cecillyOFyork

satoru never said don’t sit with us.

he didn’t have to.

it would happen in small ways. ways that were easy to dismiss if anyone called him out on it.

whenever everyone met up at a pub, there would always be just enough seats for the group. you’d arrive a little later than everyone else, usually straight from work, still tired from sleeping only a few hours after your shift.

and somehow, the last empty seat would always disappear the moment you got there.

you’d watch satoru casually toss his jacket over it.

or his backpack.

or stretch his legs onto the chair beside him.

the first few times, you thought it was an accident. then you noticed he only ever did it when you showed up.

“scoot over,” suguru would say sometimes.

and before you could even feel relieved, satoru would click his tongue.

“she’s fine.”

as if standing wasn’t a problem.

as if you weren’t part of the group anyway.

nobody argued.

nobody wanted to deal with him when he got like that.

so you’d end up leaning against a wall while everyone else sat around the table.

listening.

smiling when appropriate. pretending it didn’t bother you.

he never raised his voice. never started a fight. never said anything cruel enough for people to call him out.

just little comments.

little actions.

tiny cuts that added up over time.

and every time satoru noticed, he’d lean back in his seat with that infuriating look on his face.

like he’d won something.

like making you feel unwanted was exactly the point.

the conversations weren’t any better. they’d talk about professors they hated. midterms. group projects. people getting suspended. parties on campus. things that happened in lecture halls. things that happened in dorms.

entire memories built around a life you weren’t living.

you worked nights.

while they were sitting in classrooms, you were sleeping.

while they were studying for exams, you were getting ready for another shift.

it never started with anything obvious.

just small conversations that drifted into things you couldn’t fully relate to — classes you didn’t take, professors you didn’t know, places on campus you’d only ever passed by.

you usually stayed quiet during those parts.

not because you didn’t want to join in.

but because it was easier than being reminded, over and over, that your life didn’t quite line up with theirs.

tonight was no different.

they were crowded around a low table, half-lounging on mismatched chairs and cushions in someone’s apartment, the air warm with cheap alcohol and the kind of laughter that came from people who didn’t have to be anywhere else in the morning.

you sat slightly to the side, glass in hand, listening more than speaking.

suguru was in the middle of it all like he always was — relaxed, easy, occasionally glancing your way like you belonged there when he felt like acknowledging you.

and satoru was there too.

which meant you were already waiting for something you couldn’t name.

because with him, it was never random.

it was timing.

it was attention.

it was the way his eyes would land on you just long enough to make you aware that he was watching, even when he wasn’t speaking.

and tonight, he had been quiet for too long.

someone had been talking about a party the night before. loud music, cheap alcohol, strangers crowding the living room like it meant something.

you weren’t really listening until someone turned to you and asked if you went to things like that too.

you opened your mouth to answer.

you didn’t even get the chance. satoru beat you to it.

“why wouldn’t she?” he said, leaning back in his chair like he was bored. “she works in a club. she’s basically already at a party every night.”

a few soft laughs followed. not mean enough to stop him. not kind enough to help you.

you forced a small smile.

“it’s not really the same thing,” you said quietly.

satoru tilted his head, like he was considering you.

then he shrugged.

“sure it is.”

he looked around the table, addressing everyone now, not just you.

“guys buy her drinks. guys pay for her attention. she knows how to act interested when she has to.”

your stomach dropped at the casualness of it. the way he said it like it was fact. like it was just… obvious.

nobody stopped him.

you tried to speak again, but your voice came out thinner than you wanted.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

satoru smiled a little at that. not warm. not amused. just sharp.

“i know enough,” he said. “don’t i?”

the silence after that wasn’t loud.

it was worse.

because it meant everyone had heard him. and everyone had chosen not to argue.

you sat there, fingers tightening around your glass, feeling the heat crawl up your neck while satoru went back to his drink like he hadn’t just reduced you into something bite-sized for the room to swallow.

the room stayed quiet for a second after satoru’s words settled.

not the kind of silence that felt like shock.

the kind that felt like hesitation.

like everyone was waiting to see whether it was going to be a joke they were allowed to laugh at.

you didn’t look at satoru anymore.

you couldn’t.

your grip on your glass tightened instead, nails pressing into the cool surface like it could anchor you back into something normal.

“that’s enough,” someone muttered under their breath.

too soft to matter.

satoru didn’t even acknowledge it.

he just took a sip of his drink like he hadn’t said anything at all. like he hadn’t just stripped the conversation bare.

your eyes flicked, almost unwillingly, to suguru.

he was leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

didn’t move.

just watched the table like he was deciding whether this was worth interrupting his evening for.

then he sighed.

not loud.

not angry.

just tired.

“satoru,” he said finally.

that was it.

no sharpness. no correction. no defense.

satoru hummed in response, not even looking up.

“what?”

suguru glanced at you briefly — quick, unreadable — and then back to him.

“drop it.”

two words. flat. unbothered.

satoru’s mouth twitched like he found that amusing.

“or what?”

suguru didn’t answer right away.

and in that pause, something inside your chest tightened in a way you were used to now.

not surprise. not even disappointment.

just confirmation.

he wasn’t going to defend you.

not really.

he never did.

suguru reached for his drink again.

“just stop making it weird,” he said.

like the problem wasn’t what was said. like the problem was the attention it brought.

satoru leaned forward slightly then, resting his elbow on his knee.

his eyes flicked to you again. still sharp. still fixed.

“see?” he said lightly. “he’s not even mad.”

no one laughed.

but no one disagreed either.

and suguru…

suguru didn’t look at you again after that.

the thing with suguru geto had never been complicated.

at least, not for him.

he’d text you late at night asking where you were, and somehow you’d always end up at his apartment. sometimes he’d order food afterward. sometimes he’d let you stay until morning. sometimes he’d brush your hair behind your ear and ask about your shift like he actually cared about the answer.

those moments were what kept you around.

not because they meant anything.

but because they felt like they did.

you met suguru at the club where you worked, on a night that ran too long and felt too loud.

he came in with friends, but kept looking at you instead of the table. when you introduced yourself, he said your name like he’d been waiting to hear it.

after closing, he was still there. he offered you a ride, you took it, and somewhere between the quiet streets and his apartment lights, the night stopped feeling like something you could walk away from.

you told yourself it was just one night.

but you still ended up in his bed anyway.

suguru never called you his girlfriend. never introduced you as anything more than a friend. never promised you a future, exclusivity, or even consistency.

and yet he’d sling an arm over your shoulders in public when he was in a good mood, save a seat for you when satoru wasn’t around, and look at you with enough warmth to make you forget where you stood.

for a few hours, you could pretend.

pretend you weren’t just someone he called when he was lonely.

pretend you weren’t waiting for scraps of affection from a man who had never once asked you to stay.

which was exactly why satoru’s comments hurt so much.

because unlike everyone else, satoru saw right through the fantasy.

the conversation moved on eventually.

it always did.

maybe that was the worst part.

nobody lingered on what satoru had said. nobody looked uncomfortable for very long. within minutes, someone was complaining about a professor, someone else was arguing over a grade, and the room slipped back into its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened at all.

you tried to follow along. you really did.

you smiled when everyone else laughed and nodded when it seemed appropriate, but the longer the night dragged on, the more disconnected you felt from the people around you. every laugh sounded distant. every conversation felt like it was happening through a wall.

across the room, suguru looked perfectly at ease.

he sat sprawled against the couch with a drink balanced loosely in one hand, listening to shoko tell some story about a classmate she’d nearly gotten into a fight with. every so often he laughed, the sound low and warm, and for a moment you found yourself staring.

waiting.

hoping.

for what, exactly, you weren’t sure.

an apology, maybe.

an explanation.

some sign that he’d noticed the way your smile had faltered earlier. some sign that he cared enough to bring it up once everyone else had stopped paying attention.

but he never looked your way.

and every minute that passed made it harder to ignore the truth.

suguru wasn’t going to say anything.

he never did.

that realization shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. after all, this wasn’t the first time satoru had made a joke at your expense. it wasn’t the first time he’d found a way to remind everyone exactly what you did for a living. and it certainly wasn’t the first time suguru had chosen silence over confrontation.

still, something about tonight felt different.

maybe because you were tired.

maybe because satoru had looked directly at you while he said it.

or maybe because some stupid part of you had spent so long convincing itself that suguru saw you differently that hearing nobody disagree had finally cracked something open.

as the night wore on, people began leaving one by one.

the apartment slowly emptied around you. jackets were pulled on, goodbyes were exchanged, and the front door opened and closed often enough that cool air occasionally drifted through the room.

normally, you would have left too. instead, you found yourself lingering.

partly because going home sounded unbearable, and partly because leaving would mean sitting alone with thoughts you didn’t want to examine too closely.

so when someone started gathering empty bottles from the coffee table, you offered to help.

it gave your hands something to do.

you collected abandoned glasses, stacked empty cans, wiped rings of condensation from the table with a napkin. none of it actually needed to be done, but the small tasks kept your mind occupied.

or at least they were supposed to.

because no matter what you focused on, your thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.

satoru’s voice.

the look on suguru’s face.

the silence that followed.

eventually you carried an armful of glasses into the kitchen and set them beside the sink.

the apartment had grown noticeably quieter by then.

you could still hear voices somewhere near the front door, but they sounded distant now, muffled beneath the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of water as you turned on the faucet.

you stared down at the glass in your hands and watched soap bubbles slide across the surface.

for the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to stop pretending.

your chest ached.

it was ridiculous, really.

you weren’t dating suguru.

he hadn’t promised you anything.

you had no right to expect him to defend you.

and yet the hurt remained anyway, stubborn and humiliating.

you were so lost in thought that you didn’t immediately notice the apartment had gone completely silent.

it wasn’t until several seconds passed without hearing another voice that something in your stomach tightened.

the front door had stopped opening.

the conversations had disappeared.

even the music seemed quieter somehow.

you frowned slightly and glanced toward the kitchen entrance.

nothing.

just an empty hallway.

for a brief moment, you wondered if everyone had already left.

then a familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind you.

