Rosie:0

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested. And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you know better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

You tried to ignore the noise for as long as you could, but eventually your interest was peeked by the commotion. It's not like you could avoid the group you chose to come on this vacation with forever, after all.

So you opened your door, leading straight to the open patio of the villa you and your friends had rented for a quiet summer getaway. Maybe it was your fault for ever believing that was a real possibility.

You were promised cocktails by the pool, sunbathing on the grass, and wholesome bonfire nights. Knowing this group, you had expected a little bit of chaos, sure – but why the hell was Gojo grinning like a maniac, with a water gun pointed directly at a drenched, and, not at all amused Sukuna at 7 in the fucking morning?!

“You have 3 seconds...” the pink haired one murmured under his breath, his voice a promise of a million ways he could and would kill Satoru.

You wondered how long Gojo had even been planted outside the other man's door to perform this ambush, considering Sukuna had barely stepped outside of his room before being attacked. From Gojo's wide smile, he was clearly pleased with how the plan went.

"One…" he started counting, but Satoru didn't move. Considering even this far away Sukuna made your blood run cold, you did respect Satoru for standing his ground.

"Two…" Sukuna snarled, and, to his dismay, was met with another splash right on his already soaked face.

He wouldn't bother counting to three.

Your white haired best friend ran backwards as fast as he could, still facing Sukuna to continue his unrelenting water gun assault. A loud "Worth it!" escaped his lips, but the sound was cut off half way when Sukuna began his chase.

Unlucky for him, it seemed it was all a trap – Suguru was already joining in the fray, jumping in from behind one of the deck chairs.

Well… it was nice to know them.

“Can we not start the day with murder...” groaned a voice coming from the door next to yours, and your brain immediately forgot about the war raging on a few feet away.

Choso stood there. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, torso in full display with nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low from his hips. It was rude to stare, but… come on, it was impossible not to.

I mean, looking like that should be illegal.

Choso's muscles were curved in all the right places, perfectly toned from his shoulder's to his abs and everywhere in between. Damn the universe for making your crush be this ridiculously hot – at least if he wasn't you'd have some hope of getting over it.

You had had a crush on Choso ever since his little brother Yuuji introduced him to the friend group. It was love at first sight, or, well, lust at first sight. The love thing came later. Not that you'd ever admit it to yourself or anyone else, of course.

Even though you went to bed thinking of him most nights, and could barely stand in his proximity without feeling the heat pooling around your cheeks. You kept telling yourself he was just a man, just attractive, you had crushed before and everything turned out fine. It just took time, but you could get over it.

I mean, remember how you had a crush on Gojo when you had just met? Looking at the idiot being tackled by Sukuna now, you could barely remember what that even felt like.

It would be fine. There was still hope.

But then Choso turned to you – his posture immediately straightened, and you could have sworn you saw the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Oh...morning” he said, smiling softly at you.

Damn that stupid smile.

You opened your mouth to reply, but another mess of pink hair suddenly peeked out from over his shoulder, way too excited for this hour. “Water gun fight?!” Yuuji yelled, running back into the room to find his own weapon.

Choso stepped out of the way with a sigh, watching his little brother run into the grass to join in Gojo's and Geto's bullying of Sukuna. You half expected him to join in just to protect him, but… he didn't.

He just stayed right there, dark eyes shifting from your face, to the floor, then back to your face. He almost seemed nervous, or maybe you were reading too much into it.

“Did you sleep well? I hope they didn’t wake you” he asked finally, that deep voice that made your knees weak.

You just nodded and smiled gratefully, always struggling to find words around him. It was really sweet of him to ask. But it didn't mean anything, Choso was sweet, everyone knew that, it's not like you were special or anything. He looked back at you with those careful eyes you loved so much, his mouth opening up to say something when–

He immediately got splashed with water.

“They made me” said a very guilty Megumi, on the other end of a water gun that was still pointing at Choso.

You brought a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh at Choso's surprised expression, trying to keep your eyes from the way the water dragged along his muscles and dripped on the floor.

“Come on bro!” yelled Yuuji, still running along the grass. “Revenge!”

Choso let out a small chuckle that definitely said it’s too damn early for this, but went inside to find his water gun anyway. Just like you expected – he'd always rush to his little brothers side.

You actually really liked that about him.

So you stood by your door, taking in the scene as it evolved in front of you.

Sukuna had now seized Gojo’s weapon and split it in half, turning his attention to Suguru, who was running to refill his ammo with the water from the pool. From the way Satoru looked pleased, you guessed he was definitely hiding a spare water gun somewhere.

Yuuji and Megumi were running circles around the pool and trying to splash each other, the dark haired one definitely more invested than he let on. You watched Choso run to his brother's defense, aiming perfectly at the other one's back, before Yuuji betrayed him and splashed his neat twintails.

But Choso didn't mind, laughing along with it.

It's just a crush, you repeated to yourself like a mantra. Be cool.

Finally, you spotted the girls. They watched the scene from the bean bags on the other side of the grass, Shoko smiling with a cigarette already dangling from her lips, and Nobara wildly waving in your direction.

You couldn't help your smile at the way the morning had unfolded.

The sun was shining bright above your perfect little circle of chaos, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Idiots, all of them” Nobara groaned as you sat down on the bright green bean bag next to hers. She had a hat on to protect from the sun, and the most stylish pajama set you think you had ever seen.“Who has that much energy at this hour?!”

"It's better for them to let it out early" Shoko hummed, blowing smoke into the breeze.

"I haven't even had coffee yet" Nobara complained, throwing her had back and covering it with the hat.

"I think it's kinda cute" you said, watching as they all ran around.

"Yeah, yeah" Nobara mocked. "We all know who you think is cute"

"What are you–"

Before you could complete the question, a jet of water hit you square across the face, splashing everywhere from your chest to the girls sitting next to you.

“What the hell?!" you groaned, casting a very mean stare at the white haired menace in front of you. Of course it would be him.

“Oops” Gojo hummed, a litte guilty. As expected, a fresh water gun was already in hand. “I missed?”

“Who exactly were you trying to hit?” you growled at your best friend, motioned to the others still splashing each other on the other side of the patio. If this was his attempt at getting you to join in the fun, it wasn't working.

The girls stared at him too, soaked and annoyed, but suddenly Nobara's eyes widened and she passed you her hat, motioning to cover your chest with it. Only then had you noticed.

For fucks sake. You were wearing white.

“You pervert!” you yelled, throwing a sandal at your best friend, though he caught it with ease.

“Just a happy coincidence, princess!” Gojo retorted, ducking from the sandals Nobara and Shoko threw his way too. "Ow! I'm sorry! I'll give you my shirt, here, I'm not even looking–"

The commotion easily caught everyone else's attention.

“I swear to God, Satoru–” you growled, but as he promised, Satoru had already thrown his soaking shirt for you to shield yourself with, a chorus of apologies still leaving his lips. "I really didn't realise–"

“What’s going on?” Choso cut in. Water dripped from his dark strands, and his breathing was a little heavily from rushing over so fast. But he suddenly stopped, dark eyes immediately narrowing at Satoru's half naked body standing over your group, and his wet dark shirt clinging on to your body.

His eyebrow twitched slightly and his jaw clenched, but he still looked at you with kindness. “Are you ok?” he asked you directly, completely ignoring everything else.

Nobara pointed at Gojo, whose mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Satoru was being a pervert” she deadpanned, as Shoko nodded solemnly.

“I said I’m sorry!” Satoru yelled, putting both his hands up in surrender. "We all make mistakes!"

“You’re an idiot” Choso rolled his eyes at his friend, holding out his hand to help you stand up.

“And you’re too obvious” Gojo retorted with a wink, running off before he could catch the way Choso snarled at his comment.

But whatever grimace Choso threw in Gojo's direction, it was all gone when you accepted his hand. Suddenly, his focus was completely locked on you.

"I'm ok" you smiled, the touch lingering for a little longer than necessary. “Needed to get changed anyway”

Physically, your body was going through your luggage, looking for something to change into, but your mind was gone – the butterflies still danced in your stomach, reminding you of how quickly Choso had come to your rescue just now. At the way his hand fit so perfectly around yours. And God he looked so good in those–

“Am I interrupting your spiral?” Nobara clapped her hands to get your attention. You had completely forgotten her and Shoko had come in after you. “Are you gonna answer the question or not?”

You pursed your lips, exploring your memories but coming out empty handed. “Sorry, what was the question?” you asked awkwardly.

"We lost her" Shoko sighed.

“I swear to God...” Nobara exhaled, standing up to join you by the suitcase. She looked over the mess with a hand on her hip and another under her chin, analyzing the options like this was extremely important. Finally, she seemed to have made her choice, raising a swimming costume up near your head.

"If you want impress him, this one”

You blinked up at her, opening your mouth to ask who, but everything about the way she glared at you screamed don't play dumb with me.

So you snapped the swimwear from her hands, throwing yourself on the bed next to Shoko. “What was your question?” you sighed, staring at the ceiling so your friends couldn't read the embarrassment in your face.

“I asked if you’ve fucked him yet” she declared, matter of fact.

“Nobara! No!” you sat up so fast the blood rushed to your head, putting your hands forward to motion her to be quiet. But the other two just stared at you, waiting. “He’s not like that" you completed with a surrendering exhale.

"You guys are not together?" Shoko raised an eyebrow.

You just shook your head side to side, biting the inside of your cheek. "We haven’t even kissed" you admitted.

The two gasped at this very unexpected new information.

“You’re joking” Nobara crossed her arms. “He looks at you like you’ve been married for decades already”

“Well, he hasn’t said anything to me and I...I don’t know!" you stood up, pacing across the room, finally able to get these feelings off your chest. "What if we’re wrong and he doesn’t even like me?"

“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone knows" Nobara huffed out.

"You’re the only one who’s questioning it” Shoko agreed.

That made you stop pacing.

“Everyone?” you asked.

“Everyone” Nobara repeated. “It’s disgusting”

That at least got a laugh out of you. “Thanks” you murmured, looking down at your hands. You didn't even know if this realisation made you feel happy or anxious – the stakes were just too high.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever” Nobara waved it off, walking towards the door. “But seriously, that one” she completed, pointing at the swimming costume in your hand.

It was a little more… bold than you would normally wear, but hey – maybe it was about time you took your friends advice. They were the ones witnessing you fall apart over this crush for years already anyway.

Maybe it was time to be a little more bold.

You stepped out of your room a few minutes later. Hair fixed with a pair of sunglasses on top, and the swimming costume Nobara had chosen expertly hugging your figure.

Every head snapped to you as you walked towards the group.

Nobara looked proud. Shoko nodded in encouragement. Satoru let out a wolf whistle, and Choso… looked very much not ok.

In fact, he looked like something had short circuited in his brain.

“She broke him” Gojo whispered, earning a laugh from Suguru next to him.

“Pathetic” Sukuna just rolled his eyes.

“Over here!” Nobara waved with a wicked smile of approval.

Most of the group seemed to be half asleep already, all sunbathing by the pool after a busy morning with all the running around and death threats. You could swear Yuuji was snoring softly, distracting Megumi from his book every few seconds, who looked over at him with an annoyed sigh every time.

"Nice of you to join us" Satoru grinned, moving over to the side to open up space for you.

Right next to Choso.

Had the girls been right about everyone knowing?

"You all look half asleep" you rolled your eyes, sitting next to the dark haired man, but trying to avoid eye contact at all costs. If they all knew…

Did Choso know too?

Did he think you were an idiot?

"We're recharging" Suguru nodded, that casual smile of his.

"Tch. Weak" Sukuna muttered from the side, resting his hand on two bent elbows as he relaxed on the grass.

"You were asleep ten minutes ago" Suguru retorted.

"I wasn't" he growled. He probably was. "The only one asleep is Itadori"

That seemed to wake him up like a spell. "I'm awake!" he said, standing up so fast Megumi almost dropped his book on the pool. "Is it time for another water gun fight?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't have any more guns left" Satoru pouted, while Sukuna opened an evil grin.

Yuuji started listing off different games you could all play, and little by little, everyone seemed to regain the energy. Gojo barely let the man speak, cutting in every half second to offer his own suggestions or agree excitedly with what he was already proposing.

Everyone was joining in the conversation, apart from… you and Choso. Who looked at you like he definitely wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure on how.

"You look beautiful” he said finally, when your eyes happened to meet. You didn't even mean to, but it seemed neither of you could keep avoiding this dance for too long. “That’s a great colour on you” he completed, cheeks growing an adorable shade of red.

You hoped he couldn't see in your face the way your heart was leaping out of your chest.

“Thank you, Choso” you smiled, biting the inside of your cheek.

“So it’s settled!” Gojo snapped your attention back to the group, clapping his hands dramatically. “The first game is chicken fight – the winning team gets control over the speaker for a full 2 hours!”

Shoko and Suguru immediately exchanged a conspiratorial nod. Megumi let out an exasperated sigh, but didn't argue. Nobara rolled her eyes and asked if Gojo was thirteen. Yuuji fist bumped the air, excited like a golden retriever, and Sukuna seemed too enticed by the reward to object.

Choso, in a moment of courage, turned to you, swallowing hard. “Do you want to–”

“You’re with me, princess!” Gojo scooped you up before Choso could finish his sentence. “Let's talk strategy!”

The sun shone bright up above where the four teams met in the middle of the swimming pool, ready for the first brawl.

