition flares, but it’s not soft. It’s sharp, wild, like he’s on the edge of bolting right back into the sky. His nostrils flare, smoke curling as he huffs out a growl.

Your legs move before your mind catches up. You rush towards him, arms out, words tumbling uselessly from your mouth. “Where is he? Where’s Satoru?”

Sukuna lowers his head, nostrils flaring again as though scenting the wind. His scales are slick with salt, his wings ragged from the flight, his whole body coiled tight with an agitation you’ve never seen in him before. He paces, restless, claws scraping sparks against the stone. The saddle’s empty. Satoru’s gone.

The thought claws at your skull, frantic and ugly, but you push it down, shove it away, refuse to let it root. “Take me to him,” you say. “You hear me? Take me to him!”

Sukuna freezes. His head tilts, eyes narrowing, sharp and assessing. You think he’ll refuse, that he’ll vanish into the sky without you. But he shoves his massive snout against your shoulder, hard enough to nearly knock you flat. His wings flare again. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command.

Your hands fumble with the saddle’s straps as you clamber up, fingers numb, stomach twisting. The moment you’re seated, Sukuna surges forward, leaping into the air and spreading his wings. The world drops away beneath you, cliffs shrinking, sea spreading endless and merciless below. Wind tears at your face, your hair, your clothes. You clutch the straps tightly, the air freezing your cheeks, your heart slamming so hard you can’t tell if it’s fear or relief.

Sukuna doesn’t soar, doesn’t play with the air currents or bank lazily just to terrify you the way Satoru likes to. He cuts through the night like an arrow, wings beating ruthlessly, each downstroke flinging you forward until your stomach lurches. The North Sea yawns before you, and the cliffs crawl past in uneven shadows.

“Where are you taking me?” you shout, though the wind steals most of it away. Sukuna’s neck stiffens, his flight angled low, purposeful.

The further north you go, the rougher the landscape grows. The cliffs rise higher, crueler, sharpened by centuries of waves gnawing at their base. The moon breaks through the clouds in flashes, silvering the rocks. You’ve charted these shores on parchment, every inlet and alcove, but in the dark, they look unfamiliar.

Sukuna dives. The drop rips the breath from your chest and tears your stomach into your throat. You can only cling and pray as he folds his wings tight and plummets. At the last possible instant, he flares his wings wide, landing with a shuddering crash onto a stretch of uneven stone, claws biting through moss and shale.

You scramble down, your boots skidding on slick rock as Sukuna growls. Ahead, the cliffs hollow into a cove, a natural amphitheatre of stone and sea. Torches burn inside, small orange flames that lick against the rock, wrong against the wild dark.

In the centre of it all: Yaga.

The Chief of Berk stands with his arms crossed, broad shoulders squared and cloak snapping in the wind. His great beard glints ruddy in the torchlight. But it isn’t him that makes your heart stutter. It’s what’s at his feet.

Satoru.

He’s on his knees, wrists bound in thick rope, head tilted at an insolent angle that doesn’t quite hide the blood streaking down his temple. Even half-slumped, gagged with a strip of cloth knotted cruelly between his teeth, he radiates infuriating carelessness—eyes narrowed, expression hovering between boredom and mockery.

You make a sound—something strangled, something useless—and stumble forward, only for Sukuna to block you with a sweep of a wing. He growls again.

“Finally,” Yaga says. His voice booms off the rock, heavy, immovable, the kind of voice that fills halls and commands loyalty. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned him.”

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“What I should’ve done the moment that creature set foot on Berk.” His eyes cut to Sukuna. “That dragon is too dangerous to be left in the hands of a fool. Or worse, shared between fools. Give him to me, and I may let Gojo live.”

Satoru makes a muffled noise behind the gag, rolling his eyes so hard you half-expect them to stick. You can almost hear his voice anyway: Don’t listen to the old man, gorgeous. He just wants my dragon ‘cause he doesn’t have one of his own.

Your chest feels too small, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “You—you can’t mean that. Sukuna’s not a weapon. He’s not—”

“He’s a Night Fury,” Yaga says. “Do you have any idea what that means? The power he carries? No village could stand against us if he were ours. No trapper would dare threaten us. Berk would be untouchable.”

“He’s not yours,” you say.

Yaga’s gaze flicks past you. “And yet here he stands, listening to your commands. Think, child. You’ve seen the cliffs, the danger at our borders. Berk is one storm away from ruin. I won’t gamble its survival on the whims of a dragon who answers only to Gojo.”

Satoru gives a muffled, derisive laugh that earns him a kick to the ribs. He tips his head back, gag muffling whatever clever retort he tries to spit out.

“Is that why you funded the trappers to surround your own village, Yaga?” you ask, mustering up all the courage you own.

Yaga stills. His boot rests against Satoru’s ribs, his shadow thrown long against the cove wall. His lips twitch beneath his beard—not surprise, not shame. Annoyance.

“You shouldn’t know that,” he says slowly. “The apprentice talks too much.”

“You set them on us. You set them on him.”

A sound splits the night—metal ringing against stone, boots crunching over gravel. From the shadows at the edges of the cove, men appear. Rough-spun leather, ragged furs, nets rolled thick over their shoulders. Their faces gleam with salt and grease, their eyes hungry. Dragon trappers. You know them by the stink alone: fish oil, blood, old smoke. They slip from the dark like wolves, more than a dozen, their movements practiced, circling.

The torchlight catches iron chains coiled in their fists. Hooks. Bolas. Shackles built for wings, not wrists.

“You’re working with them?” you say.

“I’m using them,” the chief says. “They have the means, the tools that I don’t have.”

You think of the maps gone from the hall, the apprentice’s trembling mouth, the sidelong glances of riders who returned without their strongest, without him. Pieces snap into place with a sickening clarity.

“You sold us out,” you whisper again. “You sold him out.”

“I did what I had to. Berk survives because I make hard choices. You, girl—you make sketches. You play at your little maps, but I—I see storms on the horizon. Dragons beyond counting. Trappers fattening themselves on our weakness. Do you think a village of fishers and smiths can stand against that? No. But with a Night Fury—with that beast, Berk rules the seas.”

Sukuna’s growl reverberates through the rock beneath your feet. His pupils pinprick, his wings hitch upward, every line of his body coiled to strike. You know he understands enough: tone, intent, threat. He does not know, yet, how to forgive.

“Tell me,” Yaga says, low and inexorable, “what’s one boy’s life against the safety of a whole people?”

Satoru chooses that exact moment to lurch upright against his bindings, muffling something sharp and entirely unhelpful through the gag. You catch the roll of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin. One boy? Try national treasure, old man.

You almost laugh.

Chains rattle. The trappers are closing in. Their boots scrape the shale, torches lifting higher, nets poised to fly. The scent of pitch and iron stings your nose. There aren’t raiders in passing—they’re hunters, professional, and they’ve been waiting.

You step forward, planting yourself between them and Sukuna’s flank before you even think it through. “If you think he’ll ever obey you, you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” you bite out. “Sukuna isn’t a weapon. He isn’t yours to wield.”

“He will be.”

The nearest trapper lunges. A net arcs through the air, weighted corners sparking as they whip forward. You throw yourself sideways, but you needn’t have bothered—Sukuna’s blast rips it to cinders mid-flight. The explosion lights the cove for a split-second, dazzling white, searing afterimages into your vision. Rock shatters, smoke plumes, men scream.

The Night Fury roars.

The sound is primal, thunder given flesh. Sukuna surges forward, plasma bursting from his jaws in ragged, relentless blasts. Trappers scatter like startled crabs, some diving for cover, others spinning their chains desperately to keep him back. One man screams as his bolas ignite mid-spin, molten metal splattering his arm.

You drop to Satoru’s side in the chaos. He turns his head sharply, eyes catching yours, blue in the firelight, furious and alive. Your fingers fumble at the knots. The rope is soaked with seawater, swollen tight, cutting into your palms as you fight with it.

“Hold still,” you hiss, though he’s hardly moving.

He snorts through his gag. The knot slips at last. The rope slackens, and Satoru jerks his wrists free with a hiss. He tears the gag from his mouth, coughing once before grinning up at you, that same insufferable smile that somehow hasn’t dulled even after being tied and bloodied.

“Miss me?” he drawls.

You shove his shoulder. “Get up.”

“Oh, I plan to.” Satoru’s gaze flicks past you, to Yaga still looming at the centre of it all.

Sukuna lashes his tail, knocking two trappers flat, and whirlls his head back towards you both, plasma building in his throat again. The trappers rally, more of them pouring from the shadows at the mouth of the cove, their nets glowing with oil to withstand fire, their bolas gleaming with sharpened edges meant for wings. Their shadows jitter grotesquely against the cove walls, wolfish and endless. Sukuna’s blasts have rattled them but not broken them—they circle tighter, nets at the ready.

A horn splits the night.

It’s high and keening, rolling down from the cliffs above: Berk’s call to arms.

Shapes tear through the dark sky. Dragons. Not one, not two—a little less than a dozen, wings beating hard, riders silhouetted against the clouds. Their cries cascade through the air—the iron thrum of Nadder wings, the heavy, beating thunder of a Gronckle, the shriek of a Zippleback.

The riders dive. Bolas meant for Sukuna snap backward, suddenly tangled in fire. A trapper screams when a Deadly Nadder’s spines pin his arm to the cove wall. Yaga’s apprentice clings desperately to his dragon—far too small for this fight, a Gronckle, wings buzzing frantically—but his horn blast keeps sounding, rallying the others.

“Traitors!” Yaga bellows. His face is red with fury, veins bulging in his temple. “Do you side with him over your own chief?”

“Over a traitor, yes!” the apprentice shouts back.

The cove fractures into chaos—dragons wheeling, trappers shouting, nets burning in mid-air. Sukuna tears through them, plasma lighting up the night. You turn towards Satoru, only to freeze.

Yaga’s hand clamps down around your arm, thick and brutal, yanking you off your feet. The world spins; your back slams against his chest, his arm like an iron band around you. He drags you towards the cliff’s edge, gravel skittering into the black maw of sea below.

“Stop!” His roar drowns even the dragon cries. “Or she falls!”

Sukuna halts mid-pounce, talons gouging sparks in the stone. The other riders hover, their dragons’ wings beating the air in slow, heavy pulses. Even the trappers hesitate, chains slack in their hands. The sea crashes below, white foam gnashing against the rocks, a drop so sheer it makes you feel nauseous.

Yaga’s breath rasps against your ear. “The Night Fury, girl. Give him to me or you’re gone.”

You twist, fighting against his grip, nails digging into his arm, but he’s immovable, a wall of muscle and conviction. He jerks you closer to the edge, and the heel of your boot slips on loose gravel. Your weight tilts towards the abyss.

Somehow, impossibly, you make eye contact with Satoru—astride Sukuna. His white hair gleams in the torchlight. Sukuna crouches beneath him, plasma pulsing faintly in his throat, tail still twitching.

Satoru’s lips move.

Eighty percent.

You blink, barely comprehending. “What?” you croak out.

Eighty percent.

Suddenly, you know. He wants you to trust him. He wants you to fall. It’s insane. It’s impossible.

The apprentice screams your name from somewhere above. The riders shout warnings. The trappers lunge forward, seeing their chance. Yaga tightens his grip, preparing to hurl you like discarded cargo into the sea.

You make the choice first.

Your knees buckle, and you let yourself go slack. His grip loosens in shock—just enough. You wrench sideways, twist hard against his hold, and throw yourself forward into the air.

The sea roars up to meet you. Wind tears your scream to shreds. There’s only the black water yawning wide, jagged rocks slick with foam—until Sukuna dives down, his wings folded tightly. He rockets down the cliff face, plasma sparking in his jaws. You glimpse Satoru’s silhouette against the stars, leaning low in the saddle, eyes locked on you.

The air sears past your skin, the spray of the sea already stinging your face. Claws close around you.

Sukuna’s talons scoop you from the air. The force of it nearly rips the breath from your lungs, but the relief, the sheer surge of it, blinds you more than the wind. He angles upward in a steep climb, wings snapping wide, hauling you clear from the rocks and the ravenous waves.

You’re pressed tightly against his chest, his claws curled just enough to cage you without harm, his scales hot with exertion. Above you, astride the saddle, Satoru twists in his seat, grinning down at you.

“See?” he calls. “Told you. Eighty percent.”

You want to kiss him. You also want to scream. Instead, all you manage is a hoarse, furious, “You’re an idiot!”

Your first kiss with Satoru Gojo occurs because of Sukuna.

Not because you wanted it to. Gods, no. You’d rather have wrestled a Gronckle with one arm tied behind your back than admit you were even remotely tempted by the smirk plastered across Satoru’s stupid face. But Sukuna, traitorous beast that he is, decided that enough was enough.

It starts when the Night Fury refuses to let either of you down. You’re sore from the fight, ribs aching where Yaga had grabbed you, salt still drying and sticking to your skin. You’ve been through enough for one night, and all you want is the ground. Just solid ground beneath your feet.

Sukuna, it seems, has other ideas.

He lands not on the village cliffs, not near the dragon pens, but on the highest bluff overlooking Berk. A windswept place where he knows neither of you can escape quickly. He lowers his head, eyes narrowing with that calculating look he always gets when he’s three steps ahead of everyone else.

You try to slide off the saddle. His tail lashes, blocking your path.

“Really?” you snap, shoving at the scaled wall of muscle. “I’ve had enough for today.”

“He just doesn’t want us to leave,” Satoru supplies. “Can you blame him? We make such a great team.”

You whirl on him. “You nearly got yourself killed.”

“Nearly. Keyword.”

Your teeth grind. The wind snaps your hair into your eyes, the sea growls far below, and Satoru is—well, Satoru. All flippant grins and infuriating calm, as if Yaga’s betrayal, the trappers, the near loss of Sukuna, none of it left so much as a scratch on his spirit.

You jab a finger at his chest. “You think this is funny? You were gagged and tied and—”

“—and you swooped in and saved me,” he says. “Admit it, you couldn’t stand to see me suffer.”

“You—” you splutter. “I— That’s not—”

Sukuna rumbles, wings settling around you both like a barricade. His eyes gleam faintly in the dark, twin garnets pinning you where you sit. You realise too late: he’s cornered you.

Satoru tilts his head. “You hear that? He’s saying we should kiss and make up.”

“He is not,” you say flatly.

“He definitely is,” Satoru insists. He leans in just slightly, enough to test the boundaries, enough for your heart to betray you by stumbling over itself. “C’mon. Wouldn’t want to upset him. He’s had a rough day too.”

You glare, but the problem is that Sukuna seems to agree. He nudges the both of you closer with the blunt force of his snout, nearly toppling you into Satoru’s lap. The dragon huffs smoke, satisfied, before curling into the stone and laying his head flat as though to say, Now behave.

You should shove Satoru away. You should storm off, make the climb down the cliffs yourself, risk the dark. Anything but this.

The adrenaline of the fight still thrums through your veins. Your pulse hasn’t slowed since you saw him bound on his knees, blood dripping from his temple, smirking like a madman even then. You remember the feel of the ropes cutting your palms as you freed him, the wild terror that maybe you’d been too late.

Maybe that’s why you don’t shove him away. Maybe that’s why you let him close the distance, why your lips meet his halfway in a kiss that’s less a decision and more a consequence, inevitable as the tide.

It’s clumsy, at first. You’re too angry, he’s too smug. But he softens into it, just a little, and you hate the way the ground seems to tilt under your feet, how the world narrows to salt air and warmth and the reckless promise of him.

When you finally break apart, breathless, Satoru grins like he’s just won a war.

“Knew you liked me,” he says, blue eyes sparkling.

You shove him hard in the shoulder, though your face burns. “That was for Sukuna,” you say.

The dragon rumbles again, smug as any beast can be. Satoru only laughs, tipping his head back, and pulls you in for another kiss.

It’s ecstatic, the feel of Satoru’s tongue lapping at your folds.

His tongue is wet and hot as it laps over the sensitive nerves, and you can feel the way he hums happily as he laps at the juices that drip onto his waiting mouth. You’re sure his face is going to be covered in your slick by the end of this, but it seems like he couldn’t care less, if his moans and groans are any indication. Your fingers tangle in his white strands of hair, gripping hard to keep him where you want him. His arms are wrapped around your legs, keeping them open as he feasts on your cunt. You can see the muscles in his back flexing as he tries to get closer, get deeper, and you can only hold on for dear life, feeling the way he drives you higher and higher towards your orgasm.

Satoru is making a mess of himself, and you know he has a thing for being covered in your slick.

The moment the thought passes through your head, you can’t help the cry that escapes, a full-body shiver wracking through your body. He groans into you, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you feel his tongue move in a way that you know has him spelling his name, over and over again. You tug at his hair, trying to move him, but his arms tighten and he doesn’t budge.

You let out a moan, trying to speak. “Satoru, I—I need you. Inside me. Now.”

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. “One more, gorgeous. Give me one more, and then I’m all yours.”

You whine, feeling the heat in your stomach build, and Satoru continues to eat you out. Your back arches off the bed, and you grip his hair tighter. Your thighs start to close around him; he lets go of one of your legs to press two fingers into your heat, pressing right into that spot that has you crying out his name, curling his fingers as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your body shakes, and you cry out his name, feeling the way your cunt tightens and throbs around his fingers.

Satoru groans, moving his face away from your core and watching as the aftershocks of your orgasm make your body tremble. He pumps his fingers slowly, prolonging your pleasure, and you whine at the sensitivity.

He smiles softly, kissing the inside of your thigh, before removing his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and licking the juices that cover them. He lets out a pleased moan, eyes locked onto yours, and moves to kiss you.

His lips are warm, and you taste yourself on his tongue. It only serves to rile you up more when you feel the way his cock throbs where it presses against your thigh. You raise your legs to wrap them around his hips, and you push him lightly. Satoru moves willingly, letting out a moan as he lies on his back. He grips the sheets in anticipation, watching as you straddle his lap. He groans, feeling the way your cunt settles on his thighs. You smile, running a finger down his chest, and he bucks his hips in response.

You let out a gasp when the tip of his cock rubs against your folds. He moans.

Satoru’s hands grip your hips tightly, and his thumb rubs circles on your skin. You can feel the way he trembles under you. Your hand wraps around his cock, pumping lightly; he whines. You position the tip at your entrance, rubbing it against your clit, and moan.

“Stop teasing,” he groans, and you grin.

“Or what?” you taunt, grinding against his length. “Are you going to punish me, Satoru?”

He growls, hips jerking upwards. You gasp, feeling the tip rub against your folds, catching at your slit, and try to lower yourself. But Satoru tightens his hold, not letting you sink further onto his cock. You glare at him.

“I should,” he says, and suddenly his arms are around you, flipping you onto your back.

He settles between your thighs, his arms framing either side of your head. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can feel his cock brushing against your folds. You move your arms to wrap around his shoulders, nails scratching lightly down his back.

Satoru groans, burying his head in your neck, nipping lightly.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling his hips jerk.

The tip of his cock rubs against your clit again. He lets out a breathless laugh.

“I will,” he responds—only to be interrupted by a loud, keening wail from outside your cottage door.

The sound is so piercing, so demanding, that for a moment you think some villager has wandered into mortal peril right outside your door. But no—no, you recognise that guttural, almost petulant cry. You and Satoru both freeze.

“Was that—” you start.

Another wail, louder this time, rattles the hinges of your cottage, followed by the unmistakable scrape of claws against wood.

Satoru drops his forehead against your collarbone. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

The Night Fury wails again, insistent, tail thudding against the doorframe. You bite back a laugh, half-giddy, half-exasperated, and say, “I think someone wants attention.”

Satoru lifts his head, hair mussed and eyes narrowed. “He’s the worst cockblock in history,” he mutters. “Tell him to go hunt some haddock or terrorise the chickens, or—Gods, literally anything else.”

The next sound isn’t just a wail. It’s a low, mournful croon that slides under your ribs and squeezes. Sukuna isn’t just loud—he’s lonely.

You soften, even as Satoru makes a strangled noise of despair above you. “Satoru…”

“No,” he says, rolling off you onto his back. “No, no, don’t you dare give him those eyes. He doesn’t deserve those eyes. I was right there, gorgeous—right there.”

You’re already tugging your tunic back over your shoulders, laughing despite the ache in your belly. “He’ll tear the cottage down if we don’t.”

Satoru throws an arm over his face, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “I hate him. I actually hate him.”

But when you slip to the door and crack it open, Sukuna is there, his massive head lowered to the threshold, those garnet eyes glowing with expectation. He snorts the moment he sees you, bumping his snout against your chest.

“Alright, alright,” you murmur, your hands automatically smoothing over his warm snout. “Head pats. Happy?”

Sukuna rumbles, pressing harder into your palm. Satoru groans again. “Unbelievable. My dragon just stole my girl. I’m doomed.”

You glance over your shoulder to find him sprawled on the bed, hair a disaster, chest heaving, the blankets thrown over the lower half of his body. He’s sulking. You grin.

“Maybe he just knows when to step in,” you tease, scratching gently at Sukuna’s scales.

“Step in? He barged in.”