“you know what’s funny?”

your entire body went still.

because you would have recognized that voice anywhere.

and because somehow, before you even turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing there.

your entire body went still.

for a second, neither of you moved.

the faucet continued running between you, water splashing softly against the bottom of the sink, filling the silence neither of you seemed interested in breaking.

you stared at the glass in your hands.

then slowly set it down.

only then did you turn.

satoru was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

his jacket hung loosely over one shoulder, one hand shoved into his pocket. he looked completely relaxed, like he’d wandered in by accident. like he hadn’t spent the better part of the evening making sure you felt unwelcome.

for a brief moment, you wondered where everyone else had gone.

whether suguru was still here.

whether someone would walk back in.

but the apartment was quiet.

too quiet.

and judging by the look on satoru’s face, he knew it too.

“what?” you asked.

your voice came out flatter than intended.

tired.

he studied you for a moment.

his gaze lingered just long enough to make your skin crawl.

“nothing.”

you almost laughed.

“right.”

his mouth twitched.

not quite a smile. more like amusement.

“you’re easy to read, you know that?”

you looked away first.

you hated that.

hated that he always seemed to notice things you worked hard to hide.

“horrible night?” he asked lightly.

you reached for another glass.

“don’t start.”

“start what?”

you didn’t answer.

because there was no point.

because somehow every conversation with him ended the same way.

you frustrated.

him entertained.

the silence stretched.

you focused on washing dishes.

he stayed exactly where he was.

for a moment, you thought maybe that would be the end of it.

that maybe he was finally leaving.

then he spoke again.

“you cried once.”

your hands froze.

the words were so unexpected that for a second you weren’t even sure you’d heard him correctly.

slowly, you looked up.

satoru hadn’t moved. his eyes remained fixed on you.

calm. observant. annoyingly attentive.

“what?”

“after that party last semester.”

your stomach dropped.

immediately.

because you remembered.

god. you remembered.

it had been months ago.

some stupid gathering at their friend’s apartment. too many people packed into too small a space. too much alcohol. too much noise.

someone had made a joke.

another person had laughed.

then another.

and somehow the conversation had shifted toward hostesses.

toward women who worked in clubs.

toward women like you.

you’d excused yourself shortly afterward.

locked yourself in the bathroom.

and cried for exactly five minutes before pulling yourself together.

nobody was supposed to know.

your face tightened.

“satoru—”

“bathroom near the hallway.”

he shrugged.

“you forgot the walls were thin.”

humiliation flooded through you so quickly it made your stomach hurt.

“why are you telling me this?”

“because i remember thinking it was weird.”

you stared at him.

he continued before you could respond.

“you spend every night around men who say worse things than anything i do.”

the words landed heavily.

because they weren’t entirely wrong.

customers could be cruel. drunk. entitled.

you’d heard every insult imaginable at work.

every assumption.

every degrading comment.

satoru tilted his head.

“so i’ve always wondered why mine bother you so much.”

your chest tightened.

you looked away.

because suddenly you didn’t want him seeing your face.

didn’t want him seeing how easily he’d landed on the truth.

because his words hurt precisely because they came from him. because somewhere along the way, you’d started caring what he thought.

and maybe that was the most embarrassing thing of all.

“they don’t.”

his laugh was immediate.

quiet.

disbelieving.

“okay.”

you gripped the edge of the sink.

“satoru, what do you want?”

finally.

there it was.

the question hanging between you.

because he hadn’t stayed behind for no reason. he hadn’t followed you into the kitchen because he was bored.

satoru’s expression shifted slightly, becoming harder to read.

for a moment he simply looked at you, taking his time. like he was deciding how honest he felt like being.

“i don’t get you.”

you blinked.

“what?”

“you keep showing up.”

his gaze narrowed.

“every single time.”

you frowned.

“because i’m friends with everyone.”

“are you?”

the question was so immediate it almost felt rehearsed.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

and suddenly the kitchen felt too small.

too warm.

too quiet.

“suguru invites me.”

the moment his name left your mouth, something flickered across satoru’s face.

gone so quickly you almost missed it.

“yeah.”

his voice was flat.

“that’s kind of my point.”

confusion twisted through you.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

satoru looked away briefly before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

like he was already annoyed with the conversation.

annoyed with you.

“you really think that’s why?”

“why what?”

“why he keeps you around.”

you stared at him.

your heartbeat beginning to quicken.

slowly.

uncomfortably.

because suddenly you didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

and judging by the look on his face — neither did he.

but he continued anyway.

“you think suguru actually likes you.”

it wasn’t a question.

it was a statement.

a realization.

and the second he said it aloud, the room seemed to tilt slightly beneath your feet.

you felt exposed.

like he’d reached into your chest and dragged something private into the light.

your expression hardened immediately.

“fuck off.”

his eyes widened slightly.

not because you’d denied it.

because you hadn’t.

and he knew it.

“wow.”

the word left him softly. almost incredulously.

“you do.”

heat rushed into your face.

“i said fuck off.”

but your voice lacked conviction.

and that only made it worse. because now he was looking at you differently.

not with amusement.

not with irritation.

something closer to disbelief. as though he’d finally solved a puzzle.

and hated the answer.

“that’s actually insane.”

humiliation crawled beneath your skin.

“satoru—”

“no, seriously.”

he laughed once.

running a hand through his hair.

“you think this is going somewhere?”

every word felt sharper than the last.

you wanted him to stop.

wanted to walk away.

wanted the conversation to end.

instead, you remained rooted to the floor.

because some awful part of you needed to hear what he was going to say next.

“suguru isn’t your boyfriend.”

you looked away.

“i know.”

"then why are you acting like one?"

your throat tightened.

silence.

satoru watched your reaction carefully.

too carefully.

the realization seemed to settle deeper the longer he looked at you.

and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

crueler.

because now he wasn’t guessing anymore. now he knew exactly where to aim.

“you really don’t get it.”

your stomach dropped.

“satoru.”

“he fucks you because you’re there.”

the words hit so hard they barely registered at first. for a moment, all you could do was stare.

he continued anyway.

merciless.

“because you’re convenient.”

your chest tightened painfully.

“because you make it easy.”

“satoru, stop.”

but he didn’t.

“you think you’re special because he calls you afterward?”

his eyes locked onto yours.

“because he invites you to hang out?”

you felt sick.

genuinely sick.

the kind that settled somewhere deep in your stomach.

because every sentence sounded like something he’d been thinking for a long time.

“do you know how many girls would say yes to suguru?”

he laughed softly.

without humor.

“the difference is they have enough self-respect not to build fantasies around it.”

you flinched.

and he saw it.

god.

he saw it.

for the first time all evening, something uncertain flickered across his expression.

a split second.

gone immediately.

but not before you noticed.

not before you realized he hadn’t expected that reaction. he hadn’t expected to actually hurt you.

which would have mattered more if he hadn’t kept going.

“you’re not stupid.”

his voice was quieter now. lower. somehow worse.

“so stop acting like you don’t know what this is.”

your eyes burned, and you hated yourself for it.

hated that tears were even threatening.

especially in front of him.

especially now.

satoru looked at you for a long moment.

then let out a slow breath.

and when he spoke again, his voice was almost tired.

“he doesn’t choose you.”

the words landed with terrifying precision. because they struck directly at the fear you’d spent months avoiding.

“he just sleeps with you ‘cause you’re free & easy.”

and suddenly the kitchen felt impossibly small.

the air too heavy to breathe.

the silence afterward deafening.

because for the first time since he’d entered the room — you had nothing left to say.

your manager caught you just as you were stepping off the main floor to grab another tray. there was a particular look on her face that immediately told you this wasn’t a normal client request. she held a reservation slip between two fingers and glanced toward the staircase leading to the vip section.

“table 9,” she said. “private room.”

you nodded automatically, already reaching for the slip.

“requested you specifically.”

that made you pause.

for a brief second, you considered asking who it was. then you saw the spending limit attached to the reservation and didn’t need to. there were very few people who could casually spend that much money in a single evening, and even fewer who would specifically ask for you.

the realization settled heavily in your stomach.

gojo satoru.

of course.

you thanked your manager, fixed your dress, and headed upstairs.

the walk to the vip rooms gave you too much time to think.

two days ago, you had walked into suguru’s apartment with a spare key and found another woman in his bed. you hadn’t screamed. hadn’t cried. hadn’t even made a scene.

you’d simply stood there long enough for the reality to settle over you before turning around and leaving.

maybe that was why it hurt so much. there had been no dramatic ending. no fight. no closure. just confirmation of something you'd already known for months.

and now somehow satoru knew too.

the room was dim when you entered.

soft amber lights reflected off dark wood and expensive liquor bottles. the music from downstairs was barely audible from here, reduced to a distant pulse beneath the floorboards.

satoru sat alone on the leather couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a glass of whiskey balanced loosely between his fingers. at first glance he looked relaxed. comfortable. bored, even.

then he looked up.

his eyes immediately found yours.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

you were used to being looked at. men spent entire evenings staring at you for a living. you knew the difference between attraction, curiosity, desire, and drunken fascination.

satoru’s stare had never been any of those things.

it always felt more invasive.

as if he were trying to figure out something you hadn’t told him.

as if every interaction between the two of you was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

and tonight, for whatever reason, he seemed especially focused.

his gaze lingered on your face longer than usual. not your body. not what you’re wearing. your face. his eyes moved carefully over every detail, and before he even opened his mouth, you had the unpleasant feeling that he was cataloguing things you wished nobody would notice.

the exhaustion.

the lack of sleep.

the fact that your smile wasn’t reaching your eyes.

something flickered across his expression.

then it disappeared.