Nobara announced there was no way in hell she was getting on anyone’s shoulders, so she lunged in the shade as the self appointed referee. "Remember, no fowl play" she instructed. "Did you hear that, Sukuna?"

The pink haired man only rolled his eyes, the only indicator that he was listening.

Team number one was you and Gojo: Team The Honoured Ones. You sat tall on his shoulders, as Satoru held you down with firm hands on your thighs, pretending not to notice the way Choso looked murderously at him.

Team number two was Yuuji and Megumi – the latter looking like he'd rather be anyone else. Their team name was Black Flash, which Megumi only agreed to so Yuuji would stop talking.

Team number three was Shoko and Suguru, who looked far too ready for this. Shoko barely waved where she sat atop Suguru's shoulders, the two the very image of serene confidence. Their team name was Uzumaki, suggested by Suguru.

Team number four was Choso and Sukuna: The Cursed Duo. After a long argument, Choso relented and agreed to sit on Sukuna’s shoulders. He had a bit of a pout on his face, you suspected because Yuuji had gone straight to Megumi, but when he saw you – it changed into a smile.

You were halfway through waving at him before Satoru tapped your thigh incessantly. "Focus, princess" he complained. "You're on my team"

If only you weren't resting atop his shoulders, you would have noticed a little pout in Satoru's handsome face. It wasn't like him to be this possessive over you, but it's not like you weren't used to his taunting and teasing.

"I was just assessing the competition" you quickly recovered yourself. "Who are we going for first?"

Satoru hummed underneath you, pondering the question. "I doubt Choso will go against Yuuji, so I can only assume they'll come for us or Suguru" he started, like a professional tactician. "I say we go for Yuuji and Megumin to avoid Sukuna and your boyfriend"

"My wha–"

"I don't trust Suguru and Shoko, look at them" he immediately cut in, bringing your attention to the other two, still calmly waiting for the brawl too start, not even exchanging a word, like they could speak telepathically. "They're too calm" Satoru squinted, suspicion all over his voice.

"You're right" you hummed, started to feel a little nervous. "But what if they come for us?"

"True" Satoru sighed. "We should be ready for anything"

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you prepared mentally.

"Ready?" Nobara yelled from her reclining chair, laying back to enjoy the sun. "Go!"

The word had barely left her lips before Sukuna was lunging towards Satoru. Clearly someone still wanted to take revenge on the water gun attack from earlier.

And to your complete dismay, Team Uzumaki was quickly moving towards you too.

"Satoru!" you yelled, but his hands were strong where he held you down.

"Fight, princess!" he urged, and the sound of someone sinking was enough to snap your attention back to the game.

Team Black Flash hadn't survived the first charge, with Megumi collapsing from on top of Yuuji before they had barely moved an inch.

At least that left you with only two other teams to worry about. But Yuuji sinking had caught Choso's attention, distracting him.

This was a perfect opportunity.

But before you could extend your hands to try a shy push at Choso's shoulders, Suguru had already reached your team.

"You're getting slow, Satoru" he taunted, Shoko immediately grabbing you by the shoulder's with a non chalant "sorry".

You managed to interlock your hands with hers, the two of you laughing and not trying all that hard to push the other off. Suddenly, though, your body sank deeper, and Shoko's face twisted in surprise as she plummeted off Suguru.

"Fault!" Nobara yelled. "You're not supposed to kick the opposing teams, Satoru"

"That was never a rule!" he yelled, as Suguru and Shoko emerged, scowling at their white haired friend and his cheese eating grin.

Following a quick discussion where Sukuna agreed brute force from the base players should be allowed, Team The Honoured Ones were named the victors of the first round.

Naturally, Shoko and Suguru decided they'd rather have a smoke in the sun instead, and withdrew from the competition, calling fowl play.

"They're just bad losers" Satoru sighed, already helping you up on his shoulders again.

This meant there were only three teams standing this time.

Megumi and Yuuji had decided to switch positions, with Yuuji now standing proud on poor Megumi's shoulders. You and Gojo exchanged a glance, knowing very well what this meant – Sukuna and Choso were definitely coming towards you first.

"Ready!" Nobara called again. "Go!"

As expected, Sukuna and Choso rushed towards you – and Satoru rushed towards them.

“You’re going down!” Gojo yelled at the other team, wide smile all over his face.

“Try it” Sukuna retorted with an evil grin.

While you and Choso looked very much terrified on top of the other two.

Your hands snapped forwards, trying to reach for your crush even while your whole body felt as if electrocuted from the sheer anticipation of being that close to him.

The fact that Satoru kept waving you around frantically didn't help – every time you thought you had an opening, you were somehow swerved in the other direction.

What the hell were he and Sukuna doing down there?!

You finally managed to reach your hands towards Choso, but he blocked your attack with a loud "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I–"

“You have to push her” Sukuna growled from beneath him, clearly growing angrier and angrier at his teammates inability to harm you.

But just as he opened his mouth to complain again, his pink head disappeared into the water, taking your crush with him.

And thus, Team Cursed Duo was defeated.

"No complaining, Sukuna" Nobara clicked her tongue as the latter reemerged and immediately went for Gojo's throat. "You're the one who agreed to it"

The three teams regrouped for the third and final round.

The rules were clear this time: any attacks coming from the base players would result in immediate disqualification, and bluetooth speaker rights would be revoked for the time being. It seemed his defeat had changed Sukuna's mind fairly quickly.

"Don't worry, we got this" Satoru reassured from under you, and you offered another proud nod.

Your heart still beat fast from last brawl, and more so from how close you and Choso had been.

It was ridiculous, you felt ridiculous – but somehow, you thought you might not be the only one.

Because Choso himself seemed very preoccupied with looking anywhere else but at you, his gaze firmly fixed on the water and the sky and his brother like the whole world was far too interesting.

You tried to catch his gaze, give him a thumbs up that indicated he didn't hurt you, but every time you happened to catch his eyes he averted them straight away. And you could swear the tips of his ears were turning pink.

"Choso is acting weird" you said to Satoru, keeping your voice low.

You noticed the mess of white hair move from between your thighs, before he let out a low chuckle. "Someone's jealous" he hummed, amused.

"Jealous?" you questioned, tilting your head. It was true Choso didn't have his usual calm expression, and his arms were firmly crossed over his middle while Sukuna tried to argue some strategy. His jaw was locked tight, face turning into a tiny grimace.

It was adorable how he seemed to have no control over his facial expressions.

But…jealous?

"Of what?" you asked again, and you heard Satoru scoff.

"I'm pretty handsome, you know" you could feel him roll his eyes without even having to see it.

"Sure, but" you retorted. "Why would he be jealous of you? We're friends"

To your surprise, Satoru didn't argue again. You expected a tease, for him to say something along the lines of you're not my type anyway. But… it didn't come. If anything, you could have sworn you heard him sigh.

"Of course" he agreed, a few seconds too late. "Now focus, princess"

Nobara was already raising a hand, and motioning the beginning of the third brawl.

Team Black Flash were steadier this time, completely ignoring you and heading to Team Cursed Duo instead. "Come on bro, show me what you got!” Yuuji yelled, putting his hands up to reach for his brother.

Choso's hands locked with his as he tilted his body to the side. He was trying his hardest to not hurt Yuuji, of course, but the pressure was too much for poor Megumi to handle, and he ended up sinking after putting up a fair fight. Later, everyone agreed it was a honourable defeat.

"Yuuji? You ok?" while Choso was distracted by scanning the water for his brother, Team Honoured Ones attempted a sneak attack.

Satoru tried his best to be quiet, though that wasn't really his forte. Right as you were getting ready to push Choso, Sukuna turned around in the blink of an eye – and your hands ended up finding your opponent's chest instead of his broad shoulders.

Choso’s body jolted straight like the sudden contact had electrocuted him. He instinctively reached for your wrists, closing his large palms around them when you welcomed it with a laugh. Encouraged by your playful smile, he began trying to tip you over, but you were stronger than you looked.

Sukuna wasn't as amused, though. With a hinge of his hips, he tipped his weight forwards – and before you knew it, Choso was falling into you and you were falling backwards, losing all balance.

Gojo tried his best to hold on to your legs and stabilise you, but was quickly overpowered by the weight of both you and Choso falling fast, and soon he was submerged too.

The water filled your open mouth as you sunk slowly, your hands desperately reaching forwards, until it found his. Choso had already locked your hands together, his other hand finding your waist to pull you out of the water as fast as possible.

"I'm sorry" he panted, completely drenched himself, helping you hold on to the edge of the pool.

Despite the coughing from the sudden water you had inhaled, you still managed to laugh. "Don't worry about it" you waved it off.

“Team Cursed Duo wins” Sukuna announced, but Choso didn't seem that interested in celebrating.

Despite the enduring sunlight, night time eventually came, bringing with it a more forgiving breeze to squelch the heat.

Because of the changing rules during chicken fight, no one could decide who had the rights over the speaker. Sukuna and Satoru had spent a good thirty minutes complaining, all the while Suguru took control of the music.

Nobara and Shoko were busy making everyone cocktails, but after you had been the test subject to a few too many failed attempts, you decided to excuse yourself to the furthest bean bag, and just let the summer breeze tickle your skin before your friends could get you too drunk.

Right now, you were in a perfect state, somewhere between tipsy and just high on the day's excitement.

Choso had been gone for a while, along with Megumi and Yuuji. It was sweet how close he was to his brother and his brother's best friend, but you couldn't deny you found yourself just…looking for him.

Every time you heard a shuffle of feet or a noise far ahead, you wondered if it was him. Looking for his presence somewhere up in the clouds and also in the nearby voices, your mind conjuring up a million scenarios and things you could talk to him about, despite being too shy to just tell him how you feel.

Was this even normal?

Did everyone with a crush just forget to function when the object of their admiration was near?

You groaned a little, sinking deeper into the chair and just staring at the stars above. They were so bright over here. So much more so than in the city.

It was only the first day, but you already didn't want to ever leave.

“Can I sit here?” a voice finally came, and you had to blink your eyes repeatedly to make sure you weren't day dreaming again, lost in one of your wild scenarios that would never come true.

No, Choso was actually standing there. Handsome and tall against the moonlight, his distracting abs now concealed in a compression shirt that was too tight for your own good.

And he was smiling.

He always smiled around you.

"Sure" you nodded, and he took a seat in the beanbag in front of you. He was clearly too large for it, and you laughed a little at seeing him awkwardly try to fit, but his adorable pout only made you laugh more.

"These aren't very comfortable" he sighed, extending his legs to try and regain some balance. They were so close to yours they almost touched – almost.

"We can move to the chairs, if you like" you suggested, though that would mean going closer to the group.

You didn't want that, but part of you also wanted to know if he did.

As much as everyone teased, you were still not that convinced he had a crush on you too. It would simply be too good to be true.

When was reality ever that kind?

Choso turned around, looking for where the other chairs were scattered. "I'm alright here" he said, despite his clear discomfort. "…If you are?" he added then, bringing his dark eyes to you.

"I'm alright here, too" you smiled.

"Good" Choso nodded awkwardly, his gaze moving from his hands, to where your legs almost touched, and then back to your face. The silence between you was a little awkward, sure, but it was far from quiet – at least on your end, the sound of your heart was loud enough to fill the whole space.

"Are you enjoying the holiday?" you asked.

"Yes" he nodded. "I'm glad Yuuji convinced me to come"

So were you.

"How did he convince you?" you asked lightheartedly, but from Choso's reaction you would have thought you just asked him something deeply personal.

"He, uh–" his hand came to rub the back of his neck, the curve of his bicep immediately catching your attention. Was this a plan to distract you again?!

Surely not. Choso wasn't one to play games – all his endearing awkwardness was exactly who he was.

"He said you were coming" he finally admitted, with a sigh.

You felt your brows furrow close, mouth opening before you even knew what to say. "You came because of me?"

"Um…yeah, I did" he confirmed, staring at his hands.

"So you weren't excited to hang out with Sukuna and Gojo?" you tried to tease, and he finally looked at you with that grimace you loved.

"Definitely not" he said, and you both laughed.

It was a gorgeous sound.

On the other side of the patio, your friends were all lost in casual conversation. Megumi and Yuuji had now rejoined the group, playing some kind of card game on the grass with Nobara. Shoko and Sukuna were talking about something, or, Sukuna was talking about something, but she seemed happy enough to listen. Satoru and Suguru were the ones standing a little further away, talking about something that seemed serious, but who could guess with those two.

"Did you hurt your hand?"

Your head snapped back to Choso, and you noticed it was only you who was distracted looking at your friends. He was focused on your wrist, and how you rubbed it softly with your other hand, flexing your fingers open and close.

You hadn't even noticed you were doing it.

"Oh" you tried to wave it off. “I think I fell at a weird angle during chicken fight” you admitted with an awkward laugh.

Choso didn't laugh, though.

“Let me see” he squinted his eyes, opening his palm for you to take.

You placed your hand on top of his, holding in your breath as Choso inspected your skin. He closed both hands around yours, focused on looking for any sign of bruising or broken skin. It didn't even hurt that much, but you weren't saying no to an excuse to have him look at you like that.

And you watched him – how beautiful he looked with his hair down, falling all messy around his handsome face; still a bit wet from the pool and clinging on to his forehead. His skin felt soft and warm against yours, the perfect contrast to the cool night breeze.

Choso's eyes darted to yours quickly, shyly, but you didn't avert yours. And so he didn't either.

How odd that this was the most tender moment the two of you had exchanged so far, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to be fully present. It felt like a dream, like you were floating high above the clouds – if it was the alcohol's doing, or the adrenaline from the day, or simply the way Choso's eyes looked at yours, you weren't sure.

