Puffin

Before your brain can reboot Mikasa is already stepping in behind her, tall and silent, black lace bralette peeking from under an open black trench, dark lipstick already smudged like she’s been biting her own lip thinking about this all day. She reaches past you, clicks the lock and the sound is louder than it should be.

Shoko doesn’t ask, she just closes the gap, palms sliding up your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like she’s sizing you up for something filthy. Then she kisses you slow, wet, lazy tongue and curling against yours like she’s tasting the cherry gloss you put on three hours ago just because you felt pretty.

You make a tiny startled noise into her mouth.

She pulls back just enough to murmur, “God you taste sweet already,” voice all smoke and promethazine rasp. Then she’s stepping around you, fishing the half-finished blunt from her pocket, flicking her lighter like it’s nothing.

Mikasa doesn’t give you time to breathe.

She steps right into your space, one hand catching your jaw, not roughly, just firmly  tilting your face up so she can look at you properly. Her eyes are so dark they feel like you're sinking into them just by looking, then she kisses you too. Deeper…hungrier, less teasing, more claiming. Her tongue slides against yours like she’s mapping every inch Shoko's didn’t get to yet, you sway…legs already stupid.

Shoko flops onto your bed first, knees spread, combat boots still on, rude of her mind you, like she owns the place, then she takes the first long pull, cherry-wood, the tip glows orange, then she exhales a thick ribbon of smoke towards the ceiling.

“C’mere, baby.” She says with a lazy, dazed smile curling her lips.

Mikasa’s hands are already on your waist, guiding, not asking and she walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you drop down between them automatically, pliant, dizzy from the double-kiss ambush, then the weed hits your nose before you even register Shoko holding the blunt to her lips, she takes another pull.

“Open,” she says, soft but mean.

You do.

She shotguns you first, her plump llips brushing yours, pushing the smoke straight into your mouth while Mikasa’s fingers slip under your hoodie, cool rings grazing the underside of your tits, you whimper into the kiss and shoko laughs low against your mouth, pulls back just to watch your lashes flutter.

“Good girl.” 

Mikasa takes the blunt next, pulls deep, then leans in and seals her mouth over yours again — shotgunning you harder, smoke curling between your tongues while her thumb circles your nipple through the thin bralette you’re wearing underneath and you arch without meaning to.

Shoko’s mouth finds your neck at the same time, open-mouthed, slow drags of her tongue, teeth grazing just enough to sting. “You’re already shaking, princess,” she whispers right under your ear. “We haven’t even touched your pussy yet, you want us that bad huh?”

Mikasa hums agreement, voice velvet-gravel, her hand slides lower, palm flat against your stomach, fingers dipping just under the waistband of your shorts…not inside, not yet. Just there, teasing the elastic.

Shoko pulls back to look at you, eyes half-lidded, lips shiny from your gloss and her own spit.

“You gonna let us taste your pretty cunt, baby?” she asks, like it’s a real question. Like you could say no.

Mikasa’s fingers flex against your skin, impatiently waiting.

Your head tips back against Shoko’s shoulder. The weed is swimming through you now, warm and syrupy, turning every brush of their hands into sparks.

You nod, suddenly a little shy but you're desperate.

Shoko grins against your throat.

“That’s our good little cheer slut.”

Mikasa’s hands are already on your hips the second you’re boneless between them, pulling you forward with that quiet, inevitable strength. She doesn’t ask, she just maneuvers you until you’re straddling her lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her thighs. Your hoodie’s rucked up under your arms now, tiny cheer shorts riding high, and she looks up at you like you’re dessert she’s been starving for.

Her palms slide up under the fabric, cupping your tits fully this time, no more teasing over the bralette and drags her thumbs across your nipples once slow and deliberately, watching your mouth fall open on a shaky breath.

“Been thinking about these all week,” she murmurs, voice low and rough like she’s confessing a sin. Then she yanks the hoodie and bralette up and over your head in one smooth motion, tossing them somewhere behind her without looking.

Your bare chest is right there, flushed and heaving, Mikasa doesn’t waste time, she leans in, her lips closing around one nipple, hot and wet and sucking hard enough to make your back bow. Her tongue flicks, circles, then she pulls off with a soft pop just to switch to the other one, teeth grazing the sensitive peak while her hand kneads the first, rolling it between cool fingers.

You’re already whimpering, hips twitching forward on instinct, grinding down against the seam of her black jeans like you can’t help it.

That’s when Shoko moves.

She’s been watching, a lazy smile curling her lips, blunt forgotten on your nightstand still smoldering and now she’s sliding up behind you on her knees, chest pressing to your back, chin hooked over your shoulder so she can watch Mikasa’s mouth work.

“Fuck, look at you,” Shoko breathes against your ear, one hand snaking around to palm your stomach while the other hooks into the waistband of your shorts. “Already dripping through these little things, huh?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just tugs on it hard, the pastel fabric drags down your thighs, catching briefly on your knees before she yanks them the rest of the way off and flings them toward the floor. Cool air hits your soaked cunt and you whine, loud and needy.

Shoko laughs softly, mean and sweet at the same time, her fingers are there before you can even process it, two sliding through your folds, slow, gathering your sappy slick, then pushing in knuckle-deep, into your tight cunt without warning.

You gasp, hips jerking forward into Mikasa’s mouth.

“So fucking wet, princess,” Shoko drawls, curling her fingers just right, stroking that spot that makes your thighs shake. “This little pussy’s been waiting for us, hasn’t it?”

She doesn’t give you time to answer. Pulls her fingers out slowly, then spreads you open with both hands, thumbs holding your pussylips apart so she can see everything.

Mikasa’s still latched onto your tit, sucking bruises into the soft skin, but her eyes flick down too, dark and hungry.

Shoko leans in.

Her tongue drags flat from your clit all the way up to your soft hole in one long, filthy stripe. Then she seals her mouth over you, sucking sloppy, loud, with no shame. Tongue flicking fast against your clit while her fingers slide back inside, pumping in time with the way she’s eating you.

You’re trapped — Mikasa’s mouth on your tits, relentlessly switching between sucking and biting, leaving your nipples swollen and shiny; Shoko behind you, face buried in your cunt from the back, moaning into you like she’s the one getting off.

Your hands scrabble, one tangling in Mikasa’s dark hair to hold her against your chest, the other reaching back to grip Shoko’s wrist like you need something to anchor you while they ruin you.

Shoko pulls off just long enough to murmur against your dripping folds, breath hot,

“Gonna make you come all over my tongue, baby. Then we’re gonna switch.”

Mikasa hums around your nipple in agreement, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

Your head falls back against Shoko’s shoulder, mouth open on silent cries, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around nothing and everything at once.

They’ve got you right where they want you — split open, dripping and all theirs.

You’re still straddling Mikasa’s lap, thighs spread wide, trembling so hard the whole bed feels like it’s vibrating under you. Mikasa’s got one arm banded around your lower back now, holding you flush against her so you can’t squirm away even if you wanted to. Her mouth is latched back onto your tit, sucking slow, deep pulls now, tongue laving lazy circles around the swollen nipple like she’s trying to milk every tiny whimper out of you. The other hand is kneading the neglected one, thumb flicking the peak in cruel little rhythms that make your hips buck forward uselessly.

Shoko’s still behind you, on her knees, chest pressed to your back like she’s molding herself to every shudder that racks your body. She’s been quiet for a second, just breathing hot against your spine, letting you feel the drag of her tongue tracing your vertebrae then she pulls back just enough to spit. Right onto your ass. Thick, warm, obscene. It slides down the cleft, dripping over your already soaked hole.

You jolt. A broken little “ah—” slips out.

Shoko chuckles, low and dark. “Yeah? You like that, princess?”

Before you can even nod she rears back and slaps, her open palm cracking sharp against one cheek, then the other in quick succession. The sound echoes in the small room, obscene and wet because you’re dripping everywhere now. Your ass jiggles, skin blooming pink under her hand, and she does it again — harder — watching the way the flesh ripples.

“Fuck, look at this pretty little cunt,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Two fingers spread you open again, thumbs pulling your lips apart so wide you feel the cool air kiss your clit. Then she slaps there too — lighter, but right on the swollen nub. You cry out, hips snapping forward into Mikasa’s mouth.

Shoko doesn’t stop. She spits again — straight onto your entrance this time, then pushes three fingers in at once. No warning. Just the slick stretch, your tight walls fluttering around the sudden fullness. You’re so wet it slides in easy, but you’re still so fucking tight, clenching like your body’s trying to push her out and pull her deeper at the same time.

“Goddamn, baby,” Shoko groans, voice wrecked. She starts pumping, slow at first, letting you feel every ridge of her knuckles dragging against your walls — then faster, curling, scissoring, stretching you open like she’s prepping you for something bigger later. “This pussy’s greedy as hell. Sucking me right back in.”

Mikasa hums around your nipple in agreement, the vibration shooting straight down to where Shoko’s wrecking you. She switches tits again, sucking the other one into her mouth now, teeth grazing just enough to sting while her free hand slides down your stomach.

Her fingers find your clit at the exact same second Shoko’s tongue does.

Shoko’s been eating you sloppy this whole time — chin shiny, lips swollen — but now she focuses. Tongue flicking fast over your clit in messy little circles while her fingers keep fucking into you, curling hard against that spot that makes your vision white out.

And Mikasa, fuck — her fingers replace Shoko’s mouth for a second. Two of them pressing down on your clit, rubbing firm, slow circles while Shoko’s tongue laps at the edges, catching the slick that’s dripping down your thighs.

It’s too much.

You’re caught between them — Mikasa nursing on your tits like she’ll never get enough, sucking bruises into the soft undersides now, leaving you marked and sensitive; Shoko behind you, three fingers buried deep, stretching you wide, thumb occasionally brushing your rim just to make you clench harder; both of them on your clit at once — Shoko’s tongue sloppy and relentless, Mikasa’s fingers precise and mean.

Your whole body locks up. Thighs shaking, back arching so hard your head thumps back against Shoko’s shoulder. You’re babbling, nonsense, pleas, their names — voice cracking on every syllable.

Shoko pulls her mouth off just long enough to growl against your cunt, “Come on, princess. Give it to us. Soak my fucking face.”

Mikasa bites down on your nipple sharp, perfectly it stings, and rubs your clit faster.

You break.

The orgasm hits like a slap, it's hard and sudden, blinding your control. You scream, hips grinding down onto Shoko’s tongue and fingers while Mikasa keeps sucking, keeps rubbing, drawing it out until you’re twitching, overstimulated till tears prick your lashes.

They don’t stop.

Shoko keeps fingering you through it, slower now, but deep, milking every aftershock while her tongue laps gently at your oversensitive clit.

Mikasa switches to soft, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, murmuring “good girl, such a good fucking girl” against your skin.

You’re a mess, sweaty and trembling, pussy clenching around nothing now that Shoko’s finally pulled her fingers out, only to replace them with her tongue again, slow and soothing but still hungry.

Shoko pulls back just enough to press a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to the small of your back.

“Think you can take another one, baby?” she asks, voice all smoke and promise. “’Cause we’re nowhere near done with this pretty pussy.”

Mikasa’s hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so she can kiss you sweet, tasting like your own skin.

“Say yes,” she whispers against your lips.

Your head’s spinning. Body still buzzing.

But your mouth moves on its own.

“…yes.”

Shoko’s finally peeled herself off your back, skin flushed and glistening with sweat and your slick. She kicks off her ripped black jeans in one impatient shove, fishnets still clinging to her thighs like torn webs, then shimmies out of her soaked black thong, tossing it somewhere near your discarded shorts. She crawls backward up the bed until her shoulders hit the headboard, legs spreading wide, shameless. Her cunt’s already shiny, swollen lips parted just enough to show how wet she got from wrecking you.

She pats her own thigh once, lazy smirk curling.

“Bring that pretty cunt over here, princess.”

Her voice is wrecked, husky and demanding, dripping with that mean-girl sweetness that makes your stomach flip. You’re still shaking from the last orgasm, thighs slick down to your knees, but your body moves before your brain catches up. Crawling forward on all fours, ass in the air, tits swaying with every inch closer.

Mikasa’s right there with you silent and waiting, already shifting so she’s kneeling beside Shoko’s hip, dark hair falling over one shoulder like ink. She doesn’t say anything. Just watches you straddle Shoko’s face backward, knees bracketing Shoko’s head, your dripping pussy hovering right over her waiting mouth.

Shoko doesn’t wait for you to lower yourself. Her hands clamp onto your hips as her nails dig in and she yanks you down hard, burying her face in your cunt like she’s starving. Tongue plunging straight in, fucking you with it immediately, sloppy and relentless. She moans loud into you, the vibration making your arms buckle.

You cry out, forehead dropping to Shoko’s stomach, ass arched high. Perfect position.

Mikasa moves in front, kneeling between Shoko’s spread thighs, hands sliding up those fishnet-covered legs to push them wider. She doesn’t tease. Just leans down and drags her tongue flat from Shoko’s entrance to her clit in one long, slow stripe. Shoko’s hips jerk up off the bed.

“Fuck…yeah mhm- just like that,” Shoko gasps against your pussy, words muffled because her mouth never leaves you. She’s eating you like it’s oxygen, sucking your clit, tongue-fucking in deep, then pulling back just to spit on your hole and watch it drip before diving back in.

You can’t just watch. You drop lower, face hovering over Shoko’s cunt now, nose brushing Mikasa’s cheek as you both work her. You spit first, a thick, messy glob right onto Shoko’s clit, watching it glisten even more. Then you lean in and kiss Mikasa around it, open-mouthed, tongues sliding together over Shoko’s swollen nub. Sloppy and wet, sharing the taste of her while your lips brush and suck at the same sensitive spot.

Shoko’s thighs tremble around Mikasa’s head. Her hands on your ass squeeze harder, spreading you wider so she can get deeper, tongue curling inside you, nose grinding against your clit with every thrust of her face. She’s fucking masochistic about it, grinding her own hips up into your mouth and Mikasa’s at the same time, chasing the overstimulation like she needs to be ruined too.

You pull back just enough to spit again, messy strings connecting your lips to Shoko’s cunt, then dive back in, sucking her clit hard while Mikasa’s tongue pushes inside her, fucking her slow and deep. Your tongues meet again over Shoko’s folds, kissing filthy around her, swapping spit and slick, moaning into each other’s mouths while Shoko writhes underneath you both.