“well,” he said finally, leaning back against the couch, “if it isn’t suguru’s favorite side piece.”

there he was.

you almost felt relieved.

cruel satoru was familiar.

cruel satoru made sense.

you slipped easily into your professional smile and approached the table.

“good evening, mr. gojo. i’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

instead of answering immediately, he watched you reach for the bottle. watched you prepare a clean glass. watched you perform every practiced movement with the precision of someone who had spent years learning how to be pleasant no matter what kind of person sat in front of them.

when you finally looked up again, you found him still staring.

“mr. gojo?” he repeated.

his mouth curved slightly.

“that’s cute.”

you ignored it and poured his drink.

“would you like ice?”

“would you like to stop pretending?”

the question landed between you.

most people wouldn’t have noticed how quickly it came. how little time he spent dancing around the topic. satoru had never been subtle when it came to hurting you.

you continued pouring as though he hadn’t spoken.

“one cube or two?”

he laughed.

not because anything was funny.

because he was frustrated.

and somehow that realization unsettled you more than his insults usually did.

“you walked in on him balls deep in someone else two nights ago.”

there it was.

direct.

blunt.

inevitable.

you set the bottle down carefully before answering.

“i’m here to work.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

“and i’m choosing not to answer.”

for a second, the room fell quiet.

satoru stared at you.

you stared at the whiskey bottle.

somewhere downstairs, the bass from the club vibrated faintly through the walls.

“you know what’s amazing?” he said after a while.

his voice had changed.

it was softer now.

less mocking.

which somehow made it worse.

“i spent months telling you exactly who suguru was.”

you didn’t respond.

“months.”

his fingers tightened around the glass.

“and every single time you looked at me like i was the asshole.”

only then did you glance up.

because that sounded strangely personal.

strangely bitter.

more bitter than someone should have been about a situation that technically had nothing to do with him.

“you were being an asshole,” you said quietly.

for the first time all evening, a genuine smile appeared on his face.

small.

brief.

real.

“fair.”

then it vanished.

and his eyes returned to studying you.

not mocking.

not teasing.

studying.

as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.

because you weren’t angry. you weren’t crying. you weren’t defending suguru. you just looked tired.

painfully, unbelievably tired.

and somehow that seemed to bother him.

a lot.

more than finding out suguru had cheated.

more than proving himself right.

more than the satisfaction of winning an argument he’d been having for months.

satoru looked at you for a long moment before exhaling sharply and reaching into his wallet.

the stack of bills landed on the table with a heavy thud.

you frowned.

“what are you doing?”

“buying your time.”

“you’re already doing that.”

“not this time.”

his gaze lifted to yours.

steady.

serious.

“this time i’m buying the rest of your shift.”

you looked from the money back to him.

confused. suspicious. tired.

and for the first time that night, satoru seemed to lose patience entirely.

“go home,” he said.

when you didn’t answer, he shook his head and laughed once under his breath.

“seriously. go home.”

his eyes drifted over your face again.

taking in every detail you had been desperately trying to hide from everyone around you.

and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“i’ve spent months making fun of you,” he said. “i know exactly what you look like when you’re trying too hard.”

his gaze didn’t leave yours.

a month had passed since that night in the vip lounge.

you still didn’t know what had possessed you to take the money and let him drive you home. you didn’t know why you hadn’t told him to fuck off when he kissed you against the door of his apartment instead. and you definitely didn’t know why you kept coming back.

but you did.

three, sometimes four times a week, you found yourself here — in satoru’s apartment, letting him peel your clothes off like he had every right to.

tonight was no different.

the lights of the city bled softly through the tall windows, painting his bedroom in cool blues and warm golds.

you were underneath him, skin flushed and warm, legs parted wide as he took his time with you.

satoru kissed you slowly, almost lazily, like he had all night to ruin you. his hand slid down your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist before slipping between your thighs.

he groaned quietly against your mouth when he felt how wet you already were, slick coating his fingers.

“always so ready for me,” he murmured, voice low and rough. two fingers teased your entrance before pushing in deep, curling slowly against your walls. “this pussy misses me even when you pretend you don’t.”

you gasped softly, hips twitching against his hand. he smiled against your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching you patiently, thrusting them in and out with wet, obscene sounds.

“look at me,” he said.

when you met his eyes, he added a third finger, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face as he pumped them steadily.

“that’s it,” he whispered. “just feel me. don’t think about anything else.”

he kept that slow rhythm until your breathing turned ragged and your thighs trembled around his wrist. only then did he pull his fingers out, slick with your arousal, and settle between your legs.

he rubbed the thick head of his cock against your soaked folds, teasing your clit before finally pushing in — slow, thick, and steady, stretching you open inch by inch.

a quiet moan slipped from your lips as he filled you completely. satoru let out a long breath, forehead dropping to yours.

“fuck… still so tight,” he breathed. “every single time.”

his forehead rested against yours, white hair messy and damp with sweat. one of his hands gripped your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other braced beside your head.

“look at me,” he murmured, voice low.

you did.

his eyes were too blue, too sharp, even in the dark. they always saw too much.

“you’ve been so fucking quiet lately,” he said, rolling his hips deeper, pressing you further into the mattress. “still thinking about him?”

you shook your head, but the way your breath hitched gave you away.

satoru let out a soft, mocking laugh that didn’t quite hide the edge in it. he dipped his head, lips brushing your ear.

“liar,” he whispered. “you still get that sad little look in your eyes sometimes. like you’re waiting for him to text you again.”

he thrust a little harder, just enough to make you gasp, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

“but you’re here instead. letting me fuck you raw every time i want.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders. not pushing him away. just holding on.

“satoru…”

“yeah?” his voice dropped, rougher now. “say it. tell me whose bed you’re in.”

“yours,” you breathed.

he hummed in approval, slowing down again, dragging it out until you felt every inch of him sliding in and out.

“good girl. at least you know that much.”

he kissed the side of your neck, almost gentle. almost.

“you’re tighter when you’re like this,” he murmured against your skin. “all soft and needy. makes me wonder how long you’re gonna keep pretending this is just revenge.”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not when he was moving like that — deep, steady strokes that made your toes curl and your mind go fuzzy. not rough. not frantic. just overwhelming in its intensity, his cock filling you perfectly with every thrust.

satoru shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot that always made your back arch. a quiet moan slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“there she is,” he breathed, sounding almost fond. “been thinking about this pussy all day, you know that?”

he rocked into you again, slower this time, savoring the way your walls clenched around him.

“thought about canceling my last class just so i could drag you here and fuck you properly. been hard since lunch, baby..”

your face burned. you turned your head slightly, but he caught your chin and brought your gaze back to his.

“don’t you dare look away.”

he kissed you then — deep, possessive, a little messy. when he pulled back, his voice was quieter.

he kept his pace steady, grinding against you with every thrust, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles against your swollen clit. the pleasure built gradually, thick and consuming, until your thighs started trembling around him.

“that’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “come for me, baby. let me feel you.”

and you did — quietly, breathlessly, clenching hard around his cock as the orgasm rolled through you in long, slow waves. satoru groaned low in his throat, burying his face in your neck as he followed right after, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you, filling you with warm pulses.

for a long minute, the only sound was both of you breathing.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, heavy and warm on top of you, lips occasionally pressing lazy kisses against your collarbone like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

eventually, he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest without a word. his fingers traced slow patterns on your bare back.

you hummed, eyes already heavy.

your phone lay on the nightstand beside his bed. it had been on silent, but the screen suddenly lit up with a new message notification. then another. and another.

satoru noticed immediately.

he reached over and turned the phone slightly toward him before you could stop him. the screen showed multiple unread messages from suguru.

satoru’s body went still.

“you’re still talking to him?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

you froze.

he let out a short, amused scoff — surprised, almost disbelieving, but with that familiar sharp edge underneath.

“really?” he sat up a little, one eyebrow raised, staring down at you. “after he fucked someone else in front of you basically… you’re still replying to his messages?”

you looked away, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.

“…because he’s nice sometimes,” you said quietly. “he can be sweet when he wants to.”

the silence that followed felt heavier than anything he’d said all night.

satoru stared at you for a long moment. something shifted behind his eyes — a slow, bitter realization settling in. his usual smirk was gone. in its place was something colder. disappointed, almost.

he let out a low, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “you’re still looking for him.”

he said it like he was stating a fact he’d been trying to ignore for weeks. like the truth had finally hit him square in the chest.

even after a month of fucking him, of letting him hold you, fuck you raw, keep you in his bed — you were still waiting for scraps from suguru.

satoru leaned back against the headboard, jaw tight, blue eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of you.

He wasn't thrilled at all by the looks of it. Sukuna knows that having a baby meant big responsibility — if this was any other girl, he would 100% ditch them. But, this is you. Don't you even realize how he had taken care of you during sex? How he doesn't usually do that? The constant reassurance or praises that flew out of his mouth was supposed to be enough. Right?

"So what? It's not like you'll take responsibility —"

"Who said? Don't put words in my fucking mouth, woman."

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! unknowingly lingered by you, he distances himself from his group of friends eventually to stay in your shadows. His eyes staring at everyone who actually looked your way like they've never seen a pregnant belly before, a permanent scowl shoved so far up his ass that it became his everyday face.

"Can you stop?"

"What?" Sukuna replied back, gruffly.

"You're scaring everyone!" That's the whole point, Sukuna thinks proudly to himself.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! stopped hosting parties with his friends, he does pop in every once in a while but he's got different responsibilities now. Even if he wanted to go to a party, he made sure you were okay with it. But, he never goes far in the party.

By the first hour, he was out and about. Not out of the alcohol, he doesn't even glance at the bottles of alcohol. He grabbed a couple of your favorite snacks off the counter, grabbed a plate and filled it up with pizza and a lot of fries just for his pregnant "girlfriend".

He knocks on your door with his knee. You opened it, a bit annoyed that your snacking was interrupted by this. But, the sight of him holding up snacks and plastic plates filled to the brim made your heart flutter — you stepped aside, letting him in.