But everything about this felt… magical.

Slowly, carefully, Choso closed your hand, satisfied that you weren't actually hurt. But then, he brought it close to him, as you watched with wide open eyes – as he left the tiniest kiss on your knuckles.

His face went all red, finally breaking the eye contact, and you could swear you heard his heart beat just as loud as yours.

Maybe all your friends had been right, after all.

“If you do it again, I might forget it hurts" you teased, earning a warm smile from him.

“Good" Choso hummed. "Then I’ll keep going”

Your breathing hitched as Choso touched his lips against your knuckles again, firmer this time. You instinctively opened your palm, an invitation, and Choso interlaced your fingers together, looking at you under his dark eyelashes.

“Do you… want to go somewhere else?” he whispered, and you nodded yes.

You opened the door to your room, hoping no one else from the group had noticed the two of you sneaking away. If you had only looked back you might have noticed Shoko's approving smile and Nobara's whispered "finally", as well as Satoru's puzzling stare. But you weren't exactly paying attention to them right now.

Right now, it was just you and Choso.

"Sorry it's a bit messy" you said awkwardly, noticing you hadn't had the time to clear away all the clothes you had left on the bed, in your haste to find an appropriate swimming costume. You quickly shifted your attention to it, anything to get you away from how nervous you felt, and started putting everything away again.

Refusing to look at how Choso stood awkwardly in the middle of your room, unsure of what to do. "It's fine" he tried to say, though you were hard at work. "You should see Yuuji's room"

You smiled, finishing up and placing the suitcase back on the floor. Now you really had to turn back to him.

"Do you want to get some fresh air, maybe?" you asked, again trying to calm your beating heart. There was a little private balcony at the back, with a loveseat that would do just fine. Some air would definitely help your nerves.

"Yeah" Choso agreed, following you out into the night again.

As predicted, the breeze did help you breathe easier. You sat on the loveseat right by the back wall, shuffling your feet nervously on the ground; but Choso didn't join you.

"I've been meaning to talk to you" he said, putting his hands inside his pockets. Were his trembling like yours were?

"About what?" you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, hoping he couldn't hear the anticipation in your voice.

"I just…" he started, clearly unsure of what he even wanted to say. "I've been meaning to say something, and I'm not sure if it's the best time, but–"

"You can tell me" you cut in, hands clasped together and sweating embarrassingly.

Choso's eyes narrowed at you, clearly having noticed how odd you were acting. But then he smiled. And then his smile turned into a chuckle that you joined into.

Two idiots, weren't you?

"Do you remember that one time we went to the movies?" Choso started, a little more confident than before. "The first time, maybe a couple weeks after Yuuji introduced me to your group?"

"I remember" you nodded, turning your head at the memory. You were surprised Choso even recalled it, considering how long ago it had been.

"It was some horror movie Yuuji picked" he laughed, shuffling a little. "He was so excited, but I… I could barely look at the screen. When he asked me about my favourite scene later I had to lie, and I felt terrible. I never lie to my brother"

You were a little confused, but listened to what he was telling you with a focused expression. "Why weren't you paying attention?" you asked.

Choso finally looked at you. Breathing in, and out. Taking his time.

"Because you were sitting next to me" he admitted finally. "And all I could think about was how pretty you looked"

Your mouth fell open in complete surprise, but Choso kept going.

“You... you’re incredible, you know” he exhaled. “I’ve always thought that. Every time. And the way you smiled today…"

He took a breath to steady himself, his eyes closing as if lost in memory, and the sweetest smile on his lips.

“Seeing how you smiled today made me wish I could be around to watch you smile like that every time” he continued. “It made me wish I could be the one making you smile that way”

Oh.

Oh.

You were sure your hands were still trembling, but you couldn't really feel them. It was like time itself… had just stopped.

“You are” you heard yourself say though your throat was squeezed tight, and then the dip of the loveseat as Choso settled next to you.

"Hey" he said softly, one hand finding yours where it rested nervously on your lap, the other cupping your cheek. "Don't cry" he begged you, using the pad of his thumb to dry the tears threatening to fall.

"I didn't realise I was" you laughed at yourself, leaning into his hand. "I think I'm just happy"

"Really?" Choso was the one whose voice sounded a little strained this time, but his face had a smile to match yours.

"Really" you nodded. "I didn't think you felt it too"

Choso's bottom lip pushed forward a little in a small pout hearing you say that. "How could I not?" he asked.

How could you not?

Right then, you weren't sure if you felt like an idiot for dismissing all your friends claims and waiting this long, or if the surprise just outweighed anything else.

Why did you automatically expect good things wouldn't happen to you?

Because right now, the best person you could have dreamed of was staring at you with stars in his eyes. And he wasn't pulling back.

Neither were you.

"I like you too" you finally admitted, the words you struggled with for so long finally leaving your lips. In your worse nightmares, Choso turned away or mocked you – but in reality, he didn't do any of that.

If anything, you didn't think you had ever seen him this happy.

"You do?" he repeated, like he just wanted to hear you say it a million more times.

"Yes, you idiot" you laughed at yourself. "Apparently everyone knows" you added, hoping to share some of the shame you felt.

"Yuuji said that too" he sighed, embarrassed. So that's why he had disappeared with his brother for so long.

Despite being mortified by the prospect, the two of you shared an easy laugh. One that was like a weight off your shoulders.

"I wasn't sure if I should do it here, I mean–" he started to say, interlacing your hands together. "I didn't want to make the trip awkward"

"I'm happy you did" you reassured. There was no way you would have survived this trip otherwise… not with Choso constantly half naked around you.

"You are?" he swallowed thickly, shocked at how this had gone better than expected. You wondered what his expectations were, if he also had nightmares as bad as yours.

Instead of answering, you shifted forwards a little forwards, resting your forehead on his as you let the tears flow as they needed to. Choso was right there to catch each one, with his lips this time – kissing every inch of your cheeks as the two of you breathed together like a question waiting for an answer.

When you opened your eyes and smiled at him again, Choso closed the gap.

His lips found yours tentatively at first, nothing but a soft brush as the two of you held your breath. It was when you finally exhaled deeply that he pressed against you more firmly, and your lips parted to invite him in.

You were finally doing this.

Not even your most wonderful dreams could have been better than this.

Choso explored your mouth like he was dying to learn the shape of you, your taste, every smooth curve of your lips. His hands stayed on your cheeks, enjoying how warm and soft you were, still dragging each tear away.

"Cho…" you whispered his name, pulling him into you, all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped both your hands around his neck, leaning so far back you almost fell from the loveseat, but Choso was right there to pull you back. His hands hovered, a little unsure before landing on your waist, steadying you, digging into your skin with sweet reverence and desire.

"You're so beautiful" he hummed again, like he couldn't believe the two of you were finally here. The kiss was a little messy, but between each awkward bump of your noses the two of you laughed, remembering the years of affection that had led to this moment.

You pulled back a little, bringing your hands to caress his cheeks instead. "I really like your tattoo" you laughed a little, brushing your thumb over the dark stripe right above his nose. "Is now a good time to tell you that?"

Choso laughed, leaning his forehead on yours. "You could have told me anytime" he said, rocking his head side to side and enjoying where it touched yours.

"I think I was embarrassed" you admitted, biting your lower lip.

"Why?" he asked, tilting your head up so he could look in your eyes again.

How were you supposed to think of anything else when he kept looking at you like that?

"I didn't think you felt the same" you admitted, nose scrunching at how silly it all felt now.

Choso's response was to press your lips together, firmly now, a promise. "I always did" he whispered against you, making all the hairs in the back of your neck stand up.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you taunted, playfully pushing his chest back, and enjoying how that only made him pull you in more.

"I thought you might be… with someone else" he admitted, digging his hands just a little further into your waist.

"It was always you" you confessed this time, a little shy.

Choso blinked at you like that was the last thing he expected you to say.

He kissed you again – deeper, more passionate. Before you knew it, he was on top of you, your two bodies far too big for the small two-seater, but he was very careful to not crush you with his weight.

"Is this ok?" he pulled back a little, giving you space to readjust underneath him.

You nodded with a smile, wrapping both legs around his waist and pulling him back into you. The poor man blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears, but he eagerly sank into you, rocking his hips against yours in a way you did not expect from sweet Choso.

Still, his touch was respectful, careful not to touch anywhere that could be too much too soon. His hands remained steady on your waist – but the growing bulge where his hips pressed pressed into you was getting harder and harder to ignore.

If he wanted you just as much as you wanted him… it was only right to be a little more forward, right?

So you bit his lip playfully, not enough to hurt but enough that his dark eyes snapped open in surprise. Your legs closed around his waist again and your hand moved down to where his was, still resting on your middle, gently encouraging it even further down.

His breathing completely stopped, but Choso allowed you to move it for him, slowly dragging his palm from your waist to your hips and, finally, settling on your thigh. Like a match had just been struck, Choso let out a guttural, deep grunt as he squeezed your flesh, lowering himself down to kiss you again.

His hips kept dragging into you with barely contained desire, all sense out the window now that you gave him permission to touch you in that way. You matched his rhythm, breath growing more and more shallow as you felt the heat pooling between your thighs.

"Fuck, Cho" you moaned, nails digging deep into his shoulders that you used to stabilize yourself. "Feels good"

"Y-yeah?" he moaned, almost a desperate whimper with how bad he wanted this.

You didn't bother responding – your body was already moving on its on, urged by this primal need you had for him. Your hands moved to remove his shirt, not caring at all that the little clothes you had on were askew, revealing far more of you than Choso thought he'd see this early on.

And you noticed the way Choso looked embarrassingly away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by staring. You looked down at your swimming costume, then back up at him with a wicked smile.

“You can take it off if you want” you suggested, perching yourself up on your elbows.

Choso wasted no time – he swallowed hard, and with a hypnotized nod, moved to undo the swimming costume you still had on.

The fabric fell down, revealing your bare chest to him. Choso looked somewhere between drunk and completely awestruck, with the way he softly gasped at you, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Can I?" he asked, a small drop of sweat trickling from his temple.

You smiled, tangling your hand onto his dark strands to urge him forwards. Choso relinquished with no push back, sinking his face into your breasts and closing both hands on them.

"Cho…" you moaned out his name, encouraging him further, all restraint out the window.

The sound of his name from your lips drove Choso absolutely insane, his large hands roughly palming your mounds as his mouth tried to give similar attention to each side, sucking and licking every inch of you. "Fuck, baby…" he whimpered between them, making you moan at the affectionate nickname.

Your hand tightened on his head, pulling his hair slightly, though it only seemed to turn him on even more. Your back arched against the love seat and Choso took the opportunity to slide a forearm behind you, making you arch into him further.

He sucked on your already hard nipples, playing and rolling it with his tongue as his eyes moved to your face, so beautiful and needy for him.

Your thighs were still squeezing his hips, his rhythm against your clothed cunt never faltering. It felt good, really good, but you wanted more.

"Cho" you called, biting your lips at him.

"Yeah, pretty?" he asked, face all flushed and eyes dilated with pure desire. Even when addressing you, he refused to stop his worship of your body.

"You can take it off" you repeated your words from earlier, hoping he'd understand what you meant. "All of it" you completed, with a roll of your hips, making a point to press against his bulge.

Choso swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath in. "You…want me to?" he asked.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea – your friends were somewhere outside, probably too drunk to care, but surely someone would notice your absence soon enough.

At least, that's what your brain would have thought if you weren't in the exact position you had been dreaming about for years.

You wanted Choso. Needed him. For far longer than you cared to admit.

So you were ok with being greedy.

"I want you to" you rolled your hips again, and that was all Choso needed.

He nodded, immediately bringing his hands to finish removing your clothes. He was clearly nervous, but when he finally began to pull the fabric down, he did it so slow it felt like torture.

Was Choso also trying to seize the moment? The thought alone made you giggle. To want someone who wanted you just as bad… it was more than you ever thought you could get.

And there was no denying Choso wanted you bad.

“You’re going to kill me...” he sighed when he revealed all of you, laying beautifully onto the loveseat, eager for him. He pushed himself back on his knees, taking his time to admire you like a painting.

His defined abs glistened in the moonlight, distracting, stealing all your focus. Choso was built so beautifully, like he had been sculpted by the gods themselves.

And it seemed he thought the same of you.

"Fuck…" he muttered as one hand dragged from your cheek, to your collarbone, to your navel. Choso took his time exploring every inch of you, letting his warm touch ghost over your skin before he took things further, like he knew he was already addicted and wanted to savour each moment.

When his hand finally reached between your thighs, he found you dripping.

"You're–" his words cut out as his fingers played with your heat, coating himself in your slick, your legs parting eagerly. His head dripped forwards, bangs covering his eyes, trying as best as he could to control himself.

Until he couldn't anymore.

Carefully, he slid one thick digit inside of you. It found no resistance, sinking into you so eager and wet, earning a loud moan that had his head snapping back to yours.

“Like this, baby?” he asked so sweetly, despite how he was already adding another finger inside to stretch you further. His fingers moved slowly at first, but soon they pumped into you faster, and faster, and you had to bring your hands to his thick forearm to brace yourself.

“Mmmh yea” you moaned, squeezing the veins that protruded from his skin, his dark eyes completely locked on where your bodies met.

"You're taking it so well" he praised, groaning when it made you clench around him. "Fuck–You like that?"