Shoko’s losing it. Her hips buck wild, grinding up into your face, into Mikasa’s. She’s whimpering now the sounds high and broken, muffled by your pussy, still eating you like her life depends on it. One hand leaves your ass to tangle in Mikasa’s hair, shoving her face deeper.

“Don’t — don’t stop…fuck, make me come on your tongues —”

You obey and suck harder, letting Mikasa take the lead on fucking Shoko’s hole with her tongue while you focus on the clit, flicking fast, then flattening your tongue to lap broad and messy.

Mikasa’s free hand slides up to pinch Shoko’s nipple hard, twisting just enough to make Shoko arch off the bed with a choked scream.

That’s it.

Shoko comes hard, her whole body locking, thighs clamping around Mikasa’s head, hips grinding up into your mouth in frantic little jerks. She’s soaking, slick coating your chin, Mikasa’s lips, dripping down her own thighs. Her tongue never stops on you though; if anything it gets sloppier, more desperate, like she’s trying to drag you over the edge with her.

You’re close again, pussy clenching around nothing while Shoko tongue-fucks you through her own orgasm. Mikasa pulls back just long enough to murmur against Shoko’s still-twitching cunt,

“Our turn to make her scream next.”

Shoko laughs breathless and wrecked, then yanks your hips down harder, sealing her mouth over your clit and sucking like she wants to pull your soul out of you.

You’re not getting off this ride until they say so.

And they’re nowhere near done.

Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of Shoko’s head, thighs already quivering like they might give out any second. Shoko’s hands are locked around the backs of your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping your cunt pressed flush to her mouth, no escape, no mercy. Her tongue is still buried deep, slow lazy thrusts now that your last orgasm has left you dripping and hypersensitive, every flick making your hips jerk involuntarily.

Mikasa shifts in front of you, kneeling tall between Shoko’s spread legs so she’s face-to-face with you, dark eyes locked on yours like she’s reading every twitch, every flutter of your lashes. Her hands find your hips, palms cool and grip firm, steadying you exactly where she wants you.

She doesn’t speak at first. Just starts guiding.

Slow rolls at first, pulling your hips back so your clit drags along the flat of Shoko’s tongue, then pushing forward again so Shoko’s nose nudges your entrance and her lips seal around you. The motion is controlled, deliberate, like Mikasa’s using your body to fuck Shoko’s face for her own pleasure.

You whimper out, it's high and broken as your head tips forward until your forehead rests against Mikasa’s shoulder. Every grind sends sparks up your spine; you’re so overstimulated that even the softest pressure feels like too much, clit throbbing, walls fluttering around nothing while Shoko’s tongue keeps lapping slow and greedy.

Mikasa feels it, the way your thighs start to shake harder, the tiny sobs catching in your throat, the way your nails dig into her arms like you’re holding on for dear life.

She softens.

Her grip loosens just enough to cradle instead of command. One hand slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast in a gentle sweep, while the other stays on your hip, still guiding, but slower now, shallower rocks that let you catch your breath against Shoko’s relentless mouth.

Shoko hums low approval into your cunt, the vibration spreading through you but doesn’t push. Just keeps her tongue flat and still for a second, letting you grind at your own pace while Mikasa holds you steady.

Mikasa tilts your chin up with two fingers.

Your eyes meet hers, watery and dazed, pupils blown wide.

She leans in slow.

The kiss is nothing like before.

Soft and sweet, lips brushing yours like she’s handling something fragile. No tongue at first, just the gentle press, the warmth of her mouth, the faint taste of Shoko still lingering on both of you. She kisses the corner of your mouth, then the other, then seals her lips over yours properly, slow and languid, swallowing the tiny whimpers you can’t hold back.

Her hand cups your jaw now, thumb stroking your cheekbone while she kisses you deeper, but still gentle, still careful. Tongues touching just the tips and then sliding together in lazy, comforting strokes. You melt into it, body going pliant between them; hips still rocking shallow on Shoko’s face, but the frantic edge is gone, replaced by something warmer, sweeter.

Shoko’s tongue gives one last slow drag from your entrance to your clit soft and soothing, before she pulls back just enough to breathe against your folds.

“Pretty baby,” she murmurs, voice muffled and wrecked. “You’re doing so good for us.”

Mikasa breaks the kiss only to rest her forehead against yours, noses brushing.

“Still with us?” she whispers, lips grazing yours with every word.

You nod small…shaky, lips tingling from her sweetness.

Her lips curve into a rare smile, it's soft and just for you, she kisses you again. Once, then twice, little pecks of her lips that make your chest ache in the best way.

Shoko’s hands slide up to rub slow circles on your thighs, grounding and possessive.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Mikasa murmurs against your mouth, “we’ll keep going. Or we can just stay like this.”

Her fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head.

Shoko presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then another…then one last gentle lick along your slit, cleaning you up without pushing for more.

You’re caught between them; Shoko’s warm mouth still so close, Mikasa’s steady hands and sweeter kisses holding you together.

For the first time tonight, it doesn’t feel like they’re trying to break you.

It feels like they’re keeping you.

Mikasa’s still got you, her hands steady on your hips, thumbs stroking slow arcs over the sensitive skin there like she’s reminding you she’s not letting go. Your forehead rests against her collarbone, breaths coming in shaky little puffs, body humming with the aftershocks that won’t quite fade.

Under you, Shoko shifts.

She plants her palms on the mattress and pushes herself up slow and carefully, until her face is level with your hips again and presses soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of one hipbone, then the other. Warm lips, gentle suction, little nips that make you twitch without hurting, her tongue traces lazy patterns over the faint red marks her nails left earlier, soothing them like an apology.

“C’mere, princess,” she murmurs against your skin, voice all smoke and velvet now, no edge, just warmth.

Mikasa helps and together they guide you down gently and unhurried, until your back hits the cool sheets. You sink into them with a soft exhale, legs falling open naturally, body too spent to fight gravity anymore. Shoko settles on your left, Mikasa on your right, bracketing you like they’re afraid you’ll float away if they don’t keep you grounded.

They don’t rush.

Mikasa leans in first, her lips brushing the swell of your breast, soft and lovingly. She kisses the underside, then circles the nipple with slow, wet drags of her tongue before taking it into her mouth. Not sucking hard this time. Just nursing on you with soft, gentle pulls, tongue laving in lazy circles, like she’s savoring every tiny shiver she pulls from you.

Shoko mirrors her on the other side. Kisses the soft skin just above your nipple, then closes her lips around it slowly, tender suctions that match Mikasa’s rhythm perfectly. Their mouths work in tandem; one pulls while the other soothes with little kitten licks, then they switch their rhythm without breaking contact. Your back arches just a little on instinct, not desperation and they both hum approvals against your skin.

Their free hands slide down together.

Fingers intertwine over your mound first, Shoko’s pinky brushing Mikasa’s then they separate, slipping lower. Mikasa’s fingers find your clit, two of them pressing soft, slow circles, barely any pressure, just enough to keep the sparks flickering. Shoko’s, slide through your folds, gathering the slick that’s still leaking out of you then pushes inside, her two fingers curling gently against that spot that makes your toes curl.

No slapping…no stretching, they're tender now.

Just soft, steady rhythm, fingers moving in perfect sync, building you up slow like they’ve got all night. Mikasa’s thumb joins her fingers on your clit now, rubbing in tiny, patient circles while Shoko’s fingers stroke inside you deep and unhurried, pressing just right every time.

You’re whimpering soft, breathy sounds that melt into their mouths when they lean up to kiss you in turns. First Mikasa’s slow and sweet, her tongue sliding against yours like she’s drinking you in and Shoko's lazier, filthier, but still gentle, lips catching every little gasp.

They talk to you between kisses, quiet, murmured praises that sinks into your bones.

“So pretty when you let go like this…”

“Feel how wet you still are for us, baby…”

“Good girl… just like that… let it build slowly…”

Your hips roll up into their hands with lazy, needy little rocks and they match you, never rushing, never pushing too hard. The pleasure coils tighter, warmer, different this time, not a violent snap, but a slow, rolling wave that starts in your toes and spreads upward like honey.

When it finally crests, it’s soft. Deep. Your whole body shudders with long, trembling pulses that make you clench around Shoko’s fingers, clit throbbing under Mikasa’s thumb. You come with a quiet, broken moan, your mouth open against Mikasa’s shoulder, tears slipping down your temples because it feels so much without hurting.

They don’t stop right away.

They ease you through it, fingers slowing to gentle strokes, thumbs brushing feather-light over your clit until the aftershocks fade to little flutters. Then they pull out slow, careful, and bring their slick fingers up to trace lazy patterns over your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, like they’re painting you with the evidence of how good you were for them.

Mikasa kisses your temple. Shoko nuzzles into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your pulse.

They stay like that, bodies pressed close, hands roaming soft and possessive, mouths leaving little kisses wherever they land.

No more teasing words. No more mean edges.

Just the three of you tangled in the sheets, breathing each other in, soft and quiet and sated.

Shoko’s the first to break the silence, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Let us stay the night?” 

Mikasa’s arm tightens around your waist.

You don’t even have to answer.

You already know you don't want them going anywhere.

Some men would go to the forest late afternoon, solely to come back the next morning, long before the first crowing of the cock. With dreamy eyes veiled by a mist and minds completly blank, as if the night creatures of the woods sucked their memories away.  

They would reckon some bits and snippets of nightly wander, with cold wind brushing their cheeks and hazy visions of a woman's voice pulling them towards the weird-looking hut. But they could never remember the details, and thus the forest witch was nothing but a tale creeping through the creaky windows of the wooden houses.

The villagers stayed away from the woods, and children were forbidden from going near.

And everyone went by this silent rule.

Oh, well… almost everyone.

For two lumberjacks, Toji Fushiguro and Sukuna Ryomen, could not care less about the trumped-up fable.

Two massive, burly men – the biggest in the village, truly, and the only ones providing the thick timber logs.

It was not that other husbands didn’t dare to dive into the woods, but rather… well, there was just too much harvest, and every pair of strong hands was needed. At least that was the thought that allowed them to sleep serenely.

Without risking their lives, without the danger of meeting spectral creatures and chicken-legged huts.

But Toji and Sukuna have only believed in things they could see. Touch, experience, remember in detail. That was why the tale of a forest hag sounded to them both rather foolish, almost made up.

Did their mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers warn them about the dangers of the forest?

Surely.

But even as nippers, they couldn’t keep their prying eyes away from the thick greens, with one tree spookier than the other. 

Thus, now, at the age of thirty-five, they still didn’t care about all the rumours going around. And the daily occurrence of villagers tucking tightly inside their houses after the last beams of sun left the earth was quite amusing.

Fools, they have thought, while going back and forth between the forest and a village every single day.

Until, well… until one day they saw a hut.

The dusk has fallen quietly over the golden fields, with a deep purple blanket covering the sky. Nothing but a faint glimmer of stars crept through the dense trees, and both men found themselves rather lost.

They had never gone that deep into the woods, but the need for logs was higher around that time as the summer solstice was just around the corner. And with the planned celebrations, grand feast and fire jumping, they would need much more timber than usual.

It was not that they couldn’t find their way out, but all the looming trees started to resemble eerie creatures. With branches curling restlessly behind their backs, as if trying to brush two foolish souls passing through the enchanted woods. The lethargic melody of crickets was long gone, leaving the forest in a deathly silence.

Nightly wind brushed their dust-covered shirts, bringing a gentle shiver down their spines.

Was it caused by a cold?

Or maybe by a deep, dread feeling of someone, something, lurking behind the gnarled branches?

They walked farther and farther, thinking that they were getting closer to the familiar fields of the village. Thinking that the little pond they passed every day was right behind the next tree, with slimy frogs humming on the cold stones. That soon they would notice a golden glimpse of not-yet-sickled wheat and wooden houses filled with candled warmth.

Their backs burned from all the gathered logs, and eyes tried to see through the thick darkness filling the forest air. Not even stars could help them, and for the first time in their lives, a bizarre thought had crossed their mind.

That maybe they could have listened to all the cautionary tales about the dangers of the woods. 

That the trees were truly unpredictable and wicked, with their sharp needles poking their skins.

That a faint meow stretching between the softwoods was a bad omen.

"Did you hear it?" Sukuna murmured, stopping in tracks. 

Toji furrowed, finger gripping the saw firmer. "Was that a fucking cat?"

They stood in place, listening carefully for another sign that some normal, living creature was wandering somewhere around.

Another soft meow sent a shiver down their spines.

"Why would a cat be here?" Sukuna murmured, going towards the source.

Whether it was a foolish decision or not, they would need to find out on their own.

As the cat could mean two things – firstly, another village somewhere nearby and a place where they could spend the night. 

Secondly…

"You know why," Toji murmured, with all the warnings his grandmother had stuffed into his head suddenly lighting up.

Sukuna scoffed, looking over his shoulder. "Don’t tell me you’re scared."

"Fuck no."

But why would the cat be here? He wanted to add.

They moved slowly, with the muffled meows growing clearer and higher-pitched, but none of them noticed a feline slipping between the branches. 

They walked for another five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and even glimmering stars looked down at their sweating backs with a silent frown. Wandering that deep into the forest could not finish well.

But then, something appeared.

A hut.

Tall and looming, resembling something straight out of those delirious tales they loved to ignore that much. Spreading an eerie atmosphere, with a cold air biting much harsher than before. 

It stood in the middle of the woods, having a skull–topped fence surrounding it in a neat circle and a black cat sitting lazily on one of the milky heads. Wet earth dipped under the big, thick claws of a long chicken leg, made of nothing but skin and bones.

At its top sat a small house. Made of dark wood, with smooth walls and a crooked roof pinned rather messily. 

Both men furrowed their brows, seeing no doors nor windows, although grey mist loomed over the bended chimney.

A cat meowed, a raven croaked, and the woods came even closer, as if inviting them in and slowly covering all the paths with their thick branches.

"Yeah, I’m not doing it," Toji murmured.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes gazed at the wicked hut before a sight slipped away. "Fuck no."

They needed a single glance to turn around on their feet and walk away. As far as they could, till the endless plains of woods would let them out.

Because, at some point, they would find the right path. Probably.

Thus they walked, and walked, and walked till their legs were burning and faint meowing was left far behind. The trees never changed, bending and curling above their heads like spider’s webs, with leaves and needles dropping onto their shoulders.

The air was biting frost, although summer had almost come, and carried a lingering taste of rottenness.

At some point, they finally saw a faint glow. Pale glimmer, drawing from between the dense trees. A rise of hope bubbled in their chests, with fingers gripping the saws and legs suddenly moving much faster. 