Sukuna lets out a little huff and nuzzles harder against your hand.

Satoru groans once more, louder this time, dragging the pillow over his face. “I’m moving out.”

𝑲𝒊𝒌𝒖𝒇𝒖𝒌𝒖

✯𝐼'𝑚 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑘 - 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯ 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑑 - 𝐹𝑟𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑜𝑦! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐼𝑛 𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝐴𝑔𝑒 - 𝑈𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦/𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐹 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑦 - 𝑈𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦/𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐹 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯ 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 - 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑖𝑒! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑦 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯ 𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦 - 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑙𝑝ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑅𝑢𝑡 - 𝐴𝑙𝑝ℎ𝑎 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝑂𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑎 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦 𝐻𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑀𝑒 - 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑦 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑊ℎ𝑜'𝑠 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝑆𝑙𝑢𝑡 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑌𝑜𝑢 - 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑦 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝐴 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑉𝑖𝑒𝑤 - 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑑𝑒-𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘 (𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑢) 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑈𝑛𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑉𝑖𝑒𝑤 - 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑑𝑒-𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘 (𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑢) 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝒓

✯𝐿𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑀𝑟𝑠. 𝑃𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑒 - 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑡𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆ℎ𝑦 𝑃𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑒! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑉𝑖𝑒𝑤 - 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑑𝑒-𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘 (𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑢) 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑛𝑑, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝐻𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 - 𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑑𝑒-𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘 (𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑢) 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑇𝑤𝑜 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 - 𝐷𝑜𝑚! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝑆𝑢𝑏-𝑝𝑒𝑡! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑠 - 𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑛 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝐵𝑎𝑑 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 - 𝐼𝑡𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 - 𝑇𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑇𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑌/𝑁-𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛

✯𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑀𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦 𝐴𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛! - 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝐹𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 - 𝐵𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑟! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝐶𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑟! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝐴 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦'𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 - 𝐻𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑁𝑜 𝑁𝑢𝑡 𝑁𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 - 𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑! 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝐶𝑎𝑚 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑌/𝑁-𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑛

✯𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘 - 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑌/𝑁

✯𝐴 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 - 𝐻𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢 𝑥 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒 𝑇𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒 - 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐹 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒘𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔 (𝒂𝒐3)

✯𝑁𝑜 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑇𝑜 𝐷𝑖𝑒 - 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✯ 𝐼𝑓 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡, 𝐼𝑓 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐼 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 - 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑝 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑝 𝑆𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑴𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚'𝒔 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑩𝒐𝒚

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐼𝑛 𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝐴𝑔𝑒 -𝑈𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦/𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑥 𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐹 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒐3 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏)

✯𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝑼𝒏𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒇𝒖𝒍 (POPULAR!)

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟

✯𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 1

✯𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 1.5

✯𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 2

𝑰𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒐-𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒓𝒖-𝒏𝒊𝒊

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟

𝑻𝒐𝒓𝒖'𝒔 𝑴𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚 𝑰𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔

𝑨 𝑺𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

✯𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒊𝒆

✯𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 - 𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒

✯𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜 - 𝐹𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ

✯𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 - 𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛

✯𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 - 𝐵𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑜

𝑩𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝑰𝒏 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

✯𝑈𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑀𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏.

The years of your childhood with Satoru had taught you how to navigate his moods. But three years have passed ; and you are out of practice. The ease you two once had has died and withered out. He sits across from you now, drumming his fingers on the coffee table—and every time your eyes meet, it feels like sticking your hand into the maw of a jaguar.

You want to say there is no ill will. In fact, Satoru had greeted you as if you were long lost friends, separated by distance instead of bitter heartbreak. He had hugged you, maybe too tight. And he had nuzzled against your throat. Not quite scenting, but something else that was still too inappropriate for a public reconciliation.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Your hand shook, and Satoru tracked the motion, as you reached for the teacup.

"So, how're things?" Satoru inquires, as if he doesn't already know.

"Good." You said, stiffly.

You don't mention the strange black cars always parked outside of your house. The Christmas packages. Flowers. Birthday gifts. You don't mention the burner Instagram accounts that pop up faster than you can block them. You don't mention that you've changed your number twice now. And somehow, Satoru had managed to shoot you a text anyway.

"You should come over on Saturday," He says, delicate finger tracing the rim of his own teacup. His blue eyes shift to pin you in place. "We'll cook dinner. It'll be nice"

Even though he says the words casually, you know it isn't a proposal. Satoru has come here with the intent of making sure you know you'll be having dinner with them both on Saturday and that you need to prepare yourself. Annoyance prickles down the line of your shoulders.

Your hands retreat underneath the table, where you discreetly attempt to wipe your sweaty palms off on your jeans. You tried going for a look that said This-Is-Just-An-Average-Thing-For-Me, but Satoru's version of casualness seems to blow you out of the water.

His hair edges the line between carelessness and wanting to impress. An expensive woolen coat tossed over the back of his chair. Black pants. A turtleneck sweater made of a lighter fabric. Like he could have been meeting his fellow house-wives for brunch or stepped out of a business meeting.

"Maybe" You start, trying to keep the distaste off of your face. In truth—you can think of nothing worse than dinner with your ex-best friend and your ex-boyfriend. Your mouth opens, breathing shakily. "I better not, actually"

Don't say sorry, you think, digging your nails into your thigh. Don't over-explain yourself. No means no.

Satoru huffed and exhaled sharply. You hated the way your body stiffened to attention, perking upwards. Even three years later, he has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

Yet another thing he was better than you at.

He had always been prettier. Smarter. His scent turned heads. Alphas glanced longingly at his long legs and were captivated by his pretty blue eyes. Teachers praised his grades. He was always picked first in gym-class. Even though he was an omega, you have never known Satoru to submit to anything.

Satoru would watch you watch other alphas. They never wanted anything to do with you of course, a plain, meek omega. But it would never be long until those same alphas were trailing after him—or him parading them right in front of you. As if to say, why would they want you if they could have me?

You dug your nails into the palm of your hand again and pushed the thought away. Your therapist says that it's most likely not the case. Satoru makes you feel inferior as an omega, so your brain will try to attempt to twist old memories to reaffirm what your insecurities tell you.

You wanted to tell her that she didn't know Satoru like you did. But you had to admit that it made sense. He's never gone out and said it. Maybe he just liked all the same alphas you did. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Let's go to how things were" Satoru says, trying for a new angle. When that gets little to no reaction from you, he tries again. "We miss you"

At that, your armor cracked. Your features contorted into an expression of pain. Ashamed, you brushed aside his hand and hung your head. Cheeks heating, you rapidly blinked your eyes to stop yourself from crying.

You missed them, of course you did. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Even three years later, they consumed much of your time. It was all you thought about. Reconciliation. Making it work. There was no such thing as making it work. Not when they were fated mates and you were the force that had brought them together.

Because of course, the one thing you wanted, the inane fairy tale dizzy little omegas dreamed of—an alpha just for them. Of course Satoru got that and you didn't.

Because, ultimately, Satoru's how things were and your how things were, were two different things.

"No" You said, proud of the way your voice didn't waver or shake. "No, Satoru. I don't want to do that."

It took everything you had not to fall apart. You thought nothing of it at first, meeting here in this cafe. The perfect halfway mark between your house and where you thought they might have lived currently. But had that been apart of Satoru's plan too? Get you here to make sure you felt inferior, in front of an audience? A pay-back for daring to up and leave?

Breathe. You obeyed the whispering thought deep within. There you were, being silly again. You weren't the same, secretly insecure riddled thing from three years ago. Sure, the betrayal had stung deeply. But you had moved on. Of course you moved on. You lifted your head.

Satoru tilted his head, as if assessing you for weaknesses anew. "No, you don't want to do that?" You nodded. Satoru hummed, as if to say, too bad. His fingers skirted along your knuckles. "Suguru wants to see you"

A sudden sharp ache. Like the mere mention of him was a wound, and Satoru was a hand that sprinkled salt on top. Or, more befitting of his nature—twisting a blade deeper. You sucked in a sharp breath, pulling back from him.

"I don't think that's a good idea" You murmured, voice sounding scratchy. You shook your head, and aimed for something more assertive. "It's not a good idea. None of this. I shouldn't have com—"

"It was just a suggestion" He said, whipper-snap fast. He too seemed poised for action, mirroring your position. Satoru sucked his teeth. "You're being difficult. I want you to come home"

Everything is always what you want, you think with a twinge of bitterness. Everything has always been what Satoru wants. Satoru wants you to match yukatas for summer festivities. Satoru wants his things in your nest. Satoru wants to don you in pretty things. Satoru wants to kiss you sometimes, when he's lonely, or scared.

"I don't—" Your words tumble out wrong, too sharp. Like you're attempting to challenge him. You try again. "I can't just forget what happened."

"I know" Satoru nodded gravely. "He knows too. We tried to make it work before and it didn't work out the right way. We just need to try again"

His words picked up in speed. His hands moved about in wild increments. You were upset, he assured you he understood that. But. If you just came over on Saturday—for dinner. Then things would be OK again.

One thing stood out to you : Satoru had not apologized.

You came here, because you thought he might apologize. All you wanted was for someone to say they were sorry for you, and what you had endured.

The thought was laughable. Why would you assume that? Satoru never apologized. Regret, shame, guilt...those were not things he felt. He felt only desire, and everything he desired, he would have. If he did not already have it.

He didn't mean to steal Suguru away from you, your mind whispered. The part that still submitted to Satoru and his whiles. The part of yourself that you fought everyday. That wasn't his intention. He was your best friend. He can't help who the Fates tie him to.

And didn't you try to make it work at first? The horrid attempt at making a pack. But how could you make pack with the people who you felt betrayed by? It was as though you and Satoru were constantly at each other's throats—with Suguru left to break them up. If not that, then the opposite, with Satoru and Suguru struggling to figure out the depths of their new bond and constantly fighting over you.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, you became neglected.

Then, came the awful situation of marking. You attempted to mark Satoru, despite the fact that omega's couldn't mark one another. You just wanted—you wanted a sign. Let your mark on him stay, and you would too. The mark faded. But the one tethering Suguru and Satoru together did not.

You packed your bags and left under the cover of night shortly thereafter.

Hopelessly, your gaze lingered on Satoru's throat. His only olive branch was the sweater he wore. You couldn't see all of it. Just a little bit, peeking out over the top. A perfect impression of Suguru's teeth. A healthy, successful bond. An alpha who loved and cherished him.

Everything you've always wanted.

You recoiled from the thought, from Satoru, and the fact that you had attempted to reach out for his hand. Sweat bead along your hairline. The cafè suddenly felt stifling. Eyes. So many eyes. Everyone (or perhaps just Satoru) were watching you.

How did the two of you look, to wandering eyes? A scene from a drama, most likely. Satoru played the part of the romance lead. You, the second-lead. Unwanted. He sat confidently across from you. You looked like you were trying to mend down into your chair.

Could everyone see you the way you always seemed to see yourself?

"I can't. I'm so—" Don't say sorry. "I need to go. This was a mistake"

"Please?" Satoru never begged. Of course not. And he wasn't starting now. This was just another ploy. To get you to give in.

You nearly fell on top of the table in your haste to stand. The chair screaming as it slid along the floor. Eyes. People watching you. Sending you dark, annoyed looks.

"I have to go" You said fervently, gathering your things. "I. Please delete my number. I don't want to see either of you. Please respect t-that"

You escaped for the door before Satoru could follow. As the chilly early-March air brushed against your cheeks, you thought you caught a glimpse of him still sitting there. You kept your eyes trained to the ground, getting to the car parked half a block away out of sheer luck.

It felt as though you couldn't breathe until you were home again. Until you were safe. You ignored the flowers and your favorite chocolates lying innocently against the dining room table. Zapped totally of all energy, you collapsed into bed and did not rise again until the next morning.

When you were in your third year of high school, you had a crush on an alpha. Suzuki, or something. He was tall, and his skin was always slightly tan from all the time he spent outside on his family's ranch. He had a woodsy, grassy scent that you liked—you had no idea if it was his real scent or just what clung to his clothes after all of that work outside.

He had hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck. It had seemed, over the course of the summer the year before, Suzuki had grown handsome. Once, he had been willowy. And then, built. You liked to sit behind him in class. Once, he had turned to ask for a pencil. That had been the highlight of your year.

Satoru had come over for the summer. He usually does. You weren't known as yourself. You were known as hot Satoru's clumsy best friend—and he didn't even live there. He had barreled into your home the same way he always had, and immediately set to reconstructing your nest so that it was big enough to fit two.

He had you in there, lying on top of you, stealing every snatch of air from your lungs.

You stroked the back of his head where you knew he liked it best. His purr rumbled into your own chest, relaxing your tense muscles. He was ranting about his favorite topic lately : how much he hated alphas.

"And, to add insult to injury, she asked to scent me twenty minutes into our date!" Satoru whined, and then began to gnaw puppy-like on your finger, which made you giggle. "Alphas are so annoying. You're so lucky you don't have to deal with them"

The words stung. You gave him a wan little smile, lips stretched thin. He didn't mean it, you told yourself. It's not like you would ever say anything to him about it. You didn't want to come off as insecure or pathetic.

But didn't he realize that it wasn't normal to be practically invisible to alphas? With the way they treated you, you might as well be a beta. Not that there was an issue with being a beta. But was it so wrong to want an alpha to look at you and see potential for a relationship?

His finger trailed down the side of your throat. He was peering at you strangely. "It would be so much easier if we dated instead"

Your face flushed immediately. You wanted to brush it off as a joke, but you knew there was some degree of truth to the admission. Not because of his tone, or the look in his eyes. But because you knew him as though he were an extension of your own hand.

"I-I...uhm" You stammered, glancing away. "But we're both omegas..."

"So?" Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You don't seriously believe in all of that traditional bullshit, do you?"

"No of course not!" You weren't a bigot. "I. Well...I guess I just always saw myself with an alpha?"

"But how would you know?" He asked, pressing the pads of his fingers more firmly against the scent gland on your throat, where an alpha's mating mark would someday be. "You've never been with an alpha before"

The reminder of your virginity stung. Satoru had been with alphas. He had even gone all the way. He had no issue finding an alpha to spend his heats with.

If things continued at this snails pace; you would end up losing your virginity on your wedding night to whatever alpha your parents managed to find for you. And how embarrassing would that be?

"You've never been with an omega before" You pointed out. When Satoru said nothing, looking away, you faltered. "...have you?"

"No." He said, flippant "I'm not interested in omegas"

"But you just said—"

"I said we" Satoru stressed, as if that was somehow different. "It's not the same if it's you. Duh. You're...you're special. Different. And at this rate, my attraction to alphas fades every day"

A beat of silence passed. Satoru leaned back and straddled your waist. For some reason, your heart pounded inside of your chest. He toyed with the collar of your shirt absently. "If you were an alpha, what kind of omega would you go for?"

"Erm" You said, stupidly. "I don't know? A nice one?"

That made him laugh. "You're so cute" he teased, eyes fond. When you squirmed and looked away, he laughed louder. "Just the cutest. I'm gonna be so sad when an alpha finally takes you away"

Again, there was an odd bit of truth. It was a fear of his, you could sense it. You could not possibly see a world where you and Satoru were not close. You could both be eighty and still sharing the same nest.

"Come on now, Satoru" You murmured, gently massaging his scent gland to let some of his sweet persimmon-peach scent into the room. "You wouldn't lose to an alpha"

He laughed, and all was restored.

"No, of course not" Satoru leaned close and brushed your noses together. You returned the gesture. He moved his head down and your lips hardly brushed together. It happened sometimes. "I'll never let an alpha take you away from me"

When Saturday inevitably came, you found yourself sick with nerves.

No, literally. You woke up from a nightmare and went to spew up last nights dinner into the toilet. You clung limply to the bowl, gasping for air. You skipped work, barely remembering to properly call out (you sounded so awful over the phone that your manager didn't even kick up a fuss).

A pit had formed at the bottom of your stomach. It grew its roots until there was nothing left inside of you but fear for what was to come. Suddenly, your phone lit up with a text. You didn't have to look at it to know that it was from Satoru. Somehow, you just knew.

8.00. Don't be late :) !

You hurled again but nothing came up but bile that burned your throat. You wiped your mouth, flushed and then gurgled a lot of water to regain any fluids potentially lost. You brushed your teeth and forced yourself back into bed. When you woke from your nap (that conveniently lasted the whole day), it was 4:48 PM.

At 5:02, you got out of bed for the second time today and forced yourself into the shower. The water was scalding hot, just the way you needed it. So hot that it bordered on uncomfortable. So hot you couldn't even anxiously spiral about the whole Satoru-Suguru situation. You spent a long time underneath the shower-head, and then even longer sitting butt naked on the floor of your closet, wondering what to even wear.

If you were going. And that was a big if. Technically, you said no. You said you wanted nothing more to do with that. Them. So if you didn't want to go, what could they do? Drag you to their house? Chain you down and force you to stay?

You chuckled bitterly. That didn't seem so far from possibility with Satoru in mind. Suguru at least, had minimum contact with you these last few years. He sent you a happy birthday text once and very rarely liked your story posts on Instagram from his business account.

He wasn't like Satoru—who you suspected had somehow gotten flowers inside your house. Suguru respected your wishes enough to leave you alone.

In the end, you said fuck it, pulling on simple pants and a nice enough blouse (hiding it underneath a light jacket) and left your house with nothing but your wallet, house-key and phone. You weren't going.

Instead, you walked without any real destination in mind. It was a habit you hadn't managed to break. Back in your hometown, you could walk anywhere and eventually end up where you began. There was safety and familiarity in the same places. Whenever you became stressed, agitated, you would just set out walking. The scenery would calm you down.

You didn't think of how much of an easy target you made. An unmated omega without scent patches. It wouldn't be hard for an alpha with the wrong sorts of intentions to find you.

That was how you met Suguru, actually. An alpha with the right sort of intentions; stopping you from ending up on the channel 9 news. Immediately, you scrubbed the memory from your mind. You didn't want to think about him. If there was a way to forget them both completely, you were you would take it.

Eventually, you happened upon a park. It seemed familiar. Maybe all parks were that way—pockets of nostalgia that held the word together in its plastic slides and chain-link swings. You walked the perimeter of it for what felt like a dozen times and collapsed onto the nearest bench with a relieved groan.

Your legs and feet were pleasantly sore. You propped one leg up onto the other and gently rolled your ankle as though it were a ball on a hinge. The bone creaked and popped—maybe this was a sign that you were getting older.

You brought up one hand, fingers massaging the middle of your forehead. A killer headache was approaching. The sound of you greedily inhaling air was the only thing around for what seemed like miles. Until a car pulled up to a screeching stop and killed the engine. It wasn't a model you recognized.

Body frozen with fear, you watched apprehensively as the driver got out of the car and briskly made his way over. He didn't slam the door—that was never Suguru's style. Heart trapped wildly in your throat, you could say nothing when he called out to you.

He said your name again, this time with a familiar expression. His lips thinned and his left brow jumped, before a furrow appeared between them. You felt like a scolded child. It was weird when paired with the fact that when you saw him, you felt relief. Pure, unadulterated relief. You wanted to jump into his arms and let him make everything right again.

Ruthlessly, you squandered that down. Suguru was Satoru's alpha now.

"What are you doing here?" You asked instead, and your voice only sounded slightly winded, which you were proud of.

Suguru glanced around. "This is where you always go when you're stressed out, dear. I figured I'd check here when you didn't show"

The reminder made you want to grind your teeth together. Again with the assumption that you would just do whatever they wanted. Like you hadn't left on your own. Like you haven't survived three whole years, on your own.

"Well tough shit" You heard yourself say. Internally, you preened at the display of strength. At not crumbling. "I said I didn't want to go"

To that, Suguru said nothing. Your eyes bounced on him and away again. You didn't want to oogle him, to see all the ways his appearance might have changed or otherwise stayed the same. You didn't want him to look at you either, but you could feel his eyes sliding over your body anyway.

When he continued to say nothing, you scoffed and stood up. Pain flared in your legs and feet but you refused to show it. Hands shaking, you pulled up the maps app on your phone and quickly typed in the directions to the nearest bus stop.

"Wait, wait" He said, sounding all out of breath. You did not, and put one foot in front of the other. Suguru exhaled a sharp breath (how similar he and Satoru were, in some lights) and grabbed onto your arm. Of course you tried to break free, but there was no beating the natural strength of an alpha. "Let's just talk about this, alright?"

You shook your head, saying nothing. You didn't want to talk. Talking with Suguru was worse than fighting. He had such a way of words. Spinning them in such a way that you got all mixed up and tired—always admitting defeat. Shamefully, you felt tears rising up at the threat of a verbal confrontation with him and harshly scrubbed them away with the palm of your free hand. More tears fell.

A lump formed in your throat as you pushed down a hiccuping cry. Stupid. You were stupid for leaving the house. This whole situation was stupid. You were just a stupid girl who never seemed to learn.

"What are you doing out here, all by yourself?" You heard him ask. Suguru's voice was soft and slightly condescending, as if you couldn't be trusted to make decisions for yourself. "It's late. Your phone doesn't have much battery left to it. What if something had happened to you, dear? Could you really walk nine miles back to your house?"