"They got expensive pizza, I got like half of it for you. Thought the baby wants to try pizza in there," he shrugged, opening a pack of snack for you.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! takes pictures of baby shops and keeps them in his gallery with a specific album name 'GREMLIN COMING', so he knows where to go later on when he finds out your baby's gender.

He finds himself reading different websites about what he should know as a first time parent, and what's good for the baby. If you check his website history, they're no longer filled with places to go party in or different club names he used to search up for to spend most of his nights in.

They're now filled with baby name websites and hacks. He notes them down his phone notes and sends them to you sometimes.

Kunaaa 💗 :

If our baby's a girl, I want to name her Moeka

You :

Why?

Kunaaa 💗 :

Or maybe Asaka, means beautiful death

You:

...

Kunaaa 💗 :

If she kills someone they'll have a beautiful death I promise u

You :

Why would she even kill someone in the first place

Kunaaa 💗 :

Wait, ur right I'll do the killing for her.

You :

Nobody is killing anyone

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! noticed that along the months your belly was growing bigger and he was down for it. The two of you were perched on the couch, a bucket of ice cream standing right on top of your belly as you dig in. He looks at you the whole time, the movie discarded like an aftertought.

"Is that okay for the baby?"

"The ice cream? Yeah," you mumbled, not even looking at him. Your tongue darts out to catch the ice cream dribbling down the spoon.

"No, the bucket on the belly," Sukuna said.

"It'll manage."

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! bought you the pregnancy pillow so you could sleep well — he told you he got it from a friend who also has a baby. Let's be honest, he'd rather die than admit that he willingly bought it.

He tucks you in every night, making sure you are comfortable. He knew it wasn't the most comfortable carrying a baby hidden under that bump.

"You okay? Need anythin'?"

You shake your head, "Maybe later when I'm craving something."

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! dotes on you more than he thought he would. After all, you are carrying his baby — he stopped meeting up with his friends, telling them to wait until the baby is born. He got rid of his cigarettes and stopped smoking them because he read it was bad for a pregnant mom and the baby to inhale it (and well, humans in general).

"No smoke?" You questioned.

"Nah. Cough too much these days, they are nasty," he excused himself.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! was the person you called when your water broke during a girls day out with Shoko. He had never driven that fast before, and he was sure he's earned himself a ticket along the way. But, at this point, he doesn't even care.

He brought you to the hospital, Shoko in the backseat holding onto your hand tightly. By the time they reached the hospital, the baby was on the way. And he couldn't believe that he was forced to stay out of the room.

Sukuna paces around, his piercings are gone, he'd gotten them pulled out the other week because apparently first impressions matter for his little one.

"You're a med student, how long do moms give birth for?" Sukuna snaps at Shoko.

Shoko rolled her eyes, "Depends. Just shut up and pace around, loser."

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! 's promise of returning to party when your baby was born is now long forgotten, he'd even stopped replying to his friends altogether. Only replying when he wants to. Your baby girl —Asaka (Last Name)— was born 6 hours after your water broke.

Sukuna refused for her to take his name. He didn't feel good knowing that his baby girl was going to take after his name, so he forced her to take your last name instead. It makes him feel better.

"How are you feelin'?" He mutters, looking down at you. His hand toyed with your fingers awkwardly, still not used to all the chummy stuff he's introduced himself to for the past lots of months.

"Good, how are you?"

"I'm not the one pushin' a baby out of me."

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! baby proofed your whole dorm even if your daughter couldn't walk yet, safety precautions he said. He got rid of all the sharp edges with the silicone he bought off online, bumps on the floors were removed and made smooth.

He was actually proud of himself for doing all that in 2 days alone right before you were allowed to leave the hospital.

"What did you do to my dorm? Is this even allowed?" You asked him.

"Who cares? The baby's more important," he could just put it all back when you're about to graduate and nobody has to know.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! practically lives in your dorm now, hos own dorm almost empty from how many things he has brought around. The red toothbrush that is now stuck inside the pink colored plastic glass right next to your (favorite color) one in the bathroom. His shaver and shaving cream laying on the sink, right by the tap.

His expensive cologne perched up on your vanity table, and the jewelry box he bought for his piercings were kept there as well. Half of your dresser was now filled with his clothes and the baby's, all he bought during your second trimester.

He brought his gaming console as well in case you got bored. So, yeah ... Half of his room is empty and inside yours now. Nobody questioned it, they just accepted the fact that Sukuna had stepped into fatherhood when Sukuna finally replied with a short, "can't hangout, dad now," then a picture of his baby girl inside her basin.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! has a lot of friends. They said it takes a village to raise a baby, and his friends bought the best presents for your young baby. Toys she couldn't play with yet, little shoes and skirts, and little branded shirts you'd have to sell an organ for.

He doesn't tell them to bug off and accepts the presents with open arms. It wasn't surprising considering 2 of his friends were fathers as well. Funny thing, he was the one blessed with a baby girl while his friends wanted a girl but were blessed by a baby boy.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! saved up money to buy out a small apartment right after you both graduate. He doesn't talk much with his parents and he doesn't want them to know about his little life — you understand him considering his past with them. You'd want your baby girl to be away from them as well.

Sukuna again, baby proofed the house. This time with a toddler constantly perching herself onto his back as he pressed on the silicone right on the last corner of the table.

"What'cha doin'?" He asks, standing up, his arm instinctively supporting her body so she would fall.

The little babbles reached his ears, and he played along, "Wanna come with me, huh? See that, daddy's doing this so you wouldn't get hurt, you know?" Asaka looks at him, clearly not understanding his words but giggling anyways.

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! sat on the chair, pink hair disheveled. With his eyes shut, he sat there. Asaka, now 3 years old sat on her chair, eyes shut, her pink hair disheveled just like his. They were exact carbon copies.

"Papa?"

"Mm?" Sukuna hums, sipping on the cup of tea he made earlier.

"How a baby get into mama's belly?" She asks, yawning, "I met friend at the park. She say her mama having a baby soon, how the baby get into mama belly?"

Sukuna's eyes fluttered open, staring at you. That damn question he's been thinking of, asking you what to answer in case Asaka decided to ask. Never knew it would be so soon. He clears his throat, "Um, ask mommy."

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! watches you smile at him. Not the kind of smile that he loves — the kind that actually kind of ... Scares him. The one that says, "I'll kill you, sleep with one eye opened, yeah?"

He averted his gaze away, munching on the bacon.

Asaka looks at you, "Um, well ... When papa and mama love each other a loooot. We pray together for a baby, then a baby fairy comes in while we sleep and puts the baby in mama's belly," you explained with a small smile, "mama and papa love each other a lot, so the baby fairy came to us."

"If mama and papa no love a lot, baby fairy don't come?"

You nod, "Yes!"

Ი𐑼 . . . fratkuna! listens to his daughter speak about a boy at daycare with underlying anger. She's 3 for gosh sake!

"Kaito and Asaka love each other a loooot like mama say. Baby fairy come and put baby in Asaka?" Sukuna clenched on his fork rightly, grunting.

He shakes his head, "No, mama was lying. Baby fairy don't exist, mama and papa had se—"

"Ryo!"

hi thought ab this bc i was touching my scars and i was like yo,,, this feels good,,, THEN i was like ok this is gojo if he won

It was a bargain struck in desperation, your hand traded for the lives of thousands. You had no say in the matter, of course. Your protests fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the clamor of relief from your father’s advisors. 

“It is an honor,” they told you, their voices laced with false cheer. “The emperor himself has chosen you.”

But honor felt like a chain around your neck as preparations for the wedding consumed the kingdom. 

Servants bustled about, draping your chambers in silks imported from the imperial capital, fitting you for gowns that whispered of elegance and submission. And through it all, the stories about him painted a portrait that chilled you to the bone. 

Suguru Geto was no ordinary ruler; he was a force of nature cloaked in imperial robes. 

They said he was cold, his precision in governance as sharp as a blade. He commanded entire rooms without uttering a word – his mere presence enough to silence dissent and bend wills. Always serious, never one for frivolity or warmth, he ruled with an iron fist wrapped in velvet gloves. 

Rumors swirled of his unyielding stare, capable of stripping away pretenses and exposing the raw truth beneath. You imagined him as a statue come to life, beautiful perhaps, but devoid of the spark that made men human.

The journey to the imperial capital was a blur of guarded caravans and endless roads flanked by the empire’s vast armies. 

Your heart pounded with a mix of dread and resignation as the towering spires of the palace came into view, piercing the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. 

The wedding itself was a spectacle orchestrated to perfection, a union of power and sacrifice under the watchful eyes of nobles, generals, and foreign envoys. You stood at the altar in a gown of crimson and gold, the colors of the empire, feeling like a lamb adorned for the altar.

And then he appeared.

Suguru Geto stepped forward from the shadows of the grand hall, his presence rippling through the assembled crowd like a stone dropped into still water. 

He was taller than you had envisioned, his frame lean and commanding, clad in robes of deep black embroidered with silver threads that caught the light from the chandeliers above. 

His long, dark hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, framing a face that was both strikingly handsome and profoundly unreadable. High cheekbones, full lips pressed into a firm line, and eyes – those piercing dark eyes – that seemed to hold the weight of empires within them. He moved with a deliberate grace, each step measured, as if the very ground yielded to his will.

You expected the coldness, the precision, but not this... politeness. 

As the ceremony began, officiated by a high priest whose voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings, Suguru turned to you. His gaze met yours for the first time, and there was no disdain, no indifference – just a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. 

“It is an honor to stand before you today.” He said, his voice smooth and low, carrying the weight of formality without the edge of cruelty you had feared. The words were polite, scripted perhaps, but delivered with a sincerity that surprised you.

When the time came for the exchange of vows, his hand reached for yours. His touch was firm, fingers encircling your wrist with a possessiveness that sent a murmur through the onlookers. 