They finally found it – an exit from this wicked forest.

With crows following their every step and darkness sharpening its teeth to swallow them whole. 

Little stones rolled beneath their feet, cheeks bled from the curled branches slashing through their skin, backs dipped under the weight of carried logs, but then they took the one last step and–

And found themselves back in the hut.

The faint glow they had chased was just a moonlight bouncing off the skull fence. The cat was still there, with yellow eyes glancing at them rather cheekily – as if the feline knew that both men were already done for.

Grey smoke still curled around the chimney, but this time it was much denser. Thicker, and it seemed that someone must’ve been inside this little, wooden house. 

"Dear God," Toji murmured, taking a deep breath. "How is it possible?"

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, crimson eyes slashing with the cat’s amused gaze. "I don’t know, but we need to keep moving."

"Where? We walked for twenty minutes and did a fucking circle."

They didn’t dare to walk past the skull-topped fence and thus stood still at the edge of the forest. Trees behind them chanted wickedly, tickling the backs of their sweating necks.

"You’re right, okay, let’s try that way," Sukuna pointed out at another path. "Maybe we will find a neighbouring village."

So they did just that.

And when their eyes caught a sinister hut again, towering over the looming trees, they both cursed under their breaths.  

Each path they took always led them straight towards the skull-topped fence, and after the fourth time, they finally crossed its border. They walked past the creamy heads and purring feline before standing by the bony chicken leg.

Everything looked like a nightmare – the hut, the fence, the moonlight shining on their wet foreheads and a cat, slowly sitting up. 

Like a fever dream they couldn’t wake up from, and every little detail of the tales whispered by the villagers suddenly flooded their minds.

They didn’t want to end up as the blasphemous hag’s sweet little treats. With their bones licked clean and dumped down the endless pit of her basement. 

If they wanted to get out of the forest before sunrise, they needed to act quickly.

"Let’s cut this down," Toji suddenly rolled, leaving Sukuna speechless.

"You mean, the leg?"

The man nodded, with scarred lips curving up. "If we’re going to die anyway, why not get her first? If she’s as old as everyone says, killing her would surely be a piece of cake."

A silence stretched between them, as if both Sukuna and a black cat and a big crow, that had sat quietly on the fence, were trying to process what he just said. 

"You want to murder an old lady?"

Toji scoffed. "Don’t look at me like that. She’s a witch!"

"But she’s also a…" Sukuna wanted to say a human, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

Was she a human?

Or maybe a spawn of the devil, a satab itself?

Toji gripped an axe tighter, poking the bony leg with the wooden end. It was rather thin, and he wondered how such a fragile thing could hold a whole hut. 

A spell?

"Why won’t we just cut it down first and see whether she’s there?" Sukuna murmured, lifting his axe.

"And if she’ll be there, we will…"

Sukuna tsked. "Let’s see first. Maybe, if we ask nicely, a hag will let us go. Maybe she’s not even that bad as people say."

None of them believed it, and creamy skulls sitting quietly on long bones should be evidence enough.

They both raised axes – with muscular forearms bulging under the muscles and eyes glued to the thin ankle of the chicken’s leg. It was steady, with long claws gripping the earth and yellow skin pulsing under the spilling moonlight.

And the moment their arms had swung, something hit them.

No, something has burst at their faces, and only then have they noticed a row of puffballs. With white caps breaking under their heavy shoes and powdery clouds erupting right into their noses.

But it seemed they weren’t just normal mushrooms, as the world in front of the men’s eyes started to swirl. Gaze slipped into fogginess, and lungs filled with a bitter powder. It burned their throats, chests, pushing sharp needles into their hearts, till both fell to their knees. 

They cat meowed softly in the back, the crow hummed, and the moonlight could only glance down pitifully at two lumberjacks slowly sacking out.

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

When Sukuna slowly opened his eyes, something heavy lay sprawled on his chest. Warm and purring, with black fur floating around his lips and soft paws brushing his nose. 

The cat, the same one they saw just a while ago, sat down right above his heart, with yellow eyes glued to his slowly waking up face.

His mind was still a bit dizzy, and the bitter aftertaste of mushrooms swirled on his tongue, sticking to each and every corner of his throat. There was something soft under his body, although, surprisingly, he noticed that he lay shirtless.

And as it turned out, Toji was undressed too.

Spread right next to him, with hands lifted high up and wrists tied to a… bed frame?

Fuck, slipped silently, as he realised that his wrists were tied too. Strong enough not to rip the smooth fabric, but soft enough not to hurt his skin. 

"What is this place?" Toji murmured, only now waking up from a deep slumber.

Sukuna couldn’t see anything because of the fluffy beast purring on his chest, but Toji…

"Fucking hell," he whispered, feeling his heart flutter.

Sukun turned head his way, seeing the emerald eyes of his friend glued to something in front of them.

Someone, maybe. 

You.

A witch.

Your back was covered by a velvet, purple robe, brushing the wooden floor. Wide sleeves hung from your wrists, moving like clouds with every gentle swoosh of your hand. Toji couldn’t see much of your face, but only its profile – soft and kind, with plump lips murmuring something under your breath and hair hugging your cheeks. 

The inside of the hut was much larger than they had thought, and surely you must’ve used a kind of special spell. Rows and rows of books lay messily on shelves, with dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. A massive, brass cauldron stood right next to you on the low wooden table, with eerie greenish mist floating above the bubbling water. 

It looked warm, rather cosy, filled with the gentle crackling of candles and their yellow glow lighting up your furrowed brows.

When Sukuna sneezed, feeling the fur tickling his nose, you turned their way.

"Oh my," slipped in melody, and Toji held his breath. Your face was even more beautiful than he had thought, with beaming eyes curving in a gentle smile. "Apologies, mister. Lucifer, go away, let him breathe," you shooed the cat, before sitting at the end of the bed.

And then Sukuna could finally see you – an angel.

Or rather, a witch, as the legends said.

But your countenance looked nothing like the tales forsweared, as Sukuna’s breath hitched upon seeing a glimmer dancing behind your eyes. So soft and kind. Plush lips twisted in a smile, and when his gaze slipped down, something in his lower body moved.

Toji couldn’t see it before, but the purple robe flowing down your figure was much more flimsy than he had thought. With your soft collarbones gleaming under the candle’s light, and barely covered chest. They could clearly see the swell of your breasts, with their heavy fat barely hidden behind the material. 

Fucking hell.

Maybe they wished you looked more like legends swore – a hundred-year-old hag with a crooked nose.

"Miss," Toji choked out, with a mouth dry as wheat. "I think there has been a misunderstanding."

Your head tilted, and eyes flashed with amusement. "A misunderstanding? Aren’t you the ones who mere minutes ago wanted to cut down my hut?"

Their lips fell flat. 

"And aren’t you the ones who wished to, hm, how was it…" slipped in a giggle, while a fat cat purred on your lap. "Kill an old lady?"

Both of them looked rather stupefied, and a sight of two burly men tied to your bed frame was quite pleasant. 

What’s more, you didn’t even try to hide your deep eyes wandering around their half-naked bodies. With heavy muscles beaming under the light coating of sweat, and palms big enough to crush your whole head. 

Their tall, massive bodies could barely fit on your bed, and a few spells needed to be used to make it a bit wider. Shocked, but oh so handsome, faces looked at you in disbelief, and you felt their eyes slipping between the swell of your breasts and plush lips curving mischievously.

"Have you heard it?" Sukuna asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not me," you looked down at the black cat, petting its soft fur gently. "But Lucifer is my eyes and ears. You got lost, from what he said. No one ever told you not to wander around the woods in the night?"

Your giggle tasted like an aphrodisiac, and both men shifted uncomfortably on the bed. 

"Listen, miss, how about we apologise and you’ll let us go, hm? Let’s forget about–"

"Well," you interrupted, slowly standing up. The cat jumped off your lap and strolled towards the fireplace, sitting his fat ass on the soft carpet. "I usually have two ways of dealing with men of your sort," your fingers lifted a little glass phial with pinkish fluid. "I either clear their memories and simply let them go–"

"Wonderful, let’s get to it," Toji murmured, but you sent him a quick, cheeky look.

Oh, so that was not a way destined for them.

"Or," quiet footsteps filled the hut, as you walked towards a big carpet spread on the floor. With a single move, you rolled aside to present small doors, leading to the… "I throw them here. But no woman has complained about you two and wished for a curse, so fear not, dear sirs. Or, Toji and Sukuna."

You covered the basement, leaving them both scared and breathless.

"What have you heard about me?" suddenly rolled, as you walked back to the cauldron. The green mist still floated over it, and you turned at the long shelf filled with colourful little phials. 

"You’re a witch," Toji muttered, trying to keep his eyes on the back of your head and not the way velvety robes hugged your hips.

You hummed with a smile. "Go on."

"That you kidnap children," Sukuna added, seeing your back tremble in laughter. "And eat their flesh with iron teeth."

"Oh, truly?" came with a melodic laugh they both felt right in their cocks. Some purple liquid was added to the mixture boiling in a cauldron, and the mist changed from green to red. "That’s my favourite one so far. Anything else?"

You glanced over your shoulder to see their creased foreheads. One covered with raven hair and the other with soft, pinkish strands. 

"The women seem to like you," Toji murmured, noticing a little smile beaming on your cheeks.

"Haven’t you noticed a sudden surge in child births?" When they nodded slowly, you continued. "Well, no need to thank me. I’m glad I could help. And it leads me to why I decided to tie you up."

You looked more closely into the boiling cauldron, a gentle crease appearing between your brows. 

"Are you going to kill us?" Sukuna finally choked out, and your eyes quickly came back to them. 

Silence stretched mercilessly as they watched you come closer. And closer, and closer, till the bed dipped under your plush body, slowly climbing up theirs. Your knees scratched their thighs, palms dipped into the small spaces between their heavy chests, and soon a sugary fragrance hit their minds.

Curling around them sweetly, almost suffocating with the tender hints of berries and flowers, beaming on your soft neck.

Your hips straddled each of their thigh and the purple robe curled around your hips, hugging the spilling fat. Looking at the flowing material, they were rather sure you didn’t wear any panties.

Something bulged under your thighs, and a little smirk crawled up your lips.

"I won’t," slipped cheekily. "But first, sirs, say ah."

They furrowed, but opened their lips up, and before either of them could react, your fingers landed inside their mouths. With a gentle touch swirling between their gums and milky fangs, as if examining every curve of them.

You hummed softly before pulling the fingers back and allowing them to cough.

"Miss, are you crazy?" Toji barked, but you ignored him.

"Healthy gums, straight teeth, that’s good, good," slipped in a murmur, before your fingers landed in their hair. A silent tsk followed, as you pulled out two single strands.

"Hey, missy, what the hell are you doing?" Sukuna growled, wriggling under your hips. 

It did him nor Toji no good, because their already hard cocks dugged into the fat of your thighs deeper, pushing out a low, strangled hum of their throats. And a soft giggle from yours.

With two soft curls, you slowly slipped off their hips, leaving both men with a quiet disappointment. 

"You see, lots of women come to my hut with a wish to bear a child," their hair landed inside the cauldron, and a red mist changed into purple. "For many, I’m just a scary witch, but women cherish me as… a forest goddess, you may say," you mixed the boiling mixture with a wooden spoon, and a soft that’s good, perfect slipped through. "Fulfilling their desires is rather easy, you see. A simple mixture is enough to bloom their fertility."

Both men tried to listen closely, but could only focus on how quickly your warmth had left their bodies. 

Quite unpleasant, slightly unfortunate.

Toji furrowed. "Miss, what does that have to do with us?"

"I also want a child. No, I need to have a child to keep the lineage of witches," rolled softly, with your voice slipping into something warmer. "That’s what my mother did. And her mother, sisters, aunts, and every woman in my family. All of them chose a man healthy like a horse, the most potent one in the entire village."

Oh.

Something bubbled in their chest. A sudden warmth, a wave of electricity washed over their bodies, as both Sukuna and Toji looked at your blessed face with round eyes.

For a while, nothing but the cat’s soft purring and the soft crackling of the fireplace filled the hut. A deep silence, marked by unbearable tension. Your lips fell in line, forehead wrinkled with a coiling thought.

Toji coughed. "So we–"

"Yes," you quickly added. "You are the most perfect for this role."

And the rest played out faster than they expected.

The misty, purple robes suddenly fell off your shoulders, fully unveiling your divine body. With perked nipples licked warmly by a candle’s flame and a plush belly, their teeth already itched to dip into. You started to move – slowly, with thighs jiggling gently and lips curving in a mischievous smile.

"You can refuse, of course," slipped in a bewitching sweetness, curling around their lips and minds and already leaking cocks.

Refuse? They would be fools to refuse a woman like you.

"If you wish, I shall clear your minds and simply let you go. I'm sure, at some point, my path would cross with yet another potent men," the mattress dipped under your weight as you, once again, started crawling up their bodies.

Your words creased their foreheads.

Another men?

"But if you decide to stay–"

Their breaths hitched, feeling the sweetness of your breath hit their cheeks.

Something wicked coiled behind your pupils – arousing, suffocating them with the lustfulness of your gaze. You looked into Sukuna’s crimson eyes before your lips touched the corner of his. Shortly, softly, slowly moving to the next man and gently licking the pale scar slashing his maw. 

"If you stay, you’ll need to be my obedient husbands. And give me lots and lots of witches," you whispered, waiting quietly for an answer. With your cunt dripping down their clothed thighs and their cocks shifting under your body. 

They stared at you – with crimson and emerald eyes sparkling in feary madness.

Oh, so you truly were a witch, for their minds suddenly filled with a flaming need to obey your wicked request. The sweet fragrance of your naked skin wrapped around their senses like a poison. A spell, maybe, and they wondered whether you truly cast a sort of devilish charm.

To mould them as you wished, bending and pushing their minds over the edge with nothing but sweet little whispers. And trickery eyes, cherry lips, heavy breasts just waiting to be fondled and, dear god, your cunt brushing against their thighs.

"What do you say?" You whispered, before placing palms on their cheeks. "Do you wish to go back to your village? Or maybe fill me up like good boys, hm? Today is my most fertile night, so it should go quite easily."

"Untie us," Sukuna whispered, with eyes not leaving your face even for a second. 

Toji kissed the inside of your palm softly, with emerald eyes looking at your warming face. "Come on, baby, untie us. If you want to have a baby, let’s make one, hm?"