"How did you–?" You stopped crying long enough to blink your teary-eyed gaze up at him quizzically. You powered on your phone. Just like he said, the battery was pitifully low. Then, you glanced down at your feet. Had you really walked nine miles? You shook your head. That didn't matter. "I can take care of myself. You...you don't have to worry about me anymore"

"I always worry about you" Suguru said, and his face looked perfectly believable.

You tried to scoff, but it sounded weak. And more importantly, it sounded like you were about to cry again. Once more, you tried to tug away from him. He didn't let you—instead crowding too close into your space. Stop, let go of me, you said pathetically quiet , but he cut you off with soft shushing noises.

Suguru pressed your foreheads together. And it reminded you so painfully of Satoru, and the sweet way you always brushed your noses against one another. His eyes were open, unblinking as they bore down on you. Even when you screwed your own eyes shut (which you couldn't do forever, and then opened), you felt his stare keenly.

"Why didn't you come?"

You set your jaw, swallowing thickly. "I...I was scared"

"What's there to be afraid of?" He asked "It's just us"

And therein lied the problem. You felt yourself sighing heavily, trying to resist him. It wasn't worth getting yourself hurt again. You knew that. No matter how badly you wanted to feel loved again, it wasn't worth being passed back and forth between them like a chew toy. But before you loved Suguru, there was Satoru. And he was always impossible to resist.

That's why you needed to get away. And stay away. Because no matter what Satoru did to you, it was impossible to truly hate him. Not when he was so wrapped up in your DNA you couldn't tell where he ended and you began. You spent the past three years shuffling through the motions, hardly living.

You said nothing. Maybe you didn't need to. Suguru knew you well. How many times had you cried into his chest, feeling pathetic and worthless without Satoru there to guide you? Before they even met, he hated Satoru, for what he put you through. You wondered how that worked. Being fated for a person you could only half-stand. Maybe these three years had given the two of them plenty of time to sort everything out.

"It's alright" You heard him murmur. His hand snaked underneath your jacket, unzipping it to expose your top. You feared only for a second what he would do before your inner omega calmed that right down. It was Suguru. Suguru would never do anything to hurt you. His hand pressed against your unbitten mating gland. He studied it silently for a bit, gently tipping your head this way and that to get a better look at it.

Then, without another word, his palm slid to the back of your neck, and he scruffed you.

With a panicked noise, you fell into his chest, breathing hard against the instincts that made you submit to him. It didn't take long at all for that too to die out, leaving you boneless against him.

"I know you don't like being scruffed, honey." You heard him say as he gently hoisted you up into his arms and walked over to the park. "But you can't run away forever. We need you back"

"I le-left..." You slurred; with great effort as he gently deposited your prone form into the passenger side. "I don't...I wan–I wanna go home"

"We are going home" Suguru murmured, buckling you in and kissing your forehead, and again on your slack mouth. "Now sit tight. That'll wear off by the time we get there, don't worry"

You felt sick the entire ride there, like you did this morning. In reality, it couldn't have been longer than 30 minutes. You tried to focus on the scenery, maybe deduce where Suguru could be taking you. But your instincts and mind were all muddled.

Because Suguru scuffed you. Something that alphas did not to reign in their unruly omegas—something that was meant as a last resort. He used the intrinsic trust placed in him by you and he took away your autonomy. You never thought he would do something like that to you.

Your head lolled in the seat as you tried to wait for the effects to run out. Suguru drove with one hand on your thigh; making soft conversation with himself. He didn't seem to mind the fact that the only thing you could get out were incomprehensible little noises.

Just like he said, the effects of the scruffing wore off just as he pulled into the driveway of a luxurious penthouse complex. The sort you would never be able to afford. Your heart dropped right to your ass and when Suguru rounded the car to open the door for you, you fitfully whimpered.

"None of that now," He chided, gently kissing you on the mouth again. You hated how much that relaxed you.

To that, you said nothing, allowing him to hold your hand as he led you inside. The man at the front desk, nor security, seemed to care that there was a fearful smelling omega clutching at one of the alphas. He simply waved a greeting and that was the end of it.

Your body thrummed with nerves as Suguru herded you into the elevator. There was no one else present. A small mercy. Even with the constant touching meant to soothe, you were terrified. You didn't want to be there. You wanted to go home. But you weren't so sure either of them would let you.

At one point (just how high up was this penthouse), Suguru crowded you against the back wall, chuffing into your throat. He didn't seem to mind that your scent stunk of distress. If anything, he just made more soothing noises and rubbed your sides—his own scent smelling completely at ease.

Like this was normal.

The elevator lurched to a stop, and your heart with it. You planted your feet on the floor, a last ditch effort, wildly shaking your head as Suguru made move toward you.

"No, no, I don't—" Want to. You could laugh so hard that you burst into tears. It was clearly obvious that neither of them cared what you wanted. Instead, you tried for a different angle. "He's going to be angry with me"

Suguru glanced at you, and hummed. "Only for a little while" He said, and pulled you out. You could feel the searing warmth of his hand on the back of your shoulders—as if he didn't trust you not to make a break for it at the first chance.

You were completely silent as he led you down the hall. You gnawed at your inner cheek harshly, tasting the copper of blood as he slid the key expertly into the lock. Suguru ushered in you inside with an amused huff and a gentle shove.

Their combined scents slapped you in the face. It was potent, maybe even more so with so much distance and time between you. Even your own place didn't smell this strongly. Openly curious, your eyes traveled around the place.

It looked how you would imagine. Clean, like something out of a magazine. Suguru's work, no doubt. If there was a mess made from dinner, there was no way of knowing. The kitchen was spotless and slightly smelled like cleaning products. The lights were off, save a lamp in the sitting room and a small one over the stove. Satoru was nowhere in sight.

Confused, your steps faltered, clumsily sliding out of your shoes. "Where's—?"

"Here." Suguru said, gentle smile on his face, bangs slightly obscuring his eyes. His hand settled on the small of your back as he once again herded you around. He led you to what you could only assume was their bedroom.

Your stomach churned with nerves. You tried planting your feet again, shaking your head. "W-wait. Wait, I changed my mind. I don't, I want to go home—"

"Ssshh" He soothed, and kissed your cheek from behind. His chest was like a brick wall behind you. He pushed the door open, gently guiding you inside. The door closed behind you both with a click, and the lock sliding into place sounded like the end of any further escape attempts.

Just like the rest of the penthouse, the big lights in the bedroom were killed. There were a couple of floor lamps that illuminated the space into a gentle glow.

And there he was.

Satoru was sitting on a plush chair. He was wearing a large shirt—probably Suguru's, and...a pair of your sheer pajama shorts. You recognized the blue fabric immediately. How long had that set been missing? Why, after three years, is Satoru wearing your lingerie? Why had Suguru kissed you, not once, but twice. Why do neither of them seem to accept the word 'no' for an answer?

The lamp made shadows against his face. He looked sweet, gentle, kind, white hair framing his face as his slender fingers splayed across the book pages. It must have been act. You have never willingly seen him pick up a book. He glanced up at you, and you felt the air around you prickle.

He wore a blank expression. You couldn't tell if he was pissed off or the happiest man on the planet. It wasn't like a couple of days ago—when he saw you and leapt into your arms. Satoru studied you for a few moments, and then tossed the book aside. He waved you over, though not unkindly, somehow, that was worse.

You knew what he expected of you. You turned your head, glanced once more at Suguru. He wasn't going to save you. Not when he wanted the same thing Satoru did. The omega's eyes tracked you as you stepped closer. He widened his legs a bit and sighed pleasurably once you straddled his lap and hugged him.

Of course, three years wasn't nearly enough time for you to unlearn him. Not all of him. You carded your fingers through his hair and let him nuzzle and lick at your chin and cheek.

"I'm really hurt, you know?" Satoru murmured, eyes flickering upwards to meet your own. You said nothing, but nodded to signal that you understood him. "I worked really hard, all week, to make dinner for you. I wanted to make you feel special. And you didn't even show!"

"I'm sorry" You said immediately, because the pout in Satoru's voice was so familiar. As youth, you never did anything truly heinous to him. Your biggest offense was always not giving enough of your attention to him. All you had to do to get back into his good graces was dote on him some, pet his hair and croon about how sorry you were. How you'd always be right where he wanted. "I'm sorry for not showing up, Satoru"

You felt him sag against you at the sound of his given name.

"No you're not" He said suddenly. Terrified, you watched as his expression went from cheery to hard. As if you were nothing. "I don't believe you. You'll leave again. The minute we turn around....you'll leave. You always leave. You're always trying to leave us"

"Ow–ow, Satoru, you're hurting me—"

His hand presses bruises in the shape of his fingertips around your forearm as you foolishly attempt to get up. He quickly follows after you, and the more you fight him, the harder it gets to break your way free. Until you can do nothing but huff, scent tinted with heavy fear and distress.

Satoru's purring now, happy and pleased now that he has you restricted underneath him. He's wrapped himself around you—and the omega is much too tall and gangly for the hold to feel anything but terrifying. It takes great force to relax, trying to project notes of soothing into your scent so that he'll let go of you.

He doesn't. He just purrs louder.

You're forced at an eye level with his mating mark. Only then do you seem to remember that Suguru is still there. His feet sound almost silently as he crosses the room over to the bed. A shadow falls over you both and Satoru lets up only a bit so that you can look the alpha in the eye.

"I get to have her first" Satoru says, voice thin once Suguru attempts to touch. He pulls you in against your chest and restricts your airflow with the strength of it. "Remember?"

"You're going to make her pass out" Comes Suguru's blithe reply, somewhere above you.

Satoru makes a noise of surprise, releasing you all together. You get a handful of seconds max to categorize your positions before everything shifts again as he begins pressing hurried little kisses all over your face. "Lemme make it up to you baby, 'm sorry"

A whimper gets caught in your throat as Suguru maneuvers your form on the bed. You try to fight him, but Satoru pins down your arms as the alpha unbuttons your slacks and pulls them down your legs and then off; tossing them somewhere you can't see.

The omega pulls a face. "I wish you would have worn sexier panties" He says, like he has any right to dictate what underwear you choose. Satoru's fingers find the band and snap them against your hips. Then does it again once you flinch. "Hm. Nevermind. I can sorta see the appeal to these, can't you, Suguru?"

"The simple ones have their charms" He agrees, studying the lower half of your body. "I think the white makes her legs look longer"

Satoru tilts his head and sucks his teeth. "Yeah, you're right. Baby, you've got really pretty legs, you know that?"

Two sets of eyes shift upwards to where you're desperately trying not to cry. You know you should say something. You know you just can't lie there and let them fuck you. But your mind is drawing a blank. Satoru sucks his teeth again and murmurs, why's she upset? And to which Suguru replies, maybe she's tired of you teasing her.

Even if you can somehow get past Satoru and Suguru both, there's no way you're going to escape the penthouse. Much less the locked bedroom door. And what would you do then? Run down to the lobby with no pants on? As you struggle to think of an escape plan (with the dawning horror that there might not be one), the mated pair strip you bare from the rest of your clothes.

Once you're naked and trying to curl up on yourself, you're forced to watch them both makeout. Even when you turn away you can still hear them, Satoru's exaggerated moaning and them swapping spit. It dredges up bad, awful memories. You walking in on them the very first time, Suguru's teeth at his throat, both of them naked from the waist down like they just couldn't wait.

And when Suguru gets a hand on you, rolling you once more onto your back, Satoru snarls and goes—"I get to go first"

"I know that," Suguru says, and has the gall to roll his eyes. "I'm just getting her ready for you, is that okay, you big baby?"

"No" Satoru snaps, petulant. You say nothing, watching with wide fearful eyes, hardly daring to breathe as the alpha and omega regard one another with a series of looks. At last Suguru gives in, hands held up in surrender and Satoru crowds your entire vision, smiling.

"Hi" He says, booping your nose.

"Hello" You reply, sniffling.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let that brute go first" The omega murmurs, spreading your legs around his waist. Like that's the source of your concern. "You haven't fucked an alpha in a while. I bet his cock would break your poor pussy, wouldn't it?"

The words make it feel more real, suddenly. Satoru is going to fuck you. He found you, tracked you down. Stalker you. Got you to meet him at the cafe with the intention that on Saturday (today), he was going to fuck you. Your omega ex best friend is going to fuck you and his alpha is probably next and there's nothing you can really do about it.

"Please, no, please–" Satoru rolls his eyes, but the words won't stop pouring. "I don't—please. Please don't, Satoru. 'm sorry. I'm not....'m not ready. I can't—"

"Of course you're not ready, silly" The omega says, grinning as he sucks on two of his fingers before bringing them down to your hole. "It's been three years. Did you think I was just going to stick my cock in?"

You try to snap your legs shut, sniffling and whimpering. But Suguru pins down your knees and keeps you spread open. Satoru's fingers are thick, a little longer than what you're used to. They seem to reach deep inside, scooping out most of your coherent thoughts.

It's good, I don't like this, it feels really good, I don't want to do this; I want to go home—

All the while, Satoru shushes your cries, like the sea lapping against rock. Sssh, sssh, sssh. He coos at you, flicks your clit with his thumb to get you wet. Noses along your scent gland and murmurs, "That's it baby, just like that. Feels good, doesn't it? Your omega's makin you reel good"

He seems to have never ending patience. Goes slow until your body feels laden and heavy, pussy noisily sucking in his fingers. Two, then three, Satoru mumbling encouragements while hovering exactly three centimeters away from your face all the while. Reassures you that he isn't mad. Not anymore. Tells you how much he loves you, how happy he is to have you home. How long he's been waiting for this.

It makes you sick. Even worse when the omega pulls his fingers free and you whine, dazedly wanting to feel full again. You don't even try to close your legs again, maybe because Suguru is still there and you know he wouldn't let you. Maybe because you like it and you want Satoru to keep going.

You just lie there, sucking in lungfuls of air and mentally prepare yourself. They'll have to stop sometime, won't they? And then you can leave. All you have to do is endure for a little while, and it'll be over.

Satoru teased you with his cock, smirking. He's more well endowed than what you would expect a male omega to be, but you know from personal experience that Suguru's much bigger. Satoru though, is a little shorter than 6 inches, and pretty girthy. And as much as you hate to admit it, you're glad he's going first.

Because Satoru is right—you haven't had sex with anyone, much less an alpha male, in close to three years. And there seems to be this superstition that omegas are always loose and wet, but that isn't really the case. Of course omegas slick up, but mostly during heat cycles. Outside of that, your pussy is meant to stretch to birth pups, not to take alpha cocks without prep.

"Ready?" Satoru asks, and you bite down on your lip as his cock pushed in. The omega grunts, bucks his hips, and shoves inside all in one thrust. You yelp, legs threatening to snap shut. Satoru smiled smugly against your cheek. "Big stretch, sweetheart, yeah, you can take it. Good girl"

You turn your face into the sheets, keeping your noises trapped behind your teeth as Satoru starts fucking you entirely too quickly. How to describe it? It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. You and Suguru had what most would 'lovemaking'.

He was hardly ever rough with you. It was soft and slow and gentle—like every whispered fairy tale omegan girls told themselves, sighing and simpering amongst their own second gender. This wasn't that.

Satoru was fucking you meanly. Like he was punishing you for leaving even though he swore he wasn't mad anymore. If you moved too much against him, hips trying to get some sort of relief, he would attack your throat, growling lowly until you stopped trying to run.

The noises you tried to bite back escaped, and it was too intense to be called pleasurable, really—it was too much feeling for all of it to feel good. You couldn't describe it, just that your whimpers turned to wails that you were sure others could hear (which only embarrassed you further), hands scrabbling at Satoru's slick sweaty skin.

He delighted in the markings, even if you were sure they had to hurt. He pinned your hips down to the mattress, laving at the skin of your scent gland with his wet tongue as soft, animalistic noises pouring out of his throat.

"We coulda had this the whole time" He grunted, grabbing your chin in his hand and directing your attention back to his face. "Isn't this nice, baby?"

You didn't answer him, you weren't sure you could. A series of strangled gasps left your lips, hand maybe trying to shove Satoru off or pull him closer. "I can't" it's not even higher than a gasp. You register Suguru's hands brushing your hair back. "I c-can't—I can't—please....please"

"Ssssh, it's okay" Suguru, this time. Your eyes lift to meet his, and you realize that your head is pillowed in his lap. You can feel his hard cock jerking against the side of your face, which fills you with disgust. "You're having fun honey, that's all. I know it's a lot. But you're doing so well. I'm proud of you"

You slap your hand over your mouth, mouth making a wild, panicking sound as your orgasm slams into you suddenly like a train. Your vision whites out for a second. You're scared, you've never felt like this before, and you want so badly to go home.

"Yeah, see?" Satoru murmurs, a bit breathless. "We're having fun"

He makes a noise of appreciation, pulling out for a moment to watch your cum trickle out of you in slow trickles before gently, ever so gently, sliding back in again. You make a pained sound, oversensitive, but Satoru just shushes you. He coos, a more omega sound, and that settles your nerves enough to let him continue sliding into your puffy cunt with slow, languid strokes without much protest, save for the occasional whimper.

Suguru suddenly moves. He does not toss your head out of his lap, but he is not all too gentle either. The suddenness throws you off guard, so you miss the look the mated pair share.

Teeth settle over your throat. Instinctively, you suck in a breath, panicked sound caught in your throat, trapped on a plea, right as Suguru bears down and bites. The pain is blinding, and you squeal, to which Satoru easily holds you down, gives a couple of jerky thrusts, and cums.

He rests his head on your shoulder. Both of them do, one on each side. Panting. Hair tickles your neck, your sensitive gland, your face. You join them, caught in a sea of nothingness that seems to bobble as far as the metaphorical eye can see.

You're brought back to the present as someone bites down again. Satoru this time. You don't even struggle. You don't even feel much of anything. Even the pain seems distant. You register him licking the wound clean, followed by the sound of kissing from above.

They marked me, they marked me, theymarkedme how am I supposed to leave–they marked me—

Bonded omegas can't survive without their mates. Not this early. It'll kill you, or the bond sickness will become so bad that death will seem like the merciful thing to endure.

Satoru pulls out. His fingers push his spend back into your cunt. "Hey Suguru?" He says, questioning lilt in his tone. You can feel his eyes piercing into you. "It would be something if I got her pregnant before you did, huh?"

Suguru growls. A proper alpha one that has the hairs raising on your arms and the back of your neck. You start whining, plaintive little noises to try to calm him down—even though you don't care in the slightest. Your mind is suddenly overwrought with alpha mad, alpha's mad at me—

"No, no, not you sweetheart" Suguru murmurs, holding onto your cheek and stroking away your tears with his thumb. "Satoru just got me riled up, that's all"

You can hear Satoru cackling. You try to sit up, body aching. It's hard. Especially when Suguru intercepts the action with a soft, not yet baby—loops that toned arm around your waist and gently turns you over. You find yourself on your hands and knees. Not that the position lasts very long, because he pushes down lightly on your lower back, and you collapse like a house of cards, which delights Satoru greatly.

"Ready?" Suguru asks. Which is pointless. Of course you're not ready. You panic a little in the clutch, whimpering and trying to get away from him, summoning what little fight you have left. All Suguru has to do to put a stop to it is nibble on your mating mark. You turn your face into the sheets with a gasp, breathing in the dank scent of sex as the alpha pushes inside.

He's big. Of course. All alphas are (or so you've heard). Even though you feel like Satoru had fucked you to hell and back already, nothing really quite compares to the way Suguru's cock reaches in deeper, deeper than where Satoru could ever go, and molds your pussy to his shape.

Tears wet your cheeks, and you stile a sob as the alpha bottoms out. He groans, slides out an inch before slamming back in, his balls slapping against your ass.

"I know" Satoru murmurs, sounding almost wistful. You can't tell if he wants to be in your position or if he just wants to fuck you again. Hands that had once pinned you down and restricted your movements now brush the wetness from your face, followed by soft kisses.

"Fuck" Suguru isn't one for cursing. Even in spite of everything, you find yourself thinking, maybe he's changed this way, too. His head must hand forward, because you can feel his hair, like a curtain of ink, sliding over your back.

"Good?"

He nods. You can feel it. The curtain moving. "It's been so long"

"Careful" Satoru says, exposing a hint of teeth. "She was my omega first, and I might get jealous"

"Mmm...I let you have your turn" Suguru replies, running wide hands down the sides of your body. He sounds like he could have been trying for nonchalant, but more realistically, it sounds like he's short of breath.

Maybe it's the bond. Maybe it's just Satoru, who is undeniably closer. But you swear you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Alright, dear" Spittle trickles out of your mouth, and you can only summon a strangled noises as Suguru adjusts your position slightly, notching your hips upwards a bit. His hand rests on the innermost part of one of your thighs to keep you upright. Your eyes meet, or what you can see of him anyway, through blurred tears. "Oh, you really are so pretty. Okay, I'm going to start now"

"Oh, boo" Satoru says, leaning down to literally lick up your drool, kissing your forehead as you attempt to draw back from him. "You never fuck me that gentle"

"You don't like it gentle" Suguru points, and you think he might be rolling his eyes.