To them, it must have looked like a claim, a silent declaration of ownership over the bride offered from a conquered land. His thumb brushed lightly against your pulse point, a fleeting contact that lingered just a moment too long, possessive in its subtlety. 

But to you, it felt restrained, as if he were holding back a tide of something deeper. He didn’t squeeze or demand; instead, he released your hand with a gentle precision, stepping back to allow the priest to continue.

The feast that followed was a whirlwind of opulence: toasts raised in crystal goblets, platters of exotic fruits and roasted meats, musicians playing melodies that wove through the air like silk. 

Suguru sat beside you at the high table, his posture impeccable, engaging in quiet conversations with his advisors. He turned to you occasionally, offering a nod or a brief question about your journey, always polite, always reserved. 

“I hope the capital treats you well.” He commented at one point, his eyes flicking to yours before returning to the room. There was no overt possessiveness now, just that careful distance, as if he were navigating an invisible boundary.

You nodded, murmuring your thanks, but inside, confusion swirled. The man before you was not the monster of rumors; he was serious, yes, but his politeness disarmed you. 

Yet, as the night wore on and the guests departed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was merely the beginning of a life tethered to a stranger.

The first weeks of your marriage unfolded in a haze of adjustment. 

The imperial palace was a labyrinth of grandeur: endless corridors lined with tapestries depicting the empire’s triumphs, gardens that bloomed eternally under the care of silent gardeners, and chambers that dwarfed anything you had known back home. 

Your days were filled with the quiet routines of a new empress: lessons in court etiquette from stern-faced tutors, audiences with the emperor’s inner circle where you were introduced as a symbol of unity, and solitary afternoons wandering the palace grounds, trying to find your place in this vast, impersonal world.

Suguru, true to the tales, was a phantom in your shared life.

 He rose before dawn for council meetings, his days consumed by the machinery of empire – decrees on trade routes, strategies against border skirmishes, audiences with vassal lords. 

You saw him at meals, formal affairs where conversation was sparse and laced with protocol. He would inquire after your comfort with that same polite detachment: 

“Have the seamstresses provided suitable attire?” or “Does the library suit your interests?” 

His touches, when they occurred, were minimal: a hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hall, fingers that rested there with a firmness that bordered on possessive, drawing sidelong glances from the courtiers. 

But he never lingered, never crossed into intimacy. He was trying, you sensed, not to overstep, to respect the boundaries of an arrangement born of necessity rather than choice.

Nights were the hardest. Your shared bedchamber was a masterpiece of luxury, with a canopied bed draped in silks and a balcony overlooking the city lights. 

But Suguru retired late, often after you had feigned sleep, slipping into the adjoining study to pore over scrolls by candlelight. 

When he did join you, it was with a quiet efficiency – he changed into night robes, bid you goodnight with a nod, and turned his back, leaving an ocean of space between you on the mattress. No overtures, no attempts to bridge the gap. 

You lay awake, staring at the ornate ceiling, wondering if this was to be your existence: a beautiful cage, shared with a husband who treated you like a fragile artifact.

Months slipped by in this rhythm, the initial novelty of palace life giving way to a creeping isolation. 

You threw yourself into diversions to fill the void: studying the empire’s history in the vast library, where shelves towered like ancient trees; tending to a small herb garden in the secluded east wing, the soil grounding you in something tangible; even hosting modest teas for the wives of nobles, though their conversations often skirted around you, laced with curiosity about the “foreign bride.” 

Your kingdom’s tribute arrived regularly, reports from your father assuring you that peace held, but the letters were tinged with gratitude that felt like another layer of your sacrifice.

Suguru’s routine remained unchanging. He commanded the court with effortless authority, his presence alone quelling debates in the throne room. 

You observed him from afar during public sessions, noting how ministers straightened at his approach, how his rare words cut through noise like a scalpel. 

He was precise in everything – his edicts fair but unyielding, his gaze assessing without cruelty. Yet, in private moments, when your paths crossed in the halls, his politeness persisted. 

A slight bow of the head, a murmured “Good morning,” and that occasional touch – a brush of knuckles against your arm as he passed a document, possessive in its intent but withdrawn before it could unsettle.

But the distance gnawed at you. As a married woman, you were expected to embody grace and companionship, yet your husband barely acknowledged your existence beyond duty. 

Whispers among the servants reached your ears: “The emperor is reserved,” they said, “but perhaps he finds the arrangement... unappealing.” 

It stung, fueling a frustration that simmered beneath your composed exterior. You were no longer the sheltered princess; you were an empress in name, but a ghost in practice. 

Nights alone in that vast bed amplified the loneliness, the silk sheets cold against your skin, the silence broken only by the distant toll of bells marking the hours.

One evening, after six months of this silent coexistence, the weight became unbearable. 

The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the palace in hues of amber and shadow. You had spent the day in the gardens, pruning roses that bloomed defiantly despite the chill in the air, but your mind wandered to the man who shared your title yet not your life. 

Dinner had been a solitary affair in your chambers, the food tasteless on your tongue. Suguru was late again, his study door closed against the world.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Straightening your shoulders, you crossed the room and knocked firmly on the study door. Silence, then a quiet “Enter.”

Pushing it open, you found him at his desk, surrounded by maps and ledgers, his hair slightly disheveled from hours of work – a rare glimpse of vulnerability. He looked up, surprise flickering in those dark eyes before it was schooled into his usual composure. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked, setting down his quill.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a decisive click. The room smelled of ink and parchment, a masculine scent that mingled with the faint trace of sandalwood from his robes. 

“No,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt, “everything is not alright. We’ve been married for half a year, Suguru, and you treat me like a stranger in my own home. You command empires with a glance, yet you can’t even look at me without this... wall between us.”

He rose slowly, his height unfolding like a shadow lengthening. For a moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable. 

Then, he moved around the desk, stopping a respectful distance away. 

“I apologize if I’ve made you feel unwelcome,” he replied, his tone polite as ever, but there was a tension in his jaw, a subtle shift in his posture. “This marriage was arranged for the good of your people. I did not wish to impose upon you more than necessary.”

“Impose?” You laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet space. “We’re husband and wife, not distant allies. You leave me alone to wander these halls, doing ’your own thing’ while I do mine.” 

Your voice rose, laced with the bitterness that had been festering for months. “Months have passed, and I feel more isolated here than I ever did in my father’s palace. Do you even see me? Or am I just a symbol to parade at court?”

Crossing your arms, you glared at him, your cheeks flushed with the heat of confrontation. “I gave up everything – my home, my freedom – for this sham, and you can’t even pretend to be interested? It’s humiliating. Everyone whispers about the distant emperor and his unwanted bride. If you hate this as much as I think you do, just say it. End this farce.”

Suguru rose from his chair in one fluid motion, his height towering over you as he rounded the desk.

His expression shifted, the polite mask cracking to reveal a glint of something wilder, more intense: a slight craze flickering in his eyes, like a man on the edge of unleashing what he’d kept chained. 

He closed the distance between you in two strides, backing you against the wall with his body, not touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in, his face inches from yours. 

Those dark eyes bored into you, pupils dilated with obsession, his breath coming a touch quicker.

“You think I ignore you?” His voice was low, a growl edged with that controlled madness, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes – eyes that burned with possession. 

“Gods, woman, you’ve been driving me insane. I love you– obsess over you. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jerked my cock to stop myself from bending you over the nearest surface?”

His words hit you like a wave, raw and unfiltered, his body pressing closer now, one hand sliding to your waist in a grip that was firm; unyielding. 

You opened your mouth to retort, frustration still sparking. “You could’ve just—” 

But he cut you off by crashing his lips against yours, the kiss fierce and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch. 

It wasn’t gentle – it was a release, his obsession pouring out as he devoured you, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back.

When he pulled away, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours, eyes wild. 

“No more waiting,” he murmured, voice husky with need. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

Before you could protest or process, he scooped you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried you out of the study and down the dimly lit corridor to his private chambers. The palace was quiet at this hour, servants dismissed, leaving only the echo of his boots on the stone floor. 

He kicked the heavy door shut behind you, the sound final, and deposited you on the edge of the massive bed, its linens rumpled from his earlier retreat.

You glared up at him, heart pounding, a mix of anger and something hotter swirling in your chest. “You think you can just manhandle me like that? After ignoring me for months?”

Suguru’s eyes darkened, that slight craze sharpening as he loomed over you, shrugging off his outer robe to reveal the taut lines of his chest beneath a simple tunic. 

“Oh, I think I can.” He mused, his tone laced with something dark. “And I will. You’ve been a bratty little thing, haven’t you? Snapping at me like you don’t crave this as much as I do. But don’t worry, I’ll fix that attitude.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet and spinning you around with surprising gentleness despite the command in his movements. His hands worked quickly at the ties of your robes, peeling them away until you stood bare before him, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. 

You shivered, trying to twist back to face him, but his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down onto the bed on all fours. 

“Stay.” He ordered, voice firm. “Ass up, like the needy wife you are.”

Heat flooded your face, frustration bubbling up as you shot a glare over your shoulder. “Needy? You’re the one who’s been—ah!”

The first spank landed sharp on your ass, the sting blooming into warmth that made you gasp. His hand soothed the spot immediately after, rubbing circles that contrasted the correction. 

“Watch that mouth.” He warned, though his voice held a thread of praise. “Such a pretty slut, thinking you can talk back to your emperor. But you’ll learn.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold onto the fire, but another spank followed, harder, jolting you forward. “Suguru, you can’t just—”

He tugged your hair then, pulling your head back gently but insistently, forcing you to arch as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. “I can, and I will. You’ve teased me for months without knowing it. Now, spread those legs wider. Show me how wet you are from this.”

Defiance flickered, but so did desire, your body betraying you as you complied, thighs parting to reveal the slickness between them. 

Suguru groaned low in his throat, shedding the rest of his clothes until his hard cock sprang free, thick and veined, the tip already glistening. He positioned himself behind you, the head nudging your entrance, teasing without entering. 