With a single snap of your fingers, their wrists fell. 

And then, oh well… you truly were a wicked and powerful witch.

But still a rather foolish, stupid young girl, who knew nothing about men.

About lustful, foxy, much older and stronger men, who you accidentally aroused in a most maddened way.

Your belly hit the mattress before you even knew it, and big palms lifted your drenched hips.

"Wait–" you choked and tried to lift your chest, but a heavy palm landed between your shoulders. 

"Don’t worry, little witch," Sukuna rolled, leaning towards you. Warm lips curled around your earlobe before moving to the back of your neck, and shoulders and liquid spine. "Let your husbands take good care of you."

Drenched folds of your cunt met with Toji’s calloused fingers, before he spread them open. A sudden warmth hit your core, and he took a long and nasty sniff of your dripping wet.

"Baby, you smell so fucking sweet," rolled in a groan, before Sukuna joined him. 

His finger brushed your hole, scooping up a few sticky strings of juices. He licked it clean, with a low hum filling the hut. "Fuck, the best meal I’ve ever had. Arch a bit more, sugar, and spread yourself open."

His hand pushed you into the mattress even harsher, till breath knocked out of your chest. 

"Just like that, baby," Toji hummed with a sly smile, bending his lips upon hearing your teary gasp. "You’re doing so well already, hm? So fucking wet."

There was no need to ask, for both of them knew that you were a virgin. It was quite obvious, with your hole fluttering shyly, drenching their digits in gluey saps of cum. Juices trickled down your thighs, dripped onto the mattress, and Toji bent over to lick your skin clean. 

His tongue warmed the inside of your thighs, the mound of ass, before he finally spread your cheeks wider, and you felt the plush muscle on your warmth.

"A-Ah–" fell in a pitched moan, as you wriggled under Sukuna’s hand.

He leaned closer, brushing away single strands of hair from your cheeks. One of his palms still lay heavily between your shoulders, pushing you against the mattress, while the other started to fiddle with his trousers.

"Have you ever sucked a dick, sugar?" He cooed warmly, but mischievous flames danced behind his crimson eyes. When your head shook, he chuckled. "Of course not, such a sweet little witch. Though you really know how to fire up a man."

Another moan slipped between your lips when Toji’s tongue landed on your clit. Curling, pushing, and abusing the plump spot, making your toes curl in pleasure. Another wave of honeyed cum flowed from your cunt, and he drank it hungrily, growling in delight over the sticky cum dripping down his throat. 

"Fuck, baby, if that’s how you pussy tastes, you can use me all you want," he groaned, brushing his clothed cock against your foot. His finger slipped in, and before you could scream, Sukuna’s lips quickly crashed against yours. "Another men, you must be fucking joking. Although you really set the bar high, thinking you can take two cocks at once," he pushed it further, feeling your walls clasp his digit. "So fucking tight."

"Don’t worry, little witch," Sukuna mumbled, fisting his cock with one hand. "We’ll try not to tear you open. I’m sure Toji will stretch your sweet cunt enough to fit us both, hm?"

But seeing the veiny, massive thing sitting in his hand – you weren’t quite sure.

And only then have you realised that maybe you underestimated both of them. Thinking that using them to get pregnant would be smooth and easy, and after a mere few minutes, you would simply send them back to the village.

The whole husbands thing was just a foolish play, but, as it turned out, your silly plan has missed a few rather important details that.

Firstly, both Toji and Sukuna were massive. Muscular wasn’t the right word to describe their ripped bodies, with backs broad like mountains and heavy forearms manhandling you in the most toe-curling way. Two beasts, with necks thick as logs and rolling shoulders that could easily lift you without a sweat.

They cast a shadow over your trembling body, and Sukuna needed just a single hand to overpower you fully. 

You didn’t feel the unbearable air they’ve spread around each other until you foolishly untied them. 

It wrapped around your neck, weighted on your chest, with their hands and lips and brutal force slowly opening you up in the most pleasurable way.

With Sukuna’s fat cock pushing through your wet lips and Toji’s fingers keeping your hips in place.

"Come on, little witch, open up. Give me a good lick," Sukuna’s hand travelled from your back up, resting on head. Fingers gripped your hair gently, but not forcefully. No, after all, he wanted you to take him willingly – to swirl this wicked tongue around his leaking cock and get drunk on precum. "That’s a good girl, mhm, don’t bite it, you’re doing so well."

His words somehow tickled your mind, and you choked on his cock even further. Salty precum glued to your throat and veins scratched the roof of your mouth. His musky, manly smell pushed out yet another wave of honeyed juices of your cunt, and Toji drank them with a low hum. 

When the second finger joined in, you jolted, trying to move hips away.

"Ah ah, baby, there’s no running," Toji chuckled, feeling your fluttering walls hardly swallowing his fingers. "Fucking hell, at this rate you won’t take even a single cock."

His lips curled around your clit, sucking the plump bud with delighted growls and sending low tremors straight to your cunt. His heavy tongue feasted on your sweetness as if starved, with fingers slowly working you open and abusing a single, plush spot relentlessly.

"How do you feel, sugar? What does it feel like to have your pussy eaten out for the first time–fuck," Sukuna cursed, feeling your throat clench around his pulsing cock. "You look so fucking ethereal, hell, the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t worry, I won’t cum inside your throat. I’m keeping it warm and safe for your sweet cunt."

You couldn’t stand it.

Their dirty words, warm fingers caressing your body with gentle strokes, all the buttons they somehow knew how to push to turn you into a miserable, whimpering mess. With crystal droplets swirling in the corners of your eyes and a pleasure washing over your spine each time Toji sucked on your clit.

When his fingers bent again, you cried. Pitifully, like an angel, sending a tremble straight to Sukuna’s cock. 

He moved, sitting right in front of you, letting your lips drop down even further, till the feverish head of his cock hit the back of your throat. Your fingers dug into his massive thighs, and saliva dripped down his balls. 

"Fuck, so good sugar, you’re doing so well," he warmly cheered you on, taking a hefty fist of your hair. "Suck on the head. Yeah, just like that, try to hollow your cheeks, take me deeper," when his head hit your back wall again, you started coughing. He quickly lifted you, brushing away a few dropping tears. Heavy hand squeezed your cheeks, pushing out swollen lips. "My little witch, where’s all the courage from before, hm? You really have no idea what you asked for."

You didn’t say anything, as his lips soon crashed against yours. In a sloppy kiss, with tongue swirling inside your mouth and a long stripe of spit dripping down your chin.

Oh, he was starving to feel that sweet cunt of yours tear around his cock. To feel your warm walls clasp around his shaft and soft moans fill the sizzling inside of the hut.

The heat coming off the fireplace mixed with your heavy breaths, sweating bodies and gluey fluids sticking to your skin. From the outside, they couldn’t see the windows, but now a soft gleam of moonlight crept through the foggy glass, smooching your wet cheeks with a cold light.

Toji’s heavy hand smacked your hips, and he finally pulled off. A sweet string connected his lips to your stretched cunt, and he gave it one last, long and filthy lick, leaving your thighs trembling.

"Let’s try, baby," he mumbled, still oogling the way your drenched hole flapped around nothing. As if desperately needed to swallow something into its desperate clutches. "Sukuna, turn her over. It’s time to stuff our little witch."

They treated you like a rag doll, and you felt no different. Soon, your back hit Sukuna’s chest, and Toji’s hands landed under your thighs, folding you easily like a leaf – with cunt spread open and more of fertile juices coating your folds.

Sukuna’s hands reached to your perked buds, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers. Maybe it was to send another wave of pleasure down your spine.

But, maybe, he wanted you to focus on something other than Toji taking out his massive cock and positioning it at your entrance. Sukuna’s fat shaft came right from below, smooching your drenched hole in warm, gentle kisses.

"It’s okay, sugar," he murmured into your ear, turning your head away. Fingers pinched your nipple, and another soft moan rolled through, making their hearts swell in ecstasy. "Don’t look there, just focus on me."

Your brows furrowed, and pleasure-blinded eyes tried to trace back, but his heavy hand kept your chin in place. "W-What is it?"

Toji chuckled, seeing your cunt already trying to swallow up their leaking heads. But would you be able to take them both?

Fucking hell, he didn’t know.

"Deep breath, baby," he muttered, covering your trembling clit with his thumb. He rolled it softly, helping your walls loosen up. 

And then slowly, slowly, two massive cocks pushed through the tight ring of your muscles. 

The pain mixed with pleasure, and before a scream rolled from your throat, Toji quickly leaned over. His lips swallowed a sharp cry, and cock pushed even further. 

Sukuna’s fingers kneaded your tits, with fat spilling from between his fingers, while Toji’s thumb worked slowly on your clit. In slow, deep rolls, pinching and pushing the sweet little button that helped their cocks slide deeper. Meaner, smooching and brushing your clasping walls, with their muscles trying to push fat shafts out.

"Sugar, fucking hell, try to relax," Sukuna muttered, feeling his girth get crushed between Toji’s dick and your trembling walls. "You’re doing good, so fucking good, our little witch. Come on, you asked for it."

You did, and maybe that made the matter worse. Because you, in fact, didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.

Not entirely.

Well, not at all, truly.

As you didn’t expect your cunt to burn in such fever, with walls getting brutally stretched by two massive cocks. Their sweet coos made your brain all fuzzy, with sweet little nothings whispered in gentle voices. Hands brushed away strands of hair sticking to your wet cheeks, and fingers kneaded your body with a rough softness, solely to let them get drunk on your melodic moans.

"T-To much–mhmm–that’s too–"

"Shhh," Toji whispered, licking away your tears. "You’ll take it like a good girl. Remember, that’s what you asked for."

Your head shook, and another whimper slipped away when Sukuna’s fingers pinched your nipple. "It’s okay, sugar, just focus on the pleasure. Yeah, that’s good," his hand squeezed your tit, while Toji rolled your clit with his thumb. "Relax, just like that. Fuck, you’re still squeezing us so hard."

"Let us fill you up, baby," Toji cooed with a nasty thrust. Their cocks moved in harmony, with two leaking heads sinking deeper and deeper, till they finally brushed your plump spot and let another moan fill the foggy air. "Can’t wait to see you fat and heavy, just like you wanted," he kissed the corner of your lip, wet cheeks, creased forehead. "And we’ll take such good care of you and little brats. Don’t worry, baby, we’re not going to leave."

At first, you just planned to use them and send them away, but hearing their loving murmurs and hands pulling you closer between their bodies – it seemed that it was impossible.

For neither Sukuna nor Toji planned to leave this sweet little witch, with the most melodic giggle and pussy they were ready to die for.

And if they needed to tie you up not to clear their memories – fucking hell, they were more than eager to do it.

To pump you full during the day and keep you soft and warm at nights.

The pinching pain soon evolved into something sharper – more heavenly, heated, with nerves of your cunt finally sending ripples of ecstasy up to your curling feet.

And they saw it too – a gentle crease appearing on your forehead and eyes crossing in unbearable pleasure. Their lips curved in a sly smile, feeling your hips slowly moving with theirs. With cunt swallowing them deeper and short breaths evolving into pinched moans.

"How do you feel, sugar? How does it feel to have us right in your womb?" Sukuna licked a long stripe of your neck before digging his teeth into your skin. His hand slipped down, pushing a little pouch of your belly. 

You whimpered, feeling his fingers circle their cocks through the plump skin. "S-so good–nghhh–feels sooo good–ahhh."

Their thrusts became faster, harsher, with two plump heads slipping smoothly through your drenched cunt. Soft crackling of a fireplace was soon muffled by filthy squelches coming from your sweating bodies, and crying moans rolling through your lips.

You felt sticky, feverish, bruised, with their cocks kissing your swelling womb and Toji’s body pressing you to Sukuna. He was heavy, with big palms digging into the back of your thighs and chest glued to yours.

"Fuck, baby, look at me," he whispered, and Sukuna squeezed your cheeks, lifting wet cheeks towards another man. "Oh, our sweet little witch, you look so fucked. Already drunk on our cocks, hm? Come on, baby, let’s make you cum."

Your clit burned under his thumb, swelling in overwhelming pleasure. Something warm started to coil in your belly. Although it might as well be their fat shafts sliding through your clenching cunt and bubbling precum at your womb. You could almost feel them in your lungs, heart, throat, and when both men suddenly sped up, something inside you burst. 

You could barely breathe, feeling Sukuna’s chest glued to your back and Toji’s arms curling around your bodies. His face nuzzled into the one side of your neck, while Sukuna dipped into the other, caging your senses with their musky, heavy scent. The one that made your body limp and dissolve into their touch.

Their cocks thrusted faster, meaner, sliding in and out in a messy pace and completly losing the harmony. Sukuna’s head caught on your entrance the moment Toji kissed your womb, and soon you became a crying mess, with lips swelling from their kisses and mind slowly driving away.

"I–I’m so close–mhmmm–gonna cum, I’m g-going to cum–ahhhh," one of your hands slipped into Toji’s hair, the other wandered back to grip Sukuna’s. "P-Please come inside, p-please please please, pump me full."

Something within them snapped, and soon their touch lost any sense of gentleness. No, it evolved into something much more lustful, maddened.

The need to see your body tremble beneath their fingers and feel the spasmatic clamps of your cunt. With honeyed sweet gushing out of your stuffed, reddened hole and walls still stretching under the swelling fatness of their cocks.

"Our pretty girl, milking us fucking dry, clamping on our cocks like a bitch in heat–ngh." Sukuna groaned into your neck, rolling your swollen nipples between his fingers. "Go on, sugar, cum for us, let us make you a mommy."

Emerald eyes caught your gaze, and soon a pair of warm lips crashed, for the hundredth time during this evening, in a messy kiss. "If I knew you ain’t old hag I would–ahh–knock you up sooner," his fingers pressed your clit for the last time, before both of their cocks nuzzled into your womb. 

The long-held warmth finally spilt all over your belly, sending heavy waves of pleasure through your body. Your cunt gushed out in sweet cum, drenching all three of you in liquid honey.

And when they came – you could feel it on your tongue. Fat ropes of cum, stuffing your cunt full till a few droplets spilt out from your swollen hole. Your lower belly rose, with their cocks still smooching your womb softly, coating it in thick, white spurts.

A moment had passed before Toji’s body fully lay down, and you almost fainted. Silence stretched pleasantly, with Sukuna’s fingers brushing away lost strands of your hair and Toji’s cheek lowering down to your chest.