You want to protest that this doesn't feel gentle. But Suguru isn't jackrabbiting into your pussy, it's deeper than that. Your hands grip tightly onto the sheets, mewling as he finds your spot with uncanny precision and proceeds to target it ruthlessly. Your mouth cracks open on a moan—and then you just don't stop.

It sounds pornographic. It's made worse with the bond, you think. Suguru's satisfaction scrambles your brain, makes the room feel like it's spinning on a wobbly carousel. It feels like wading into a pool, except the water rushes up far too soon before you're ready, and overwhelms you.

At the bottom of the pool is Satoru. Or perhaps he is the water. Everywhere, inescapable. The beginning and the ends of your psyche. When Satoru fucked you, it felt like entirely too much from the beginning. Too much, too fast, too deep, no time to breathe. It's similar with Suguru, but different too. You don't know which is better or which is worse. All you know is that you want to stop.

There's a shaky cry, a hiccuping gasp that Satoru brushes away as you choke on air, mewling and pleading for mercy. To stop. Neither of them pay you any mind. To them, it's just another part of the fantasy. Your thighs tremble, and then you just...grunt, too exhausted to even move. Suguru adapts brilliantly, follows you down, molds himself to your back, and doesn't let up even for a second.

The bond is chokingly tight. It grips you tighter, and tighter until...

Until everything just goes black.

You wake to the sun shining entirely too bright, a killer headache and an absolutely terrible taste in your mouth. Stomach lurching uncontrollably and body feeling as though you were slammed into a brick wall, you groan and smack your lips; throat scorching hot and dry.

"I know sweetheart," A voice says. It sounds as though it could be nearly angelic. "I bet you've got quite the headache, let me see what I can do about that. Open up"

Dutifully, you crack open your eyelids and pain stabs through your entire form. The voice chuckles.

"Your mouth, darling" Suguru admonishes, playfully. Oh. You do, and small tablets are dropped onto your tongue, followed by a large gush of water to help it all down. Weakly, you guzzle for more, wetting your aching throat. At last, that weird foul taste seems to go away.

Memories suddenly come forward, each one as painful and quick as the last. No, baby, we're not done. You didn't think we were done, did you? With a lurch, your body jerks up so fast that the painkillers (or whatever they were) are nearly thrown up.

"Woah" Suguru whistles "Not too much, too fast. How do you feel?"

Disgusting. Sick. Broken. "I...I don't–not good" You grasp for something. Anything. "Hungry."

The alpha leans in and kisses your forehead. Satoru must feel it through the bond, because you can feel him skimming back. That'll take some getting used to.

"I know, my poor omega" Suguru murmurs "Don't worry. We'll get some food in you soon. Satoru's making breakfast"

That causes your brows to jump to your hairline, even amidst all the pain currently wreaking havoc on your body. Satoru? Cooking? When you were younger you distinctly remembered that he hated anything that could be considered slightly omega-like. Especially since everyone around you framed it as something to be done in service for an alpha.

Cooking, cleaning, babysitting. He refused to do any of it. When he was younger, everyone swore he would grow out of it. He did not. Then everyone just made peace with the fact that his future alpha would have to know what they were getting into, mating an omega as highbrow as Gojo Satoru.

Suguru traced his fingers down the side of the bite, which made your stomach lurch again. "He did it for you; you know? Wanted to impress you. Though if you ask me, I just think he did it so I couldn't take the glory of being the one to make all of your meals"

You're only half listening. Satoru taught himself how to cook. Satoru and Suguru, at some point, must have been thinking about this for a very long time. They knew, somewhere at the back of their minds, that you would not come to them willingly.

Maybe they knew you wouldn't show. That was how Suguru knew how to find you. And then he scuffed you. Fucked you. Both of them. And now there are two burning mating marks on the side of your throat that you can't get rid of.

"I think 'm gonna be sick" You gurgle weakly.

The alpha makes a noise of surprise, and grabs the trashcan just in time for you to hurl into it. He rubs your back all the while, murmurs his little there-there's. Once it's all out of your system, Suguru thumbs away a line of spittle.

"Might have been just a little too rough" He says, "I apologize on both of our behalves. We were...excited"

You squeeze your eyes shut so that you won't cry.

Suguru doesn't wait to see if you'll accept his apology. Maybe he doesn't really care. He got what he wanted from you. The bond flowers, bursts of happiness that take control of your thoughts and whisk them away to a more pleasant place.

One of them....maybe both. They're doing that. They're forcing you to feel good. Not even my thoughts are my own anymore.

"How about a bath?" Suguru says, too close to your face.

"Okay" You say, because what else is there to say.

"Good girl" The alpha responds, and smiles, very obviously happy. He lifts you up (still naked, covered in marks and bruises—and oh god, they didn't stop—even when you passed out they didn't—). "We're going to treat you so well here, darling. It'll be like nothing ever happened, you'll see"

There's a mirror, on the way to the bathroom. You catch a glimpse at the marks marring your throat. Suguru's, deeper, redder, then Satoru's. Like a Venn diagram. The skin between them mottled and puffy.

You lay your head down on Suguru's shoulder. You try to summon the tears to cry, but you can't. It like there's something physically blocking you from those feelings. You wonder how much longer it'll be before you even forget to feel sad and hurt over what happened to you.

As your alpha helps you into the tub, gently scooping the copious amounts of cum out of your cunt, you think to yourself, no one said that mating would make me feel this helpless. It was supposed to be glorious. Magical. Your fairy tale ending. This is a nightmare that you can't wake up from. You feel cheated. You wish you had never accepted Satoru's invitation in the first place.

But really, you snort, and Suguru says, what's funny, quirking his brow and you tell him, nothing. And then you think, realistically, how much longer would you have been to resist them?

It wasn’t bad music. You enjoyed his taste. You would just rather not hear it blasting through the walls at 2 am. 

A roommate disagreement. It’s the first one you’ve ever had. 

You want to do this right. Your biggest worry is offending him. You spend days figuring out the best way to approach him. You look up ways to gently bring up disagreements between your roommate. You fill a bag with treats and sweets–the kinds you’ve seen him munch on before. You even write a letter because you know how flighty you get in these situations, and you can’t thank him enough for all that he’s done for you, but if he could just maybe perhaps slightly–

“-So you just want me to turn the music down?” Gojo interrupts your rambling.

He’s sitting on the sofa, one leg across the other. You remain standing, too strung up to really relax. The paper you were reading out loud crinkles as you fold it back up. 

“Yeah.” You mumble. “If you can.” 

He takes another candy you’d gifted him, popping it in his mouth. 

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, as if it were hardly an inconvenience. 

You, on the other hand, nearly deflated in relief. You didn’t expect it to be so simple. You were half-preparing for the possibility that he’d blow up at you and go back to administration, demanding your eviction. Everything was resolved so easily. 

“Thank you.” A genuine smile graces your lips.

Gojo hums. The candy cracks between his teeth. 

“You’re pretty shy, huh?” He tilts his head, studying you.

A laugh escapes your throat. Nervous. 

“I just don’t like confrontation,” you admit. 

Gojo nods, returning your wave when you say your goodbyes. You think nothing of the exchange. Hours later, you’re still riding the high of how effortless it all went. 

⌂

Two things change today. 

First, Gojo is up this morning. 

He’s never up this early. Usually, you only hear him moving around at noon. You’re the early bird, not him. You never minded his routine. If anything, you appreciated that you ran on separate schedules. 

Second, he was naked. 

Gojo typically dresses conservatively: T-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies. He adorns the look of a typical college student most days. His tastes are a bit on the expensive side, considering how casually he wears luxury brands, but he’s mostly covered up.  

Today, Gojo walks around the kitchen in nothing but boxers.

You’re awkwardly standing in the hallway. You want to go back to your room and hide out until he leaves, but you’re already running late for class. Briefly, you think about keeping your head locked on the ground and slinking out the door. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he won’t notice you. 

You aren’t that lucky. 

Gojo looks at your miserable figure. There’s no embarrassment about how little he’s dressed. No apologies. No stutters that will make you feel the tiniest bit human. He bares his white teeth as he smiles. 

“‘Morning, roomie!” He chirps. 

You repeat the pleasantry with far less enthusiasm. You avoid looking at him directly, preferring to look at the counter, the floor, the refrigerator, anywhere that didn’t have Gojo in it. 

This was normal, you kept repeating to yourself. This is his house. You’re practically a squatter. He should be comfortable in his own home. He should wear whatever he wants. 

Besides, now you can make the most of your situation. You first considered skipping breakfast, given his situation. Now that the worst has happened, you could grab an apple or something. 

You slip past him. You think Gojo is making some type of smoothie, but you refuse to look directly at him to confirm. The fruit basket is right at your fingertips. You start to swipe the first one you can grab before making your escape.

Something presses against your back, caging you against the counter. You freeze. You feel hard muscle as Gojo reaches up to mess with the cabinets. 

“Sorry.” Gojo casually excuses, rifling through the shelves. “I’ll just be a second.”

One second. 

Five seconds. He’s still there. Your knuckles are white from how hard you’re gripping the counter. 

“Gojo–” 

“My music didn’t bother you last night, did it?” He asks. 

For a second, you wonder if that’s why he was doing this. Maybe you had offended him earlier with your complaint. But you don’t hear any resentment in his voice. He sounds cheerful. 

Delighted, even. 

“No,” you say, “it was fine.” 

He hums. When he finally pulls away, you get your autonomy back. You scramble away from the counter, not wanting to get caught again. 

“That’s good,” He says, “I’m glad you were upfront about this. We’re roommates! No use in hating eachother, right?” 

Temporary roommates, you correct in your head. 

“Also, we should use our first names from now on, roomie.” Gojo continues. “We should speak more comfortably.” 

Fine, whatever. You just wanted to leave. 

He suddenly leans in so he’s eye-to-eye with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his gaze is intense. You try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. 

“Say it.” He lowers his voice. “Sa-to-ru.” 

It feels like he’s mocking you, but you can’t seem to find the joke. 

“Satoru,” you obey. 

He smiles. 

“Yeah.” He pulls away. “Just like that.” 

⌂

After a couple of washes, you finally notice its absence. 

It wasn’t the most expensive of your collection, but it was still pretty pricey. You liked the silk material and the dark red color. It was your favorite pair of panties. 

You skulk around the apartment, hoping it just fell from the basket. That, or the washer ate it. You tried not to think of the other option. 

 Days pass, and you give up searching. You decide to forget about it. You have other pairs. It’s not the end of the world. 

A part of you thinks about asking Satoru, but you’re quickly squashing it down. No way would you willingly ask him something so embarrassing. You just toss it to the back of your mind, hoping it will just show up again. 

And then, Satoru invites you into his room.

It’s not exactly an invitation. When you’re trudging home from class, he pops out from his room, excitedly telling you about a TV show before you’re being dragged inside. You’re not a big fan of the genre, and you have no interest in the show. It doesn’t matter to Satoru. You’re forced to sit on his bed as the characters on screen follow the script. 

He’s doing that a lot lately. Interrupting. Invading. You keep brushing off the thought that he’s testing you, somehow. 

“Roomie, this guy is so annoying.” Satoru comments. “Don’t worry, he dies in the next episode, so you don’t have to suffer for long.” 

You say nothing as he casually spoils the show for you. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were getting a little bored. Your eyes wander around his room. It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be. A few clothes are scattered around. A college hoodie hangs off the door. There are all sorts of papers on his desk, each is covered in meaningless algorithms you can’t decipher, and you suddenly remember he’s a physics major. You ask about maybe getting some math help from him later on, before you’re brushing that thought away. 

There’s a snap of fingers. Your gaze drifts back to Gojo. 

“Roomie, pay attention!” He whines, urging you back to the screen. 

There are only 10 minutes of the show left. Fine, you sit there, counting down the minutes until you can make your escape. 

Satoru’s hand brushes the edge of your bare thigh. 

He’s not exactly touching. You two are sitting pretty close. He was just sitting comfortably, resting his weight on his hands. It’s barely a touch, but it’s there. You can feel his fingers on your skin. 

He doesn’t move his hand back. It’s more likely because he doesn’t notice, you convince yourself. You’re overthinking things again. 

He shifts. His hand slips even closer. 

When you try to open your mouth, he hushes you with a, “This is the best part!” and all the courage leaves your body again. 

It feels like hours until the credits finally roll. Satoru steps off the bed to turn off the TV, and you make your move too, eager to find refuge in your room. 

“Oh yeah.” His voice stops you in your tracks. “What did you want to talk about earlier?” 

You stare. It feels crazy to bring up what happened just now. See? He didn’t even notice. 

But now, you have nothing to say, and saying nothing feels like a lie. 

“Did you see something in your laundry?” You blurt out before you can even think. 

Satoru encapsulates a picture-perfect replication of an innocent doe. He tilts his head in confusion. 

“Like what?” He asks. 

Dark red panties, with just the hint of lace. You can’t say it. You just can’t. 

“I think we might’ve swapped some clothes.” You unhelpfully murmur. “If you see anything…just let me know.” 

He nods. “Sure thing, Roomie!” He calls to you as you hurry back into your room and lock the door. 

Soon, Satoru’s actions turn less ambivalent. 

Sometimes, you’d hear him once or twice in the middle of the night. He’s loud. The walls thankfully muffle most of it, but you know what he’s doing. You usually just plug in your headphones and try not to look at him the next day. So far, things have worked out pretty well. 

Today, his door is wide open as he jerks off. 

You’re standing right next to your own door, mouth agape, forced to listen to his moans and babbles for five minutes. You’re already late for class.

But you can’t bring yourself to even open your door. 

To get out of the apartment, you’d have to cross Satoru’s room. The one that is currently open, where you’d see him stroking his dick. 

You know this is going too far. You needed to fucking do something already. There’s no way you can be kept a prisoner in your own home. 

And yet, you stay, forced to listen to him openly masturbate. 

“Fuck yes,” you can hear him say over and over again. “Just a little more, pretty girl. C’mon, just a bit–there we fucking go.” 

He’s talking to someone. No, that’s not right. He’s fantasizing about someone. 

More babblings and you’re squeezing your eyes shut as he comes. He curses again, and you stand there until you no longer want to melt into the floor. 

A few minutes later, you’re stomping around the room, trying to be as noisy as possible. You loudly adjust your bookbag and fiddle with your chair. You try to give him as much time as possible. 

By the time you come out, the apartment is back to normal. His door is still open. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the clear invitation to look as you pass his room. 

“Hey, Roomie.” Satoru casually calls from his place on the bed. 

You nearly trip over your own feet. Satoru gives a hiss. 

“You good?” He asks. 

No. 

“Yes.” You adjust your bag. “Just tripped.” 

“Okay.” You hear him shift. His bed creaks under the weight. “Have fun at class, pretty girl.” 

You slam the door a lot harder than you should. You were ten minutes late for class that day, but it doesn’t matter. As much as you tried to focus on your professor’s drones, your mind kept drifting to the name he called you right before you fled. 

No, no it couldn’t be. You needed to forget about it. 

Also, he was holding something in his hand. You didn’t know for sure, you didn’t want to stare but…

…it was a dark red piece of fabric. 

⌂

You like it when Satoru’s friends come over. They create a buffer between you and him. 

These days, you aren’t in the apartment as much. You’re out early. You come in late. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. You talk to him when he talks to you. You listen to whatever ramblings he has that day. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. 

Today is one of the few times he manages to catch you. Maybe you should count yourself lucky that he did it today, because Suguru was here. 

He lounges on the sofa as Satoru drags you behind him. Suguru barely glances up from his phone. He’s pretty used to Satoru’s antics. You aren’t. 

Satoru plops right next to his friend, picking up his remote. 

“Okay, we’re ready,” he says before frowning and glancing around. “There’s no more space.” 

He’s right. Both men are big, barely overcrowding the minuscule couch. You awkwardly loiter nearby as they both set up. You open your mouth, ready to say that you were fine with not joining, that you didn’t really care about a video game, no matter how awesomely Satoru described it. 

Satoru’s grin is filled with nothing but delight as he turns to you. 

“Here–” he eagerly pats his lap “–I've got plenty of space left, pretty girl.” 

You blanch, and his smile just grows wider. He starts to reach for you before his friend steps in. 

Suguru shoves him off the couch. Satoru dramatically collapses onto the floor. 

“Don’t be a dick.” Geto chides before motioning you to sit. 

You take a seat, with a relieved smile directed at Geto. Satoru grumbles from his spot on the floor, but he doesn’t try to move back as you thought he would. 

“I can’t believe you’re abusing me in my own home,” Satoru complains. “Where I pay rent.” 

“Your parents pay rent, you trust fund baby.” Geto is more than happy to refute. 

“Same thing.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “It’ll all go to me in the end.” 

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Suguru seemed to have the biggest hold on his collar. They seemed close. Maybe their friendship had spanned years before college. You don’t know if anyone could bear to be around Satoru for that long, but maybe Suguru is that exception. 

You think you spend about an hour watching them play. You aren’t too interested in video games, much less combat games, but they seem to get a kick out of it. Eventually, Gojo demands to play with you. Geto relinquishes his remote to your reluctant hands, more than happy to go back to his phone. 

“Damn.” Satoru laughs as he kills you for the 4th time. “You’re bad at this.” 

You frown at the YOU LOSE on your side of the screen. 

“I haven’t played this before,” you respond. 

“I can tell.” 

He doesn’t seem particularly upset that his new gaming partner sucks. If anything, the more he kills you, the wider his smile gets. 

“We should place bets.” He suddenly pipes up. “However looses a round: strips.” 

You shrink. Geto rolls his eyes. 

“Satoru, stop bullying your roommate and play the game.” He leans back. “Let the poor thing breathe.” 

“Bullying?” Satoru sounds offended. “I’m joking. Y’know I’m joking, right?” 

He whirls around to look at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell whether he’s being genuine. You glance away. 

“Yeah.” You fiddle with the remote. “I know.” 

“See, it’s fine!” Instantly, Satoru forgets the game. He crowds into the couch to circle his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “You’re the only person who understands my humor, pretty girl.” He sighs. 

“This sounds more and more like a hostage situation.” Suguru idly comments. 

But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see the apathy clear in his eyes. 

Maybe that’s why they got along so well. 

“Shut up.” Satoru snaps. 

“You’ll tell me, though, right?” Satoru says as he snuggles even closer. “If I’m going too far?” 

You want him to get off of you. You know he knows, too. 

“I will.” You say instead. 

Satoru grins, continuing to swaddle you with his body. 

“See?” He blows a raspberry in Suguru’s direction. “My Roomie loves me.” 

⌂

Sometimes you prefer to be alone with Satoru. He just gets worse with more people around. 

The club he dragged you into was smoky, with the occasional lights that flicked and changed colors, illuminating the floor. It was crowded. Someone spilled a drink on the floor earlier that night. The sweet sticky scent lingered in the air. 

Satoru had brought a couple of other people too, more than happy to stuff the lot of you into his car before driving off. One of Satoru’s other friends, Shoko, was here somewhere. Suguru was here too, but you lost sight of him sometime back. You, standing against the wall, wonder if you could take a bus back to the apartment. 

The only person in your line of sight was Satoru. 

Earlier, he’d asked if you wanted to dance. You declined. You thought he’d make a bigger fuss out of it, like usually he does when you don’t fully accommodate him. Instead, he shrugged off your rejection, casually tossing over his shoulder to ‘join in at any time’. 

Someone else was with him. She was shorter than him, even with the heels. You watch as she drags manicured nails across his arms as he leans down to kiss her. You doubt they know each other. Satoru’s just like that. Overly friendly. 

It reminds you of all the people he brings over for ‘late-night study sessions’. Apart from the noise, you don’t mind the girls and guys. Most of them are pretty nice. They actually give you a lot of relief whenever you see them. For a second there, you thought that the reason Satoru was doing this to you was that he–

So yes, the people he brings over are a nice thing. 

Someone clears his throat. 

You don’t recognize him. His grin is sheepish. Polite, you smile back. 

The small talk is a bit awkward at first. It’s hard to hear him with the screaming crowd and music. You two exchange names. He comments on the phone case you have, claiming his sister likes that character too. He perks up when he says something that makes you laugh. 

“Did you come here with anyone?” He finally asks. 

“My roommate,” you offer, turning your head to point to Gojo. 

He isn’t there. Neither is the girl he danced with earlier. You wonder if he decided to ditch you and take her home. You don’t think you’d be surprised if he did. 

At the implication you aren’t seeing anyone, he asks: 

“Can I get you a drink?” 

You think you’re about to refuse. You know Satoru and the rest of his group will be drunk by the time the night ends. You’re pretty sure the only reason you were dragged along was to play babysitter and drive them home. 

You open your mouth for a polite rejection. 

Satoru does it for you. 

He was fast. You hadn’t noticed him until he was putting himself right between you and your conversational partner. 

Satoru’s smiling. It doesn’t look friendly. 

“Hey man,” Satoru casually says, “the fuck are you doing?” 

He can read between the lines, something you’re grateful for. Within seconds, the stranger is hurrying off. Lucky, you think to yourself, watching his back disappear into the crowd. Satoru lets him go so easily. 

Unlike you. 

He turns on you almost immediately. You want to sink into the wall. 