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt his movements become rougher, faster. "So beautiful like this" he praised you again.

Your back arched off the seat, and Choso again used the opportunity to snake his other arm around you, pulling you close into him. In this position, you could feel his rock hard erection against your thigh, and you were desperate to know what it felt like inside of you.

One of your hands moved to his bulge, pressing into it as Choso curled his fingers just right inside you. Choso let out a surprised breath, but didn't pull back – instead, he shifted so you could feel all of him.

Your hand found its way past his swimming trunks, your mouth immediately hanging open in shock at the sheer size of him. You moved your hand up and down, exploring, noticing how he was just as long as he was thick, the thought of taking all of him already making you drool.

"Ah" he panted, head falling to your collarbone as you continued to stroke him. Despite his closed eyes and fucked out expression, Choso never stopped the motion of his fingers inside of you, completely focused on your pleasure.

You could feel yourself getting close from his fingers alone, but you didn't want it to stop there.

“I want you” you whispered into his ear, and instantly felt his whole body jolt on top of you.

The movement of his fingers stilled for just a second, before he resumed them like clockwork. "Are you sure?" he asked you, pulling back to look in your eyes again.

How could he be so handsome and sweet at the same time.

“I'm sure” you nodded, bringing one hand to cradle his beautiful face, while the other kept stroking his cock.

Choso pressed a kiss to your lips as he slowly removed himself from you. He stood up slowly as not to hurt you, and finally began to remove the rest of his clothes.

Just as you expected, Choso was beautiful. Every inch of him. And seeing him like that, naked and towering over you with affection in his eyes, only made you need him more.

You sat up fast, your mouth opening around his cock before Choso even realised what you were about to do. You held it with one hand, giving it a shy lick first, tasting the saltiness of his precum on your tongue.

"Baby…" he moaned, placing one hand on your head. He didn't push, just felt the movement with you; the way you started to open up around him, taking him in your mouth inch by inch. "You're–ngh, really good at that" he groaned.

Your mouth kept the back and forwards motion, struggling with his length as it started to hit the back of your throat. Choso moaned at how it constricted around him, seconds away from coming in your mouth if he didn't pull himself back.

"You're gonna make me–" his voice shook a little, his hips chasing you already.

"What?" you asked, knowing exactly what he meant, but unable to resist seeing his lustful face.

His adams apple bobbed up and down when you playfully licked him again, the hand on your hair pulling your strands just a little bit more. Choso was close to losing control, and you loved every bit of it.

"You want me to–ngh" he tried to speak, bringing his eyes to your beautiful face. "You want me to come down your throat?"

You nodded yes, eager, salty tears starting to streak down your face. You were desperate to make him feel good, to know what he tasted like, to keep hearing those delicious noises he kept making.

But then, he pulled away again. Fast, just at the last second when he really couldn't hold it in anymore, and moved to tower on top of you, laying you back down on the loveseat. "I want to feel you first" he panted, his tip already touching your entrance while you opened your legs wide for him.

"Please" you moaned, and Choso swallowed the end of the word with a kiss. His mouth sank into you, and his cock sank into your heat, stretching you fully as you whimpered into his mouth.

He was big. Too big. And Choso was aware of it.

“Slowly” he reassured you, brushing your hair away from your face. “I’ll be gentle” he said with a kiss to the top of your head, and you had no reason to believe otherwise.

You let yourself sink into him, closing your arms around his shoulders as you began to relax. To further help, his hand moved to circle your clit, gently massaging the bundle of nerves that made you clench around him.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, starting to move his hips into you, in and out, in and out.

"So good" you whimpered, chasing his lips for a kiss again. "You're so big, Cho"

He smiled at the compliment, but didn't let the praise distract him. His touch was careful and precise, helping you relax around him and take him inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out.

"You're doing so well, pretty" he kissed the top of your head, fully sheathed into you now.

Your body clenched as it tried to adjust, and Choso was already struggling to keep his composure. But when your nails dug into his back, and you bit your lips at him, Choso knew he was done for.

He let himself pick up the pace, stretching you so deliciously all else faded to the background. All you could think about was Choso Choso Choso, and how good he felt, how warm his hands were all over your body, how delicious his tongue tasted.

"You have to be more quiet, baby" he whispered against your mouth, muffling your moans with a rough kiss.

“Fuck, Cho, you-” you tried to say, but his hips angled just right and his pace grew even faster, all your words meshing together into a whimper of pleasure instead.

“You’re so beautiful” he groaned against your lips. “So fucking beautiful like this”

Your nails were drawing blood from his shoulders, but neither of you cared. It felt too good to stop. You had wanted this for too long to stop.

Despite his earlier words, Choso was also struggling to control his sounds. His moans of pleasure filled your ears like music as he panted on top of you, kissing every inch of your face and neck he could find.

"I'm close" he said, head falling forwards as his eyes shut tight, face contorting in pleasure.

You wanted to see him like this forever.

Completely drunk in you.

“Cho” you muttered, pulling him even deeper with your legs, nails leaving marks all over his body. “Cum inside of me” you asked.

He huffed out all the breath from his lungs, struggling to believe what you had just said.

“Fuck” he grunted, hips going faster and faster. “Are you sure, baby?” he checked again.

“Yeah” you moaned in pleasure, the sounds mixing in with his as you both approached your climax.

“Not before you” he said instead, taking your clit between his thumb and index, rolling the bud carefully, knowing exactly how to drive you insane.

Your body began to shake as the heat started pooling upwards, and just as you were about to tip over the edge, Choso closed your lips with his, drinking up all your moans.

Your body was shaking, pulling him in and milking him desperately, but it was the sounds you were making that made him reach his peak.

"Take it" he grunted, slamming his hips into you as his seed began to spill. You felt the heat filling you up, and your whole body begged for more, but the only words you could get out were his name.

"Choso…" you whispered once more, and he let himself relax on top of you.

His arms closed around your waist, pulling you into his chest as he readjusted to your side, slowly removing himself from you. It was a little awkward in the two-seater, but you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Being nestled into Choso's chest was everything you needed right now.

He slowly caressed your thigh, hand brushing the sweat away from your forehead and tucking your hair behind your ear. Even after all of this, he looked at you like something precious, something he needed to protect.

“Thank you” Choso whispered against your hair, leaving a kiss to your temple.

How the hell was he so sweet?

“…Thank you?” you echoed with a laugh, trying to tilt your head towards him, but Choso didn't let you – choosing to leave another kiss to your forehead, then another, and another, until you went back to resting on his chest.

“I guess...” he started, all shy. "For being you” he completed, dropping his head to the crook of your neck.

"You're really sweet" you murmured, unsure if you wanted to cry or laugh. All you knew is you just wanted to be right here.

Choso didn't reply to that, his face turning into a small pout, but he was too happy to pretend to be self conscious. "I'm sorry I took so long" he said instead.

"I'm sorry too" you nuzzled into him, hand finding his. “I’ve wanted this for a while, you know” you muttered, your face warm against his chest while Choso softly caressed your hair.

“Really?” he asked, enjoying how your words made him feel. "Me too" he admitted.

“Since when?” you asked, curious.

But Choso only let out a small chuckle. “I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you” he admitted, looking up at the sky instead of you, letting you in on a secret he had never dared utter out loud.

You followed his gaze, turning your head around to look up at the stars. It was a beautiful night. "Why today?” you asked again.

“I couldn’t hold it in anymore” he replied, resting his cheek against your head.

“Was it because I was on Gojo’s team for chicken fight?” you teased, remembering how your friend had said Choso was jealous earlier.

“No” Choso answered too quick, though his arms held you tighter. “But I can’t say I was a fan of that” he murmured shyly, earning a chuckle out of you.

"You're cute" you laughed, sinking into him.

"How's your wrist?" he asked, hand brushing over the skin that felt tender earlier.

"Doesn't hurt anymore" you noted. "Guess the kissing really did work"

Choso laughed, bringing your hand to his lips again. "As many as you need" he said against your knuckles.

"I might not ever want you to stop" you muttered, a little shy.

"I hope so" he exhaled, bringing you in closer.

You both stayed like that, holding each other in the hot summer night. You didn't speak much, but you didn't need to – so much of what you felt rested in the in between, in the space the two of you effortlessly shared. Choso just made you feel so incredibly comfortable, so perfectly safe.

You could hear some faint laughter coming from the other side of the villa, the signs of a party raging on without you, but neither of you rushed to join the group just yet.

Shoko really had been right, after all. You really needed this holiday.

You let the weight of the day wash over you, as Choso cradled your body close under the stars. All the fun and laughter and confessions, and the promises of much more to come.

And as you held each other close, you both knew – this would be a summer to remember. 

i hope you enjoyed <3 this won the poll for my 1 year anniversary here on tumblr, thank you to everyone who voted and for all my readers too! hope you all have the most wonderful day/night. mwah!

taglist @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22 @bornafairy @sukunahs @hatchus2 @sukubusss @pawwwginaaa @b-bitter @vampyric-puppy

“those two are freaks,” riyo once muttered after watching you and enjin wrestle over the last fried dumpling until both of you ended up crashing through a chair.

you had your arm around enjin’s neck, trying to choke him out while he barked laughter loud enough to shake the room.

“tap out then,” you grunted.

“eat shit.”

“you first.”

“you literally bite people when you lose,” he accused and… yeah.

“only you.”

enjin looked the fucking happiest when he was with you. a bit like a golden retriever getting snacks.

freer too, like the weight on his shoulders stopped crushing him for a little while, and the umbrella didn’t feel so heavy.

the thing was that you two spent almost every second together once the missions were over. if one disappeared, everyone automatically assumed the other one was nearby.

even when you fought (you did that a lot), and you were mad at each other you still were attached by the hip. back to back, spitting insults over the shoulders like some damn five years olds.

you sat on rooftops together drinking cheap liquor straight from the bottle. you patched each other’s wounds without gentleness. you stole cigarettes from each other’s mouths. shared meals. shared blankets. shared silence.

one night, after a mission nearly went wrong, enjin showed up at your room bleeding through his side. you opened the door, took one look at him, and sighed.

“you’re getting blood on my floor again.”

“missed you too.”

then he nearly collapsed forward. you caught him with a curse, dragging his heavy body inside while he laughed weakly into your shoulder.

“you’re huge,” you complained.

“you love it.”

“i’m about to leave you outside for garbage collection, fatass.”

“wouldn’t be your first crime.”

you stitched him up sitting on the bathroom sink while he hissed through clenched teeth. that old drama queen.

“hold still.”

“you’re sewing me like an ugly sweater.”

“that’s because you move like an ugly sweater.”

“mean.”

“you’ll live.”

“that’s all you got to say after i almost died?”

you snorted. “if you died, i’d kill you myself.”

enjin smiled, because that sentence meant more coming from you than anyone else.

you stayed awake with him afterward, both of you sitting on the floor with your backs against the bed. his shoulder pressed against yours while rain hammered outside.

rain was bad anyway. rain also meant sleepless nights

at some point he handed you the bottle.

at some point his head dropped onto your lap.

at some point you fell asleep too.

that was normal. everything with you was normal, even the disgusting parts.

… especially the disgusting parts.

“you drool like a damn animal,” enjin groaned one morning.

you blinked awake against his chest. “huh?”

“my shirt’s soaked.”

“you snore into my ear like a dying engine.”

“you elbowed me in your sleep.”

“you deserved it somehow.”

“see? evil.”

“still sleeping here tonight?”

“obviously.”

you were tangled together on his mattress like survivors after war. your leg thrown over his waist. his arm numb underneath your body. neither of you moved away.

nobody from the cleaners understood it.

semiu once stared at the two of you sharing a cigarette outside headquarters and finally asked, “so are you together or what?”

you and enjin looked at each other, then burst into laughter. the one where tears appeared in your eyes and you grunted so cutely.

“you hear this shit?” he wheezed.

“she thinks we’re romantic,” you gasped.

“that’s insulting.”

“actually offensive.”

semiu looked irritated. “you sleep in the same bed.”

“yeah.”

“you hold hands sometimes.”

“that’s tactical.”

“you literally kissed his forehead yesterday.”

you blinked and enjin blinked too. alright, that creeped semiu out.

“had a fever.”

“thank you,” you added immediately.

semiu walked away muttering curses under her breath. then went straight to gossip it what she witnessed to gris. he was just as confused as the rest.

meanwhile neither of you thought about it again, because this thing between you had become its own creature years ago.

it was too wild to label and too familiar to question.

enjin knew how many scars you had without looking. you knew every single expression hidden underneath his mask.

he knew when your smile was fake. you knew when his anger came from fear instead.

there were nights he couldn’t sleep unless he heard you breathing nearby. there were missions where you only survived because his voice screamed your name fast enough.

you trusted each other with the real ugly things. the nightmares of his past and your rage that you couldn’t protect him back then.

one particularly horrible night, after losing people during cleanup, enjin came back drunk enough to stumble. you found him sitting outside headquarters alone in the rain.

in the fucking rain. enjin, your best friend, the man who hated rain more than anything, sat in the rain. his umbreaker unopened.

that scared you shitless.

but you sat next to him and if you’d sit here the whole night you wouldn’t mind. he looked so exhausted and everything hurt in you.

“hey.” you nudged your shoulder against his.

nothing.

“enjin.”

his voice came rough. “you ever get tired?”

“all the time,” you whispered.

“no.” he swallowed. “tired of surviving.”

the rain soaked both of you. you could’ve answered honestly and said yes. because sometimes you did, even when you’d never leave him behind.