Something pleasant, rather domestic, linked your hearts like a thread, and a long night has passed before you actually slipped away from between their sleeping bodies. 

And somewhere, during those long hours of their touches changing between the gentle caresses and harsh slaps, you decided that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t clean their memories.

That maybe keeping them close didn’t sound that bad.

Especially as they promised to give you a whole coven of little witches – oh!

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I had so so much fun writing it! I really hope you enjoyed this little snippet of my local folklore, although the og story was a bit different...

I got a few requests for Hades!Sukuna so... I'll start working on Hades!Sukuna x Persephone!Reader fic <3

Collection taglist: @silverklaus @cherrys-wrld @buttclencher28 @anothergojostan @sirensdairy @waterisntwetanymoreiam @somekindofcelebrity @prome911 @iridescentshine @venussdovess @classycreationlight @bokenessa @sashabearsstuff @gater-grabber96 @venetiandream @luvducks19 @koreluvsspring @moonlight-inthe-sea @hashahasha @mysicnote @sukunasl-ttywh0re @princesstiti14 @kissthegoatt @chosoismyeverthing @getospuresoul

“I should go,” you cleared your throat, glancing down at the almost untouched plate in front of you. Pancakes, apparently, although you’d personally never had any that were so…spongy. You poked it with a fork when he first set it down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach it. 

“Is my cooking not good enough for you?” He quizzed, stark white brows scrunching together like it was a problem he had to solve. Like you were. 

“It’s just, whatever this, uh, weird roleplay thing is-” 

He blinked. 

One eye at a time. 

“What do you mean?” He frowned as you stood up, dropping the newspaper he wasn’t reading to stand too. 

You stepped back, only glancing away to mentally calculate how far away the front door was. 

“I should go back home,” you slowly reiterated. Not that you had any way to get there. You didn’t have your phone, your wallet, your keys. No clue how fucking far you were from your place. 

“This is home.” 

You shook your head slowly, left hand closing into a fist, but it just reminded you of the ring on your finger. Five carats, set in white gold and glimmering while you reflexively looked down at just another detail that didn’t add up.

“No,” you muttered. “This-”

You blinked, and you were on the couch. It was softer than yours, didn’t creak when you shifted, missing all the spots and stains that came from people actually sitting on one. It scratched something in the back of your brain, bothered you for a reason you couldn't name as you sat up and looked around to confirm your suspicion. 

“I'm worried about you,” Satoru murmured, carrying a glass of-

Wait. 

How the hell did you know what his name was? 

Was it on something you’d seen without realizing it? On his phone when you were waking up? On a diploma or piece of mail somewhere your brain had subconsciously picked up on? 

He placed the drink on the clean coffee table in front of you. There was only a small vase with a few white-and-blue flowers stuffed in it as decoration on it. No coasters in sight. And somehow, no scratches or water rings staining the light wood finish either. 

“Who are you?” You asked, hearing how hoarse you sounded. Scared. 

You didn’t want to take the water – but all you could think of was how sore your throat was, reluctantly reaching over to take a sip. 

“Your husband?” He insisted, firm and a little sarcastic, like it should be obvious. 

“I’m not married,” you scoffed, even if the weight of the ring on your finger got heavier by the second. “I don't even have a boyfriend.” 

He made a soft sound, a coo, humming like this was still normal. 

And then it clicked. 

It had to be a prank. Probably pulled by one of your asshole friends who heard you complain one too many times about how sick of being single you were – or maybe even part of a shitty show that would only get aired on an absolutely unethical network. 

“Are you an actor?” You asked, and he laughed, as if you made a joke. “It's not fucking funny. Did someone pay you? Or-”

“I'm your husband,” he echoed, like it was one of the only lines they'd given him. 

“Seriously, are there cameras somewhere?” You started to stand, but your legs felt like jelly. Not quite limp, but unsteady on your feet as you took a step forward. But you bumped into the corner of the table right as he grabbed your arm to steady you, water spilling on the carpet, the cup remaining intact and rolling under the couch.

The only stain on it. 

“Cameras, baby? Really?” He dismissed, innocence you didn’t believe in shining in those big blue eyes. 

“That’s not a no,” you pointed out, looking up and around from the furniture to the corners of the room for any blinking lights or objects out-of-place. 

But nothing stood out.

Except for the fact there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos or signs. No bookshelves stuffed with albums of memories or even shoes or socks left forgotten on the floor? 

“I mean, it doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” you kept going when he didn’t deny it, gesturing to what could be a stock photo for a bachelor pad. “I mean, you didn’t bother photoshopping a single photo of us? That’s just lazy-”

He slid a photo album across the table you were pretty fucking sure had just been empty.

You stopped, stared blankly at the clean black leather, uncracked. Shiny as he flipped it open to the first page. 

And there you were, in a white wedding dress you’d rather die than wear, one of those poufy princess ones you couldn’t believe actually existed. Your mouth fell open, mid-exhale as your fingers trembled to flip through yourself. 

If it was edited, he’d done a good goddamn job at it. 

His arm was around you, fingers flexing against your waist and a beaming smile across his mouth. No glaring issues or missing fingers to point at. But the flowers in the vase were almost identical to the bouquet in your hands in the photo.

You pulled one free from the plastic, flipping it over to find a date on the back. Almost a full year ago. 

“What is this?” You asked, but the bite in your voice was gone. 

“Our wedding pictures, pretty girl,” he answered, and his bottom lip pushed out like he felt bad for you.  

You didn’t know what was worse, the pity on his face or the pride in his voice.

Each photo was more perfect than the last. The lighting, the shadows, your makeup, his suit, all the tiny details that might give the deception away in order and as expected. Not even a stray hair in sight. 

Your family was in them. Standing in the background or barely in frame, friends laughing and drinking and toasting to a marriage that just materialized. 

“You wanna call someone and ask?” He offered, a calm expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this before. 

“Where’s my phone?” You felt weak, your brain getting foggier as you tried to organize and collect all the information being splayed out in front of you. 

He dug it out of his pocket, and you wanted to protest – tell him that it was weird as shit that he had it. 

You held your tongue though, trying to think of who wouldn’t go along with a prank like this and would actually come clean if they knew someone who would. 

It was kind of hard when your homescreen was him though. 

A candid too, one that looked like it’d been taken in a restaurant somewhere, across the table from him with a candle burning and casting warm shadows on his unnaturally pretty face. 

Your thumb still unlocked it though, and all your contacts were still there – even if there were also now a thousand more photos of him clogging up your storage when you scrolled through. 

It took five phone calls to convince you that something was very, very wrong.

Family members, friends, even a fucking coworker, and they all thought you were the one pranking them. Chuckling at your discomfort, asking how Satoru was, inviting you both over for dinner before your panicked pleas for them to tell you the truth twisted their amusement to concern. 

When the last one hung up on you, you couldn’t even look up.

Just stared down at the smile on your screen, the first full squeeze of fear taking hold in your heart when he said nothing either, waiting for you to look up at him. You could feel his eyes on you. Oppressive and heavy, almost as if some invisible force was pressing against you. 

“I think we should schedule another appointment with your psychiatrist,” he hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, like he really just wanted what was best for you. 

Which, according to him, was an emergency session with a man you’d also never seen. 

You had a psychiatrist already – an appointment you always kept. Every three weeks, curling up on a couch and complaining about work and your friends and venting about everything that bothered you from stupid to significant. 

But he was about half a foot shorter and balding. Not another absurdly attractive guy who shouldn't know your name and still somehow did. 

You blinked at him. 

He stared back at you. 

The clock ticked – your appointment time slipping by in silence when you refused to speak at first. 

You broke first. Glanced out the window at the barren trees outside, wind blowing a brittle chill and frosting the edges of the glass. Shifting seasons. “Weird weather we’re having, huh?” 

“Is that what you’d like to talk about today?” He cooly replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through the tension.

You shrugged, not that you expected him to answer back with anything actually helpful. 

It was summer last night. The heat had choked out the ac in your apartment, your skin sticky and slick with sweat when you fell asleep, mumbling under your breath it was too fucking hot before you got under the covers

That was the first thing you’d noticed this morning. Your first clue. Eyes still closed and thinking that it was freezing – that your ac must have somehow fixed itself.  

The weather was wrong outside. The man on the other side of the door kept saying he was your fucking husband when you knew he wasn't. And the rest of the world seemed to be in agreement. 

“What brings you back so soon?” Your new psychiatrist asked, one hand firmly gripping a ballpoint pen while the other pushed a thin pair of glasses higher up his nose. How were you supposed to answer when you didn't even remember seeing him once? 

Rationality hadn't quite let you, your brain suggesting reasons you didn't fully believe. Maybe your old one quit, some family emergency or last-minute thing and this was just a replacement he'd forgotten to tell you about. 

You looked over the diplomas proudly displayed on the wall for a Suguru Geto. You made a mental note of the name, one you were sure you’d be searching and scouring the internet for later to see if any of them were real and he was actually an accredited doctor. 

God, that really did sound fucking insane. 

Genuinely suspecting the fact a (hopefully) licensed psychiatrist was just another paid asshole fucking with you? 

There was a calendar by the diploma closest to the windows, and even though the days hadn’t been marked off, it was still on the last month you remembered. You pretended not to notice, shifting your stare back to him. 

What the hell had happened in the past twelve hours? 

“I’m not crazy,” you preemptively said. It wasn't very convincing coming from someone sitting on this side of the desk though. 

“Did I say you were?” He smiled, but it was sly. He reminded you of a fox in a funny way, casual remarks coming off crafty. A hint of cruelty hiding underneath his polished, professional surface. 

“You’re staring like something’s wrong with me.” 

“What would be wrong with you?” He returned your statement with another annoying question, your scowl coming easily as you picked at your cuticles in your lap. 

“I don’t think anything is,” you argued back. Except he wasn’t arguing – he was just setting traps and waiting for you to walk into them. 

“Then why are you here today?” 

Because you fell asleep and somehow in eight hours you’d gone from your bed to living a stranger’s life? Even worse, becoming a stranger’s wife? 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You frowned, eyeing the thick folder he pulled out when you walked through the door, one he quickly closed before gesturing for you to sit. 

“Your husband started bringing you here before for, ah, memory issues for the past year,” he soberly said, like his seriousness could make up for the fact he was full of shit too. 

You almost scoffed. A year? No fucking way. 

“Memory issues?” You repeated, daring him to elaborate and dig them both in a deeper hole. 

He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing like he’d decided on a different approach since the current one wasn’t working. 

“We could start considering inpatient treatment,” he started to suggest, a flare of panic seizing your chest at the thought of a future spent in grippy socks and stuck with needles. 

“No,” you swallowed hard, shaking your head and quickly turning to where your husband was waiting on the other side. Even if you didn’t know him, couldn’t remember a fucking thing about him and didn’t have an explanation for any of it, he wouldn’t let that happen, would he? 

“How about this? I'll write you a new prescription then and schedule a follow-up in a few weeks to see how you're feeling,” Suguru smiled at you, but it was cold. 

“Sure,” you returned his fake smile. 

It wasn’t like you had another choice. How hard would it be to flush pills anyway? 

“Mind sending your husband in for a few minutes?” Your possibly-fake psychiatrist asked, and you could feel your brow twitch, threatening to betray your suspicions. You weren’t all that familiar with privacy laws, but it still felt like a breach of confidentiality. “I would like to discuss a few details of your care plan.”  

Care plan – like you were some troubled child that needed nurturing and hand holding instead of actual answers. 

Stuck sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair out in the hall while they chatted behind a closed door, unable to hear what they were talking about. Just that the man you were supposedly married to looked thrilled walking out, leaning down to kiss your cheek and promise to pick up your favorite food on the way home. 

You figured out two answers of your own about him in the car. The first being he was a really bad driver. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed on the way there, but you guessed you’d been busy staring out the window trying to discern whether or not this was just a really weird vivid dream or not. But now? Paying full attention to the way his hands were positioned on the wheel, the complete and total lack of awareness he had for anyone else on the road? 

It was ridiculous. 

He rear-ended someone five minutes into it. Completely crushed the back of her bumper, about to drive away until you hissed at him to stop and give the other driver his insurance information. He cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand, but he got out of the car anyway – in the middle of the busy road and blocking all traffic behind him. 

The woman he hit was pissed, short hair bobbing in the wind as she started shouting at him while you attempted to hide your face in the passenger seat. 

Until your husband just grinned at her, pointing at her probably totaled car and casually chuckled. That was all it took for her to freeze, mouth hanging open, cheeks blushing when he took another step closer. 

“I think that was your fault,” he hummed, and she nodded. 

“I must’ve stopped too fast,” she said it like she hadn’t been screaming three seconds ago, her eyes glittering like he was a goddamn celebrity who was so kind to grace her with his presence and hadn’t just hit her car. 

“Yeah, you should be more careful,” Satoru cooed, all condescending and still somehow charming, clapping a hand over her shoulder and squeezing before getting back in the driver’s seat.

You stared at him, and he just looked to you for approval. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You asked, too surprised to even frown. 

“Pretty much,” he flashed a smile. What, was it just pretty privilege? 

That the world bent around him because he thought it should? 

You weren’t sure when you started to bend too.

Just that the proof (and inconsistencies) started piling up – and started burying you beneath it.  

He knew everything about you – things you never told anyone else. Not just the easy stuff like your favorite color or food, but what hole-in-the-wall restaurants you liked to order it from and what day you liked to do your laundry on. Could recite off when you were born and what you got for your fifth birthday, collected memories of yours like coins or stamps he wanted to save. 

Any way you tried to slice it, he was either the most sentimental man you ever met or a stalker. 

Maybe both. 

When you asked for the marriage certificate, he pulled it from the shelf on a bookcase in his office. When you wanted to know what college he graduated from, suddenly there was a degree hanging on the wall. If you questioned how long you’d been dating, tried to pick apart his timeline, he pulled up the messages between you from as far back as your first date. 

“You don’t trust me,” he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip too far as he tossed his phone on the couch. 

You bit your own lip. Looked at the floor so you wouldn’t have to find something wrong with his face. 

“Why me?” You asked instead. Why couldn’t he go pick some other girl to torment? Get a divorce and unbind his life from yours? 

“Would you believe me if I said it was love-at-first-sight?” 

You didn't really believe anything he said. 

Even if he always had an answer (or an excuse) at his disposal.

But other stuff stood out, getting ready for work a few mornings post your psychiatrist appointment just for him to furrow his brows and station himself by the front door to ask where you were going. 