“Look at you, dripping for it. Such a good girl under all that attitude, aren’t you? Or do I need to spank this greedy pussy to remind you?”

You pushed back against him, bratty even now. “Just put it in already, or are you all talk?”

His chuckle was dark, obsessed, as he yanked your hair again, the pull sending sparks down your spine. 

“Eager wifey.” He murmured, degradation mixing with the way his free hand praised by stroking your hip. “But you’ll beg properly soon.”

With one thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching your walls around his girth.The sensation was overwhelming – full, burning, perfect – and your attitude shattered in an instant. 

A moan tore from your throat, your arms buckling as you melted beneath him, body going pliant, obedient. No more fight; just surrender to the cock that filled you so completely.

Suguru stilled, buried deep, his hand releasing your hair to grip your hips instead. 

“There it is…” He teased, voice smug as he rocked shallowly, letting you feel every inch. “One push of my cock, and the brat disappears. Look at you, melting like the cockdrunk wife you were meant to be. So obedient now, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, nodding into the sheets, the words hitting harder than any spank. “Y-Yes... please, Suguru...”

He laughed softly, starting a slow rhythm, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in, dragging against your inner walls. Each thrust built the pressure, his hands roaming: one spanking your ass lightly now, more for emphasis than punishment, the other tugging your hair to keep your back arched. 

“That’s better. My perfect little whore, taking it so well. You’ve been begging for this without words, haven’t you? Strutting around, making my cock ache every night.”

The pace quickened gradually, his hips snapping forward with precision, the slap of skin on skin filling the chamber. 

You pushed back to meet him, lost in the drag of his length, the way he hit that spot deep inside over and over. Dialogue flowed between thrusts, his voice a constant tease. 

“Tell me how it feels, wife. Does my cock shut that smart mouth of yours?”

You tried to respond sassily at first, the remnants of frustration lingering. “It– it’s good, but you could—oh fuck—go harder...”

Another thrust, sharper, making your ass jiggle and your pussy clench tighter around him. 

“Harder? Greedy– n-ngh, greedy brat.” He growled, tugging your hair to pull you up slightly, his chest pressing to your back. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t talk back if you don’t learn to beg f’me.”

“Please,” you gasped, the word breaking free as pleasure coiled tight. “Harder, please, Suguru...”

He obliged, pounding into you with relentless force, his cock bulging your belly slightly with each deep plunge – you could feel it, the outline pressing against your skin from inside. 

“Good girl.” He cooed, dragging out each syllable in an almost childish manner. “Look at that – my cock reshaping your pretty pussy. You’re mine now, all mine.”

The first orgasm crashed over you without warning, walls fluttering wildly as you cried out, soaking his length with your release. 

But he didn’t stop, thrusting through it, his hand slipping around to rub your clit in firm circles. “Holy shit.” He murmured, obsessed edge in his voice. “Cum again for me, show me how much you need this.”

You were a mess, babbling incoherently as he dragged it out, the overstimulation making your thighs quake. “Suguru—ah!—too much... can’t...”

“You can.” He commanded, spanking once more for good measure, the sting pushing you higher. “Be my lovely wife and cum on your– mmf, your emperor’s cock.”

The second climax built slower, deeper, his pace varying: slow grinds that let you feel the belly bulge, then fast snaps that had you seeing stars. 

When it hit, you squirted, gushing around him in hot spurts that drenched the sheets, your body convulsing as you wailed his name.

Suguru groaned, his control fraying. “Fuck, yes—take it all.” 

With a final, brutal thrust, he came, flooding your pussy with thick ropes of cum, his hips jerking as he painted your insides white. 

He stayed buried, grinding to push it deeper, whispering, “Gonna breed you, fill you up until you’re swollen with my child. My pretty girl, carrying my heir.”

He pulled out slowly after, cum leaking from you, but he wasn’t done. 

Flipping you onto your back with ease, he settled between your thighs in missionary, sliding back in with a wet squelch. Your legs hooked around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as he loomed over you, eyes locked on yours: wild, loving, crazed.

Now, with him face-to-face, the teasing shifted.

You were fully cockdrunk, mind hazy, body pliant as he rocked into you languidly at first, letting the sensitivity build anew. 

“Look at you,” he cooed, mixed praise dripping from his lips. “So fucked out already, but still greedy for more. Pussy milking me like it never wants me to leave.”

You nodded hazily, not really processing, just agreeing on instinct. “Uh-huh... more...”

He chuckled, low and affectionate, thrusting deeper to emphasize the belly bulge again, his hand pressing on it. “That’s right, just agree. You’re not even listening, are you? Too cockdrunk to think, huh?”

“Mmh, yeah.” You murmured, eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation as he picked up speed. 

Conversation turned to moans and affirmatives from you, while he teased relentlessly. “Such a good girl now, no more brattiness. Just my pliant girl, taking every inch. Gonna cum inside again, ’kay?”

The rhythm dragged on, his cock stirring his previous load inside you, the slick sounds obscene. 

He kissed you deeply, swallowing your whimpers, then trailed bites down your neck as he angled to hit your g-spot. “Feel that? Yeah? Tell me you’re mine, sweetheart.”

“I’m yours…!” You breathed, the words automatic, mind adrift in bliss. 

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you. “Damn right you are. Fucked so stupid, aren’t you? But you love it.”

The final orgasm built like a tidal wave, shared this time. Your walls clamped down, squirting weakly around him as you shattered, crying out. 

Suguru followed seconds later, groaning as he emptied another load, hips stuttering. “Hngh, fuck! Take it…!”

Spent, he eased out, but instead of collapsing, he kissed down your body, settling between your legs. “Gonna clean you up.” He promised, voice soft now, obsessed tenderness shining through. 

His tongue lapped at your folds, gathering the mix of cum and your juices, sucking gently on your clit until you twitched oversensitive. 

“M’kay…” You mumbled, too tired to do anything but agree, especially when he talked so sweetly.

He hummed approval, delving deeper, fucking you with his tongue to scoop out his seed. “Can’t let it go to waste. Taste so good mixed with me.”

You carded fingers through his hair, boneless, as aftershocks rippled. 

When he finished, he crawled up, pulling you into his arms. Your bodies tangled, his chest to your back, hand splayed possessively over your stomach. 

“Sleep now, my love.” He whispered, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “Won’t avoid you anymore.”

Exhaustion claimed you both, drifting off in a cocoon of warmth, the months of distance forgotten in the intimacy you’d finally claimed.

a/n: can you guys tell when i started rushing this.. i also tried to get fancy i dont know if it worked i just hope you guys like it..

“Sanemi, listen to me very carefully for what I have to tell you next.” She calmed down a notch, trying to sit down gracefully on the cushion she has near her terrarium. Sanemi nods one time, adjusting the same to her level.

She inhaled a sharp breath as she puffed out with closed eyes, “You don’t love me anymore. I have known for a while. But it doesn’t make it okay to tangle me into this mess of yours, Nemi.”

“Ya kissed me that day too, wasn’t just me.” Sanemi muttered, crossing his jagged arms against his broad chest. Kanae’s mouth furls. She shakes her head in disagreement.

“I was doing it to see your reaction, as well as hers. She clearly has feelings for you too.” The raised eyebrows of hers made Sanemi even more aggravated.

“What do you mean by ‘you too’, Kanae?” The question from Sanemi’s mouth sounded on edge. He’s vexed.

“What do you mean what I mean?” Her voice has gone soft now. She tilts her head, perplexed. “I meant, you…” she points to Sanemi, “…like her.”

The next thing that came out from Sanemi’s mouth are too foul for Kanae’s ears. She just closes her eyes again in tolerance, almost nudging to forbearance.

Sanemi got up from the floor. He paced the room in the company of his jumbled emotions; resentment, irritation, displeasure, but not shock in the present.

His calloused, rough fingers ran through his face up to his bangs, then down again to his face, stretching his eye bags downward. Kanae smiled bitterly. By this time, she has made the incense fade away from her heart. 

The breakup with Sanemi was her fault at best, but at worst it was also because she couldn’t find the joy in being with him anymore. She liked him for a while, because everyone misunderstood him, yet time goes by—she hated that the base, sole reason of her dating Sanemi was out of pity. So she lied about the reason of their breakup; she was dejected for a while losing a close friend, but disconsolate turns into epiphany.

Kanae tried to go back with Sanemi as she wanted to make sure her feelings were correct, and it was. She never doubted herself, adding that Sanemi wasn’t in love with her anymore; for the result, she made her intention clear and precise this time.

This time, she forsooth has got herself a gentleman from a healing-medical clan near the town. She’s doting on him, and planning to confess once the Demon Slayers have finished the ultimate last mission to kill Muzan. She’s waiting in fondness.

“Kanae! Are you listening to me?!” Sanemi shouted, the panic in his face is too funny for her not to giggle her way out; she laughed so hard it almost sounded like a squeal.

“Why are you squawking right now?” He peeved, sitting down in haste in front of her again.

“It’s funny seeing you this worked up, is it that bad? To fall for her?” Her voice small, like testing the waters; will a monster pop up and bite her, or will it be a still water with flower petals floating on?

“Bad. I treated her like shit just because…” Sanemi trails off, he looks down at his opened palms—dried blood can’t be removed, calloused so bad it’s beyond painful to even care, veins popping, scars like scattered roadways.

Then the memories hit him, when he touched your skin, exploring your body with his sinned hands. You loved it, never once announced your displeasure against his rough touches. He flushed red, Kanae just smiled gently.

She pats his shoulder, patting it like he’s a dog.

You accepted him as he is, in a way Sanemi deduces. But he fucked it up, big time. He slaps his face with his hands flat up, covering his whole demeanor with its huge palms.

