#reader-insert

Leon is the newest recruit to the RPD and always indulges you in more than simple greetings. He asks you about your classes, your friends, your family, and you return his interest with your own. Your nighttime chats have become such a regular occurrence that Leon now waits for you with a snack and drink on his desk. Always something nice from the deli, not some cheap convenience store or vending machine food. He sometimes follows you around and helps when he can, even throws some teasing remarks your way.

"Missed a spot."

"You're scrubbing that mirror like it stole your lunch money."

You retaliate by splashing him with soapy water and the two of you end up laughing together every time.

Sometimes, after your shift, if you have any energy left inside you, you sit with him in the West Office and listen to music together. You take turns with selecting the music, bringing in your favorite tapes and CDs for each other to try.

And, through the months of late-night chats, laughter, food, music, and companionship, you find yourself falling for Leon Kennedy.

-----

Six months in, and Leon suddenly stops appearing at night shifts. The first night he's a no-show, you brush it off. Maybe he's sick or on vacation. Life happens.

The second week has you feeling nervous.

After another month, you feel your heart break. He must've been reassigned, leaving you without your trusted companion, the only bright spot during these godawful shifts. You contemplate going into the station during business hours to see him, but you push that idea away. You don't want to embarrass him by showing up at his place of work unexpected, especially since you had no inclination if he felt even a fraction of the affection you felt.

You listen to the music he gave you as you work and reminisce on all the good times you had with him. Still, the hallways feel ominous again, and the time passes slowly, slowly, slowly…

Life goes on.

-----

You run into Leon Kennedy again under horrible circumstances.

Someone, or a group of someones, broke into your apartment building and looted several of the units, including yours. When the cops come, you see him step out of the cruiser with one of his colleagues and your breath gets caught in your throat. You watch the two of them walk into the building from your spot on one of the lobby's godawful chairs and you feel the weeks of loneliness bubbling forth. However, this is not the time, and you tamp down your emotions as best you can.

But when Leon catches sight of you, his eyes go wide in shock before a broad grin stretches across his face and your heart bursts at the sight of it. He gives you a wave and gestures for you to stay put. You nod. You're pretty sure your legs will give out if you try to stand anyway, your nerves are so fried between your apartment being robbed and seeing him again. You watch him as he and his colleague split up and question the other tenants, a smile pulling at your lips when Leon works your side of the lobby, leaving you for last.

When he stands in front of you, you know everything is going to be ok.

"Hi," you breathe.

"Hey there," he replies, "How you holding up?"

"Better, now," you admit.

I missed you.

"I have some questions about the incident, if you're ready?"

He's professional as he gets what he needs and you do your best to answer as thoroughly as possible. All the while, you can only think about how much you want to kiss him. When he's done he flips to another page of his notepad and scribbles something down before handing it to you with a smile and… a blush?

"Here. Someone should be coming soon to take photos."

"Oh, alright. Thank you, Leon. For everything."

He smiles and looks like he wants to say something more but is called away by his colleague. He gives you one last look before walking off. You watch him talk to his colleague for a moment before looking at the slip of paper in your hand.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

I've missed our late-night snacks, but how about a date instead?

—Leon

You grin.

Yeah, everything's going to be alright.

4. SNOW STORM

5. BLIND DATE

6.PANCAKES

7. CAREER DAY

+

Headcannons

Berzattos and Schemmentis

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body. 

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers. 

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting. 

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?" 

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter. 

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here. 

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes. 

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit. 

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white. 

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort. 

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon. 

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming. 

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly. 

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables. 

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment. 

Not a bad one. 

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day. 

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made. 

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him. 

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows. 

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere. 

"Smells good," he says. 

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow. 

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles. 

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time. 

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet." 

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip. 

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week." 

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame." 

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable. 

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers. 

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours." 

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips. 

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly. 

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?" 

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting. 

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on. 

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl." 

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly. 

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war. 

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave. 

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl." 

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy. 

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack. 

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight. 

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles. 

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later. 

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes. 

It's like you left with his heart. 

No, you ran away with his soul. 

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't. 

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same. 

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are. 

You left him. 

You left him to rot. 

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's. 

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone. 

He misses you. 

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything. 

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office. 

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night. 

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru. 

“Gojo, sir?” 

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages. 

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now? 

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.” 

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.” 

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression. 

It was a little annoying to look at. 

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along. 

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too. 

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring. 

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no. 