“My job?” You huffed, slipping on your shoes. All your clothes had come with you here, half his closest stuffed full of them, your shoes set up on a nice little rack by the door. There were a few things you knew you hadn’t bought, frilly and flimsy and all in that unnatural shade of blue, but you ignored them. 

Foolishly tried to kid yourself that pretending they weren't there would make them go away. 

“You don’t work,” he casually replied. 

“I do,” you insisted, trying to push past him before he stopped you with a firm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Sweetheart,” he tried to sound kind, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You quit six months ago.” 

He guided you back to the kitchen table, sat you down softly before walking over to one of his dark cabinets. Pulled out something from the top shelf and returned to you like he was every ounce the devoted husband he was pretending to be. He handed it to you, something you were sure was supposed to be a show of trust. 

The pill bottle was clear. Thick, almost translucent, white label stretching around with pretty blue pills rattling inside when you shook it. 

Simple instructions printed neatly below your name to take two a day with food. 

“I’ll make you breakfast, baby,” he promised, waiting for you to open the cap and take two. Part of you wanted to accuse him of just not being able to open the child-proofed caps. 

You slowly did, feeling ill already, although it was hard to tell if it was from the idea of eating his cooking or taking the pills. 

He waited for you to put them in your mouth, stood there while you let them sit on your tongue.

“Don’t make me check,” he chuckled, a low warning you could tell he meant.  

You swallowed. 

And still, through the side effects and brain fog they seemed to bring on, you clung to the edges of your sanity, the logic remaining. Enough that when he was distracted typing away at his laptop, you were trying to text former coworkers, your old boss, anyone that would know anything more. 

But none of the messages were ever marked delivered. And when you looked up your former place of employment, you discovered everything about them had been scrubbed online, completely wiped. Like it never even existed. 

And when you managed to slip past him four days later down the stairs and out into the parking garage, you couldn’t find your car. 

The days dragged on - no job, no distractions. Just him and the cocktail of prescription drugs to coast on. 

His work schedule wasn’t kind to you. Allowed him to ‘work’ remotely, although he barely seemed to be in his home office, usually too busy bugging you. Half the week he never even stepped foot in there at all. But they never fired him. Never seemed to pester him to finish projects or demand for more of his time. 

You, apparently, were the most difficult part of Satoru Gojo’s life.

“One kiss?” He pouted, pointing to his cheek and leaning against the wall by the office door, an easy grin on his face.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you excused, itching to walk away for the few hours of peace you got a day.

“Later then,” he shrugged, still unbothered, like he had all the time in the world. 

He liked to take you shopping after work or on weekends, doll you up in dresses and treat you to overpriced restaurants where he always seemed to score free meals or desserts every time. Although, the first time, he accused a waiter of flirting with him (and eventually you) just for asking questions about what he wanted to eat, demanding to speak to a manager. Squinting and scrunching his nose up like ‘is the food to your taste?’ was the equivalent to asking what color underwear he was wearing. No one listened when you tried to apologize for him. Paid any attention to you saying it was fine. The waiter was fired and your food was comped. 

People stared when he passed by. Men asked him about his cologne and his clothes. Women told you how lucky you were to lock him down.

As if it had ever been your choice in the matter.

Sometimes, you'd slip. Forget that you should be fighting this. Instinctively reach out for his hand in crowds in public, offer him bites of your food, roll over closer to him in bed on cold mornings. And somewhere deep inside, you knew it wasn’t right, but you seeked his comfort anyway, soothed yourself with his freezing hands and warm voice like it’d make your skin stop crawling, like it’d scrape away all the paint and varnish covering up the ugliness hiding underneath your relationship. 

You always snapped back to what was left of your reality eventually. 

It was after you pulled back that it would be there, the unsettling discomfort of his stare when you turned away from him. 

It was the worst in the mornings.

Crawling out of the sheets first, leaving him with his legs tangled in the blankets. He only ever slept in his boxers, his chest bare and rising slowly. It took too long to fall, like he was faking it. Mimicking sleep like he was imitating something from a movie.

And even when his eyes were closed, long white lashes fluttering, you could still feel them watching. 

His body, however pretty, however perfect, felt more like a shell, a casing containing something too big for it. A man who’d never been told no – and knew how to make sure it was never an option for you.

Not when every day you teetered closer to crazy, swallowing pills you didn’t need, sitting next to Satoru on the couch with a strong arm slung over your shoulder, stuck in a never-ending routine of brain-numbing domesticity. 

You couldn’t even lay in bed and sleep in late. 

The sky outside his window never seemed to get lighter until you got out. Your phone was always out-of-reach – Satoru didn’t confiscate it, but you conveniently could never find it once night time rolled around. He never had watches around either – even though he seemed like the exact sort of asshole that would own a Rolex and brag about it. 

You might’ve called him out. Confessed your suspicions, made a whole fucking list of them to shout at him, scrutinize every tiny detail and demand answers. Until you started seeing the eyes and were forced to reconsider the growing possibility that you were the problem here. 

He was talking – he almost always was. Telling you some convoluted story you were pretty sure was the plot of a bad tv movie he must’ve watched while you were sleeping, one you had overheard blaring from the bedroom, the volume also perpetually stuck too loud. He never left the remote out for you to change it either. 

Your stare had been fixed on the tv anyway, nodding along bored until you caught a glimpse of it out of the edges of your vision. Right below his cheek. An extra eye, just as bright and observant as the other two. It blinked, and you turned.

But it wasn’t there anymore, and Satoru was staring at you innocently, head tilted to the side like he was pleased to have captured your attention at all.

“Everything alright, pretty girl?” He purred, reaching out to place his hand over yours. You didn’t pull away, couldn’t convince your body to move when the surprise had left you practically paralyzed.

You tried to sleep it off. 

But they kept popping up. Behind you in the mirror. When he was making breakfast. On his hands and face and even once on his back. The second you looked, the moment you tried to look directly at it, it was gone, dissolved back into normal skin like it’d never been there at all. 

And then came the ones in places they couldn’t be. 

On the walls and in the furniture. Constantly being watched whether you were alone or with him. 

You used to think you could get used to anything. 

But the paranoia never ended – and you were starting to question if maybe he’d been right this whole time. How much of this was him? And how much was in your head? 

“How have you been doing since the last visit?” Your psychiatrist asked, fixing you in the same cold stare as last time. You hadn’t wanted to come back, but Satoru insisted – and despite all your digging, you couldn’t find any proof he wasn’t who he said he was. 

“Fine,” you lied. 

You were one string away from unravelling. On a short tether ready to snap with one more eye, one more changed memory or crooked detail that didn’t match up.

“Have you remembered anything? Any flashes? Images?” He asked, like someone who had a degree probably would. 

You shook your head, the urge to claw and scratch and fight this slowly seeping out. “Um, no.” 

“Well, we can talk about something else then,” he smiled, and it still didn’t reach his eyes. He shuffled through the folder in front of him. “How about your family then? Or maybe your friends?” 

Your mouth had started to open, to dismiss the idea of talking about the one area of your life you still considered somewhat private until a name he shouldn’t have known left his lips. Until he continued to mention more information you only ever told your old psychiatrist about. 

“I think I’m done today, actually,” you muttered. You brushed down your skirt, standing up and hurrying over to the door to twist the knob just for it to bump into something on the other side. 

Satoru had been listening in. 

But he didn’t condemn you for ending your session early. Just wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and brushed your hair out of your face before asking if you wanted to go out to eat or pick something up. 

Suguru Geto would never be able to give you the help you needed.

You didn’t think help like that even existed. What god would be able to overwrite your husband when it seemed like he was the one who made the rulebook? Who never did wrong and always got precisely what he wanted? 

In a weird way, there was an odd comfort in being with him. He didn’t make you feel crazy – even when you threatened to throw his shit out the window and cried yourself to sleep when you did toss his stuff out just for it to reappear in the same spots. He just cooed that it was okay, promised that it would be better soon, pressed faint kisses against your shoulder blades and down your skin like his touch could make the world stop spinning. 

Something was seriously wrong with him and you.  

You were both bad at pretending to be normal. 

Maybe you didn’t remember him. Maybe you hallucinated the eyes on the walls and the secrets buried in his skin. But here he was, sitting on the couch while the sun was still out watching a girl get her back blown out with a fucking notepad in his lap. 

Squinting at the screen while she got backshots in 4k Ultra-HD, her gasps and moans the soundtrack while he made unintelligible scribbles on the page. Pants on, fully clothed, not even fucking erect or hard or anything.  

If he noticed you behind him, he didn’t say it. 

“You're not jerking off,” you dryly commented, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Do you want me to?” He glanced over his shoulder, sincerely asking. 

You stared at him, lips parting as you tried to formulate what the fuck you were supposed to say to that, your own eyes shifting down to where the notepad was suddenly gone, his hand already tugging down his zipper and about to pull out his cock. 

Maybe you would've said no, but you shut up the second you saw it. And really, it was kind of fucking absurd. 

Even more than the situation itself was.

Bigger than what the guy on screen was packing, like someone copy-and-pasted what an ideal one was supposed to look like, vein throbbing and pre-cum leaking around a pretty pink swollen tip. As if it hadn't just been soft and hidden under his jeans a handful of seconds ago. 

“I'm, um, going to bed,” you awkwardly stammered, jutting your thumb down the hall. 

Sleep washed over you here. Like a hand pushing your hand under waves until you were forced to suck water into your lungs. 

But you never drowned. 

You dreamed of being somewhere vast, where the dark stretched out endlessly in each direction. Outside, you guessed?

Except there wasn't a sky. No ceiling. Just space – cold and cruel but not empty. Eyes were everywhere. Instead of being on CCTV, you were being captured from every goddamn angle by the same unblinking blue eyes that haunted your days. You used to think two was a lot. That it was all he needed to see though you. 

Here there had to be at least two hundred. 

All watching you splayed out for their viewing pleasure. Pale hands held your wrists in place, veiny arms and thick fingers tracing and groping you. Squirming against (into?) him while another set of palms spread your thighs. His touch seared. 

Burned into your soul with each pattern he painted and pressed along your skin and inside you. It wasn’t like he had a face, or like you could hear his voice. But you knew it was him all the same. 

And you didn’t resist. 

Didn’t want to. 

When dreams had blended into your waking world already, what was so wrong about letting yourself have him like this? The rest of your life was wrong anyway. You closed your eyes, rested your head back for another hand to hold it up, fingers petting your hair while another set did the work of spreading you open and stretching you out. 

It didn't feel like fingers though, not when each touch was pure energy, electricity that raced through you and back down, pressure building and cresting just to come back twice as hot with each pump of something thick and hard thrusting inside you. It curled cruelly, reached places you never could on your own, invisible and intoxicating as it dragged you close to your climax just to rinse and repeat. 

Being rearranged and remade into something that fit him better. That felt better.

Time didn't exist. It could've been five minutes or five hours. Lost in the void of him while he lost himself inside you. 

You could've lived in it. 

But your life had taken on its own dreamy shape, one that bordered on fantasy. 

The sheets were damp. Thighs soaked and slick. 

“Sleep good, sweetheart?” He prodded when you woke up to the sun shining through the window, a lazy arm slung over your side. Deceptive. You knew if you went to slip out, if you pulled away too soon, his relaxed grip would turn into a harsh squeeze, holding you against him until you whined that it was hard to breathe. 

You were about to turn around to look at him, but his fingers groped your tits and when you started to count how many there were on you, there were too many. 

In your panic, you elbowed him, pulling away before he could fully react. 

And you saw it. 

Not just a glimpse. Not a flash. 

But a full second where there was an extra arm attached. 

It was gone again by the next blink. But you'd seen it, and it felt like everything shattered again. 

“You-” You started, pointing at where it had been. 

“I what?” Satoru dared you to say it. 

“You had another arm,” you accused, voice trembling. 

“You must have missed your dose yesterday, huh, beautiful?" He crooned, still smiling at you like it was okay you just implied he was a fucking shape shifter or alien or some fucking creature charading around as your husband. 

He'd pull documents out of thin air the same way he made an entire limb disappear. Convinced people to give him whatever he wanted for free with just a wink or a purr. 

How easy would it be for him to do the same to you? 

“I'm not crazy,” you said it again, but you weren't so confident. 

Because whether it was real or not, pieces of him, thoughts and images and daydreams, had all started to seep through into your heart. Consideration or codependency, although maybe that was just you coping. Telling yourself that it wasn't some fucked-up form of lust or love. 

There was too much you couldn’t reconcile from reality and the world he was trying to convince you of. 

Something had to snap - and it was you. 

And still, he tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold your hand in the waiting room and took you to the conveniently-available doctor. 

Suguru Geto tapped his pen against his desk. 

And you tapped your nails against your leg. 

“I think my husband isn't human,” you admitted. Said the big bad words that had been bouncing around in your head out loud. “I don't really know what he is, but-”

“You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Suguru dismissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I know,” you nodded. 

You'd come up with a list of theories on the car ride here while Satoru promised to prove how much he cared about you. An alien disguised as a human? Some freak stalking you? That one didn't explain the arms or the eyes. The dream you guessed could've been all you, spurred on from seeing his cock. 

“One moment,” Suguru held up his finger, and you figured this was it. He'd call the psych ward and you'd have white walls to look forward to instead of the cool blue of Satoru’s bedroom. 

He stood up, walked towards the door where Satoru was waiting outside. Offered you another professional smile before stepping out. 

Your file was left on his desk. 

It took you two seconds to snag it, flipping through it, half-expecting it to be normal. To be another piece that you'd be left wondering if it was fabricated. But no, most of them were in familiar handwriting, notes taken by your previous psychiatrist, signed and dated precisely how you remembered. 

Suguru was a fraud – and your husband, whoever (or whatever) he was, was too. 

His office was unfortunately on the third floor, too far from the ground for you to make an escape through the window. So, you did the next stupid thing you thought of, pressed your ear against the door like you'd hear anything that would fix the anxiety churning in your stomach. 

Your brain was trying to block out the information you found, to hit erase and rewind the clock on today. You felt fuzzy, thoughts slipping away before you could fully hold onto them. 

“You really fucked this up,” your pretend psychiatrist grunted, irritated as you tried to blink away the fog, to drag your mind out of the haze and back to clarity. “I told you this would happen. Just scrub her memories and then add your own.” 

“I want her to like me for me,” Satoru whined, and the next blink made the world around you sway. 

“You're an idiot,” Suguru scoffed at him. 