“well,” you muttered, “kinda hard to die when i still owe you money.”

a laugh broke out of him suddenly. it sounded so ugly, so raw and real. you hated it as much as you loved it.

“you’re so stupid.”

“ride or die, remember?”

that made him finally look at you and there was that dangerous quietness in his eyes again. he loved you in a language neither of you had learned yet.

before any of you could dwell on it he reached over and shoved your face. in return you smacked the strand of hair that somehow stuck out at the top of his head.

“you’re still buying me food tomorrow.”

okay. now you had to shove him. all bets are off. “go to hell.”

“only if you come too.”

“hah! you thought i’d let you go alone? nope. we’re in this together.”

and maybe that was the problem, because shit was about to hit the fan.

let’s start from the beginning, alright?

two weeks after that rainy night you met someone. wasn’t love at first sight, you weren’t silly like that. but despite you wearing one of enjin’s old shirts and haven’t washed your hair in three days this man flirted with you.

so yeah. enjin was about to become a hater, because he fucking hated to hear your date’s name.

… okay, that was dramatic. it mildly annoyed him. irritated. yes. he was deeply, irrationally irritated.

“his name’s haru,” you corrected while pulling boots on near the headquarters entrance. “not hiro.”

“whatever.”

“you’ve called him four different names.”

“because i don’t care enough to remember.”

you snorted. “you’re acting like he murdered your family.”

enjin leaned against the wall with crossed arms. “i just think anyone who slicks their hair back that much is hiding something.”

“he’s literally a mechanic.”

“exactly. suspicious profession.”

“that makes no sense.”

“it makes perfect sense.”

the truth was: enjin had known about the date for three days and had been in a terrible mood ever since.

the others didn’t notice a change or they did. who the fuck knows. important was that enjin became a mopey motherfucker.

he got rougher during sparring. smoked more cigarettes. snapped faster at people. slept less. didn’t sleep in your bed anymore.

apparently you also weren’t the brightest candle on the cake, because you kept mentioning the date’s name. and every time you mentioned the date, something ugly twisted in his chest. something real ugly roared in there and wanted out.

it made him feel insane, because this was you - his best friend and ride or die.

of course you’d date eventually. of course you’d meet people. hell, he whored around like he got paid for it and you never complained.

why did you never complain? except when he smelled like cheap perfume and pussy juices. huh????

anyway.

why did it suddenly feel like standing at the edge of something collapsing?

why did he keep imagining another man in your room?

another man making you laugh. another man touching you.

enjin hated it so much his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth. he might actually threw up on you anytime soon. would be only fair since you liked to throw up on his boots when you had a drink too much.

even steven.

“you think this shirt works?” you asked suddenly.

he looked up and immediately regretted it. you wore one of those tighter tops that showed the shape of your body without trying too hard. casual. pretty. effortless in a way that punched the air out of him unexpectedly.

his stomach dropped. fuck you.

“why’re you staring?” you asked.

“i’m not.”

“you absolutely are.”

“ugly shirt.”

“you’re jealous because i look good.”

“you look like you’re about to scam someone.”

you laughed so hard you snorted like a pig. fuck, that laugh. he loved that laugh.

then he looked away. enjin didn’t look away. never. that wasn’t his thing. you narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“you sick or something?”

“sick of you,” he replied.

“ooooha,” you gasped. “you’ve been weird all week.”

“i’m always weird.”

“not like this.”

you stepped closer, squinting at him while grabbing his jaw roughly between your fingers. normally enjin would’ve shoved you away instantly and then you’d roughhouse on the floor until some clothing tore. or someone bled.

instead he froze weirdly and since you found him so weird you put your hand on his forehead.

“you got a fever?”

there it was again - that awful tight feeling in his chest. enjin slapped your hand away harder than intended.

“i’m fine.”

okay. nothing was fine and you hated these moments where you couldn’t read him.

“you sure?”

the concern in your voice nearly killed him. so he did what he always did when emotions got too close - he grinned.

rewind. REWIND.

you actually hated this mean, ugly, crooked grin he showed now. it was fake, but you knew pushing him now would only lead to bad things.

it happened once and you hadn’t talked to him for a week.

“worried about me, sweetheart?”

you hid the cringe. you weren’t sweetheart or any other dumb nickname. he called you mostly by your name or a shortened version of it. but no. nope.

“there he is,” you sighed dramatically. “thought someone kidnapped you.”

“please. i’d escape.”

“your personality alone would make them return you.”

“true.”

the weirdness passed or pretended to, until later that night. because apparently you still didn’t understand. you dumb little thing.

enjin sat in your room sprawled across your bed while you dug through clothes, muttering angrily to yourself.

“you own too much garbage,” he commented.

“says the man wearing the same coat for six years.”

“it’s sentimental.”

“it smells like smoke and bad decisions.”

“which is sentimental.”

you threw a shirt at his face and he caught it lazily. he was about to throw it at your head when you suddenly sat next to him.

“enjin.”

“hm?”

“i need a favor.”

“depends.”

you looked strangely serious now and that immediately made him nervous. sure, you had your serious moments, but that was a strange one. what the hell?

“what favor?”

you hesitated. your mouth opened, then closed, then opened. you might had a stroke.

“teach me how to kiss,” you blurted out suddenly.

silence.

enjin stared at you like you had lost the plot completely. then he full on belly laughed. “ain’t no way.”

“i’m serious.”

“you’re asking me?”

“yes.”

“why?”

“because i trust you.”

the laughter died instantly. you looked genuinely embarrassed now, rubbing the back of your neck.

“i just…” you muttered. “i don’t wanna look stupid tomorrow.”

tomorrow. the date. something hot and ugly flared in enjin’s chest again.

“you’ve never kissed anyone?” he asked.

“not properly.”

“huh.”

the manwhore and the virgin - a match made in heaven. or hell.

you shoved his shoulder. “don’t make it weird.”

“i’m trying not to.”

“please?”

enjin rubbed a hand down his face. “this is a terrible idea.”

“why?”

see? the lights were on, but nobody was home.

and because he already felt like tearing apart a man he’d never met. your lips was all he’d been thinking about for three days straight and if… if he kissed you once he wasn’t sure he’d stop.

instead he groaned, “you’re unbelievable.”

he grabbed your chin suddenly and you gasped softly. the sound alone almost was his undoing.

“relax,” he murmured automatically.

you looked at him with wide eyes, trusting. you trusted him so much. fuck fuck fuck.

he leaned forward slowly, giving you the chance to pull back. a part of him begged you’d do so.

now it was supposed to be quick. a stupid little peck to show how to angle the face and that your noses should never bump.

that was okay for friends helping each other, right?

oh boy.

his lips brushed yours softly, warm. then he pulled back already and it should be over.

the room went dead silent.

enjin could hear your breathing. could you hear his heart in return?

“that’s it?” you whispered.

his eyes flicked down to your mouth again as he swallowed hard. “yeah.”

“oh.”

something about your disappointed little sound snapped the last thread of his self-control. you were about to learn.

enjin kissed you harder this time. your startled inhale went straight into his mouth.

suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore.

his hand tightened against your jaw while your fingers grabbed his shirt instantly. you kissed him back without hesitation.

fuck, you were so messy and clumsy kissing him. went straight to his groin too.

years of affection buried underneath bruises and laughter and late nights came crashing out all at once.

enjin pushed you backward onto the mattress without even thinking. you made a soft noise against his mouth that nearly ruined him. his body pressed over yours automatically, one hand beside your head while the other gripped your waist tight enough to leave marks.

the kiss deepened and became so fucking hungry as he devoured your mouth. licked and bit and spit and everything in between.

he lost it all together when your fingers slid into his hair and enjin actually groaned roughly.

he’d been starving for your lips.

when he finally pulled away both of you were breathing hard. your lips swollen and his forehead pressed against yours.

he was so goddamn hard that one more kiss and he’d come untouched. and shit. is that your pussy he smelled? fuck. it was, wasn’t it?

then you whispered weakly, “i think you’re a really good teacher.”

enjin stared at you for one long second before he laughed breathlessly against your mouth. then his lips found yours again.

oh fucking hell.

it was over before it really started and you both could talk about it. or at least sort out your feelings for yourselves.

remember the date? yeah, it was still happening.

enjin actually hated it even more now.

look at you wearing perfume, making you smell all womanly and sweetly. and that you were nervous and stared like a lost puppy.

he hated the fact you spent twenty whole minutes asking him which earrings looked better like he was some kind of relationship expert. oh, and he especially hated the fact another man was about to touch you after that kiss.

that fucking kiss.

enjin had barely slept that night. every time he closed his eyes, he felt your mouth against his again. your hands in his hair. the tiny sound you made when he pinned you against the mattress. it replayed over and over until he thought he might genuinely lose his mind.

he actually had cummed so often that night that his dick was raw now. thank you very fucking much.

and you still went on the damn date, like you hadn’t shattered his entire universe the night before.

“relax your face,” you complained before leaving. “you look homicidal.”

“i’m homicidal.”

“you’re being dramatic.”

“you kissed me and now you’re leaving with another man.”

the sentence slipped out before he could stop it. you stopped in the doorway and enjin hated having a tongue. or vocal cords.

at least you had the dignity to blush. “i’ll be back later.”

the door shut. you really had left. holy shit.

enjin stared at the door for five whole seconds, then immediately punched the wall.

“fuck.”

gris found him thirty minutes later outside headquarters smoking aggressively enough to probably shorten his lifespan. if a heart attack wouldn’t get him first.

“you look horrible,” gris observed. chill as ever. fuck him too.

“go away.”

“ouch.”

enjin glared at nothing, because his thoughts were unbearable.

were you holding hands with that guy right now?

were you laughing?

was he touching your waist?

was he kissing you?

enjin’s stomach twisted violently. the cigarette snapped between his fingers.

“damn,” gris said. “you’re gone gone.”

“shut up.”

“you finally realized you’re in love with her?”

enjin shot him a murderous look. how dare he to speak that out loud.

gris raised both hands immediately. “okay. touchy subject.”

love. the word echoed unpleasantly in his head, because maybe that was the problem.

maybe this thing had stopped being friendship a long time ago and neither of you noticed because it had always been too messy to define.

enjin had loved you every single time he chose your side without hesitation. every time he slept easier hearing your breathing nearby. every time he thought: if she dies, i’ll burn this world down with her.

he’d been doomed for years.

“you know,” gris continued, “if she kissed you and still went on the date, she’s probably freaking out too.”

“not helping.”

“you look like you wanna hit someone.”

“i do.”

“her date?”

“yes.”

“see? love.”

enjin flipped him off. he actually considered lunging at him for shits and giggles. you know getting it out of the system, but then—

BANG.

the headquarters door slammed open so hard both men jumped. you stormed inside looking absolutely wrecked. your eyes were swollen red and your mascara was smeared.

for a split second enjin thought that man had done something to him and today he’d soak his entire soul in blood. and he’d laugh doing it.

at least until you marched straight toward him and started hitting him. you actually beat the ever loving shit out of his chest and shoulders.

“ow! hey!”

“you absolute asshole!” you screamed.

“what the hell happened?!”

“you ruined me!”

enjin grabbed your wrists before you could swing at his nose. he liked that one. still, you were crying so hard you could barely breathe.

gris wisely disappeared immediately.

“what happened?” enjin asked again, completely baffled.

“you!”

“me?”

“yes, you!”

your face crumpled even harder and then you shoved against his chest with a broken sound.

“you made me fall in love with my best friend!”

enjin stared at you, blinking. his entire brain genuinely stopped working. shut down. shut down.

“what?”

you looked furious that he didn’t immediately understand. you kicked his shin.

“with you, idiot!” you sobbed. “i’m in love with you!”

enjin’s mouth opened, but nothing to hear. you kept crying.

“i went there and he was nice and sweet and normal and then he tried to hold my hand and all i could think was that it wasn’t yours—”

his heart nearly exploded. it was happening. it was really happening. this wasn’t a drill.

“and then he kissed me and i hated it because he wasn’t you and now everything’s ruined—”

something hysterical bubbled up in enjin’s chest suddenly - a laugh.

he tried to stop it and failed horribly. you stared at him in betrayal while tears streamed down your face.

“are you laughing?!”

enjin bent forward wheezing. no, he wasn’t laughing about you. it was the relief that hit him so hard he thought he might collapse.

“you’re unbelievable,” he gasped.

“i’m having a crisis!”

“you’re in love with me?”

“stop sounding so happy about it!”

that only made him laugh harder. everything broke inside you and your expression fell completely.

“oh my—,” you whispered miserably. “you don’t feel the same.”

that wiped the laughter off his face instantly. no, no, no. you misunderstood and he needed to make you understand.

he grabbed your cheeks so fast you startled.

“hey,” he said firmly and your wet eyes lifted to his. “i’ve been in love with you so long i forgot there was supposed to be a before.”

your breath caught and enjin smiled. it was such a soft smile that you pouted, because it was so cute.

“i just didn’t realize you were too.”

you made the most wounded little noise he’d ever heard before crashing into him. enjin caught you automatically. your arms wrapped around his neck while you cried into his shoulder, still hiccuping angry tears.

“you’re so stupid,” you mumbled.

“you punched me.”

“you deserved it.”

“probably.”

he held you tighter, because he’d been waiting to do it properly for years. slowly he tilted your face up and you were so fucking wrecked. eyes swollen and mascara was even at your forehead.

the most beautiful disaster he had ever seen.

“you done crying?” he murmured.