“We’re going.” He finally says. 

You pliantly nod, letting him lead you out the seedy club. Only when you get to his car do you realize he meant just you and him. 

“What about–” You cut yourself off when you see his eyes. 

Dark. They no longer resemble the color of cloudless skies. Now, they’re more like thunder and rain. 

You’ve never seen him more furious than the entire time you’ve known him. 

You remain silent as you slip into the passenger seat, tucking yourself into the seatbelt. Satoru starts the car with a distinct rumble. The locks click into place. 

You’ve always known Gojo to be an erratic driver. Tonight feels even worse. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. The car keeps speeding up and up, careening past the speed limit. You can hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest. 

And Satoru? 

Satoru looks like he’s about to murder someone. 

“Who was that?” His voice is cold, devoid of all the playfulness he had earlier tonight. 

“I don’t–” 

“Who the fuck was he?” He demands. 

You flinch, and your hands curl into fists to keep them from shaking too much. You can’t do anything but stare into the window, watching the night sky dwindle past with all the other cars on the highway. 

“I didn’t know him.” You weakly tried to defend, even if you didn’t know why. Your instinct was to placate. “He just came up to me, and we started to talk.” 

He laughs. It’s dry, bitter, and sardonic. 

“Okay.” He tells you, turning the wheel so sharply that you press further into the door. “I let you outta’ my sight for two seconds, and you’re letting some fucker feel you up?” 

“I–” 

“What’d you two talk about?” He demands. “Did he ask if he could touch your pussy? If he did, you would’ve let him, right? I mean, you were practically throwing yourself at him like a slut, so maybe the guy thought he had a chance.” 

It hurts to breathe. Something stings in your eyes as your vision blurs. 

No one has ever said such horrible things to you before. 

“Nothing like that happened.” You insist. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting like this? “Please just–” 

“Shut up.” He snaps back. “What, you seriously thought anyone would fall for the shit you pull? You think he actually cared for you? Don’t make me laugh. He only wanted your tits and holes.” 

The words Satoru barks out are mean and vulgar. Your body freely shakes, you press yourself further up against the door, feeling tears stream down your cheeks. Satoru’s voice only softens when your hiccups and sobs fill the car. 

“Baby, no, I–I didn’t mean that shit.” His voice is oddly strained. You feel fingers brush against your neck, but you only shift away. 

You didn’t want to be in that club. You didn’t want to talk to that man. You didn’t want to get into Satoru’s car. You just wanted to go home. 

He can’t even let you have that. 

“No, pretty girl, it’s okay,” Satoru comforts, “Don’t–don’t cry–Fuck fuck.” 

The car slows to a stop right in an abandoned parking lot. Satoru kills the engine, letting the car hum into silence. Whatever happens, you think it will happen now. At this very moment. You prepare yourself for the worst, squeezing your eyes shut.

But it’s even worse. 

There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes open just in time to see Satoru pull out his dripping cock. 

He’s already hard. His cock curves up, almost touching the steering wheel as he wraps his fingers around the base. The tip is painfully swollen as beads of pre-cum leak down his cock. Veins bulge against his skin as he frantically pushes his hand up and down. 

Your fear melts straight into horror as you stare at him. He’s staring right at you, desperately pumping his cock with his hand. The worst part is his eyes–wide, blown out like he’s high. He looks right at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

You’re immediately reaching for the handle. No matter how much you tug, the car won’t open. You’re trapped there, forced to watch as your roommate jerks himself off in front of you because your crying turned him on. 

Your sobs quieten. All you can hear in the car is his moans and the words he mouths, your name over and over again.

You think the worst part is that he still tries to talk to you, to comfort you. 

“You’re okay–you’re okay, baby.” He’s spitting the words out through his teeth as his hand throttles his pulsing dick. “Lemme–lemme–can’t help m’self–just–”, 

You flinch when he comes. His cock spurts white cum all over his hands. 

You’re fully silent. The only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing as he cleans up. 

You think he’s about to reach for you. His fingers never make contact. 

You stare out the window. Everything’s dark. Nobody was around. No one was around to see you. To hear you. 

Even if someone was around…what could you say? 

“Can we go home, please?” 

There’s a sharp inhale.

“Sure.”  The affection in his tone makes you nauseous. 

You close your eyes.

“Anything for you, pretty girl.” 

⌂

Ten minutes later, you’re still twiddling your fingers in the waiting room. 

Getting this appointment had been excruciatingly difficult. Constant last-minute cancellations. Reschedules. It felt like they were trying to deter you from entering the housing office. 

They promised you this was a temporary arrangement. You were only supposed to be at Satoru’s place for a month, maybe even less. But then one month turned to two. Two months turned to three. You don’t think you’d last another day in that apartment. 

He was getting worse each day. It was only a matter of them until he—

A man steps into the lounge. He’s tall and lanky, carrying a smile that screams dismissive. You perk up as he squints at you. When he calls your name, you immediately rise, following him into the back of his office. 

It’s stuffy. There are papers everywhere. You squish into a chair just before he starts talking. 

It’s the usual stuff. You spell out your name, and he pulls up your housing account. He squints at the computer. 

“You said this was a temporary assignment?” He asks. 

You eagerly nod, straightening your posture. 

“Yes,” you say. “My roommate wasn’t supposed to have another one, but there was a mix-up and—“

“No.” He taps on the screen. “You said it was temporary, but here it says it’s permanent.” 

You swallow. 

“What?” 

He messes around with his mouse for a bit. Your hands feel strangely clammy. 

“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “It says you came in a month ago wanting to make the change. I see your and your roommates' signatures. You must have come here a while ago.” 

You struggle to find the words. 

“I don’t—“ 

“In any case, it’s too late to change anything now. The deadline for reassignment passed weeks ago.” He gives you a sympathetic look that strangely cuts deep into your skin. 

“Are you and your roommate having issues?”

You think about the truth. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. “Everything is fine.” 

You don’t remember much after that. You think you were polite as you stood up. You think you shook his hand. You think you walked out of his stuffy office and out of that stifling building. Everything is a blur until you step into the sunlight, feeling it beat down your face. 

You don’t want to go back to the apartment. You still feel too raw, too fresh. 

You don’t have any classes left for today. You can’t hide out on campus. Satoru will find you. He always finds you. Maybe you should stay at a friend’s place and recuperate. 

Right, you don’t have any friends. Satoru made sure of that. 

Briefly, you think about going to the police. Could you maybe use them as a buffer somehow? At the very least, it might scare him from taking this any further. 

But then you glance over at the campus buildings. The name Gojo flashes brightly in the sun. 

You aren’t stupid. You may not know his family all that well, but you know the influence of his background. There is a reason his campus apartment is thrice the size of everyone else’s. There is a reason he wasn’t supposed to have a roommate in the first place. 

He is everything. He has everything. 

You are nothing. You have nothing. 

When you arrive at the apartment ten minutes later, Satoru is already lounging on the couch. 

He excitedly waves you over. When you get inside striking range, he reaches out, pulling you onto the cushions. You pretend not to notice the way he breathes in your scent as you settle on the sofa. An arm wraps around your body, pushing you into his side. 

“Where were you, roomie?” Satoru whines. “Didn’t class end an hour ago?” It would be a harmless question if his grip weren’t so tight. You won’t be surprised if you find a bruise there in a day or two. 

Something plays on the TV. Neither of you pays attention. 

“Sorry.” It’s all you can muster to say. 

He seems satisfied with your answer–the submission of it. You find yourself counting down the clock. Seven minutes go by before you speak up again. 

“Satoru?” You ask.

There’s a distant hum of an answer. 

“Did you tell Housing I was staying?” 

For the longest while, Satoru does not speak. Then, he relaxes. He groans, easily delving into your space. A hand rests on your thigh. 

“Oh, that.” There’s a yawn. “Yeah, I just went ahead and told them you didn’t need to move out. We were getting along so well, ‘makes no sense why you’d get a different apartment, right? Sounds like a hassle moving halfway through the semester.” 

Then he shifts. You can feel him stare right down at you. 

“Unless you have a problem with that?” 

He doesn’t even bother to hide it. Pure excitement. 

Was there ever a possibility you could’ve come out unscathed had you just stood up to him earlier? Maybe you should’ve been a bit less timid when speaking to him about his music. Maybe you should’ve commented on his lack of clothing around the house. 

Or maybe it was always going to end up this way. 

“No.” You tell him, staring straight at the TV. “I don’t have a problem with that.” 

A couple of days later, another pair of panties goes missing. 

Unlike last time, you don’t bother looking for it. 

⌂

You always locked your door at night, but looking back, it was stupid to assume Satoru didn’t have a spare key. 

This is his apartment, after all. 

The lock gives with barely a click. You’re already wide awake, body rigid, tucked underneath the covers as hallway light bleeds into the room. You’re facing the textured wall, watching as his shadow drifts into your bedroom. The door shuts in a way that sounds final. It’s dark again. 

He’s quiet. You can barely hear the sounds of his breath. There’s a footstep. Then, another. Eventually, he’s right behind you. 

You don’t know what he was doing. You’re too scared to turn and check. Naively, you think if you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. He’s so still, for a moment, you wonder if you imagined the whole thing. 

The edge of your blankets lifts. Your bed creaks under his weight. His chest presses against your back. Warm hands grasp your shoulders. 

He’ll leave eventually. If you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

You squeeze your eyes shut when his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He inhales. 

Fingers play with the ends of your shirt. 

He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave–

“You’re not gonna stop me, are you?” His voice makes your shoulders tense. You can practically hear his smile. 

His fingers manage to slip under your shirt. You can barely hold in your gasp when he grabs a handful of your tits. He doesn’t even bother to be gentle, squeezing and pulling until you’re practically whining. 

“C’mon.” Satoru coos into your ear. There’s a kiss on your neck. “Say it. Tell me no.” 

He nibbles the skin right on your jawline. His hair tickles your cheek. 

Your hands reach out to grab his own. You squeeze, digging your nails into his skin. 

“Please stop.” 

He laughs–the kind of laugh you’d give to a toddler if they misbehave. It feels so mean. 

“You’re so cute.” Another kiss right at your ear.

“Stop.” You repeat. His hands don’t budge, not even when you start to draw blood. “Let go. Don’t–don’t touch me–” 

He flips you right on your back. From the streetlights peaking through the blinds, you can see his face. The widest smile is stretched over his pretty lips. It looks almost manic. 

Your eyes sting. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. It’s almost cruel how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. His teeth gleam. 

“Please?” He leans closer. “Just one kiss?” 

It’s heartbreaking how sweet the kiss is. Soft, barely touching as he melds his lips with yours. He keeps a hand on your chin, holding you in place before the greed takes over and he ravages you. 

By the time he pulls away, your lips are bitten and bruised.

He sinks lower, face dipping into the skin of your neck as he makes himself home there. It’s laughingly pathetic how weak you were compared to him–how little you fare when he pulls off your shirt, then your shorts. Soon, his clothes join yours, leaving a small puddle of cloth at the foot of your bed. 

He pulls away from your body, looking over the whole of you. 

“Oh, baby.” His eyes are blown out like he’s high. “I…I just wanna do everything to you.” 

You can’t hold back the tears anymore. They drip down your face, sculpting your cheeks. He coos, sinking lower to pepper your face in kisses. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” The excitement in his voice betrays him. “Don’t cry. I won’t do anything bad, I promise.” 

Liar, you want to call him, but you don’t. You can’t. Your throat traps your voice as his fingers delve underneath your panties. 

There’s no tact as he presses into you, immediately filling you up with his finger. Your pussy can barely fit one of him, almost choking when he slips in another. There’s no rhythm, no grace for how fragile you are as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper. 

You can barely muffle your cries as he hits a spot deep inside you. 

“See?” he asks, toying with your clit. “Not bad things, right?” 

You don’t answer, barely able to keep the noises in check as he abruptly pulls out of you. His fingers are shiny from your pussy juices. He crudely wipes his fingers on your tits. 

You’ve seen his cock before, but it looks even bigger from this angle. It slaps against your inner thighs as he finishes yanking off your drenched panties. The mushroom-tipped head brushes against your slit. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, opening your hole just enough to get his cock in the perfect position. 

The fight comes in too late. You think you’re reaching up to claw at his face, those pretty blue eyes. 

It dies as he bottoms out inside your pussy in one thrust. 

He doesn’t wait for you to settle down; he’s not kind enough for that. As soon as his cock sits as deep as it can into your pussy, he’s immediately moving. Your abused cunt immediately tightens around his cock, almost like you’re trying to suck him back in. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel Satoru collapse on top of you. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You can hear his ragged breaths as he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. 

“‘need you to relax for me, baby.” He hisses like it’s your fault he can’t control himself. “Can–can barely fit into this cunt.” 

To emphasize his words, he reaches down. There’s a soft slap right on your clit. You yelp. He soothes you with gentle circles with his thumb. 

“Satoru,” you can barely get out from the pressure, “please just stop–” Another smack on your pussy. Harder. 

“Can’t stop.” His breaths are ragged, and his hips shift so he can plow into you at a different angle. “Can’t ever stop. Not when I know how good you feel.” 

There’s a rasp of a laugh as your own noises get louder and louder. Your back arches. Something hot writhes in your belly the more the fucks you. He’s gripping your waist so harshly that you know they’ll leave bruises. 

It’ll pair well with the clawmarks you leave on his back as you arch further into his raw cock. 

There’s a sharp hiss before he’s kissing you again. There’s a harsh thrust that makes you moan directly into his mouth. He reluctantly pulls away, licking the taste of you out of his mouth. 

“I’m so glad I found you.” He tells you, continuing to ram into your pussy. 

“Can’t even imagine how–how someone else would react to you just givin’ yourself to ‘em. Fuck, even thinkin’ about it makes me wanna kill someone.” 

Distantly, you think about all the times you could’ve stopped him. You think about what you could’ve done differently to never cross paths with a man like Gojo Satoru. 

“You’re all for me.” He sighs, leaning close so he’s whispering right in your ear. 

He wants you to hear this right before he makes you cum all over his cock. 

“It’s all you’ll ever be.” 

You're writhing against his cock as he forces you through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your pussy clenches hard around him, milking him for all he’s worth as your climax is reluctantly dragged out of your exhausted body. 

There’s a grunt, then a sigh as something fills you to the brim. His cock pumps his cum steadily into you. There’s so much your poor pussy can’t keep it all inside. It leaks crudely from your hole. 

He stays like that for a minute, breathing you in as you start to come down from your high. Then, Satoru flops to your side, gathering up in your arms. You’re forced to lie against his chest, listening to his quickening heartbeat. 

The anger comes too late to do anything about. 

“I hate you.” You hiss as he continues to cuddle you. “I hate you, I hate you–you sick, twisted–”

“Aw, you don’t gotta’ pretend to be mean with me, pretty girl.” Satoru coos, snuggling into your exhausted figure. You can feel the hard shape of his cock press right against your thigh. 

There’s a chaste kiss on the top of your head. 

Your mother dug underneath the sink cabinets for the shoddy first aid kit, directing you to sit on the toilet seat. "How many times have I told you to leave those mean old dogs alone?"

"They've never bitten me before" Was your response, hissing through your teeth―the sound tapering off into a low whine as the alcohol made contact with the open wound.

It was the large black and white one. Though the white of its fur was so dirty it looked more gray than anything else. You had nicknamed the old hound Shadow, because it seemed to have an odd habit of slinking around at night―creeping through the shadows like he was apart of them.

"All dogs can bite, honey" Your mother said, pressing her lips to your forehead in a chaste kiss.

"Not Shadow" Was your soft protest, blinking away tears. You don't know how it happened. You've known Shadow the longest. Fond of following behind him as he took you through the city. And he never once seemed to mind being accompanied by a tottering child.

Your mother regarded you with a critical eye. It was awesome, having a nurse for a mom. Even if she was always gone, you knew she was off saving peoples lives everyday. Yours too. She always helped with your booboos and scratches and even gave you a lollipop after each one. Just as the doctor would. She handed you one now, butterscotch flavored as her mind seemed to wander.

A pit of anxiety formed at the bottom of your stomach. You knew what they did to dogs who bit people. And you didn't want anything bad to happen to Shadow.

"Mom. Don't let them put him down. Please don't" You pleaded suddenly, pulling on her arm with the hand of your uninjured arm. You knew Shadow didn't mean to do it. He was just...you don't know, exactly. But he wouldn't do it to you again. You would just need to be more careful around him. Not provoke him as much.

"You could have gotten real sick" Your mother began, crossing her arms and staring at you impassively. "Rabies is deadly, baby. You know I just want to keep you safe"

"I don't have rabies" You mumbled, staring down at your feet. "I'm fine. Please don't hurt Shadow"

Your mother did not bother to deign that with a response. You could feel her looking you over for a handful of moments. And then she left, as simple as that.

You had no idea why you thought of that moment, suddenly. Perhaps it had to do with Megumi sitting at your dining room table―just barely refraining from shoving food into his mouth.

"Is it good?" You asked, sitting beside him, teasing tone of voice.

Megumi looked up, only for a second or two, before going back to his food. "You know it is"

He was a stray. Megumi, you mean. Drifting in and out of your life. The visits got more sporadic around high school, when your best friend Tsumiki, fell into her coma. It seems that just when you think Megumi won't visit anymore, he shows up to darken your doorstep. You don't really understand why he does it. He knows he's welcome anytime. Your mom practically raised you both since his guardian was rarely in the picture.

You prop your cheek onto your palm, elbow pressed against the table. You do not bother to hide the fact that you're staring. Comparing the man you see to the teen you remember seeing a year, maybe two, back. A habit you've picked up from Megumi himself, ironically―who you often catch staring back.

"What happened here?" You ask softly, gently tapping a scar on the side of his jaw. You suck your teeth. "Looks like it hurt"

Megumi regards you with a look, like he's debating on whether or not to share it with you. "Training. With Gojo"

"Training? What for?" You ask, quirking a brow. "I thought you had bodyguards"

"Do you seem them around anywhere?" Is the soft reply, eyes drifting back down to his empty plate. He looks almost forlorn, pouty. Like he can't believe he finished it all that quickly. "Is there anymore?"

"You brat" You mumble fondly, tousling his hair. "I'm older than you. You should respect me."

"I do respect you" Megumi argues, flushing. "Is there anymore?" He repeats, more impatient. It seems wherever he's been these past two years hasn't done anything for his shit manners.

"Nope. The rest is for Shigeo" You chirp.

"Shigeo?"

"My boyfriend" You inform him cheerily. Megumi doesn't say anything for a long while. Lifts those sullen deep blue eyes and stares at you. "What?"

"Nothing" Is the reply, mouth twisting into a frown. Absolutely not 'nothing'. "You should dump him. He's not good enough for you"

You make an undignified sound, pushing at him playfully. He doesn't even budge. "What! You haven't even met him yet. You can't say that"

"Say what? Who are you talking to?" Is Shigeo's reply, rounding the corner in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His eyes seem to skip over you entirely, landing on Megumi. You've always thought he had pretty eyes. Dark brown, almost black. Really pretty in the sunlight. They widen now―staring at your stray with caution that borders on fear.

Strange.

"This is Megumi!" You chirp, planting a kiss onto his cheek. You expect him to grumble, or push you away. Megumi hates it when you 'baby him'. But he does not. If anything, he leans into it. "I told you about him, remember?"

Megumi's eyes shift up towards Shigeo. Staring. He's just as protective over you as you are of him. Except Megumi is a lot more intimidating to other people.

"You said he was a 'cute kid'" Is the muttered reply from Shigeo, and tension falls over the room.

"I am cute" Megumi says, who has never really appreciated people talking about him as if he weren't there. His arm loops around your waist and he tugs you in close. You're surprised when moments later, you feel Megumi's lips against your cheek, a smidge too close to your mouth. "Not a kid, though"

Shigeo's eyes dart down to your cheek. You can tell he isn't happy, either. What on Earth is happening right now?

A nervous laugh bubbles out of you, desperate to smooth...whatever this is, over. But before you can say anything, Megumi is beating you to it.

"Can I stay for a few days?" He asks "I want to visit Tsumiki. And your mom, too. She's been sending me passive aggressive texts lately. If I don't show up she might track me down"

You don't know why he asks. Megumi should know he's welcome anytime. You always have room for him. "The guest room is yours. Stay as long as you need."

You stand, taking Megumi's plate and your own as well to the sink. Shigeo's eyes land on you―burning like a laser. "And she wouldn't send you so many messages if you just came around more" You don't both to mask the hurt in your voice.

Seconds later, Megumi is at your side. You stand shoulder to shoulder. This is the closeness you crave. The dishes are pulled from your hands. Megumi stares. And stares. And stares. "Let's visit Tsumiki today, and your mom tomorrow. The third day will be for just us"

"I have work" You grumble.

"Don't I always pay for everything when I'm here?" Megumi asks, leveling you flat with the depth of his gaze. "Why are you bringing that up now?"

"Well, forgive me, it has been two years so my mind is little fuzzy on the details" You snap, snatching the plate back.