“Am not,” he argued back. “I'm intelligent, attractive, attentive, shouldn't that be good enough?”

“Not when she doesn't know you,” Suguru retorted. 

You felt like you were going to pass out.

“Well, you said she started to figure it out so-” 

You didn't mean to make a sound, but your knees threatened to buckle, and you had to lean against the door to stop yourself from falling. They immediately stopped talking. The doorknob jiggled, and then opened, Satoru catching you before you could collapse.

“There's my smart girl.” He poked your nose, one long finger pressing softly against the cartilage as he chuckled. Like an owner playing with its pet. 

A kid testing the limits of his toy would probably be closer. More accurate.

A vein throbbed across Suguru’s forehead, annoyed at how this was playing out. You guessed he was like him too. Something that was out of your understanding, too much for you to fully conceive, under the cover of human faces and fucking around with someone like you because they could. 

“What are you?” You bluntly asked, unable to pretend to not know. To act like you hadn't been listening. 

“Your husband.” 

You wondered what he'd do if you asked for a divorce. Although, here, in his arms, with him looking at you like he loved you, like in spite of everything else that was real, you didn't want one. 

What vows had he sworn? 

For better or worse? In sickness and health? Human or not? 

“Fix this.” Suguru didn't ask. Demanded. 

Satoru frowned, but there weren't any frown lines. Barely even a crease between his brows either. An emotion he hadn't mastered well in this body of his. 

“I could just reset her,” he grumbled, unhappy at the prospect. 

You barely had any strength left – but you scraped together enough to shake your head. You didn’t want to be fucking reset. 

“No,” you hoarsely said. “Don't.”

Satoru’s face immediately brightened, grinning and pulling you closer, squeezing too tight again, until you hit his chest twice to get him to stop. 

“Sorry, Suguru,” he shrugged. “I do what my wife wants.” 

You fiddled with your ring in the car on the way home. For the first time, it felt like yours. Or maybe, you'd just accepted it as part of you. Let go of the pieces of you that didn't fit anymore. Shed those parts of your skin like he stepped into this one. 

“What do you want?” You asked as he ran a red light. 

“You,” he easily answered. 

“You could've asked me on, like, a date,” you grumbled, resting your head against the window. 

“Do you want to go on a date now?” He quizzed, cocking his head to the side at the correct angle this time. Learning, adapting to acting his role out. 

“I want to go home,” you murmured. 

The image in your head wasn't your apartment anymore. When you thought of bed, you thought of his. 

And when he parked the car (and managed to scrape the front bumper against the concrete wall), he still hurried around to open your door for you, to hold your arm to steady you. 

Took off your coat when you got back inside, got down on his knees to take your shoes off. 

“You know you can ask me for anything, right?” He hummed, and there was something unsettling at the thought he could actually conjure up anything he wanted. 

But being scared was exhausting. 

So you didn't say anything when he followed you to the bedroom. 

You stripped off your clothes, one piece at a time, methodical, precise. He stared, reverent. The lump in his throat bobbing as he took small steps forward. 

“Do you love me?” You asked, unsure. 

“You're the only thing I care about,” he reassured, fingertips settling slowly on your hips, one-by-one too. Dipping into the flesh, feeling it for himself and breathing in your air. His eyes glowed. 

Literally. 

A bright gleam that hurt to look at, burning into you with a dangerous intensity. When he spoke, his voice reverberated into your core. “Do you love me?” 

“You're all I have left.”

“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.

Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.

One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.

But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.

You believed it all.

After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.

Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.

Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!

Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!

“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”

He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.

He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?

But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.

You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.

He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.

You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.

“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.

His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.

He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?

You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.

“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.

The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.

Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.

A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.

“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.

“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”

“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”

You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.

Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.

“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.

He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.

“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.

The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.

“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-

“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.

“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.

His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.

“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.

Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.

The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.

The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.

The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!

Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.

Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.

Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.

You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.

You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.

Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.

You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.

A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.

He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.

Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.

“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.

His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.

You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.

“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”

You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.

The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.

Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.

You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.

Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.

Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.

Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.

Who would willingly want to be with you?

Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.

Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.

Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.

He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.

He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.

Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.

“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”

Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.

“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.

If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.

“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.

You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.

“I thought you liked digimon??”

He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.

“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”

He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.

You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”

Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.

“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.

He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest

“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”

A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.

“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.

You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.

“Please.”

Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.

You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.

“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”

Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.

“What did I ever do to you?”

The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.

Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.

He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.

“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.

Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.

A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.

“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”

You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”

You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.

Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.

“I never want to see you again.”

His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.

He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.

“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.

For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.

“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.

He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.

“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.

Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.

He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.

You laughed, slipping under her big umbrella and heading towards the porch. "Not everyone who writes horror is a freak," you murmured, wiping your muddy shoes on the welcome mat, which seemed as old as the house itself. Cute.

"No, but everyone who moves to the place in the middle of the forest and without any signal..." She looked at her phone. "...only to move into a haunted house, certainly is."

"It’s not haunted!" You giggled, opening the white, wooden door. "Oh!"

The inside was as beautiful as you expected. Warmth spilled over the old desks and dark walls, giving the interior an antique soul. The Persian-style carpet under your feet looked as if freshly washed, drawing you towards the centre of the house. Long, dark stairs led to the second floor, while two corridors welcomed you further inside.

Shoko followed you into the kitchen – old and slightly rusty, with rain tapping against the large windows. You hurried to explore other rooms – the living room, a small basement that Shoko refused to enter, and a cosy office with beautiful mosaic windows overlooking the garden. Eventually, your feet carried you upstairs.

The big bedroom, with a baldachin bed and a wide windowsill, seemed an ideal spot for reading in the evening. Shoko grimaced at the old, flowery tapestry covering the walls and the crimson carpet on the floor. 

"Has no one redecorated this house since the nineteenth century?" she murmured, and then her eyes fell on the bedside table. "Oh my gosh, is that a paraffin lamp? Are you kidding me?"

Your eyes fell on the little, yellow lamp and twinkled like little stars. It was indeed a paraffin lamp, and you would surely check whether it was still working.

"Oh, come on, it has a soul!" You tapped your finger against a crying window before turning back to sighing Shoko. "I love it. Just imagine how beautiful it’ll be when the garden blooms again."

Your friend walked to your side, looking out the window. The sky was torn apart over the withered trees and flowers, but she had to admit it indeed had potential. With just a bit of care and patience, the whole place could be turned into a fine summer house, with her and Utahime coming over for the weekends.

"I saw a lake nearby. I guess… we could have a BBQ or something," she muttered, and you bounced on your feet with a squeak. 

Your arms wrapped around her shoulders, and cheek nuzzled against hers. "I told you! I’ll make sure you love this place. And since Utahime also likes gardening, just bring her over at the weekend."

The moving company brought all your things inside, and when you went downstairs, heavy boxes loomed like wicked trees over the living room. The old crimson sofa seemed a bit dusty, so you both sat on a carpet and began to unpack slowly. 

Wind and rain hit the windows, letting the faint tap-tap-tap fill the house. After an hour, you ordered a pizza and stuffed yourself, enjoying the dark, rainy day from the porch. The air smelt earthy, tickling your skin with a gentle chill. A light jumper warmed your goose-bumped arms, and you laughed, thinking how delirious the weather was. 

"So does it look like the place to give you an idea for another story?" Shoko asked, taking another slice. 

A low hum slipped past your lips as the crispness wrapped around your nostrils. "I can already sense another best-selling murder in a little, eerie town. Or a haunted house, maybe?"

She giggled, nodding slowly. "A haunted house would work," she said, her eyes looking up the long stairs to the attic. "I guess you can ask neighbours about any freaky accidents. Aren’t they like a hundred years old?"

"I don’t know, the listing only mentioned that they’re quiet."

"So maybe they’re dead."

A low tsk escaped your lips, and Shoko chuckled. "I’m just joking. But if they really have been living that long, you should ask them some questions." She wrapped a loose jumper around her arms a bit tighter as a chill wind smooched her cheeks. "This place is so fucking old I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had been murdered here."

A minute of comfortable silence stretched between you before Shoko turned your way, a slight frown on her forehead. "I’m serious. This place was crazy cheap, so what if someone died here? In, you know, the most wicked and horrible way."

Shivers washed over your spine at the sheer thought of someone dying in the same living room where you had just unpacked your things. But at the same time, something exciting bubbled in your belly. Something telling you that the writer’s block that had haunted you for the past few months would finally dissolve into thin air.

That, after all, was the whole point of moving hours away from your previous town. Leave family and friends behind, only to get yourself cosy somewhere, nowhere, in the middle of a forest. In a small, unknown town, living in a centuries-old Victorian house that kept the secrets of the most unknown and dreadful kind.

It’s been a while since you wrote something good. Winning the global charts, an immediate bestseller-type of good.

The past few months had truly been nothing but hellish, with a nasty break-up topping it all. You still tried to kick Sukuna’s body, hunched over some blonde slut, on your shared sofa in your shared apartment out of your mind. His pathetic attempts to coax you up, because he’s been a bit too lonely, simply overly drunk, and he absolutely didn’t mean it. 

Three years of relationship ended just like that and a week later, with all the money saved on the previous two bestsellers, you bought this house. 

Old and very pinkish, waiting for its owner for a very long time. You didn’t ask much about why. Didn’t ask whether someone had died here or if it was haunted. At that point in your life, it simply didn’t matter. The only thing you were thinking about was how to get away from Sukuna’s begging to bring you back and cut yourself off from your editor’s constant prying about the newest text.

Shoko glanced at your furrowed forehead and sighed. "Here," she said, fiddling with her jeans’ pocket and placing something on the table. "I found it in the drawer of your night table. Maybe you could start by asking about them?"

You looked at the piece of paper before noticing it was, in fact, a picture. Old and a bit crumpled, it showed two young men. The first, closer to the camera, had a loose strand of black hair brushing his cheek. Eyes slightly lidded, looking down at his hands. He looked rather handsome, with a sharp jaw and a straight nose, no more than in his late twenties. 

The other man behind him seemed almost ghastly. With white hair and crystal eyes, he looked straight into the camera. Two raised fingers covered his lips, but with only such a bit of detail, you noticed that the beauty of his face was indeed unmatched.

You flipped the photo to see if it had a description. There was something, a few letters, but someone blanked them out with a black marker.

"Previous owners?" You asked, squinting eyes and trying to read what was written under the heavy marker. Unfortunately, to no avail. 

Shoko shrugged, chewing another slice of pizza. "A bit young for the owners, no?" You shot her a look, and she chuckled. "Right, sorry. They do look our age. But I don’t think they make cameras like that anymore. It must’ve been taken a long time ago."

Your brows suddenly furrowed, as if you had just remembered something. "You said you found it in the bedside table?" Shoko nodded. "I checked it before, but there was nothing inside."

She stopped chewing, chestnut eyes suddenly bulging. If the plate wasn’t already on her thighs, she would drop a slice of pizza, sauce-side down, dirtying her jeans. 

"Don’t joke," she murmured, seeing the wicked smile turning your lips. "Oh my god, stop! I really think there’s something wrong with this house!"

But the thing was – you did not, in fact, joke. After coming into the bedroom and opening all the furniture with handles, you truly didn’t see this photo. It may have slipped to the bottom of the drawer or stuck to one of its sides. You may also have missed one of the three drawers the table had, and indeed didn’t notice it.

Your thumb brushed the old photo. And only then did you notice a yellow, slightly hazy date in the corner. 

1966.

Shoko looked at the point your thumb just brushed over and pretended the goosebumps washed over her spine. 

"Sixty years ago," she muttered, staring at it with wide eyes. "If your neighbours are that old, surely they will know something about them."

Two hours later, after Shoko helped you unpack most of your belongings and returned to your city – though not before repeatedly assuring you, just call me if anything happens; I’ll get here as fast as I can – you finally found yourself in front of a neighbour's door.

The short stairs led to the ground floor, and you noticed they lived just beneath your kitchen. Thick wooden doors featured a small window in the centre, mostly covered by a curtain. You knocked once, twice, and before deciding to ring the doorbell, you thankfully looked down at the old mat with a don’t ring the doorbell or whistle sign.

"So what am I supposed to do?" You wondered, trying to peek through the blinds.

The inside looked a bit empty, dark, as if no life had graced it for a long, long time. But with a squint of your eyes, you noticed a gentle flicker of the lamp, shining somewhere deep within the house. 

"Hello?" You knocked again. "I’m your new neighbour! Just wanted to drop by and say hi!"

But the long silence that stretched between you and the wooden door was broken only by the soft pattering of rain. 

And so, with a photo in the back pocket of your jeans and gaze lowered, you turned away and walked up the stairs.

Not a second later, someone fiddled with the handle. You heard a whisper, and the door opened with a loud bang. "Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Next time, try to knock a bit louder!"

You looked over your shoulder and saw a tall, old woman. With a strange waist-to-breast ratio, you wondered how her back handled the weight of such size. Blond hair, neatly brushed into a bob, and blue eyeshadow smeared on her eyelids.

You tried to suppress a giggle at the pink fur she wore, which made her look more like an old dancer than a senior lady.

"Oh, hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just moved in and wanted to say—"

"Of course, sweetie, come in, come in," she turned back to look at someone. "Darling, please boil the water for tea! We have a guest."

And so you slipped inside the dark house, only then noticing that the long corridor stretched further into the place. The woman led you right to the velvet curtain covering the rest of the home, and as she lifted it, a large, dimly lit living room spread before you. 

With multiple flickering candles scattered all over the place – decorating the chimney, shelves, and a low wooden table set right out from the sofa. Red cushions swallowed you whole as you plumped down. 

Only then did you notice at least five dogs running around the room. Barking, sniffing your slightly wet shoes, jumping on the sofa and trying to lick your cheek. You pushed them away with a low giggle before a blond woman took them all down to the old carpet and joined you on the couch.

"Call me Miss Forcible, sweetie," she said, looking towards the chimney. At the large picture showing two slim women dressed in tight gymnastic suits. "For I was unmatched for a whole life!"

A short gasp slipped past your lips as you looked closer. Both women looked as if they were in their late twenties, with beaming smiles and circus-like decorations stretching behind them. A waterfall of colours, ribbons and lights, and you could almost smell the familiar scent of burnt popcorn and the cheesy melody that mingled with children’s laughter. 

You recognised the tall lady with long, blond hair, but the other one, with an arm wrapped around her waist…

"And me, Miss Pink!" A slightly pitched voice filled the dimmed living room, turning your head towards a room that seemed to be a kitchen. 