“no.”

“good enough.”

his lips crashed to yours and you sobbed into his mouth. only made him smile like some idiot.

but the hesitation was gone and replaced by certainty as your fingers curled into his coat. and you kissed him back through shaky breaths and leftover tears.

enjin smiled wider against your mouth. when you accidentally laughed mid-kiss because you were still crying too hard, he kissed you again anyway.

your real first kiss. so fucking messy and tender and perfect. enjin won’t forget it until his last breath.

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

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

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

“Everyone likes me better.”

“Mm. Bold claim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely.”

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

“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”

“That’s most people, though.”

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

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

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

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

“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

“Name one.”

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

“That’s not better.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I’m off-duty.”

“You’re never off-duty.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do—”

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

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

“Shame,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not my dragon,” you remind him.

He winks. “Technicality.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you catch them?”

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

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

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

He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna huffs happily in response.

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

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

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

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

“What is?” he asks.

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

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

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

“Satoru!” he bellows.

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

“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d rather not,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, you did.”

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

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

“I’m working.”

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

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

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

“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.

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

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

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

“You did good,” Satoru says.

“So did you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just a rag,” you say.

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

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

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

“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.

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

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

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

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

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

“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your continued survival.”

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

“Show-off,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

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

You focus very, very hard on the roof.

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

“Done?” Satoru asks.

“For now,” you say.

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

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

You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll live.”

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

“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.

“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But then?” you prompt.

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

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

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

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

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

“And by we you mean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I worry plenty.”

“You don’t act like it.”

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

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

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

Your stomach sinks. Already?

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

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

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s effective,” Yaga says.

“He’s insufferable,” you say.

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

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

“Did somebody say my name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you mutter. “At dawn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, boss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is gonna be fun,” Satoru says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably?”

“Eighty percent sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I saved you,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even a little,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— Excuse me?” you splutter.

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

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

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

You pointedly do not stare.

“You’re ogling me,” he says.

“I’m glaring at you.”

“Your glare looks a lot like ogling.”

“Die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See?” Satoru gestures grandly.

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

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

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

“You’re unbearable.”

“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”

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

The shivering ebbs. Your eyelids grow heavy.

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

“Oh, my Gods.”

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

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

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

“Oh,” he says. “Morning, kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stolen?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to believe him. You don’t.

“Which direction?” Satoru asks crisply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later. You’ll think about it later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s meant to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go,” Yaga growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The knot in your stomach hardens into stone.

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

Instead, you find the apprentice.

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

“Where’s the Chief?” you demand.

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

“Yaga,” you say. “Where is he?”

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

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

You slip inside.

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

It’s empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna.

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

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

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

“Sukuna,” you breathe, your voice cracking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the centre of it all: Yaga.

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

Satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not yours,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re working with them?” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh.

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

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

“He will be.”

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

The Night Fury roars.

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

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

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

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

“Miss me?” he drawls.

You shove his shoulder. “Get up.”

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

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

A horn splits the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru’s lips move.

Eighty percent.

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

Eighty percent.

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

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

You make the choice first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your first kiss with Satoru Gojo occurs because of Sukuna.

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

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

Sukuna, it seems, has other ideas.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nearly. Keyword.”

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

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

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

“You—” you splutter. “I— That’s not—”

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

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

“He is not,” you say flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that—” you start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Step in? He barged in.”

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

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

“sorry, I— I didn’t—“

“It’s fine,” stopping mid speech, your professor blinks his irritation away. “just find a seat, mr. itadori.”

“yes sir. sorry, sir.” he obliges, and then his eyes scan across the large lecture hall.

you’re now aware of the open seat next to you and you slouch down a little as if you could fuse into your own.

he climbs the stairs, one hand clasped onto the strap of his book bag that’s slung over a broad shoulder, feet skipping one step each time with ease until his sneakers stop in front of you.

“could-“ voice a little hoarse, he clears his throat. “could I sit here?”

you nod.

“bet, thanks.”

his book bag plops down first, then his body, rather unceremoniously at that, into the neighboring chair he’d pulled out for himself.

brief murmurs are spoken in the short intermission but die down once your professor clicks onto the next slide, everyone’s focus centering back onto the screen in front of them.

except yours.

your mechanical pencil strums restlessly between your thumb and pointer finger because you can feel his eyes glancing at your temple every few seconds and you’re just waiting for him to say something already.

and then he leans in, close enough to whisper, which he happens to be absolutely terrible at you might add.

“you have a pencil i could borrow?” he whisper yells.

“seriously?” you whisper back.

he looks to the side, then back at you. “uh… a pen is cool too, i guess, if that’s all you—“

“what do you even have in your backpack?” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“uhh,” he genuinely searches his bag as if your question wasn’t rhetorical. “a clif bar,” another side pocket is unzipped, and he grimaces apologetically when his eyes return to yours with a less than favorable answer. “and a highlighter... but it’s yellow.”

you roll your eyes and reach to grab your pencil case.

jock!yuji who effortlessly catches up to you in the courtyard after lecture with just a few long strides, scaring the shit out of you when he nudges your shoulder with his elbow, maybe a little too hard given how you stumble slightly.

“jesus fucking-“

“you’re a fast walker!” he notes, sounding impressed. and then, his hand outstretched in front of you to reveal the hello kitty themed writing utensil you’d given him just thirty minutes ago. “forgot to give your pencil back.”

you wave him off, “keep it.”

his brows rise, “you sure?”

a curt laugh huffs through your nostrils. “trust me, you need it more than i do. or are you gonna rough it with your yellow highlighter for the rest of the day?” you tease.

it’s boyish, crooked, and just a little bit cute the way he smiles down at you. a little bit.

“very funny.”

jock!yuji who finds you in one of the library’s quiet study rooms later that week with your head down, brows clenched, and focus unwavering as you meticulously drag a stripe of translucent blue over the capitalized header of your notes.

it takes you a few seconds to notice his big brown eyes gazing at you intensely. and when you do, all you can manage to get out is an, “um—?“

“i need you to tutor me.” he blurts, “please.”

your brow quirks suspiciously, “who told you i’m a tutor?”

his thumb juts behind him when he says, “the giant ‘tutor’ sign outside the door i just came through?”

you forgot about that. “right.”

but you swore you didn’t see his name on the list when you checked this morning, and you confirm that thought when you grab your phone and pull up your agenda for the day.

“what day did you sign up for?” you scroll through, seeing nothing but a blank page.

“huh?” his head tilts like a puppy in response to a dog whistle. “sign up?”

“yes. you have to sign up for a time slot.” he scratches his head like he doesn’t get it, so you continue with a deadpan expression. “the qr code? you know, on the giant sign you just—“

his bottom lip juts out. did he just fucking pout? oh my god he’s pouting at you.

“just sit down.”

jock!yuji who eventually uses your qr code to sign up for a tutoring slot with you every tuesday for the rest of the month so he doesn’t accidentally interrupt another of your solo study sessions, and it’s the one thing he’s actually on time for because he really needs to pass this exam.

sharpened down to its last leg now, the same hello kitty pencil is used to scribble his answer down on the loose leaf that you also provided him. it looks comically tiny between his fingers, his penmanship a little strained due to its inconvenient size. he flips the sheet to face you, pencil slamming down determinedly and eyes looking to you with anticipation.

craning your neck slightly, you click your tongue after a heavy moment of silence. “wrong.”

he scoffs. “what the fu— how?”

“you missed the second step,” his eyes squint at where your finger is on his sheet of paper. “yuji, if you miss the second step the entire equation is wrong, no matter what.”

groaning, he lets his head drops down onto his arms like bummed child. he was never good at math, let alone statistics.

you chew on your words for a beat, but curiosity gets the best of you so you ask anyway, arms crossing over your chest.

“why are you always late?” after a brief pause, you tack on, “—to lecture, i mean.”

a sheepish, quiet chuckle leaves him when he sits up and rubs the back of his head. it lacks the humor it should have, like he’s ashamed to talk about it.

“track. i have team lifts every morning,” he fiddles with your his pencil. “and i would’ve chosen another day to take the class but there was only one option, so,” his hands gesture to the air to complete his sentence.

“so track is more important than passing this class?” it comes out sounding harsher than you intended.

“uh, nah, it’s kinda complicated.” his jaw tenses, and it’s like you can see into him for just a moment. “i have a scholarship through track. it was just me and my grandpa for a while before he passed, so… that’s how i pay for school.”

guilt instantly drenches you, lips opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finish his explanation for him. “and in order to stay on the team, and keep your scholarship… you need to pass this class.”

his hands are flat and pressed together for emphasis. “really need to pass this class.”

he sees your eyes soften and waves you off immediately, he doesn’t want you feeling bad for him, it’s not your fault.

“i-i shouldn’t have assumed, i’m sorry.”

“don’t sweat it.”

jock!yuji who’s starting to impress you by his fourth tutoring session. he even has his own pencil and notebook now!

but now that his understanding is starting to pick up, he can’t stop his mind from wandering away from what you’re explaining to him on your laptop’s screen. he thinks about how put together you seem, how smart you clearly are. how you intentionally save a seat for him next to you in the lecture hall using your backpack now, with zero judgment and only understanding because you know he’s on his way. how your brows push together and make that cute little line between them when you’re double checking his work.

you glance up to ask if he comprehended what you just said to him, just to see his eyes on you instead of the very detailed tutorial you’d put together and recorded for him last night.

the tips of his ears run red and he’s brought back to reality, and your chest tightens with the intrusive feelings you’ve been trying to ignore when he blabs,

“what?”

your brows have that cute little line he was just thinking about between them right now.

“did you hear anything i just said?”

“yes.” he answers confidently. blindly.

“repeat it.” you demand.

his lips make way for words that never come, then they close.

your head dips to the side a little when you sigh, “yuji.”

jock!yuji who’s stomach flips when you say his name like that and he doesn’t know why. maybe it’s how you’re looking up at him through your lashes expectantly, like you want him to listen because you know he’s capable of getting this. like you believe in him.

swallowing hard, he sits up straighter, “sorry,” then runs his sweaty palms run over his jeans, thighs tensed. why are his hands so sweaty?

“i’m listening.”

jock!yuji who parades into the library like he just won the lottery, slinking into your study room cooly without pushing the cracked door open any further. all five fingers slap a stapled packet down over the notes you were reading. he has the most shit eating grin on his face.

“yuji—“

“read that,” he points to the top right corner, taps on it. “tell me what that says.”

so you do, eyes flying back up to see him so loaded with excitement that you find out he has a dimple.

“you passed!”

“b-minus,” his hands shoot up like he just won the super bowl, voice booming, “i fuckin passed, baby!”

a few very agitated students glare at him so you shush him and grab his wrist, yanking him to sit down with you. you try your best to stifle your laugh and ignore the sensation that blooms deep in your gut at what he called you, even if he didn’t mean it like that.

jock!yuji who is utterly shocked when he offers to treat you to lunch and you actually say yes (he was going to resort to begging if you said no). granted, he did phrase it as being a form of compensation for helping him pass the exam, since you volunteer as a tutor in the library for free and all.

he knows he was a pain in the ass to teach so he insisted, also because he couldn’t find the balls to ask you out without a reason beneath it as a safety net. what he didn’t know, is that you would’ve said yes regardless of his declaration of ‘owing you one’.

all his nerves wash away and replace with a small bout of confidence when you simply ask. “when?”

though they’re quick in their return, hitting him like a freight train the very next day as you stand at your front door where he’s picking you up from, beautiful as ever with a smile he selfishly wants to keep for some reason. but he won’t get ahead of himself, it’s only lunch, nothing more.

jock!yuji who is so much more than what you expected that you curse your past self for judging him before you really got to know him. he’s ridiculously funny, incredibly kind and insanely attractive. and while you’ve always known that last part, actually getting to know him made it all the more apparent.

he laughs at every joke you make, a real belly laugh, the kind that’s not the slightest bit polite and makes you laugh too just by hearing it. and he listens to you with his entire body as you talk about something he truly has no reason to care about, chin in hand, eyes peeled and face emotive.

but you won’t get ahead of yourself, and you’ll repeat it in your head until it’s what you believe. that as he places his card down on the bill and scribbles what’s supposed to be his name in cursive under the tip portion, that this is only lunch and nothing more. a kind gesture.

until the two of you are back in his dorm room and jock!yuji, who is beet faced and kiss drunk genuinely thinks he might pass out from how fast his heart is drumming against his ribcage when you break away from him to breathe, a string of shared saliva connecting you both. breathing is overrated, he thinks, flushed lips chasing after yours like they’re two halves of a whole that shouldn’t be separated, his body pressing into you with a hunger that makes your stomach churn. and you duck your head down to his tensed jaw instead, mind feeling hazy because his cologne smells so good it’s making you dizzy.

large hands squeeze your denim clad hips as you’re perched in his lap and if you shift them forward one more time he might lose his composure, but he still can’t stop himself from helping you rock down into him and he doesn’t think he wants to. the sensation of your heated gasp tickles against his skin, makes his adams apple bob dangerously in his throat and he’s really trying to be gentleman but you aren’t making this easy for him.

your lips are so much softer, so much better than he imagined and his tongue darts out to lick at his own, tasting the faint hint of strawberry you’ve left on them. you don’t know how many nights he’s spent wondering what your chapstick would taste like.

he relishes in the feeling of you nibbling at his skin, maybe a little too much, he realizes, when a strangled mewl claws its way from his throat and makes you pull away to look at him with adorable concern.