Megumi tsks at you, murmuring, Who's acting like a brat now? before tugging you into a hug. You try to fight it, but Megumi's strength always manages to catch you by surprise. No matter how many years you've spent roughhousing with him, and it's more clear at times like these, that you only win because he lets you.

His chin hooks over your shoulder, arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you in tight. Shigeo's still standing there, and you only realize that he is because there's a third set of footprints when there should only be two.

The thought makes you feel guilty immediately for thinking it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you" Megumi whispers into your ear. "I'll explain it to you someday. Just let me stay here for three days―"

"A week." You demand, holding him just as tight. Like you'll stop breathing entirely if he lets you go. "You better stay for a whole week. Or I'll never forgive you. Ever" A lie. He knows you're lying. You'd forgiven him the moment you opened the door and saw him standing there.

There's a chuff of laughter in your ear. Megumi's hand strokes down your back. "Okay. Whatever you want"

It's a promise Megumi can't keep. You know that, you're sure he knows it too. He's never stayed for that long before. He's in for a day, two or three at most. And then he's gone again. A note on the table next to a stack of crisp bills. And things aren't like they were when you were both in high school. You remember being in such a rush to grow up, to be an adult, independent and free. What you would give, to have things be so simple again.

Shigero corners you back on your way from the bathroom. There's a towel wrapped around your body, but it does little to combat the chill from the air, even though you dried off from the shower in your bathroom.

"I don't like him" Shigeo mutters, watching as you get dressed. "I don't want you around him"

That makes you pause, glancing at his reflection from your vanity mirror. "...why?"

"Why?" Shigeo repeats, incredulous, like you're the one being unreasonable. His brows jump to his forehead, and there's a crease, right in the middle. You want to smooth it out with your thumb. "He's too close to you"

"I've known Megumi since he was eight." You tell him, like you've told him a thousand times already. Shigeo's arms cross over his chest, unimpressed. "What? You seriously want me to go in there and tell him to just go back to wherever it is he came from?"

The flat look on your boyfriends face is the obvious answer.

Disgust crawls up your throat. You would never. "...I'm all he has left. I promised Tsumiki I would take care of him. I can't just―I'm not going to just abandon him."

"Fine." Is all Shigeo says, after a long while. "Tell your mom I said hello"

You raise your brows in surprise. "You aren't coming?"

"Some of us can't just call out of work" Shigeo says pointedly and to that, you say nothing.

When Megumi was 16, Tsumiki fell into a coma. The details around that time are fuzzy―moreso because you don't want to remember more than you have to, rather than some failure of your memory itself.

You remember the exact day it happened. Where you were (home; in the kitchen), what you were doing (helping your mom with dinner), what you wore (one of Tsumiki's faded shirts―abandoned after some sleepover a few years back and shorts).

It was strange, because Megumi called. At that age, you supposed it was normal for kids to change from the sweetness of youth to some false, nonchalant thing where it was suddenly embarrassing to show emotion. Megumi never called, is the point. He texted, maybe, but he never called.

Not that it mattered much to you. You saw enough of Megumi in person for that not to matter. Nearly everyday, Tsumiki was at your house―dragging her little brother along with her. He liked to hole up in the dining room and do his homework, or sometimes he wouldn't show up at all. A lot of time, Megumi was suspended. Too much fighting. It was a miracle that he hadn't been expelled.

Once, she said the estate where they lived at with Gojo was too big, too empty. You never pried. It wasn't your place to. Clearly they had no parents and this Gojo figure popped in and out, but gave them a much nicer place to stay. Even now, you don't know the full story of how the Fushiguro siblings came to be in Gojo-san's care, but you've met the man yourself a scant number of times. He rubs you the wrong way.

"Have you visited her? Since you've been gone?" You ask, standing shoulder to shoulder with Megumi once more. There's a bouquet of store-bought flowers in your hand. There's one in Megumi's as well.

"No" Is the reply, and you figured he hadn't. His eyes won't even look down at her headstone.

It had taken months for you to even get the courage to do that.

"Couldn't go without you" He says, looking at you. His eyes are rimmed red with unshed tears. You know you aren't faring much better. "I was scared"

His words pull a sound of sympathy from you. Tsumiki had been in a coma for two years. You and Megumi visited her often. She was your best friend. She knew you better than anyone else. And suddenly she was ripped away from you. In an instant, half of you was missing.

Strange, because the day he called, the two of you had made plans to drag Megumi off to the fair. The two of you had been up the whole night, chatting about the food you would eat and how best to corner him into getting matching face paint. You don't remember if you cancelled the tickets or not. You don't remember anything, except crying a lot.

Your hand closes around his wrist. "There's nothing to be scared of Megumi. It's just Tsumiki"

His hand moves down, and curls tightly around your own. With a wince, you break free―twining your fingers together instead. Even when the two of you visited her in the hospital, Megumi rarely looked at Tsumiki. He stood off to the side, or sat in one of the chairs, and listened to you recount whatever had happened in your life. You always suspected that he visited her often on his own, but, again, you never thought it right to ask.

"I can't" He breathed quietly, defeated. His eyes looked to you, imploringly. "I can't"

Quietly, you shush him. You step closer, gathering both bouquets in a single hand. The last time you had visited Tsumiki had been a month ago. The flowers you left there had long since wilted. But there were no remains. Maybe the wind had blown away the stems. Maybe there was a groundskeeper or something, who threw them away. Hopefully, if there was one, they had spared a few minutes at her grave.

Megumi's face pushes its way into your neck. A few moments later, the tears come. Soft, at first, then hiccups and sobs. He's malleable like this, and you manage to get him on the ground. The bone of his chin digs into your shoulder almost painfully. You've got your arms around him, holding him close.

The flowers are taken from your fingers. Megumi has to pry them away, and you don't realize how tight a grip you have on the stems until he does.

"Hi, 'Miki" Megumi says, voice clogged wet with tears. "Sorry. For not visiting. And for being such a shit little brother. I should've been better"

"Hey, no, don't say that" You mumble through tears of your own. You pull back from the hug, staring at him. "I should hit you for saying something like that. Tsumiki would have done it"

A laugh. There's little mirth in it. "She would've thrown the flowers at me, instead"

You join him. There isn't much joy in your laugh either. "Yeah. She wouldn't have missed, either"

"You're going to be just fine" You tell him, much later, back at the house. Visiting Tsumiki always zaps your energy. Leaves you depleted and exhausted. Shigeo never knows how to really help, when you get like this. Never knows what to do in the random boughts of depression you get around her birthday, or the anniversary of her death. You haven't been together long enough for him to learn you that way.

Megumi's curled protectively around you. This time, you aren't alone. Down in your bones you know that Megumi just knows exactly what you need. You're all he's got left, and you know he's learned you like the back of his hand because of it.

But Megumi's exhausted too. He's sluggish, craning down slow to kiss your nose. And again on your cheek, where he kissed you this morning. His hand finds yours. "I'll be better. I promise."

Your face scrunches into one of confusion. "You don't have to be"

A hum.

"I have to. You're replacing me, apparently" He says, squeezing you tight, voice murmured and tinged with exhaustion―yet alert. Succinct and to the point, as always. Your eyes widen. His nose is cold when it prsses into your cheek. His lips hover above your mouth, blue eyes hooded, boring into you.

Panicked, you turn your face to the side. Megumi's mouth presses against the corner of your mouth instead. There's a moment of prolonged silence, heart thudding in your chest. His hand strokes up and down your back. Idly, biding his time.

You open your mouth to speak. Megumi cuts you off. His eyes rake over your face. "Is it Shigeo?"

Swallowing, you shake your head. You think of him as your little brother. You always have.

Megumi seems to see this written all over your face. "I think it is Shigeo" He says, after a minute, tucking you against his chest―despite the way you protest. He clicks his tongue at you, like you're nothing more than a fussy kitten. "Stop moving. You're tired, aren't you? Take a nap."

You are. But having to obey like this feels demeaning, in a way. You're a grown woman. And Megumi's younger than you anyway. Being coddled isn't so fun when you're on the receiving end of it. Especially when there are more pressing things you want to talk about.

"He's not good enough for you" He says, after a while. Even without looking down to check, Megumi know you aren't sleep. How many sleepless nights have you spent, just like this, tethered to each other like two ships? His lips ghost your ear. "You think I'm keeping secrets? I'm not the only one"

The sun shines overhead, though you are protected from its rays by the shade of tree. It isn't often that you go to the Gojo estate—and the sheer luxury of everything surprises you.

You've never seen a single person own so much land before. The foyer alone is bigger than most of you and your mom's apartment combined. Everything screams of generations of wealth and power. The reflections shine so brightly that you can see yourself clearly in them.

The Gojo estate makes it quite clear that you don't belong there. It creeped you out as a child and you quickly understood why Tsumiki never wanted to be there. Why she spent so many nights sleeping over at yours, instead. It scares you now. But since Tsumiki's fallen ill...it's the only place you know you can find Megumi.

He's here with you now. The grass tickles your cheek. The wind blows. And Megumi is here. Right where he should be. The place doesn't matter that much anymore—as long as he's there with you.

Even this place, a gilded cage, is nothing too scary with Megumi insisting its okay.

It's time for you to start thinking about college soon. Well, the time for that was actually at the beginning of the year. But everyone seemed to understand why school wasn't so much of a priority to you at the time.

Your hands scratch through Megumi's soft hair. He's practically boneless where his head is propped onto your stomach—phone held above his head as he taps furiously at the screen. Some sort if mobile game thats popular with the second years.

You feel like you're running out of time. Everyone had been patient in the beginning. They don't seem to understand that what you need is time. Life has moved on for them but they can't understand why it hasn't for you. It makes you feel bitter and helpless.

Tsumiki was friendly with everyone. But she'll never mean as much to you as she does to them. As a third year, you're constantly plagued with the worry that she'll never wake up. What if she wakes up and you're not there?

You wonder is Megumi thinks the same. If he does, he does an excellent job at hiding it. You can't tell who's being strong for who—you or him.

"Hey. Megumi" You say, peering down at him. He shuts off his phone and tosses it to the side and gives you all of his attention. He isn't like Tsumiki, not at all. You like that about him. "I'm thinking about college"

Megumi doesn't say anything for a while. "You're leaving?"

"Not far" You explain, laughing nervously. "I don't think I'm cut out for something like tha–"

"I think you are" He says, staring at you. You laugh nervously, pulling at the collar of your uniform shirt and look anywhere else.

When you look back, Megumi is still staring.

"But my mom is here. You're here." You pause, swallowing. "Tsumiki is here"

"Do you want me to tell you to stay?" Megumi asks, sounding annoyed. Nothing like Tsumiki at all. None of her gentleness and none of her kindness. Megumi is all sharp, jagged edges with only the occasional smooth surface.

You make an undignified noise. "I would like some emotional support! I don't know what to do"

Leaving means moving on. Staying means...just that.

"Stay or go" Megumi begins. His hand splays on your lower stomach. Your muscles twitch and buck nervously, surprisingly ticklish. "I know it won't be the last time I see you. You're like a cockroach. We're going to be together forever"

His voice is dry and flat. You can't tell if it's a good thing or a bad one.

Then you feel it ; his thumb pressing in your belly button, and his forefinger pressing lower. Too low. His forefinger drags and presses lower, considering.

What. "What are you doing?" You ask, stomach clenching at the pressure. Megumi's head turns so that his eyes are staring straight into yours. "Stop. that tickles"

"It'll fit" Is all he says, monotone as always.

"Huh?" A beat passes. "Wait a minu—did you just call me a cockroach?! You are seriously the worst, Megumi! I'm older than you. Show some respect!"

A sigh. A moment later his hand is gone completely.

"You're so weird" He says, with a huff, rolling his eyes.

"Me?" You screech, loudly, pinching the side of his neck. He makes a soft, pained noise. Good, you think. That should teach him a thing or two.

The knife cracks down on the ginger root, splitting it. Too much force used, if the way the cutting board shifts against the counters is any clue on the matter. The smell wafts up into your nose, along with the spices you've put aside.

You think I'm keeping secrets? Yes, of course he is. Again, you cut through the ginger. There's plenty Megumi isn't telling you. And you're only human. Of course you're curious about them. But he wouldn't like it if you were to going spying around behind his back. So you don't.

Whatever it is Megumi and Tsumiki went through before you met them is traumatic enough for neither of them to mention it. The closer you grew to her, the more you realized that a majority of her personality was just...fabricated. She was sweet around everyone else, cordial, kind. Easy for nearly every boy in your grade to have a crush on.

But around you―she's different. She pushes you out of the way to get first dibs on the remote. Steals sips of your juice boxes and deems it the "Best Friend Tax". Cries into your shoulder when she's screamed herself awake from nightmares. Holds your hand and tells you that you're the only real family she has, besides her sour faced brother.

Flinches sometimes, hiding close behind you, whenever someone whispers tales of the Yakuza. Some hitting too close to home, you suspected. You had asked your mom about it, once.

"Some things, baby, leave a mark on us, for a long time. Just don't bring it up if she looks uncomfortable" She told you, kissing your cheek.

Your mom started inviting the Fushiguros over a lot more after that.

"Woah!" Shigeo chuckles, crossing into the kitchen. You perk to attention at the sound of his voice. "What did I do this time?"

Your hand holding the knife pauses. "What?" You think I'm keeping secrets? I'm not the only one.

"Sweetheart" He says, swooping in and kissing your cheek. Again, on your mouth. "There's nothing left of that ginger besides a paste. Did I forget to take the trash out again?"

You stare down at the cutting board, slightly confused. But Shigeo is right. The ginger you had been dicing is nothing more than a wet mush. Your thoughts had just...ran away with you.

The day after Megumi tried to kiss you, he took you out shopping. His way of apologizing, you think. You both visited a cute cafe you mentioned wanting to try but neither you nor Shigeo ever having the time. The barista at the counter assumed you and Megumi were a couple. You tried to say otherwise, but Megumi had just kissed the side of your head and thanked her.

Neither of you had brought up what happened the day before. You, because you're terrified of where this is heading and unsure of how to stop it. And Megumi, not because he's afraid, but because you know he's allowing you the time to process. He'll force you to face whatever this is, and when he does―you know you won't have time to run or stall.

You had forgotten about it all, nearly. Until you stepped back into the apartment to Shigeo sitting on the couch, watching reruns of his favorite show. The next morning, he was gone. A small note with his new number on it, and that was all.

I'm not the only one. The words repeat in your head, over and over again. What could Shigeo possibly be hiding from you?

"Are you cheating on me?" You ask, voice solemn and serious, staring down at your chopped vegetables. You don't think its that. But.

"No" Shigeo says, immediately. Not a lie, then. "Are you?"

A look of confusion befalls you. "Why would I cheat on you?"

A noncommittal hum. He takes a seat at the dining room table and observes you as you work.

"Usually if someone asks about something as serious as cheating, it's because they're guilty" Shigeo says, carefully, eying you. You realize, with a dawning sense of horror, that is is Shigeo who doesn't believe you.

"I'm not" You repeat, stressed. Your voice sounds high and whittled. This is about Megumi, you know it is. Why is he turning this on you, all of a sudden? " I'm not. Is there...anything else?"

Shigeo makes a soft noise. Elaborate.

"Is there anything else that you're keeping from me?" You ask, looking at him from over the stove now.

There's a pregnant pause. His eyes sweep left, and then right. Subtle. He isn't even aware that he's doing it. "No. There's not."

He's lying.

He lied to you. You wonder if he knows that you know. Maybe. He sits there, silent, eyes suddenly interested into the magnets you keep on the fridge.

Dinner is a quiet, awkward, affair. Both of you poke at your food. Conversation is brief, short, stilted. You wish Megumi was there. His silence, at least, is a comfort to you. Something you're used to. You aren't used to this at all.

You met Shigeo at the grocery store. A year and a half ago.

It was in the laundry aisle. He stood there, in front of the laundry detergents―taking entirely too long to debate between them when really he should have just grabbed one and went on about his business. You huffed, annoyed, and had coughed under your breath. Trying to get him to hurry it up.

He had turned around to apologize, and both of you just stared at one another. He asked you out right there. And the rest was history, as they say. In all of the time that you've known Shigeo, he's never really been a good liar. He always...looks around. As if he's waiting for someone else to interrupt. Or for the conversation to change. And when he realizes that no one's coming, he lies.

You and Shigeo are both honest people. You don't make a habit of lying. And you don't think he does either. A soft groan passes your lips. Actually―you aren't sure of anything anymore. It's been a month. There's been no sign of Megumi. You haven't texted him and it's like the universe is making you suffer greatly for it.

The house is tense and rolling with energy. Words unsaid. Fights over petty things the two of you had never bothered to fight about before.

Everything is a thinly-veiled insult now. Shigeo constantly alludes to you cheating. With Megumi. Everything is about Megumi now. He watches you closely, like he doesn't trust you to go to the bathroom on your own or else you'll cheat on him again. You haven't cheated at all. Sometimes, you want to tell him what happened that day. When he almost kissed you. You want to tell him that you turned Megumi down, that you refused. For him.

But you don't. You're afraid that if you do, it'll give your boyfriend another reason not to trust you. That the insults and passive aggressive behavior will get worse. And if he knows that what Megumi feels towards you is some misplaced feelings, he'll use it as justification for his actions.

You can't take much more of this. It's gotten to the point where you dawdle coming home from work, as you are now. And you've never been one to do that. Always among the first to clock out when your shift at the library ends. But, lately, you don't like being there. A place that you once considered your safe haven feels the complete opposite. You suppose, no one really tells you about that, once you move in with someone. There's really nowhere to go if the two of you start fighting.

Everything becomes barbed, sharp, dangerous. Everything becomes a shouting match and ends with you crying in the shower because you're just so tired.

You pause outside of your front door, arms full with two large paper bags. You don't want to go in. But you've ran off to the grocery store every day this week. If you do it again, Shigeo will have something to say about it. Sighing, your head thunks against the door.

You nearly trip and fall, when the door swings right open. The door you swore you locked before you left.

Megumi is sitting on your couch. That's the first thing you notice. He's wearing a suit. The last time you remember Megumi wearing a suit was at Tsumiki's funeral. The suit jacket is tossed over the couch, like he's been here a while.

Megumi is not the only one in your living room.

"Sh―Shigeo?" Your voice is a quiet wobble, eyes skittering over your boyfriend's limp form. His face is a smattering of blood and bruises and his right eye is swollen. Megumi's hands are no stranger to violence, but there isn't a drop of blood on them.

Your entire living room, and parts of the kitchen too, are just completely trashed. The coffee table is turned over, shards of glass all over the floor. Books and magazines and a flurry of destruction everywhere.

There are three men present that you don't recognize. Two stand next to Shigeo, on both sides of him. The third next to the couch, on the far end.

Your boyfriend's head lifts slightly, to the sound of your voice. A beat too late. You're just relieved to see that he's alive. The bags in your arms drop to the ground and you rush over to him, breathing heavy.

"What...what did you do to him?" You ask, wheeling around to face Megumi. Your hand lands on Shigeo's shoulder. He moves, but only to flinch backwards. There are tears springing in your eyes. You reach up a hand to brush them away.

"You told me she would come home much later" Is Megumi's murmured reply, uttered not towards you, but to your boyfriend. "If you'll lie about something as minor as that, Hayashi Takeo , you'll lie about anything―won't you? Your name, your age, your occupation"

"I-I, swear" Your boyfriend slurs. Halfway through that he's starts coughing up blood. It spittles out of his mouth like a dog with rabies, clinging to his teeth and gums. "I'm not―I'm not lying. It's there. All of it"

"...Shigeo?" He doesn't answer. Fearfully, you fold your hands over your heart. When you take a step back, your foot crunches glass beneath it. You look towards the only person who you know will give you answers. "Megumi?"

His eyes snap towards you immediately. They are hard, and impassive and very angry. In all of the years you have known him, Megumi has never truly been angry with you. Miffed, annoyed. But never angry. Slowly, his eyes soften.

"I didn't want to do this here" Megumi says, voice gentle and quiet like it used to be, years ago, when he found you crying your eyes out on some random bench at the hospital. His eyes flicker down to his watch. "Let's go get some ice cream"

Dumbly, you shake your head. You step closer to Shigeo, hands bunching around the bloodied fabric of his work shirt. His body is warm with heat. "No. Y-you're gonna kill him"

"Did I tell them to kill you, Hayashi?" Megumi asks, glancing at your boyfriend with a look so cold its scathingly hot in its fury.

Shi―Takeo, shakes his head. His hair falls into his eyes, obscuring them from your view.

Megumi hums, satisfied. There's a sharp glint in his eye. You've never been more afraid in your life. "What did I tell them to do to you?"

"To teach―to teach me a lesson"

"Why?" Your heart pounds in your chest. You're crying, you think. Making soft, scared, hiccuping little noises.

"Cause I st-stole from you" Takeo slurs.

"How much?" Megumi asks, voice thin and hard. Takeo doesn't say anything. He gestures towards the man on the right, just a lift of his eyebrows and you turn away just as your boyfriend is struck across the face. You squeeze your eyes shut at the way his breath leaves him in short, gasps. The sound of his spit and blood spilling across the floor and the way he sounds when he's struck―a grunt tumbling into a groan. "How. Much?"