A short, older woman walked out, carrying three cups of tea. A bit curvier than her friend, much, much smaller, she reminded you of an apple. Pink hair curled under her eyes, making her plump face look even plumper.  

Three cups of tea were set on the low table, while Miss Pink slouched in the soft chair next to the couch. Dressed in a green bathrobe braided with plastic feathers. Her rosy face smooched with a round, crimson blush, reminding you of those vintage china dolls with cheeks plump like peaches and a round bloom coating their pale skin.

"Oh, our new neighbour?" She asked, looking at her friend. 

Miss Forcible nodded, placing a cup in front of you. "Yes, darling, this is…"

You introduced yourself with a giggle, feeling a slightly intimate manner stretch between the two women.

"Such a beautiful name!" Miss Pink gasped, pushing a plate of buttery cookies towards you. "And what a beautiful owner!"

A shy thank you slipped past your lips as you bit into a cookie. Buttery creaminess spilled over your tongue, with a few sugary droplets moving under your teeth. 

Miss Forcible nodded and picked up her cup of tea. "So why here, sweetie? Isn’t Pink Palace a bit too… vintage for a young bird like you?"

You swallowed the cookie and took a sip of black, bitter tea. Miss Pink watched you with a gentle smile, like a sweet, caressing auntie. 

"I think the house is beautiful. And I just needed a little break from the city’s rush," you half-lied, not mentioning the break-up. "Oh, I’m also a horror writer and thought a Victorian house would be a perfect place to get a few fresh ideas."

A few dogs sat patiently by your legs, waiting for a few crumbs to drop onto the carpet. Something sweet lingered in the air, and the room was much warmer than your house. More cosy, homey, so you let yourself sink deeper into the couch.

"This house is full of ghastly stories!" Miss Pink gasped. "And if you visit a nearby town, I’m sure you’ll find some spooky tales. I think you can still visit the place where they burned witches," she giggled, and you followed. A minute later, a thought clouded her forehead, and thin, pale eyebrows lifted. "Actually, why won’t you ask the boys? They know everything about that stuff."

Your head tilted, and your hand froze over the second cookie. Miss Pink nodded, as if to herself, and Miss Forcible sighed. 

"Darling, they moved out a long time ago," she said, adding a sugar cube to her tea. The third one already. "She’s too young to know them."

Miss Pink hummed under her breath, chubby fingers fiddling with a bathrobe. "Ah, right, indeed. I seem to forget how much time has passed," she muttered, taking a sip of tea. "I wonder how they’re doing."

Now your ears pricked up and eyes shone with curiosity. It was a pity you didn’t have a notebook to write down this brief chit-chat, but your brain was already working at full speed to memorise every detail. 

"Who knows?" Miss Forcible waved her hand. "Moved out, went missing… They just disappeared one day. It was for the best; enough problems had been caused by their presence."

And then, you remembered. The thing you came here for. 

The picture felt like a burn on your skin, as if reminding you of a hidden mystery within its thin, paper-like form. You pulled it from your back pocket and placed it on the low table. A few candles cast a warm glow over the old photo, making it shimmer faintly.

"Are you talking about these two?"

Miss Pink and Forcible leaned in, squinting at the photo. One of the dogs leapt onto the sofa, nuzzling its furry head against your shoulder and waiting to be stroked. You scratched it with a giggle, as it bounced in place. Miss Pink gasped, pointing at the men with her long nail. 

"Darling, we made this photo!" She exclaimed, glancing up at Miss Forcible. 

"Mhm," the other woman hummed, still squinting her blue eyes. "I remember. On the day you broke your ankle."

"And they needed to take me all the way to the town’s hospital," Miss Pink said, turning your way. "We were fifteen then, just before a local acrobatic competition."

Your head tilted as a few questions began to bubble beneath your chest. "So it was…"

"Sixty years ago," Miss Forcible sighed, setting down her cup of tea. "They lived here for four years before their sudden disappearance."

Candles on the table flickered, though the air stayed still and sweet. Sugary, with a buttery scent clinging to your clothes. But you didn’t mind, taking another cookie from the plate. 

"Can you tell me a bit more about them?" You asked, swallowing the sweetness with warm tea.

But Miss Forcible only frowned, her gaze fixed on the low table. Blonde locks were neatly tucked behind her ears, and blue eyeshadow smudged across the eyelids and along the waterline. She looked young for a seventy-five-year-old, though wrinkles did indeed bend and curve across her slim face. 

"They were real gentlemen…"

"Only because they were nice to us doesn't mean they may be called gentlemen, darling."

Miss Pink pouted, shaking her head. "Well, they were quite nice indeed. And funny, especially this one," she said, her finger pointing at the white-haired man. "Although I don't seem to remember his name. He always gave me sweets and dolls," she added, this time her wrinkled finger moving to the black-haired man. "Made by him. Oh, and he always spent all day in the garden! It was so beautiful, I tell you, sweetie. I lived in the attic apartment back then, and we always had so much fun!"

A smile tugged at your lips as the image of such a vast space in full bloom suddenly popped into your mind. If only the rain stopped for a moment, you could go and take care of it. Ignore the book you haven't even started yet and your phone, which glimmered with a dickhead nickname at least five times a day.

"But the townspeople never liked them," Miss Forcible added, pulling a heavy sigh from her darling. "Outcasts, you may say."

"Why?" You asked, taking a sip of still-warm tea. 

It pooled in your stomach, rising as a fluttering, tender feeling.

But it seemed your question carried a sort of mouth-shutting spell. Both women looked at each other, a sense of something obscure clouding their foreheads in the same manner. A thought, a memory, long forgotten in the corners of their minds, was pulled back with a single question of yours. 

And, from their expressions, the memory seemed to be of no pleasant sort. But rather a nightmare that plagued their wrinkled heads, with gazes crossing and reddened lips sighing lowly. 

A long minute stretched between you, with warm candles flickering over a single buttery cookie left on the plate, and an old clock ticking tick-tock tick-tock, filling the room with its steady tune. 

Then, suddenly, Miss Pink’s eyes glimmered, and a life turned to her flushed cheeks once again. Wrinkled hand petted one of the dogs as she giggled under her nose and glanced at the blonde woman. 

"Darling, why won’t you invite the boys over? I haven’t seen them in a long time."

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Five minutes later, you were standing under the long stairs leading to another neighbour. 

The words all of them are old and crazy said by your real estate agent, still lingered in your mind, and thus you simply deduced that Miss Pink simply had a sort of dementia. 

Miss Forcible, on the other hand, seemed to know something. Remember, of the two men, whose picture once again burned through the back pocket of your jeans. 

After finishing the tea, you decided to excuse yourself, as it seemed your questions were only making one, if not both, of the elderly women uncomfortable. Although it was a pity, as they truly seemed to be the only ones who could tell you as much about those two young men. 

The rain was pitter-pattering on your yellow coat draped over the loose jumper. A low huff slipped past your lips, seeing the sky still showing no trace of the warmth you longed for. Although the weather indeed looked rather perfect for indulging yourself in a story. 

Or at least its outline. 

Or maybe simply opening the draft.

You walked up the stairs, its old, rusty metal chattering under your steps. 

You knew nothing of the other neighbour, aside from the fact that he used to work in a circus. A tall man with a certain accent, as Miss Forcible said. Rather weird, smelling of radish and with little footprints following him all around. 

So when you knocked on the white door, you expected to hear another wave of barks. Or maybe a low meow, slipping from the endless darkness spilling behind the small window. 

This time, you didn’t have to wait long, as the door opened with a creak. If not for your rather quick reflexes, the man, at least two metres tall, would surely have hit your nose. 

"Excuse me?" You gasped, quickly jumping back. 

Your eyes followed up, and up, through the tight shirt hugging his torso, with a few stains on its white material. Through the long arms and wide chest, till fixing on a thick moustache and eyes squinted like a cat. Sandy irises looking up and down your drenched body, with a yellow hood of a raincoat protecting your head.

"Excuse you indeed, young lady," his voice was low and lined with a sort of bitterness. "Who are you, if I may ask?"

You took another step back, feeling a strong smell of radish emanating from his body. So the weird ladies were saying the truth.

"I’m your new neighbour," you pointed downstairs at the porch. "Just wanted to say hi, and–"

"Hello," he said and a second later, the door closed. 

Simply, just like that, leaving your mouth open and fingers digging into the wet palms. The darkness spilt behind the little glass window, with a white curtain covering the inside of his attic apartment. 

It’s not like you desperately wanted to come in, but… well. You did want that. 

To see the inside of his house, ask about the previous owners from sixty years ago. Although considering the timeline, there was a chance he wouldn’t even know them. And a man looked a bit younger, too, of no more than sixty years.

With a low, irritated sigh and dickhead slipping past your lips, you started walking downstairs.

Stairs felt slippery under your shoes, rain hit your cheeks, and the photo weighed almost a ton. Filling the inside of your pocket like little stones, till you felt each scratch and crumple of the paper. 

The hood obscured your vision, forcing you to focus on the metal stairs. Crystal droplets hit your ears, also making you rather deaf to anything else around you.

And thus you didn’t hear, didn’t feel the footsteps following you, until a heavy hand landed on your shoulder. 

You turned with a shock, twisting your face and letting a muffled gasp escape throat. 

The man who closed the door in front of your nose stood mere millimetres from you. With face eerily close to yours, finger pressed to lips and gaze fixed somewhere. Over your shoulder, down the stairs, towards the porch and the crying windows. 

"What–"

"My mice say, young lady cannot open the door," he whispered, still looking anywhere but into your eyes.

As if whatever he said was of the utmost secret.

Your forehead furrowed, and nose squirmed, feeling the strong smell.

"The door? What door?" You asked in an equally whispering tone. 

He, finally, looked at your face. A low hum filled his throat and moustache moved with a parting of his lips. 

"The small door. Don’t open them."

You didn’t check each corner of the house yet, but did not see any sort of the small door he was talking about.

Old and crazy, you remembered the agent’s enigmatic voice.

But the man… did not look crazy at all. Rather, something flickered behind his gaze, as if the little door he talked about was the centre of his recurring nightmares. The way his fearful gaze slipped between you and the porch of your house quickly spiked your interest.

And it also sent a shiver down your spine as he once again pressed a finger to his lips. 

"Don’t talk," bulging eyes quickly glanced to one of the big windows. "They hear everything."

"They?"

He nodded before finally pulling away. His tall, lean body straightened, with a few joints popping here and there. Only then did you notice he was wearing sports shorts. A little too tight, a bit too short.  

A face, twisted in fear just a few minutes before, now slipped again into this stony, a bit indifferent expression. As if whatever was plaguing his mind just now, simply withered.

"That’s what the mice say. Sometimes they are…" His finger swirled around his temple, lips whistled. "… a bit crazy. But never wrong. Don’t open those little doors, young lady."

And with that, he once again went back to his attic apartment. Leaving you shocked and cold, with a gentle wind brushing your lips and rain tapping faintly, tap-tap-tap, on your yellow coat.

The moment you slipped back into your house, the first thing you did, as a devilishly curious woman, was to search high and low for the little door the man had been talking about. 

With the afternoon long gone, the sun slowly hid below the horizon, bathing the grey sky in dark, purplish hues of the evening hour. A light rain still hit your windows, nevertheless letting a low melody of crickets fill the chilly air. 

And when the night fell, the house seemed to change too. Into something more wicked, lined with an eerie sensation, scratching the centuries-old walls. With the scent of all the people who lived here before still lingering in the air. The warm light of the old lamps twinkled dimly, lingering over your body that looked frenetically for the little doors. 

Head slipping into the bathroom, bedroom, or even down into the basement, though this time going down the wooden stairs took a bit more courage. The fireplace in the living room crackled and popped weakly, pop-pop-pop, filling the house with a cosy, woody smell.

"Where are you?" You muttered to yourself, standing in the kitchen and listening to the tapping sink. 

You would need to call someone to fix it, but your main goal now was to uncover the thing your neighbour forbade you from finding. 

And then, while looking through the kitchen drawers – you found it.

A key, black and lean, ending in a small, button-like shape. It felt heavy in your palm and looked quite old, as if it were meant for doors long gone, with a lock forgotten by the time.

A low hum slipped past your lips as you fiddled with it. The doors of the house were already rather old, yet this one seemed not to fit either of them.

Returning to the living room, you plumped down on a sofa with a sigh, eyes still fixed on the key. The black paint coated its long barrel, and it was slightly larger than what you were accustomed to.

The doors must’ve been somewhere – close, at the fingertips, as you could almost feel their presence nearby.

Somewhere… in this room.

The flickering of the flame bathed one of the walls in a gentle glow. The flowery tapestry was rather dark, with multiple ornaments twisting and bending across its surface.

And yet, something piqued your interest. 

The small bulge seemed to arrange itself into a low square. Your head tilted, and eyes followed the swollen lines just above floor level. 

You slipped off the couch and crawled towards the eerie shape, a key still clutched in your fingers. 

The palm pressed against the wall, and you knocked it once, twice, hearing the echo ring somewhere on the other side. 

The door.

But it seemed that, for some reason, they were covered by the tapestry. So with the sharper end of the key, you gently traced their outline, peeling the coating from their surface. 

A low gasp slipped past your lips, seeing the eerie, faded blue wooden doors in all their fullness. With no handle to pull them and only a big lock awaiting the key gripped in your fingers. 

Excitement bubbled in your chest, eyes gleamed, and fingers trembled as a key slipped into the lock. You turned it with a soft click, and dust swirled in the air, rising from the cracks that had been sealed for the past few hundred years. 

Your heart galloped, beating against your chest in low thumps until you felt the tremble wash over your body. 

Using the fingers, you pulled the old surface – slowly, slowly, till the door opened fully and…

And presented you a miserable sight of a brick wall. 

Old and dusty, with red bricks stacked one on top of another, filling the cosy living room with a musty smell. 

"You must be joking," you groaned, a low sound escaping your throat as you hit the wall with a fist. "I can’t believe it!"

Because, as you already thought, a new idea for a story would finally slip easily into your mind, all the dreams were shattered in a single second. 

And thus your head hung between your shoulders. After a few deep breaths, you took the key from the door and slammed it shut with a furious thud. The wooden surface bounced off the wall, leaving a small gap. 

Small enough to allow something, someone, to see you walk away with heavy, disappointed footsteps.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

No worries, we will meet the boys SOON!

art by by K05062688 - twitter button divider by @saradika-graphics