“should i get off?”

jock!yuji who’d do anything to keep you right here— who’s so quick to shake his head that you can’t help the giggle that escapes you and he can’t help but feel a little embarrassed for being so eager.

“please don’t.”

.

.

.

©plumkissed 2026

There was a sudden burst of light at first, making him turn to see what caused it. As he was doing so, the smell of something burning hit his nose. 

You were burning his curtain to a crisp. 

It wasn’t until the ash eventually got swept away by the wind when he looked at you, only to rudely be told to, “Get a fucking door.”

There was no forgetting the cold look in your eye or the sharp tone you used to cut into him in that moment.

“I won’t bother to remind you of your place, so let me remind you of mine— I’m here to keep you on that fucking throne. If your alliances were to have seen what that servant had just witnessed, they will question your intentions. They will question everything— starting with the fact that you still don't have an heir. You’ve come too far, worked too hard to mess this up. I won’t allow you to— I refuse.”

And then.

“Never. Touch me. Again.”

That was the hardest part to hear— he held you knowing he’d never hurt you, and yet, he still did. 

You went on to pretend as if nothing had ever happened. No silent treatment. No smart, overly formal remarks meant to provoke him. 

You continued to be his advisor. 

Just not his friend.

—

Despite all the murderous air that’s recently settled in the Silk District, it’s still as magnetic as ever. 

It was more than just brothels. It was endless entertainment. Sprawling markets. Exotic goods. Diverse cuisines. Festivals. You couldn’t even say the brothels were “just brothels”, the courtesans were gold standard. 

It wasn’t just people from all over the nation that visited— it was people from all over the world. And for that, there’s many hotels, luxurious ones. The owner of the hotel you’re staying in was generous enough to completely shut it down for the Fire Lord’s visit.

Zuko usually doesn't require such excessive accommodations. There was a point in time when he didn't even have a roof over his head, let alone a bed. Not to mention he starved for the entirety of it— that’s not exactly something that leaves you. 

It really doesn’t take much to make him happy. 

He couldn’t say the same for most, if not all, the company he brought today, which is why he held off on saying anything other than a simple thank you. 

The owner and the manager were waiting outside at the time of your arrival, more than happy to welcome their most special guests with refreshments. The soldiers were tasked to be Saiyo’s food taster for the trip. Yet you absentmindedly took on the task, taking a sip of the mango juice before grabbing another glass from the tray and handing it to her. You’re no stranger to travel, but you seem awfully familiar with the place. 

Perhaps it has something to do with the man that just called out your name.

“My…” The man continues to walk up to you and Zuko can't help but notice how mesmerized the bastard looks. “You’re as lovely as ever.” 

The look Zuko gave the guards was nothing short of startling. They knew he was a peaceful man, so the fact that he even had the capability of exuding such dark energy sent chills running down their spines. 

Instantly, they unsheathed their swords and stepped forward. The worst part of it all, the stranger couldn’t feel any less threatened by the act. He holds his hands up in innocence and chuckles.

The man had long, brown hair with half of it worn up in a knot. Draped in a loose fitting robe that revealed a muscular physique. Tall. Green, cat-like eyes. 

He’s very attractive. 

Unfortunately.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, signaling for the guards to lower their swords. There’s not much enthusiasm in your tone as you greet him back, “Ryuko.” 

“I must say it’s not very surprising to see you wearing the imperial crest on your robe, you’ve always been a clever one,” his grin grows, as confident as ever.

You have no idea how to respond to that. “And you’re…” 

“The newest council member of the district,” he reveals, then redirects his attention to Zuko. “Your Majesty,” he offers a subtle bow, “Please excuse my manners— I was not aware I’d be running into an old friend today. It’s a pleasure to welcome your arrival to the district.” 

The apology does nothing to ease Zuko’s irritation as he continues to assess the councilman like he was some threat. 

“Likewise.” 

It’s a harsh crowd, not that Ryuko cares. If anything, he expects it from those that come from the Royal Capital. Pompous fucks. 

Oh well. Work is work. At least some parts of it will be more interesting now.

—

The Fire Lord can’t help but thank the gods for Concubine Saiyo’s penchant for gossip and general nosiness. 

“It seems your old friend may have had a bit of a crush on you,” the concubine says with a light giggle. 

Ryuko stayed for a little longer, revealing he’d be at the new facility for the majority of your week-long stay. 

“You’re definitely not wrong,” you suppress a laugh, taking another sip of wine. “We were engaged at one point.” 

Zuko stops mid-chew. 

“Oh? May I ask what happened?” 

“I had a bit of a rebellious phase and it came to an end,” you were comfortable enough to reveal. 

The mood of tonight’s dinner leaned more towards the intimate side. You wouldn’t be the only one sharing personal details— the chamberlain was just complaining about his daughter not very long ago. Though you’re sure some of the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening helped.

“Care to share the details of this rebellious phase of yours?” the chamberlain shyly asks— it seems he had the penchant for gossip as well. 

Since it’s the chamberlain asking and you’re looking to turn it into a learning lesson in your slightly inebriated state, you decide to humor him.

“Well,” you sigh, wondering where to start. “I moved here shortly after turning eighteen and stayed for a little over a year. It’s a wonderful place, really— very lively. Shortly after moving, I met a girl at the market. Her name was Cyra and she was a courtesan. Anyways, she was the first friend I made here—“

Saiyo puts a hand over her mouth. “Did she recruit you?”

“Saiyo, please,” Zuko snaps at her, already struggling at the fact that you were engaged. He did not need the image of you fucking more men in his head right now. 

“I’m sorry, My Lord!” she squeaks out. 

“I wouldn’t say she recruited me.”

“What?” his tone hardened, it goes unnoticed given everyone else’s shock. It’s a little insulting.

“Some of the girls in the brothel she worked for were firebenders and I ended up being an instructor of some sorts to elevate their fire dances. Fire dancing tends to be energetic, which is great for festivals, but not for the songs they sing and instruments they play. So, I helped them make their dances look more graceful.”

Their madam was quite generous with your compensation. You went on to give more private lessons at other brothels and somehow became a part of an underground society filled with the district’s elite. That was where you met Ryuko.

The people of the silk district didn’t care so much about what class you were in. If you had something interesting to offer, whether it be a courtesan who’s gained notoriety from simply being unforgettable or a fighter who people could confidently place their bets on, you were considered important. 

Ryuko ran a fight club. He also accepted money from wealthy merchants and business owners on the side whenever they needed one of his fighters to do some of their dirty work for them— you only found out the morning his home was raided, which led to his arrest.

“And yeah— he went off to prison and I went back home.” The room’s silent, everyone‘s just staring at you with their eyes wide. “Anyways, that’s why it’s important to offer assistance, especially when it comes to a place like this. Not add more violence.”

The chancellor looks away in shame. Zuko’s not looking at you anymore, either. There is a lot he wants to say right now, many of them being questions like, who in their right mind allowed a fucking criminal to be a member of the council? 

“Do you still love him?” 

That as well. Thank you, Saiyo. 

You hum. “I was young, I’m not sure if I truly ever did. Looking back, I don’t think the engagement would’ve lasted.” 

“I see,” she took another sip of wine. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that you had the chance to explore the world for some time. I’m sure you have better judgement because of it.”

“Thank you. I’d say so, too.”

—

Accepting your fathers initial offer to bring guards was a decision made with a scattered mind and empty stomach. 

The entire purpose of opening a rehabilitation program was so people could be treated with dignity and you didn’t consider how showing up with multiple guards would look up until the last moment. So to avoid looking wary of the very people you once ate meals and danced with, you only brought only one along and assigned him to the chancellor. 

He’s not any more sheltered than Saiyo, and if the presence of a guard is what’ll prevent him from fainting at the sight of someone covered in tattoos, then so be it. 

It didn’t take him long to figure it out.

“I can assure you I don’t need a bodyguard,” he forces out a laugh. “I understand you kids had your adventures, but—“

“Chancellor, you’re not referring to the time my father exiled me from the nation at thirteen years old, are you?” Zuko dryly asks, instantly killing the mood.

“No, no— never,” the old man stutters. “Your other adventures, w-with your friends!”

He hums. “I see.”

You stay quiet throughout the exchange, sticking to your new rule of only speaking to Zuko when you actually need to tell him something. Even if you had a change of heart, you’re not sure how that would go. He’s grown to be more sarcastic with his answers as of late, and you’d rather not be on the receiving end of it, for obvious reasons. 

This is the first time you’ve felt any sympathy for the Chancellor. But at least he’s able to walk away. 

The Fire Lord doesn’t allow you to do that. He spends the day quietly trailing behind you, keeping you somewhat within his reach. Not overbearing, but noticeable. To you, at least.

The new facility is bigger than the one in Republic City. A two-story with high ceilings and plenty of rooms. Lots of natural sunlight. 

“They’re going to be living it up like kings in here, aren’t they?” Your comments directed more towards Jin, who’s been working day and night since his arrival. There’s a deadline and it seems like he’s trying to cut it in half— you appreciate a hard worker when you see one.

“Yes, they are,” he hums with satisfaction. 

He’s a sweet man. You’re glad the Lord has been more receptive of him compared to last time. 

“And here we have the meditation room,” Jin reveals. “It might be a little difficult getting them to calm their minds at first, but it’ll quickly become a favorite, as it did with—“

Jin’s cut off by random knocks. You both turn around to find the Fire Lord’s knuckles against the freshly painted wall. 

It’s difficult to pinpoint what’s so awkward about it. It just looks odd. Could it be due to Jin’s immediate reaction? He fixed his posture, looking as if he were about to get yelled at. 

“…Is everything to your liking, Lord Zuko?”

Your lips stay shut, averting your gaze from the man as he looks back at the director and makes an attempt at being polite. 

“Mhm,” Zuko pulls his hand away from the wall, unaware of how uncomfortable Jin is at the moment. “Very sturdy.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he nods, a wave of relief crashing over him. “It’s wonderful for absorbing sound.” 

“I see that— excellent work.” Zuko’s bored face doesn’t match his sudden enthusiasm. There’s a bit of a stare off afterwards, and that’s when Zuko finally notices how nervous the director is. It annoys him. “You may continue.” 

“O-of course, my Lord.”

The tour goes on for another thirty minutes before you find yourselves in the backyard for lunch with the rest of the volunteers… and the Chamberlain, who you’re sure has been utterly useless in all the time you’ve been here. Still, he’s actually not all that bad to be around, and you hand him a plate.  

You’re one of the last to go up to the long table that’s filled with various dishes, grabbing a little bit of everything as you walk along it. 

Until you run into something at the very end, leaving you quietly startled. 

“My apologies.” 

“Oh.” You wouldn’t call your reaction to that familiar voice negative. You did refuse to apologize, though. “Didn’t see you there.”

“That’s alright,” Ryuko smiles, then cheekily adds another small portion of food onto your plate. “Are you on your break right now?” 

“I guess,” you murmur, walking to the other side of the table, not missing how he just comes along. “May I ask why you’re following me right now?”

“Well, I was hoping we could talk.”

You deadpan. “We already are.”

“Privately,” he persists. “Just 10 minutes, please. That's all I need for an apology and explanation.” 

“I’m not angry with you and there’s nothing to explain.” 

“For you, perhaps. But for me?” He places his hand over his chest, eyes filled with that same stubborn look. “I’d really like to do the right thing here.” 

At first you sigh, wondering why you can’t just eat your food in peace. Then you find your eyes trailing towards the table where the Lord and the Chamberlain are currently seated, along with the guard. It’s the one in the bun you’re worried about, but he seems to be in his own head right now as he silently eats, leaving the other two to conserve among themselves. 

“Do you need to ask for permission?” Ryuko sounds slightly concerned when he asks.

You shouldn’t feel the need to, it’s not like you’d get in trouble. But the way your chest tightens is hard to ignore.

“No, never.” You rip your gaze away from the table to look at Ryuko again. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

—

Zuko’s not sure why you think he can’t see you. From his peripheral vision, he saw everything— you running into whatever his name is, the whole dance you two did around that table, and then you staring at him before running off with that man. 

Or shall he say criminal? 

It’s been over nine minutes since then and he’s currently counting down the seconds until it becomes ten. 

Is that unfair? Sure. 

Ten. 

You may not be his lover, and made it clear that you never will be, but guess what?

Seven. 

He’s still your boss. 

Six.

You have a long list of duties and he is prepared to make that list even longer.

Three. 

Two.

…One.

“Where are you going, my Lord?” the Chancellor asks, surprised at how he abruptly stood. 

“You have a guard, you’ll be fine.” He waves a dismissive hand as he begins to walk away from the man he just offended.

The facility doesn’t have many furnishings at the moment, you could only imagine how loud his footsteps would be. Luckily, one of his many talents is the ability to go unnoticed, all thanks to his time spent as a fugitive. It’s not like he’s tiptoeing and hiding behind walls, either. He’s just quiet— even when his eye twitched after hearing a tone that was far too hushed for his liking. 

It grows clearer the closer he gets, his footsteps leading him towards the second kitchen. 

“…a chance?”

He's aware that finding a cramped, closed off corner to stand in isn’t very befitting for his role as the nation’s ruler, but it could be worse.

He could be a dictator.

“…I’m a man now.” Oh, shut up. “I can take care of you…”

“That doesn’t matter… It’s been years… I like my life in the Royal Capital.”

“What life is that of an Advisor?” Ryuko’s voice grows tense, as does the Lord’s fist. “You can’t tell me there’s a future in that… that man is going to chew you up and spit you out once he's done with you.”