“I fucked up so bad. I think going back to you would be the best thing, ya know? We’re easy. We’ve known each other for a while. You’re my close friend, Kanae. My first love. How would I know I will fall in love with that girl? She’s annoying, she vexes me, and she makes me feel all these stupid things. And she’s Muzan’s freaking daughter, may I add.” His muffled words slithered through the gaps of his fingers. The silence afterwards was too rigid to cut. Sanemi became friable as he showed his face slowly to Kanae.

Both of their eyes popped up so big as if demons ate each other’s heads.

“First of all, Sanemi, she’s not his daughter. Don’t ever say that. Have you ever considered her feelings in any way? The words you uttered and jammed into her? Especially about herself? Oh, Sanemi…” Kanae’s voice gave out a mortifying sympathy, “…do you want me to talk to her?”

“I think it’s too late now. The damage’s been done.” Sanemi replied. His emotions were, for once, very keen on his face. One can tell he’s feeling something more than remorse, almost tipping towards grief and loss.

“Why?” “She hasn’t come home for days. She made an ultimatum, and I walked out of her without looking back.” The reply from Sanemi was quick, but Kanae could feel all the emotions it carried, the regret and loss. 

“Where is she now?” 

“With Tomioka in the Water Estate.” Sanemi was in disgust, in disgust to even mutter the name of someone who’s close to you right now, probably touching you in a way he can’t. Giyu can never satisfy you, and the thought kept circling in Sanemi’s head. Like an echo in an empty theatre.

Kanae couldn’t say anything but retracted her hand back and clasped it on her lap. She stared at Sanemi, who didn’t want to look anywhere but his opened palms. His stares weren’t blank; they were deep ponder and rue.

“And tomorrow’s already her test…”

You didn’t go to the Wind Estate, ended up staying in Giyu Tomioka’s mansion as living with him is way easier than facing the Wind Hashira. Your Hashira test is coming anyway, and you have to focus on bringing pride to Ubuyashiki’s wake, proving that you can be relied on.

The days in Water Estate were as normal as any other day before you lived with Sanemi. Giyu mostly left you alone, unless it’s practice time. He is also very serious about training you; the sombre expression he has whenever you fucked up in the training is deadly—you wouldn’t want that to be the norm, so you practiced hard to see less of those faces.

And whenever you squealed, moaning when Giyu hit you with the dummy sword, it was turning him on so much that he had to jack himself off every night. But he refrained from touching you, for the reason that he knows you’re in love with another man, and he cares for you too but not to the extent of how Sanemi does.

Oh, he knows Sanemi’s twisted, crazy love for you, and it pissed Giyu off every time because that angry man is so oblivious to how tall and muscular he is.

The two of you, Sanemi and you, have a very peculiar connection. It’s unexpected, odd in every way—it’s abnormal; one may ask how a connection of supposedly ‘love’ can be that rough and uncanny?

But Giyu has stopped asking ever since he found you in the infirmary crying out when Sanemi left without a word.

Is a connection supposed to be like that? An anomalous, downhearted, despondent bond?

Giyu doesn’t have time to think; he shakes his head.

“Are you okay, Giyuu?” You asked, standing in front of him when he looked dazed.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me; think about today. You need to be strong.” He taps both of your shoulders; his touch is always so gentle and comforting. You hummed, nodding with affirmation.

Today’s the day of the Hashira test. Your test.

“I want you to wear my haori, will you?” Giyu asks, but his movement says differently. He has already taken off his haori and wraps it around your body. Declaring you to wear it, he said it’s for good luck charms.

The Demon Slayers headquarters has always opened for everyone, especially the people of the corps, but today it will be closed until you have finished the Hashira test. Ubuyashiki has mentioned to Kakushi that they need to clear all places from any possible obstruction that can hurt his precious kids.

The kakushi cleaned up very well. You can’t see anything placed in the middle of the estate, only clear ground with grass for as far as the eyes can see; no dummy swords, no nothing. The place’s like a colosseum.

You can sense all the different kinds of scent coming in. The Hashira and Ubuyashiki are here.

“Welcome, my child.” Ubuyashiki greets. He stands with the Hashira sitting on both his sides. You look and count everyone there, including Giyu who was just next to you moments ago.

You bowed, got on your knees slowly.

“Good morning, master.” You greeted back, your eyes trained on the cleaned ground. Giyu’s haori floats with you like water.

Sanemi’s eyes furrowed in displeasure. Indignation is explicit on his face. Why are you wearing Giyu’s haori? Is that supposed to be an announcement of dating him? He’s jealously irritated, exhaling exasperated breath out of his flared nose.

Giyu, who sat beside him, doesn’t look, but he can see from the edge of his eye. He smirked.

“Are you ready, my next pillar?” Ubuyashiki’s voice is determined. He looks at you, not giving him a refusal as he continues, “I will assign one or two Hashira to fight you at the same time. Your only job is to knock them off their feet. However, my child, keep in mind that you can’t fall. If you do, it’s an instant fail. Today’s test will be that. Are we clear?”

You nodded again, this time in silence.

Ubuyashiki smiled. “Go.” He only mentioned that two Hashira disappeared from his sight.

“Hello! Good luck!” Mitsuri Kanroji stands beside you all of a sudden, too close for anyone’s comfort. You pushed your body away instantly but muttering ‘thank you’ while doing so.

Your back thudded hard against a rock, no, Gyomei Himejima.

Fuck, Gyomei already? I just started. 

The fight went on for the next four hours. You hardly can keep up with the stamina of back-to-back fights like this, which can happen in the final battle with Muzan soon. You did well, had a compact time to take down Tengen and Kyojuro, but all was well, until you heard the master announce something so assiduously.

“Last…” Ubuyashiki looks at Giyu and Sanemi, giving both of them the consent to proceed with the test.

Fighting Giyu was the easiest thing in the test today. You have spent days and weeks practicing with him. You memorized every move and step he deduced. You acknowledged his breathing and blind spots—he was down in no time. You knew he didn’t give his hundred percent yet at the same time knowing that you covered up all of his tricky movements.

Sanemi didn’t attack when you were busy trying to put Giyu down. He simply watched from the sidelines—focusing on the way you swayed and moved with the blood, beautiful like a dance of sorrows.

When Giyu’s down, you know it’s the time to face your biggest nightmare.

He stands there, sharp, stiff, resistant against whatever it is—his solid footing planted on the ground as if he’s part of it. Sanemi, your biggest enemy, mystery, the most breathtaking foe.

And you hate him with every waking cell in your body.

“Oi.” Sanemi calls for you. His sword rests long on his shoulder blades. Waiting, calculating for you to make the first move.

“You don’t belong here.” Sanemi adds, his voice loud and clear. The other Hashira gasped, having awkward and worried faces plastered clearly—Kanae, who thought Sanemi was going to treat you better this time, shook her head in disagreement, muttering “idiot” under her breath.

“I don’t care what you say.” Your legs moved in a speed of light, within a blink of an eye you’re standing in the mere presence of Sanemi, almost face to face—you look up to stare at his eyes, he isn’t shocked, but instead there’s a proud smile twitching at the end of his mouth.

You hovered your blood spear against his neck, countering him.

"Then care about this, sweetheart. Take off that Haori or I will rip it off you." Sanemi sniggers, he looks mischievous but you know he meant it all true. You look down, Giyu's Haori clinging onto your small frame like a flag.

"I like this Haori." You taunt back, playing with fire in the midst of this storm. Sanemi's smile unamused, he pushed so hard within seconds, you almost fall on your knees but he holds you, not wanting you to fail after all.

"Let me go you sick fuck!" The hatred in your voice spat out, you grab your spear of blood against his neck for the second time.

“You’re quick…” he leans down, mouth closing into your ear, letting the blood of the spear pierce through his thick scarred skin, you can feel his blood trickling down the blade to your fingertips.

“…but not enough.” Sanemi made haste within another blink of an eye, vanished from your sight, only leaving desperate adversary trails of blood in your sight.

“You’re not strong enough.” He murmurs, his voice came from the back of your head, you didn’t sense him quickly although his minty breaths ghosted your wake sense.

When you turned left, he’s gone again.

The winds changed, you can see the sky getting darker with a surge of wind swirling in the middle of the battleground—the typhoon engulfed you whole, swallowing both you and him.

Ubuyashiki shifts on his seat, now he can’t see anything because Sanemi has covered the battlefield, the Hashira tried to squint their eyes but found nothing as well, until Gyomei mumbled “Sanemi has something to say to her, I can feel them standing still, both feet firmly on the ground. They’re inside the tornado.”

The wind’s howling, it sounds angry—like in anguish, wailing, sobbing and screeching with pain and grief, as if it possesses a feeling of its own. Your eyes wander around the tornado, you’re inside of it, your feet firmly etched on the ground trying to stabilize yourself.

"What did you do?!" Your voice panicking, Sanemi doesn't answer but vanished to your side in one motion. His eyes are dark with possessiveness and jealousy, he uses both of his ragged hands to grab the Haori off your body.

"Stop it!!" You scream in resistance, trying to run away from his grasp but to no avail the man's quicker. You are tight inside his hug, he violently stripped you off your Haori within the next seconds. You scream, tears forming in your eyes of how degrading this is.

"Sweetheart..." His whispers against your ears are loud, you can feel his hot breath against your skin. He crumpled the Haori with one hand, throwing it away from you, "...if you want to wear something, wear mine." His words almost sound like a plea, desperate and needy. His other hand wrapped under your breasts, grabbing you tightly against his body. His naughty fingers found your buttons, flicking them open in one move to release your supple tits.

He grabs them, flicking your nipples fondly, the soft mewls elapsing from your mouth turns him even more, you feel hotter when his mouth found your neck, he sank his teeth so deep in your skin that it forms bruise, almost bleeding. You moaned in delight, your pussy twitch in anticipation. Sanemi knows, he caught the scent of your excitement as his other fingers skittered up your skirt, finding your pussy's drenching for him.