"A mi...million―yen" Is the response, and your heart sinks to your stomach. You gasp, taking a step back, tripping over the leg of what must have once been your coffee table. Just as you're about to topple over and fall, a hand latches onto your upper arm, keeping you upright. It's one of the men you don't recognize. No, it's one of Megumi's...lackeys? Henchmen.

One look from your childhood best friend has the hand releasing from your upper arm. You can feel him freeze up behind you, as if he's afraid.

Megumi stands, and grabs his suit jacket from the couch. "Let's go for that ice-cream now, okay?"

He isn't asking. You spare one last look at Takeo, before a click of his tongue has you scurrying forwards. Megumi's hand slithers down to twine your fingers together. He squeezes. You know you have to squeeze back. So you do. His hand is cold. The smell of his soap wafts into your nose. Even now, your body tilts into his direction, staying close.

Even now―you're comforted by his presence.

The next time Tsumiki asks you for a favor, you're going to actually listen to her before you agree. She took advantage of your daydreaming and pushed you into a stressful situation on purpose!

You're going to kill her. "Uhm. Hello. T-Tsumiki sent me. We're friends from school. I have Megumi's homework?"

You had known that Tsumiki was rich. Everyone did. A few of your classmates had even claimed to have seen her house once or twice. But their accounts never lined up, so you just assumed they were rumors.

"Let her in" Says the bodyguard on the right. They wore black suits, even in the sun, and didn't seem to sweat at all. Your mind still spins over the sheer notion that Tsumiki's house has bodyguards. Not one, not two. But a lot of them, stationed around the property. Even though there's a fancy gate which would keep out even the most determined trespassers. "I recognize this one"

Your face morphs into one of confusion. You've never seen this man a day in your life. But you don't want to say anything. The men step aside. Another bodyguard comes, seemingly from thin air, and begins to march you towards the main building.

There are a lot of other, smaller buildings, littered about. Everything is done in the traditional Japanese style. It looks like something from a history book. You wonder just how old this place is. Everyone you've seen as you pass by is dressed impeccably, which makes you feel underdressed.

"The young master is inside" Says the man suddenly, pointing towards a set of doors. Before you can even open your mouth to thank him for the assistance, he's turning around and leaving.

Megumi is sitting on one of the couches, watching TV. He doesn't turn when the door opens.

You skip over to him, merry grin on your face, peering over the back of the couch. Then think better of it at the last second and stand straight again. This isn't your house, maybe there's a rule about hanging on the back of couches that you don't know about. "Hi! Tsumiki made me bring you all of the work you missed from your classes because you got suspended―"

Oh. He looks terrible.

"Fighting again?" You ask quietly, words dying in your throat whenever he turns to face you. There's a smattering of bruises on his face, a cut that had probably been bleeding, before. It looks like it hurts. "Megumi―I thought you said you would stop fighti―"

"They started it" Megumi bites out, eyeing you warily when you sit down beside him on the couch.

"What did they say this time?" You ask with a roll of your eyes. Megumi isn't exactly known for his everlasting patience and serenity. Even though you've been friends with Tsumiki (and Megumi because the two of them are a package deal) for years, you still mess up yourself from time to time. "Sorry, but teasing you for being rich isn't exactly a good enough excuse to―"

"They were talking shit about Tsumiki" He says, and your mouth clamps shut.

"Well...I can't exactly blame you for that now" You say sheepishly, with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good job for defending your sister!"

"What happened to 'talking through my problems'?" Your eyebrow twitches. Seriously, how can a mere middle-schooler have so much attitude. You were never like him at your age!

"Anyone who talks badly about Tsumiki deserves it" You tell him, putting your hands onto your knees. "Besides. She's your family. You two only have each other. You protect her and she protects you. Just like me and mom"

No one talks badly about your mom. But if she were, you'd like to think you were strong enough to beat them all up.

Megumi is silent for a minute. "I don't just have Tsumiki. Anymore"

Tears well up in your eyes. You know that the second one falls, Megumi's going to be out of there. He's allergic to showing affection, you think. So you sniffle instead. Megumi groans and predictably begins moving away.

"Well!" You snap at him, faux annoyed. "It's just my allergies! I'm allergic to uhm...to uhm...to dust! You should fire your housekeeper. What if I die on the spot from the severity?"

"You can't die from dust allergies" Megumi says drily "What are they even teaching you?"

"You can so too!" You protest, uncaring of how childish you sound. To be honest, you aren't even sure if that's possible. But no way are you letting him think that he's right. A series of exaggerated coughs and fake sneezes follow, hammering in your point. "My mom's a nurse. So I'm pretty sure I know more than you, you brat!"

"I take it back" Megumi grouses "You are so annoying. No―get off of me, I don't want a hug"

"Why are you sitting so far away?" Megumi asks, eyeing you carefully. You sit on the far end of the park bench, a loose cardigan around your shoulders to combat the chill. "I'm not going to hurt you"

"You hurt Shigeo" You say, staring down into your ice cream.

Megumi makes a disgruntled sound. "Takeo. The man I hurt was Takeo. He's been lying to you your entire relationship and you're still defending him?"

The words make you flinch. "You've been lying to me too...why―I don't understand"

Why Megumi would do something like that. He isn't the nicest guy around, and he stopped getting into fights when he transitioned into highschool so why...why is he―

"Gojo. The man who took Tsumiki and I in, he's the head of the Gojo clan, which is currently the most powerful family in the Yakuza" He says. Casually. Like he's telling you about the weather and not that he's affiliated with the-.

"The Yakuza?!" You screech loudly, but one sharp look from him has you quieting your tone. "Megumi, those guys are seriously bad news. Whatever it is he's offering you isn't good enough! You have to...quit or something!"

A snort. "You don't just up and quit working that kind of life. My real father was apart of the Yakuza too. A different syndicate though, and a real problem for Gojo. But for some reason, he didn't kill us after he murdered my dad. He took us in"

For lack of nothing better to do, you shovel a spoonful of ice-cream into your mouth.

"Either way, my fate was sealed since birth" Megumi continued. "I was going to be in the Yakuza. Just...didn't think I'd be doing it as Gojo's second. He offered me a choice. Said that once I was in, it would be impossible to get out. Tsumiki wanted no part in it. Neither did I but then..."

This part is hard for him to say. Without thinking, you slide down the bench until you're pressed shoulder to shoulder. Even though you're mad at him, you can't abandon him. Just like you've always been. Megumi takes a deep breath. "And then I found out that someone from a rival family had Tsumiki poisoned"

"Oh. The c-coma?" You ask, quietly, rhetoirical. Tsumiki had been in a coma for two years before she died. The pieces begin to fall together. You glance over at Megumi, whose face is blank and impassive. Forcefully so. Even now, he's trying to be strong for you.

The whole time then. It's always been like that. You thought you were Megumi's source of comfort, his strength. But he was yours.

It made sense now, why Megumi hardly looked at his sister, when the two of you visited her in the hospital. His personality growing more reserved. Distant. Why his visits grew more sparse as time moved on until you didn't see him for two whole years. He must have felt so alone.

"I wanted them all dead" He said suddenly, voice so dark and full of hatred that you flinch away. "But it wasn't enough for Gojo to do it. For some faceless lackey to do it. I had to do it. Because I failed to keep her safe. I was supposed to protect her and I fucked up and now she's dead"

You two only have each other Your words haunt you now. You can't help but feel as if you're the basis for the guilt that Megumi feels. You protect her and she protects you.

There's a sudden cold press against your lips. Megumi's kissed you.

"So imagine my surprise" Megumi says, lowly, hand pulling you in by the shoulder "That the last guy I have to kill in order to fully put my sister to rest is. Playing. Fucking. House. With. My. Wife" Each word is broken up with another kiss.

Your dizzy when he finally pulls away. You push lightly at Megumi's shoulders. He doesn't budge. His hand lands between your spread thighs on the bench, pale like the moon. His icy lips are nipping at the side of your neck now. Heat pools in your lower stomach.

"Me-Megumi...we're not, we're not married" You manage to gasp out, thighs clamping shut. Your stomach curls with disgust. "You mean...the whole time Shi―Takeo and I were dating he had...he was one of the ones who―"

You think you're going to be sick. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes and you hold on tightly to the sleeve of Megumi's suit jacket.

He makes a disgruntled sound, and mutter something like don't talk about him while I'm trying to kiss you but eventually works around to continuing.

"It took me a while to track him down. He was a rat, working for a rival family who had also been working for us. An informant. He knew where Tsumiki would be that day. He had been watching her and you too, for a long time. I never even fucking noticed" He says, spreading your legs again. "But before I had the chance to kill him, he fled―along with 1 million yen"

Your stomach swoops. But it's hard to focus on the dread you feel when Megumi has his hand down your skirt, toying with the waistband of your panties and kissing at the sensitive part of your neck he discovered earlier.

"Megu-Megumi, stop" You mutter, panicked, looking around the park for any voyeurs. "We're in a public place―someone could...Megumi, someone could see us, stop"

"There's no one around" Is the reply, cold fingers pressing against your skin. "Did you fuck that bastard? How many times?"

Despite the cold, you can feel the way your face begins to flush. "I'm n-not telling you that!" You exclaim hotly. As close as you are, even some things must be kept private. And your sex life is one of those things.

"So you did" Megumi says drily "How good was he? Not better than me"

"We never even!" You protest "We've never had sex Megumi―so how would you know?"

The wrong thing to say, apparently. Megumi wrenches away from you like you've just insulted Tsumiki herself, eyeing you like a predator would prey. In one quick movement, he's pulling you to your feet, snatching the ice-cream cup out of your hands and into the trash before setting a fast pace over to the car.

The car is a lot warmer than the chill air outside. Megumi pushes you down in the backseat, clambering on top of you. You try to scoot away, but one hand on your hip is strong enough to keep you in place.

Megumi's mouth presses to yours, hand rubbing up and down your stomach idly as he devours you. Kissing Megumi is different than any of the other guys you've kissed before. He kisses you like he's angry, frustrated―but then softens up, hand cupping your cheek and thumb stroking your jaw. Liking kissing you is enough to quell whatever fire and darkness swirls inside of him. He moves back, enough to strip out of his suit jacket, flinging it into the front seat.

"The windows are tinted" He says, as if that makes any difference to you. "Spread your legs"

Your eyes blow wide. "I'm not...I'm not doing that"

"Why not?"

"B-because!" You exclaim, trying to shut your legs again. And again, it's pointless to try. Honestly, the nerve of him! "I don't like you...like that. Megumi, we're practically siblings!"

"I don't think siblings kiss" Megumi says casually, flipping up your skirt instead. You want to point out that he kissed you. You just...reciprocated it for a minute. "And if you knew how much time I spent jerking off to you, I don't think you would believe we were 'practically siblings', either"

"You―you were―?" You stammer, unable to even get the words out

"My first wet dream was about you too" Megumi whispers, kissing you on your forehead. He sounds fond. "I still remember it. You were moaning so cutely when I fucked you. And god, you were a little spider monkey back then, remember? Kept clinging to me in the dream just like that. I wonder if you'll make the same sounds"

His hand splays across your clothed pussy. You can't think, can't even breathe, other than the fact that Megumi is about to fuck you in the backseat of his fancy car of all places and it feels like your entire world is falling apart.

You don't want this. You're sure you don't. But when Megumi's hands reverently pull down your panties (ignoring your protests when he tucks them into his back pocket), you can feel how wet you are. The brush of air against it doesn't help.

"Did that bastard ever get you this wet?" Megumi asks, tips of his fingers spreading your folds and gently trailing through your slick to gently pet around your hole. Your face burns with shame at the way your pussy clenches, knee jerking up involuntarily. His voice is far away and too close, all at the same time. "Did he?" He repeats, impatient.

"No" You wobble pathetically, watching as he shifts even closer. Megumi's hard cock grinds against your ass, heavy and smearing something hot and wet against your ass, even with the layers of his pants and underwear between you.

"I didn't think he did" Megumi says, before sliding two fingers into your cunt. The insides of your thighs spasm like pulled strings, a choked gasp leaving your lips as he pushes his fingers up until the last knuckle. "That bastard couldn't even fuck you properly"

His fingers pull back out of you, and then press back in. Slowly, at first, like he's mapping you out. The rest of his fingers smack against your ass with a soft slip and squelch. There's a determined knot in his brow before he slides them in―and starts finger-fucking you so hard you can't breathe.

"Meg―Megumi!" You squeal, though he shows no sign at all of slowing down. No, no, he speeds up―scissoring his fingers inside of you. A third finger spears into your cunt, thumb rubbing slow circles at your hooded clit. Your stomach curls and rolls, breathing hiccuping into sharp gasps and whimpers.

"He murdered my sister" Megumi growls lowly, fucking his fingers into your pussy like it's done something against him personally. You can't do anything but hold onto his inner wrist and take it. "Steals my fucking money, runs off with my girl and he can't even fuck you properly. How long were you two together? It couldn't have been worth it. You should've known you were mine instead of cozying up with that shithead"

Your insides churn rapidly. Each drag and push is like liquid fire, hitting your body in so many spots at once. You brace yourself against the cool leather seats of the car, heating up with how hot you feel, getting hotter still―chest heaving and heaving for air, toes curling in your socks.

When Megumi stops it pierces you like a physical pain. One moment you're nearly there, whimpering and pleading and the next―nothing. He's breathing hard, staring at the sticky mess between your thighs before those dark eyes slowly trail up to your body.

You cover your face with your hands, desperate for relief. Any relief. Why did he stop? This is wrong, you shouldn't be doing this at all. Much less feeling good from it. What would Tsumiki think? You don't want to know. All you know is that you were so close. You were right there and your pussy hurts, throbbing and you're so ashamed of the gushes of slick that seep out of you.

"I'm going to kill him" Megumi says. His hand cups your pussy, warm and solid. Your hips buck against it―chasing what he had once given you. "Very fucking slowly and very fucking painfully. You can't stop me from doing it. Do you understand?"

His other hand comes up to pull yours away, staring into your eyes. A part of you, despite everything, doesn't want Takeo to die. It makes shame curl in your gut. He was apart of the reason Tsumiki was in that coma in the first place. Those two years were the worst of your life. He was apart of the reason why she died.

But you think of his face in the morning, mussed from sleep. Whiny and always wanting to cuddle. It couldn't have all been fake, could it? At some point, Shigeo and Takeo had to have become one and the same. You loved that part of him.

Megumi calls your name. Your eyes flit to his face immediately. "Do you understand?" He repeats.

"I...I understand" You whisper quietly. Maybe the real reason you don't want Takeo to die is because Megumi will inevitably be the one to kill him. You've known Megumi since he was eight. He has always been a fighter, but he would never have it in him to kill someone.

If that's the Megumi you know, then who is this in front of you?

Hands settle on your knees. Your face flushes with embarrassment as you're suddenly spread open as far as you're able to in a car. You try and cover yourself with a squeak, but the movement of your hips as you move does nothing but reveal more of yourself to Megumi's ravenous gaze anyway.

"I'm not using a condom" Megumi states, flicking open the button on his pressed black slacks.

Your face pales.

Fingers skirt along your side. "We're going to be married anyway" he continues, shucking out of the pants and underwear. You try to dart your eyes away from looking at his cock―but you're a beat too late and you've already seen it. "Don't see why I have to wear one when you're going to be pregnant eventually"

He's big. Longer than Takeo, flush a pretty shade of red. Curving just slightly and dribbling precum. You don't know which one scares you more : Megumi's words or his cock.

He shuffles forward slightly, hooking a hand under you and pulling you forwards. The second, definitely the second.

Your legs snap close. Megumi wrenches them open again.

"Th―that's not going to fit." You say fearfully, whining as you try to break free of the sudden hold he has on you―squirming and bucking. You move so much that Megumi growls at you and then pins your hips down to the seats so that you can't move anything at all.

"It'll fit" Megumi mutters as a pitiful reassurance, bracketing your thighs overtop his knees. His brow knits, face pulling, and it's the most focused you've ever seen him. "I checked. Don't worry"

What's that supposed to mean? But before you can open your mouth to ask, he's cutting through your confusion with a simple, "Relax for me" and then proceeds not to miss a beat as he pushes inside.

Air rushes out of you in a sudden gust of adrenaline, back bowing off the seats with a high-pitched whine as Megumi spears himself inside your cunt. It's like a punch to the gut, flesh aching as you feel yourself stretch to properly swallow the first push. There's a loud grunt below you and then Megumi rocks gently back out, muttering a few choice words as he pushes himself in, all the way to the hilt.

A pair of hands settle across your waist. Megumi's fingers are long and pale against your dark skin, nails neatly trimmed with not a speck of dirt underneath.

"Told you it would fit" He says lowly, words melting like warm chocolate. His eyes flit down your body. "Look" He demands.

You do, moaning softly, staring down at the sight of your weeping pussy stretched around his girthy cock.

Megumi begins leilursely thrusting inside of you, cock bullying further into your cunt, eyes trained down at the place where your bodies are joined together. You've fallen flat on your back, gasping and choking for air. Each slow thrust is enough to make you feel it, impossible to ignore. This isn't your boyfriend, hands too big, grunts and groans too low-pitched to be Shigeo. Takeo.

This is your sour-faced Megumi. Megumi, who likes to pull out until the tip is just barely inside of you. This is Megumi, who likes to slowly push back in, muttering soft praises of how good you feel, how long he's been waiting for this, into your clammy skin.

There's the faintest press of lips to your forehead. Your eyes snap open, teary and wet. He's leaning over you now, cock nestled only deeper for it. His hand braces itself on your shoulder before sliding back down to your waist.

"Wanted our first time to be in my bed" He confesses, gently, hips slowly picking up the pace. His eyes are lidded with lust, skin ruddy and slightly red as your breaths sync into one rhythmic beat. "Not the one in the shitty Gojo estate―the one in your apartment. The one you've always had just for me"

His voice is low and reverent before a sweet kissed is placed onto your lips. "Going to fuck you now" He says, a warning, before he does just that. Your moans punch out of your throat, tapering off into high-pitched keens and whines. Your back arches but with Megumi's hands pinning you down to the seats there's nowhere for you to escape to.

You keen, gasping at the sudden shock sizzling down your spine―entirely too sharp and sudden and forceful to be wholly pleasurable, but achieving that same effect. Yet you clamp and clench around Megumi's cock anyway, tears streaming down your cheeks. One hand claws at the leather and the other grips tightly around Megumi's thumb.

And your orgasam is a sudden burst of pleasure that has your head tipping to the side with a noiseless scream as your cunt pulsates around his cock. "That's it, cum on my cock" Megumi grunts lowly, fucking you through it, cunt hot and slippery around him. Gripping him tightly, but milking at him like you already know whats coming.

Your head thuds against the seats lightly, body going nerveless and weightless in its entirety as Megumi's hips continue to snap into your cunt―chasing his own impending orgasam. Then he's pulling out, just so until the tip is pressing against your clit. His head collides with your shoulder, panting into the space between your neck and shoulder.

Megumi jerks at his cock in quick harsh strokes before painting your pussy in thick ropes of cum. Time stretches out, seconds, minutes, half an hour. You can't tell. You're floating somewhere faraway―only coming back to yourself when Megumi shifts your body upwards, cradling you to his chest.

You blink, slowly.

There a kiss planted on the top of your head. Megumi's voice is hoarse when he speaks. "Was I too rough?"

You swallow. Thinking is still pretty hard right now. "Rougher than I'm used to but...but it felt good"

"That's good" He says, and kisses the top of your head again. "I would never want to hurt you"

You are hurting me you want to say. The words don't come. Even if you weren't' half fucked out of your brain you don't think you could say them. Not to him. You're all Megumi's got. You won't abandon him. Not even for this. Just not in the way you think.

"I didn't know that was the kind of girl you went for" Gojo says, with a smirk on his face that Megumi wants to scratch off. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his navy colored pants, white hair tickling his neck.

Megumi scowls down at the pavement. Gojo falls into line behind him. The black sudan is just up ahead. "What are you talking about?"

"Is that where you've been going after school?" Is the question he's asked in return. "Tsumiki's best friends house?"

Why is Gojo asking a question he already knows the answer to? Gojo is so annoying. "Yes."

"Well I guess you are at that age now..." Says the man, whistling some odd tune. "I just didn't expect you to become such a pervert so quickly"

"Shut up" Megumi barks, clambering into the backseat of the car, face hot. Gojo slides in beside him. He clicks his tongue at the driver and soon, they're back on the road. "I'm not...you're being weird"

"Her skirt rode up when she flopped next to you on the couch" Megumi freezes. "You kept staring at her thighs."

"I wasn't" He lies, jerking his head towards the car window.

"I wonder if her mother notices that you stare at her like that" Hums the man, crossing one leg over the other. There's no use trying to defend himself. He's mostly sure that Gojo's only doing this to pull a reaction out of him. And he's fallen for that trick one time too many.