You stutter and then there’s silence. Having to listen to someone dwindle you down like that pulls at his chest.

“You think he won’t? I was here for an entire hour and witnessed the way he looks at you… he thinks he owns you.”

“…why do you keep bringing up the Fire Lord? You keep talking about me as if I’m his pet… this facility was all my idea.”

Correct.

“And who’s taking credit for it?” 

God he fucking hates this guy. 

“I don’t want credit. Look, I— they’re probably looking for me by now already… I’m sorry.”

“You’re here for a week— let me prove myself to you.”

“I don’t know how you’d be able to do that.”

“I’ll find a way.” 

In those last few minutes Zuko stood there in silence, waiting until the coast was clear for him to leave, he couldn’t help but think about what your ex-fiancé had said to you. 

That man is going to chew you up and spit you out once he's done with you.

You had no idea how to respond to such words. 

Did they hurt you?

Did you believe them, even for just a single moment? 

There was a selfish part of him that wanted to believe you were hurt, for no reason other than knowing it simply wasn’t true. You’re one of the most important people in the meeting room. You said it yourself, this was all your idea. You’re no pet. 

Saying such things to a proud woman like yourself was unkind, at best. The fact that someone thought they could do so sickened him. If you can’t accept all that Zuko wants to give you, he can only hope you at least use him as an example for how you should be treated. 

—

“Do you ever miss living here?” 

You softly hum in thought. “Sometimes. It was fun.” 

“And now your life’s so serious,” Cyra blows out a puff of smoke, a wooden tobacco pipe held loosely in her hand. “I must say, though— the Fire Lord is quite handsome.” 

You try to hold it in, but you burst into a small fit of laughter. She had already asked about Ryuko— you both had joked over his sudden delusions of getting you back. Now it seems like she’s moving to the newest topic.

“What’s so funny about that?” She sits up, handing the tobacco pipe to you. 

You hope no one’s around to smell it on you by the time you step back inside from the balcony.

The owner of the hotel has arranged for a night of entertainment, minus the services, knowing he was being accompanied by a concubine on the trip. Seeing your old friend walk in with the rest of the entertainers was a better surprise than seeing your ex-fiancé. You had mentioned your visit in the previous letter you’d written to her and bought herself out for tonight just so she could sit here with you. 

“Do you not think he’s attractive?” 

There’s still a smile on your face when you finally answer, “am I blind?” 

“For a moment, you had me under the impression that you were,” she laughs, laying back on the day bed and looking up at the stars. “Now that I’m here, will you tell me more about his less diplomatic side, since you won’t write about it in the letters?”

She catches on fast. You hardly mention him at all out of fear that the letters get lost in transit. 

“Like what?”

“Just… random, stupid stuff.” 

“Well… he gets in these moods sometimes, and it’s as if he’s a broody teenage boy,” you stifle a laugh. “It’s hard to take it seriously when I’m having to watch everyone tiptoe around a manchild.” 

You tend to look away during those moments, such as today, because he’ll just become angry. Today was by far your most successful day. 

He’s been in a mood since you’ve yelled at him. While you feel bad for those suffering around him, like the Chancellor, it’s better off this way. You’ve never had to threaten a servant like that before. It was subtle, of course, but a threat is a threat. Hopefully you never have to do anything like that again. 

You don’t tell Cyra any of those details, though. It was best if you kept quiet on the matter. 

“So the Fire Lord is a spoiled brat?” 

You tilt your head and think. “A brat, yes. But I wouldn’t say spoiled. He likes his showers cold and prefers street food. I’m sure he’ll sneak out of here one night with a cloak just to grab some skewers.”

“He sounds like your type.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Cyra giggles and moves on, knowing you wouldn’t budge whether it was true or not. She looks back inside to take a peek at the Fire Lord. He looks bored and unimpressed with all the people surrounding him, even with the woman sitting by his side.

“Does he like his concubine?” 

“He likes her enough,” you murmur tentatively. “That’s the one he frequents the most.” 

“Is there any reason in particular?” 

You all but shrug, knowing the thought of him waiting until he’s pent up and angry to visit his concubines is a thought she’d enjoy too much, being the crude woman she is. Instead you say something about Saiyo’s personality, rather than her… physical endurance, all while trying to move on to a new topic.

Everyone’s gone by the early morning. You didn’t notice how tired you were until you watched Cyra walk out of the lobby with a pair of heavy eyes. 

You didn’t expect anyone to be awake by the time you got back up to the suite, but just as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water, you hear heavy footsteps. 

Zuko almost stops once your eyes meet.

You’re guessing he’s here for the same reason you are. Given his high tolerance, he tends to drink the most during any occasion alcohol is served and you can imagine how parched one could get once the effects wear off.

You look away and continue to pour, thinking he’s too tired to offer more than the hum of acknowledgment he gave as he continued to walk closer, grabbing a glass for himself.

“Was that the friend you spoke of last night?” 

The urge to let out a long sigh was one you had to fight. You were reluctant to answer him, he’s not supposed to speak to you with that much ease anymore. 

“Yes. Were you interested in her services?” 

He stopped and just blinked, looking at you in annoyance because you knew him better than that. “I was only curious about her because she’s friends with you.” 

How aggressively wholesome of him. 

“I see.” 

“Yeah,” he says rather mockingly in return, giving you a taste of the treatment he’d been giving to everyone else as of late. 

But then he rolls it back.

“If you want to spend a day or two with her this week, you could.” 

“I don’t think that’d be necessary—“ 

He softly cuts you off. “It’s not, but it’s a chance to spend time with her before going back to the capital.” 

You pick up the glass of water, thumb smoothing over the condensation as you take a moment to think about it. “What about the facility?”

“You’ve already done your part when you first suggested it.” There’s not much warmth in his tone. Had there been any, you probably would’ve thought he had an ulterior motive. “It’s just an offer.”

“Alright. I’ll guess I’ll take it then,” you avoid direct eye contact as you murmur. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

You miss the way his lips try to twitch into a smile, committed to keeping his composure despite the rush of tranquility you had just given him. 

He still hasn’t bothered to remember your ex-fiancé’s name, but given his goal of winning your heart over in just a week's time, it’s safe to say he’s a man of persistence. 

And so is Zuko, which is why he’s decided he is going to make that goal absolutely impossible to achieve.

‼️ TAG LIST IS CLOSED ‼️

Yuuji waved his head before he closed the door, too loud for Megumi’s taste.

“Yeah, yeah. Think about it, Fushiguro! Good night.”

Megumi breathed out in relief when his friend left the room, heading to his own dorm, next door down the shared hallway.

A date? Really? Why would he need a date now, in the middle of the college semester? Yeah, maybe Nobara and Yuuji think it’s cute, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even know you. Even more, all of this to be a… What? Matchmaker date? Embarrassing. Why would he want that, right?

A quiet curiosity about this spontaneous situation bothered Megumi a little. And with this feeling he slept the night away until the Monday of school came the next day.

——

“No.”

Nobara rolled her eyes—probably for the third time today—as she followed you through the university halls. It wouldn’t be long before class started, not that you were all that impressed by the subject.

As prestigious nationally as it is, this university is a comprehensive one. Meaning they share almost every academic area imaginable. Still, you need to choose the specialisation in the next year. For now, you’re forced to go to Media Science & Design classes, Nobara’s favorite.

Her friend, the pink one, she said will choose the School of Sport Sciences, where he can specialist in coaching. And the other one you don’t think you saw him yet was Literature & Environment. That one was more intriguing for you too, since it has a unique master's that looks at how literature intersects with human and cultural environments. That’s cool! But it was still surprising you didn’t know who he is since you didn’t recall seeing him in the literature class. Maybe he is easy to miss?

You recall when Nobara gave you a brief description about him not having a hairstyle she agrees with, but he is too stubborn to let her do the job better. That he is an annoyingly serious person, easily irritated, but a good guy. “Trust me". Kinda hard to do that, Nobara.

But you can’t remember someone similar with that from that class. Only a vague memory of the shadow of someone sitting in the same spot, close to the window — catching his dark, blue eyes under some long, pretty eyelashes you remember being jealous of. You don’t remember much of his face since you avoided looking at him after that, but his striking feature was sure hard to miss—

“Oi! Fushiguro!”

You blinked, coming back to yourself from the inner monologue, sitting behind Nobara, who gripped the doorknob as she waved at someone at the end of the corridor.

“Nobara!! I’m here too, hello?!”

You didn’t see Nobara’s glare towards Yuuji, who gestured confusedly with his hands in return, next to a man you then looked at him and…Fushiguro? He looks exactly like the one you just thought about. No, he is him for sure.

You didn’t see her grin either as she saw you disgustingly oogling his friend, who stopped his hand mid-air to reach the door until it fell to his side. Nobara break the trance you were in no longer after.

“Come on, let’s go. Move!”

Nobara took your hand, dragging you into a room as you shook your head, following her.

“Shit. Fuck. I stared like a freak, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” She dropped her backpack onto the chair, placed not too far in front of the class and not too far in the back of it. “He is the one, by the way.”

“The one…who?”

You sit on the chair too, confused, as Nobara’s eyes glint, smiling winningly.

“What do you mean, 'Who'? The one Yuuji asked him to meet you, and I asked you to meet him.”

What?

“He?”

Fuck. For another reason, you feel embarrassed, your blush painting your cheeks. You just stared at him like some weirdo, even though your thoughts were about whether you recognised him or not. Or maybe not all of them were about that.

Nobara nudged your arm, even though it was obvious from your face what you were thinking.

“So? Is that a yes now, I guess?”

You murmured, looking at the professor who just entered the class, going to his desk.

“Shut up.”

Meanwhile, Nobara types out to Yuuji a short message.

Yuuji murmured a “Sorry” at the scrutinising gaze of his professor as he locked his phone. Really, he hates this hour. Bioscience? Come on, can he just start his specialisation sooner? Why should you be forced to have 2 years?! Instead of 1 with other irrelevant classes.

He looked then at his Megumi, stoic as usual, flicking his pen slowly as he waited for the professor to begin.

“What do you think about that girl from earlier?”

Megumi gave him a short glance. He knew exactly for what girl Yuuji asked.

“The one next to Nobara?”

“Mhm, mhm.”

It is not like Yuuji to ask so openly about someone. Still, something is bugging Megumi, and he doesn’t know why, curious enough to disrupt his focus on the lesson to engage more in the conversation.

“Why? You want to speak with her?”

Yuuji blinked confusedly before he shook his head.

“No, no. You got it wrong. What do you think?”

“Itadori Yuuji.”

“I’m sorry.” Yuuji smiled apologetically to the professor, yet he turned as fast to look at Megumi again, who already ignored him.

“So?” He tried to lower his voice.

“Pay attention and shut up.”

“She is the one, by the way.”

Megumi’s pen stilled a second, looking at a random spot on his desk before he wanted to start writing the title of the current lesson. He didn’t indulge his friend more with his answer, as Yuuji occasionally glanced at him for some sort of reaction.

He didn’t expect you to be the one. Luckily, just before Nobara dragged you into a room to excuse his creepy behaviour for not even answering her since he was too busy to look at you. Really, it was pathetic already. Unexpected, even.

It was true he remembered you from the class of literature at least. Or sometimes when you were probably free, on a break, sitting outside as he looked at the window accidentally. Once, twice. Maybe third times.Accidentally, though.

Even in class, he remembered you averted your gaze from him, and he didn’t catches you again. Not like he follows you being present in the room every time he comes in. That’s not it. It was just happening. Megumi remembered he liked how you articulated yourself when debating different subjects about the reading the class had that time.

How didn’t he see you with Nobara before? Or he was that clueless? But it shouldn’t matter anyway to have these types of thoughts. Surely, he will be a freak to say yes now. He resumes his own idea that it’s too embarrassing to participate in this kind of stuff. What is he? An adolescent? Not anymore. Even so, he doesn’t need these kinds of things in his life. He is not unexperienced or anything, but it’s not like—

“Fushiguro?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

He glanced at Yuuji, then at the professor who wrote on the table and probably wiped already one. Megumi didn’t write even a phrase. What the hell.

“Yes.”

Yuuji murmured, unconvinced. "Sure…" as he placed his arms over both chairs.

As the day ended and he was now next to a brooding Yuuji due the boring classes, Megumi wasn’t so familiar with the sudden change in his friend’s demanor, his mood switching instantly after a notification sound catched Yuuji’s attention. When Yuuji grinned at him, Megumi felt his heart leaping for a second.

“She said yes. Nobara just texted me.”

Megumi eyes widen a little, despite his lack of answers at first. Yuuji circled him then, playfully, jumping around. “So? You didn’t said anything in class. Noooow…I was right she will say yes. You will say no even now?” Yuuji shoulders fall. “Please, don’t say no. Nobara will literally—“

“Okay. I’m not saying no.”

Yuuji mouth parted and Megumi already regretted his decision as his steps turned faster, making Yuuni jogging after him.

“So that’s a yes? Oh God, Megumi Fushiguro is going to a date!”

Megumi boinked his head, looking with a piercing, dangerous stare.

“Keep quiet, we are not alone!”

“Auch?!” Yuuji’s offended face didn’t last much, looking around at the curious glances in the open field of the campus, before his smile returning.

Megumi voice was lower, but Yuuji didn’t imagined. He really didn’t imaginating his friend will have a pink in his pale cheecks, or the annoyed murmur of his voice.

“Text me her number, Itadori.”