"Look at that. So dirty for me..." His moans send you another jolt, yet another one quickly wash in when he abruptly enters one of his fingers inside your needy hole. Your pussy welcomes his finger warmly, tightly wrapping him on your velvety cavern. You shudder, moaning softly when he entered another one, his fingers moving in and out slowly, dragging lazily to your clit. "...my, my. In front of these people?" He chuckled, pumping his fingers faster inside you, your eyes shot open in worry looking around as if someone can see, the Hashira, master...but his hand fondling your tits, and the other one fingering you, how could you care of anything?

"It's okay, I did another thing. Gyomei won't see." Sanemi moans against your ear, feeling how you're shaking with his touch. He pressed his lips on the bruise on your neck, thrusting his fingers deeper inside you, curling against your sensitive bud. You spread your legs wider, letting his fingers roam freely inside your gaping hole. He grunts, knowing that you're almost close when your tits feel more swollen, and your warm pussy squelching wet against his two.

"Feel that, sweetheart? So needy for me in front of them. Just cum for me, please." He begs, his fingers ramming faster with thumb pressed gently on your clit, your eyes shot open dramatically knowing you're in the middle of the Hashira test, realizations come quickly but your need is already at the edge, taunting you to reach it.

"Please, Shinazugawa..." You mewl stutter out, mouth open slightly when his thumb circling on your swollen clit, your pussy drenching his two fingers who are pumping faster and faster, your tits are firm against his touch. The silver haired man can't take it as he grunted, cumming in his pants, pathetically untouched.

You scream so hard when your climax hits you, the embarrassment of the Hashira being present, with Ubuyashiki just behind the veil of storm...it's all so overwhelming. Your legs shake so bad, riding your high against Sanemi's broad chest. You look up at him when he withdraws his fingers from your hole, he maintained eye contact as he licks away the residue of your cum, smirk tugging his lips.

"Such a good, dirty little girl for me." He caresses your hair, you closed your eyes wanting to give up in his delicious touch but the way he made you feel right now in this time is a sin, it's forbidden and disgusting. He shouldn't have manhandled you in a way that made you feel like you're a prey.

You liked it, but at what cost?

"I hate you!" You pushed him away, still weak from the cum just now. You vanished with the wind, hiding in between the gaps of his tornado, you fumble when trying to fix your buttons, they were done mismatched when it took awhile for Sanemi to spot you, he uses your scent of overwhelming cum to do so. You're still overflowing with it.

“Just give up, please.” Sanemi reappeared in front of you, just inches away, you can smell him as well but can’t reach him. Your hands clasped bravely on your blood spear, ready to fight. "I don't want you to be hurt, just give up as Hashira. This job's not for you."

"Don't speak, don't come near me." Your voice gasping for air, exhaustion appears after cumming in the middle of a freaking test, the adrenaline rush is twice the work. You can't use your technical breathing, it will definitely collapse you.

What were you thinking anyway? Fucking around with him in this important day. You don't deserve to be a Hashira.

“I will not hurt you, just please give up.” His words almost like a beg, pleading brashly.

“You have hurt me enough, Shinazugawa. Let me go.” Your answer’s as flagrant as his emotions, now both just stand while looking at each other in deep, unconcealed yearning—something can be reached, but none has the courage to try. Too sinned, too hurt, too damaged to believe in the bond.

"But just now you enjoyed me, sweetheart."

The silence drapes between the two of you, the tension’s so thick none can cut it as easily as a swift move. Sanemi knows he hurt you before, and you know more than anyone that you’ve hurt him too, but no one wants to give up this fight, no one’s lowering their sword, until…

“I’m sorry.” Sanemi’s voice bold, loud, and clear as if there’s no storm around him. His eyes soften, his brows relaxed. He dropped his sword on the ground, the clacking sound’s louder than his storm.

Alas, in some sick reason, you got angrier at him for giving up, showing how bare he is with his perplexed emotions. You screamed, launching full force with your entire stamina at stake—you charge towards his defenseless body, stabbing the blood spear just enough to hurt the side of his body, but not enough to damage him long term.

Sanemi doesn’t make a fuss, he doesn’t react but instead his eyes still onto you, soft and transparent—he’s trying to say something with his eyes, something that he has kept for a long time and eating him alive. Undisguised, blatantly shown.

He grabs your chin, his thumbs circling your skin—his eyes still delicate, worry’s front of his expression. His lips quiver.

You pulled away from his dainty touches, feeling prone to fragile when he touched you with such manner.

“Don’t ever get close to me again, this is how it feels.” You can’t stop the emotions exploding inside you, having been holding onto your feelings too long. Your chest felt heavy, something’s pushing up, tightening your throat—it burns, the pain, the heartbreak, and disappointment you have buried deep inside. It’s slashing you inside out. You draw your sword deeper into his body, etching it enough for him to know how much it hurt—every word he said, every attention he refused to give, every time he played with you, every time he chose Kanae, every moment he spent not caring, every second he downplayed you…enough is enough.

For those times passed, he knew that you had taken an interest in him, but he used it as his own pleasure. Never wanting to tell how he genuinely feels, never caring how you feel.

Just like now, and you fell for it again. What an egoistic man. Disgusting.

It all just exploded, like a balloon filled with too much helium; lightless but tensed enough to spurt. You feel clean, like a newborn, but the damage you did to get into this state of yourself is hurting Sanemi in the process.

He deserves it.

Sanemi drops to the ground at the same time the tornado ceased, when the veil has lifted, all the Hashira were gasping and standing up quickly, running to both your and Sanemi’s aid.

You almost dropped to the ground the moment you saw Ubuyashiki raise his palm, telling you the test is over. Before you can hear anything else, your vision went dark, you can’t see any such thing when your body goes limp and breathing is shallower than usual. Sanemi got up with your spear still clinging to his body, he grunts and slouches but never stops dragging his feet towards you.

He grabs you just in time before you drop to the ground, securing yourself against his broad self.

“I got you, sweetheart. I got you.” His breathy voice skittering your pale face, his arms circled around your neck and thighs, “I will bring her back to my place.” Sanemi announces, as if anyone needed to hear that.

Ubuyashiki about to affirm, before Giyu interrupts.

“I can bring her back to my place. She has been staying with me before this test.” He retorts, trying to reach for your lifeless body before Sanemi slapped his hands away.

“What the hell do you mean by that?!” His anger is fuming, his eyes red.

“She has been staying with me. Where were you when she needed you the most?” Giyu’s attention is on embarrassing Sanemi in front of everyone, and the silver-haired man is indeed embarrassed—he took a quick glance around him with the Hashira still standing in place, some of them looking agreeable with what Giyu said.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and I don’t have the intention of letting her go again. Ever. Hear me?” Sanemi took two affirming steps, adjusting his height, which is taller than Giyu’s, as he looks down at him, glaring dead in the eyes. Asserting his dominance.

Giyu smirks, “It took you so long to say that.” As he turns his heels around, walking to the group of Hashira near him yet his steps took a sudden halt when he saw his Haori crumpled on the ground, he takes it gently but the whiff of your cum is lingering on it.

Giyu looks back, his eyes expressionless at Sanemi, the latter blinks in confusion a few times, then turns around and bows to Ubuyashiki with your blood spear still chiseled on his ribs—your unconscious body is being carried easily by him, like carrying a bag of lightweight grass.

You can feel the morning has risen when the rays of light blinding your heavy hooded lids, still shut closed, but the brightness of it all is insane.

The groan escaping your mouth is animalistic when the pain registers in your body, sending signals of ache and throb everywhere.

“What did I get myself into?” You mumbled, still groaning in the discomfort of still soreness on all your limbs. You tried to wiggle your body out of the futon but were obstructed by manly arms wrapping around your body.

The prickling pain that haunts your joints is gone the moment shock shifts in your wake. Sanemi is sleeping with you. Hugging you.

“What the hell!!” You yelled, finally realizing that you are not staying in any room or garden; it’s Sanemi’s room you were sleeping in. Your crazed eyes dance around to look at his specially organized space, deep cleaned and smelled sweet. A peculiar twinge twists in your tummy; you feel uncomfortable with this fact.

Sanemi opens his eyes lazily, growling softly—adeep voice from his throat. You snapped back at him and started pointing your finger to the barely awake man.

“What did you do?!” Your voice was loud. Sanemi only groaned before hiding his face under his thick futon. You pulled it away from him, snatching it, basically.

“Answer me!” You screamed, but instead he pulled your chirping face to his, smashing his lips onto yours.

You can feel his tongue slide in easily. You open up by nature—loving how his tongue is thick and big, roaming inside your cavern.

The moans escaping your muffled mouth are lewd, too lewd for a foe.

“Good morning to you, angry bird.” Sanemi pulled away, leaving trails of his saliva on your bottom lips. He licked it again, dragging his tongue on yours.

“Who told you that you can do that, huh?” You raised your eyebrow, but your voice had gotten calmer. Sanemi smiled, the kind of smile you had only seen when he’s with Kanae.

Shit. Yeah. Now you remember why he’s on your list.

Your face turned utterly different; the slight mischief and absolute smirk had left your expression; your dim and hurt with disgust and detest are palpable instead. The memories of everything came flooding back, your skin prickling with revolt.

You shuddered, pulling away from Sanemi in an instant.

His smile dropped, knowing without needing to ask you anything.

Wrapping your kimono tightly, you made haste to leave the room. Sanemi didn’t say a word aside from grabbing the tie of your kimono, hard enough to tug it against him.

You stopped, turning to look at his pathetic face—his eyes landed yours, then he quickly averts it in embarrassment. He wants you here with him, but your hatred’s too much to even submit to surrender.

You walk, but he holds.

“Please…sweetheart.” The soft voice of Sanemi that no one ever heard mumbles out softly, his tone floaty and frail much different from how he looks daily. But now he’s like a wounded pup, hair all down but built still huge and bulky, sitting with legs crossed. His huge arms placed on top of his thighs, one finger hooking your tie with need.