It's Gojo, who gives in first. "Don't look so down, Megumi. She'll be yours, don't worry" Megumi makes a grunting noise as his hair is ruffled. "Haven't you heard? Good things come to those who wait"

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

Being a jujutsu sorcerer isn't bad. Going on mission wasn't bad either.... what was bad is Gojo Sensei forcing us to go on the missions where HE was supposed to go. So tonight he sent us on a mission like that. Me and my 3 friends Yuji, Nobara and Megumi. We all went on the mission. The curse was too strong for us. I almost got killed when the curse was about to stab me with its hand and thank God Yuji was there he pulled my leg and threw me away from the curse. And my fucking luck. My jacket got tored. And I feel in a pool. I'll take 2 jackets from Gojo Sensei now!!! Anyways we got the curse killed and we're finally returning. We were on the train to return. It's a long journey. It's night right now. It'll be tomorrow morning when we reach jujutsu high again. Yuji was eating, Nobara was scrolling through her phone and I was looking outside. We all 4 were standing together infront of door breathing some fresh air.

I exhaled slowly. Then I turned my head. I kind of froze. Megumi was looking at me. No.... it's like starting. Like he’d been watching me for a while. My heart jumped for absolutely no reason. I immediately looked away. Why is he looking at me like that? I focused hard on the window again. Trying not to look at him again. I turned back...just a quick glance... He was still staring. Oh no. I snapped my head away again, this time way too fast. Okay. This is fine. Totally normal. He’s probably just tired. Or thinking. Or staring into space in my general direction. I told myself don't look at him. Someone shifted beside me. I turned slightly and caught Nobara watching me with a slow, evil smirk spreading across her face.

I immediately turned my face away from her too quickly. Shit. Shit. This damn girl. Don’t look at her either. Don’t react. If I smile, Megumi might think I like him. And without any intention I looked Straight back toward Megumi. He was still staring but his head slightly tilted this time. Beside me, Nobara leaned closer. “You know.... if you keep doing that little look-away-look-back thing, he’s going to think you’re flirting.” she whispered. I turned to her to explain but accidentally loose my grip from the pole and slipped. Megumi's hand quickly wrapped around my waist....instantly and pulled me. I bumped directly into a solid chest. I looked up. He was looking at me. Our faces were too close.

“AAAAAAAAAA!” Nobara screamed with excitement. Yuji looked up mid-bite. “Huh? Did someone die?” he said. “You’re wet,” Megumi said all of a sudden. "I mean.... water. You fell in the pool.... You shouldn't stay cold" Megumi said. "Yeah true... You want my jecket?" Yuji asked innocently. Nobara punched Yuji too hard instantly in his face for saying that. "SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP" Nobara whisper screamed to Yuji. Megumi totally ignored what was happening beside us and took off his jecket. "Here" he said. “Thanks,” I said. I wore the jacket. He wasn't wrong tho I really needed that jacket. We all went to sit on the seats. And I don't remember when I fell asleep there.

Next morning when I woke up I was confused. I was in my room. Nobara walked out from the bathroom. "Oh you're awake? Morning!" She greeted with a smile and sat on the bed. "Yes morning.... But when did we reached jujutsu high? When and how did I come to our room?" I asked. She listened then smirked. “Oh, you don’t remember?” she asked. "That's why I'm asking " I replied. "You were sleeping so deeply so Megumi carried you here" she replied. “Yuji offered to help, by the way.... But Megumi looked at him and said, ‘I’ve got it.’" she said. "I... what?" I was shocked. "Yes~" she said. Nobara's phone rang. And thank God it did....or else she would tease me forever.

I went out to take some breath. I was walking through the hallway. "You woke up finally?" I turned around quickly. Megumi. "Yeah.... I mean. I was tired....fell asleep too deep" I replied with a nervous laugh. "No that's ok. That mission was tiring" he said. "Are you ok.... I mean your health? Or do you feel sick?" He asked. "No no...was just tired nothing else. Totally fine now. You?" I asked. "Me too" he replied. "Are you free tomorrow?" He asked. "Yes" I replied way too quickly. "You wanna go shopping?... Like I'm going tomorrow that's why I asked. I mean totally depends on you if you wanna go" he said. "No. Yeah. I mean yes. I'm free... I'll go" I replied. He nodded. "Ok... tomorrow 10am?" He asked. "Sure" I replied.

The next day

I woke up when my alarm rang. I went up brushed my teeth, took a bath, eat my breakfast and got ready. Standing infront of the mirror checking my outfit and the makeup if it's ok or not. Then finally walked out of the room. And oh shit. Nobara was walking towards the room. "Hey... you going somewhere?" She asked. "Me? Yeah" I replied. "Where? You didn't tell me " she said. "Oh I'm just going for shopping" I said. "Really??? I'll come too" she replied. Oh shit. "No! I mean..... you can't" I said. "Why? You don't want me to go? Am I not your friend anymore?" She asked. "It's not like that" I replied. "I can see what it's like" she pouted. "Nobara.... listen.... it's not....oh ok. Actually..... I'm going shopping with Megumi" I said.

“…With who?” she asked very softly. “…Megumi,” I repeated. Barely a whisper. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—” She grabbed my shoulders and shook me violently. “YOU’RE GOING ON A DATE.” she said. “It’s not a date!” I replied. “You said shopping. Together. Alone. At 10 a.m. That’s a DATE.” she replied back. “It’s just shopping,” I insisted, face heating up. “He said he was already going and asked if I wanted to come.” I said. Nobara squinted at me. “so it's not a date huh? Do you remember what date it is?” she asked. I checked my phone. 14th February. “…Oh,” I said. Nobara’s smile stretched slowly. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? Oh?” she echoed. I looked up at her. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.” I said. “Mhm,” she hummed. “And I’m the queen of England.” she replied.

“It’s not a date, He just said shopping.” I repeated weakly. “ON VALENTINE’S DAY, At TEN IN THE MORNING. ALONE.” she snapped. She grabbed my hands dramatically. “Y/N. MEN DON’T DO THAT.” she said. “He does,” I argued. “Megumi barely qualifies as a man emotionally.” I said. “Don’t insult my future brother-in-law.”She gasped. “WHAT.” I spoke back. Nobara ignored me and began circling like a shark. "So that's why he was asking me your favourite colour yesterday" she said. "He asked that?" I asked. “Yes" she replied. "And you told him?" I asked. "Yes and you still believe he didn't mean it like a date? Ok so let me guess. He asked you calmly. Probably avoided eye contact. Maybe rubbed the back of his neck.” she asked. “…Yes.” i replied. “And said ‘it’s fine if you don’t want to’ like he was bracing for rejection.” she asked. “…Yes.” I replied. She stopped in front of me. “That boy is DOWN BAD.” she said. My phone buzzed in my hand.

Megumi: I’m outside.

"you should go...we can talk about this later" Nobara said with a wink.

I walked out of there. I really didn't know it's 14th February. It's just a coincidence, right? Megumi might have didn't notice that either...... right? I walked out. Megumi was standing beside his car. "Hey" he straightened up as he saw me. "...hey" I replied. "You look.... good" he said. "Thanks... You look good too. I like your shirt...... that's my favourite colour actually" I said. "Really? I didn't know that" he said. Very bad liar. He opened the door and I went in and sit on the passanger seat. He walked around and got into the car as well. “So,” I said, desperate to fill the silence, “where are we going?” I asked.“There’s a mall near the station,” he replied. “I needed some things.” he said. “Oh,” I nodded. “Like… groceries?” I asked. “…Clothes.” he replied. “Oh.” I said.

We reached the mall. It was crowded. He took me to the male section. I choose shirts for him there. “So,” I said, picking up a shirt from a rack, “what kind of clothes are you looking for?” I asked. “…Normal ones,” he replied.“That tells me nothing.” I murmured to myself. "Actually.... I want blue" he said. Yeah... obviously he said my favourite colour again. “This one,” I said. "I like this one... I'll get it" he said. "Just this? You're done?" I asked. "Yes" he replied. I stared at him. “…We’ve been here for, like, ten minutes.” I said. "Ik... we're going to the girls section now" he said. "Girls section?" I asked. "Yes... it's not fair if if come to shopping and you don't get to visit the girls section." He said. And he dragged me from there and bought me too many clothes and makeups.

We were done shopping and about to leave when I saw a store of stuffed toy. My eyes caught the huge bear. "You want that?" He asked. "I love that" I replied. As we walked to the shop. A old woman was sitting there. She was selling the soft toy. "Please pack that one" Megumi said. "Oh that one isn't for sale, my dear" that old woman said. "Why?" I asked. "it's for today's offer, my dear" she replied sweetly and pointed at a poster. Then we noticed what was written there. 'do 100 pushups and win your girlfriend this giant bear' "oh" I said. "Why don't you do it, sweetheart? Look at how preety your girlfriend is. Don't you wanna see her happy?" The old woman smiled happily. "Oh... we're not –" before I could finish my sentence. "I'll do it" Megumi said and rolled his selves.

"no no no.... Megumi you don't have to" I said. “It’s only a hundred,” he said. “ONLY? It's 100!!!” I hissed. "I know" he said and started doing the push up. The worst thing was people started gathering. “FIFTY-ONE!” “FIFTY-TWO!” someone started counting. Time passed. "Ninety eight.... ninety nine.... Hundred" the counting stopped. The little crowd actually clapped. The old woman smiled. “Such a good boyfriend,” she said proudly, clapping her hands together. “Young men these days don’t make effort like this.” she said and handed Megumi the bear. That was almost same size as me. He handed me the bear. I was so happy. I hugged it tightly. "Thank you Megumi!!!!" I screamed and kissed on his cheek. Shit.... what did I do in between my excitement. Just ignore it keep it calm. I told myself. "Welcome" his ears turned red. We left.

It was already dark outside. "Shit" he said while driving the car. "What happened?" I asked. “…Fuel’s low, I thought it’d last till campus.” Megumi replied. "Oh shit... what now?" I asked. "I don't know. We have left the gas station as well. The car won't make to the campus" he replied. "We can go to Gojo's. It's close from here. We can stay there.... If you want ofcourse" he said. “Gojo-sensei’s… house?” I repeated. "Yeah.... he's not home today so don't worry" he replied. “…Okay, That’s fine.” I said finally. He nodded and headed to there. As we reached there. Megumi took everything inside the house. Everything we bought today. Then we went inside. That house was so huge and beautiful. I mean obviously Gojo Sensei is rich.

"please sit" he said and I sat on the couch. "You wanna go shower first?" He asked. "No... you go first.... I wanna take some rest first" I said. "Ok" he replied and went to the shower. Ok good. Now I have to text Nobara.

Me: you online???

Nobara: yes obviously! Give me all details happened today.

Me: so we went to shopping. He bought only one cloth. He bought me too many clothes and makeup products. Then there was a challenge kind of thing that says 'do 100 pushups and win your girlfriend this giant bear' and Megumi did that and won it and gave me the bear.....

Nobara: YOU ARE NOT KIDDING?????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I KNEW IT!

IT'S A FULL ON DATE!

Me: ....yeah. I kind of believe you now. I also think. It's Maybe a date...

Nobara: MAYBE???

Y/N HE DID PUSH-UPS.

IN FRONT OF STRANGERS.

FOR YOU.

Me: ok ok calm and.

Nobara: ok. So where are you now?

Me: the car ran out of fuel. So we're staying at gojo's tonight.

Nobara: YOU’RE

STAYING

WHERE???

Me:Gojo sensei’s house.

Relax. He’s not home.

Nobara: RELAX????

Y/N THAT IS NOT A RELAX SITUATION.

YOU ARE ALONE.

IN A HOUSE.

WITH MEGUMI.

ON VALENTINE’S DAY night.

Me: STOP TYPING IN CAPS

YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE

Nobara: IT IS WORSE.

Anyways...so what now? You two gonna Bombayah tonight there?

Me: ARE YOU INSANE

STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT

Nobara: so you're telling me after everything happened today you two are not gonna have sex tonight? Yeah yeah... keep telling yourself that. 😏

Me: 🙂🙂🙂

Nobara: I'm betting 1000 on it. That you two are going to have sex tonight....deal?

Me: yes deal!

A door opened. Megumi came out wearing a white t-shirt and a sweatpant. “Uh, Bathroom’s free.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh—yeah. Thanks,” I replied quickly, standing up way too fast.

I went in the shower. Everything about today was going through my brain. I turned on the shower just to have some background noise, even though I didn’t immediately step in. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was warm. My heart was still racing. I showered quickly, trying very hard not to overthink. When I came out, I changed into one of the spare clothes he’d at the mall. A tank top and soft shorts. Megumi was in the kitchen leaning on the kitchen counter and going through his phone. Is it just me or Megumi is looking so hot right now. "Oh...hey" he said looking at me. "Hey" I replied back. "I was thinking about ordering some foods... what do you want?" He asked walking towards me and we both sat on the couch. "Pizza will do" I replied. He nodded ordered two pizzas and put his phone on the table.

There was a loud silence. Suddenly the phone rang. Megumi's phone. I saw it's Yuji. I took the phone. "Megumi... Yuji's calling" I said as I picked up the call and put it on speaker. I thought he's my friend also it'll be nothing if we both talk to him. But as I put it on speaker.

"yo Fushiguro. What's going on? Did you banged y/n yet? As I gave you the plan you'll tell her your car's fuel is low and will go to Gojo Sensei's house and you'll ask her if she wanna do it" Yuji said.

Silence. Me and Megumi stared at each other. The silence was too loud.

"hello? What happened? You haven't asked her if wanna have sex or not yet? Megumi? Are you there? Or are you banging her–"

Before Yuji could complete the sentence Megumi cut the call.

He looked at me then at the floor then looked at me and at the floor and at me then at the floor again and again. He tried to speak up but couldn't. He looked so funny. I pulled his tshirt. "You should ask instead of using Yuji's stupid plans" I said and pressed my lips on his. He looked at me with wide eyes. "I was wanting you to ask that for so long" I said. He grabbed the back of my head and kissed me again. A way deeper one. I get on his lap. He wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled me closer trying to buck his hips up to my core. I could feel how hard he was. He picked me up like that while kissing and bought me to a bedroom. He let ourselves fell on the bed. I noticed something was weird in that room. Megumi desperately taking off his pants. "Wait.... Isn't it Gojo Sensei's room?" I asked. "Yes" Megumi replied. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YES?!" I said. "Don't worry! He won't know about it" he winked. What a terrible idea.

He took off his pants fully. His long, hard length standing up. Leaking precum. I took off my shorts along with my panties. I got up on his lap and he slowly... very slowly made me sit down on it. My eyes rolled back as he was fully In. It was so deep...too deep. "is it Ok?" He asked. I blindly nodded. I slowly started riding him. I heard his breath hitched. I didn't know how to properly ride. I tried to do it the best I could. I went up and down up and down. "F-fuck mmmhhh...ahhh fuck" I moaned as I continued to ride him. He groaned each time I rode him. His head fell back. I could feel him so deep. His tip hitting too deep again and again. He looked at me and then kissed my breast then sucked on it. I moaned so loudly. I couldn't keep the pace. Sensing that he flipped me over the bed.

He got top of me the started thrusting. "Fuck!" He groaned. He grabbed my top and pulled over my chest revealing my breasts. He sucked onto them as he kept thrusting deep. My toes curled. Mouth drooling. Each thrust hit deep. I clung to him, nails dragging down his back, legs wrapping tight around his waist. he whispered something I couldn't even focus. “You feel so good, Megumi,” I cried. “Don’t stop.” I moaned. He snapped his hips harder. “Say my name again.” he said. “Me-Megumi, fuck—” I moaned loudly. His hand slid under my thigh, angling me up as he pounded into me, faster, deeper, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the rain outside. His lips were everywhere. my neck, my shoulder, my mouth. We were fire and storm, desperate and wild. His fingers rubbing tight circles on my clit. “Y-Yes Megumi please—” I moaned. "Me too" He replied. We came together. Then he kissed me again.

That night ended with a rush. But it was all we needed. The next day we went to the jujutsu high as usual. When nobara came there. She looked at my hickey and smirked. "My 1000? And also want every details" she said. "Shhh... later" I replied. On the other side Megumi beating Yuji. "What did I do?!" Yuji asked but Megumi slapped him so hard on his face. Nobara asked me why was Megumi beating up Yuji. I told her I'll tell her later. Gojo Sensei entered the class. "Ok. Can you pause the murder for now and continue it after this class, Megumi?" Sensei asked. Megumi rolled his eyes and sat on his seat. So did Yuji rubbing his cheeks. "Oh and one thing before I start my class" Gojo Sensei spoke. "I want people to know that I have cameras allover my house.... especially my BEDROOM." He said looking straight at Megumi and me. Our eyes went wide. I quickly looked away. "Someone was there last night...had lot of fun" gojo said looking at Megumi. Megumi cleared his throat. Oh we're so cooked.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💗

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Everyone knows that.

The dead don’t question it.

The souls drifting through the fields don’t look at you twice.

But the moment you step onto the black stone path the air shifts.

“…You’re breathing.”

The voice is low.

Calm.

Right behind you.

You turn too fast.

A mistake.

Because he’s already there.

Megumi doesn't move with the frantic energy of the living. He moves with the terrifying, glacial certainty of the earth itself.

His eyes flick over you once.

Then again.

Slower.

 He looks at you not as a person who has trespassed, but as a stray soul that has finally wandered into the right cage.

Megumi stands just a step too close, shadows pooling unnaturally at his feet like they belong to him more than the ground does.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

Your throat feels dry.

“I don’t know how I got here.”

A lie.

Not entirely. But enough. Because you remember the river.

The cold. The hands that tried to pull you under.

And something—

something that let you go.

Megumi watches you like he can see that memory playing out behind your eyes.

“…You crossed,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Silence.

He steps closer.

The shadows follow.

Cling.

Wrap.

Like they’re listening to him.

“People don’t cross by accident,” he says.

You swallow.

“Then send me back.”

A pause.

His gaze sharpens just slightly. Not angry. Not surprised.

“I could,” he says.

Hope sparks in your chest too fast.

“Then do it.”

Another step closer.

He’s too close. “But I won’t.” The words land heavy.

Your breath catches.

“…Why?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his hand lifts. Not touching.

Hovering near your face.

Like he’s testing something.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs. You flinch back slightly. “Of course I am, I’m—”

“Alive.” The word cuts through everything. Megumi’s eyes darken, not with hunger, not exactly, but something deeper.

Something older.

“You shouldn’t be,” he says.

Your heart starts beating faster.

“You just said you could send me back.”

“I can.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Silence stretches.

Longer this time. Because he doesn’t look confused.

Or conflicted. He looks certain.

“…Because,” Megumi says finally, voice quieter now,

“I’ve never seen anything like you here.” Your stomach twists.

“That’s not a reason to keep me.”

“It is.”

You try to bolt. The instinct is primal, a jagged spark of life reacting to the encroaching chill. But the Asphodel meadows don’t work like the world above. 

The gray, ghostly stalks of the flowers don't crush under your boots; they wrap. They snag. With every desperate stride you take, the ground seems to soften, turning into a thick, ink-black sludge of shadows that rises to meet your shins.

 You don't even make it ten yards before the air in front of you solidifies into a wall of cold, crushing pressure.

Megumi is there before you can even gasp. He doesn’t grab you, he doesn't need to. He simply stands in your path, and the shadows rising from the ground surge upward like living vines, lashing around your ankles and pulling you down to your knees.

"Don't," he says, and the word ripples through the very marrow of your bones.

He kneels in front of you, his dark hair casting sharp shadows across a face that is beautiful and utterly pitiless. "The more you run, the more this place will try to claim you. 

The Underworld doesn't like things that move so fast. It prefers them still."

The shadows shift closer around your ankles.

Not grabbing.

Not yet.

But there. You glance down, panic flickering. “What is that—”

“They listen to me,” he says. Of course they do. You take a step back.

They follow. Your voice shakes. “Stop that.” “They’re curious.”

“I’m not, I need to go,” you snap.

For a second

just a second

something almost like amusement flickers across his face.

“You came into my domain,” he says. Your chest tightens.

“I didn’t come here for you.” The shadows freeze. The air tightens.

Slowly

very slowly

he tilts his head. “…No,” he agrees. A step closer, now you can feel it the weight of him.

The way everything here bends slightly in his presence.

“You didn’t.”

His hand finally touches your wrist.

Cold.

Not freezing, but wrong.

“But you’re here now.”

You try to pull back, still haven’t learned.

It doesn’t work. Not because he’s holding you tightly, but because something in the air resists you leaving.

“I don’t belong here,” you say, quieter now. Megumi’s grip tightens just slightly.

“You do now.”

The words echo.

Not just from him

but from the ground.

The shadows.

The space around you.

Your pulse is loud in your ears.

“You can’t just decide that.”

Another pause. Then—

softly

almost like he’s correcting you “I already did.”

Silence falls.

Heavy.

Final.

In the distance, the river churns. The souls drift, unbothered.

Because this, this has happened before.

Someone crosses.

Someone stays.

And the ruler of the Underworld always chooses what he keeps.

uugghhh that something i kinda like about megumi hes honest in the show when he said he picks and chooses who he saves and its not fair