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring. 

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest. 

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't. 

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it." 

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy. 

"You get that, right?" 

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes. 

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding. 

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing. 

"Suguru!" He waves over. 

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years. 

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be. 

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs. 

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs. 

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him. 

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again." 

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?" 

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time." 

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene. 

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that. 

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along. 

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off. 

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins. 

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man." 

Suguru's smile is catlike. 

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again. 

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge. 

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?" 

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed." 

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act." 

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's. 

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name. 

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot. 

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves. 

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second. 

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off. 

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved." 

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens. 

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none. 

"I'll be sure to save the date." 

Then he shuts Satoru down completely. 

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says. 

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things." 

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me." 

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red. 

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him. 

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall. 

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment. 

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—" 

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath." 

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not. 

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress." 

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips. 

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—" 

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself." 

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact. 

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much. 

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now. 

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot. 

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear. 

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you. 

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder. 

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces. 

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you. 

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you. 

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit. 

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for. 

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it 

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?" 

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh. 

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares. 

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?" 

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat. 

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have." 

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar." 

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it. 

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces." 

You nod, eager to take the out. 

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces." 

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school. 

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned. 

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it. 

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—" 

"Get out." 

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit. 

"Um, what?" 

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out." 

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back. 

"Wait." Satoru stops her. 

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her. 

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want. 

He needs you. He can't wait anymore. 

He needs you, whether you want him or not. 

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing. 

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy. 

These noises are a little more concerning. 

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open. 

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer. 

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering. 

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles. 

A positive pregnancy test. 

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it." 

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung. 

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary. 

He's finally cracked you. 

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—" 

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts. 

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while. 

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you." 

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm. 

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here." 

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you. 

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request. 

"I can't," he honestly says. 

"You won't." You correct him. 

He smiles in your hair. 

"No baby," he says, "I can't." 

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before. 

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest 

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him. 

God, he loves you. 

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says. 

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you." 

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be. 

The passage of time only brought the two of you closer together, strengthening your friendship and bond across life events—like your birthday, trips to nearby places, and the start of a new school year. 

All the while, neither of you ever seemed to notice how much the world was watching. Waiting, even, to see what would come of this seemingly unshakeable connection between the Morisato and Gojo clans. 

Try as your eldest sister might, Satoru never respected many of the limits she tried to enforce when it came to the two of you. Though that was to be expected, given who and what he was. Sometimes, she suspected he pushed against appropriate behavior with you out of spite toward her. But deep down, she knew it wasn't the real reason—which was worse in hindsight.

Why? 

Because it meant all of his less-than-subtle and increasingly frequent gestures were leading down a path that might not be the best for you. 

Especially since you'd told her once before that you had considered leaving the country when you were older.

Maybe that would be better. For you to leave this world behind, and all the misplaced esteems and expectations of the clan's elders.  

At least one Morisato deserved to be away from all of this darkness, this complicated life in the shadows. 

And as long as you were happy, safe and free, she and all of your other siblings would support your decision. Monetarily, even. 

Satoru Gojo, on the other hand… she was more than sure would not be so keen to let you go. He wouldn't be able to follow if you left permanently, which was a simple, undeniable truth that even he couldn't fight against. 

She knew you were smart enough not to tell him about your potential plan. But if he ever found out… what might that insufferable idiot do to keep you here?

And the answer to that hypothetical question was what worried her most.

But perhaps this move to Tokyo for Gojo would help build a healthier level of separation between the two of you. At least, she hoped that would be the case… for your sake.   

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

August 14, 2004. 

The Nara Tokae Lantern Festival.

The seasons passed in what felt like the blink of an eye, and before you knew it, you found yourself preparing for the local Nara festival your family had been a part of for years. The event ran from August 5th to the 14th.

As usual, the entire Morisato clan was formally set to attend on the final day, along with extended family members. Among them now included Harunobu Kamo—Hana’s fiancé. He’d proposed to her only a month ago, so it was a relatively new addition. 

But you’d watched your sister’s year-long courtship, seen when they met and how they slowly fell in love. It was sweet. Genuine. Mutual.

Mixed with your happiness for her was a quiet envy for fear you might never get to experience a fairytale romance of your own one day—like in all the films you'd forced Satoru to watch or grown up seeing with Hana and Mitsuki. 

Enchanted love stories were one of the only interests you and your sisters seemed to share when you were a child. Thankfully, that had changed over the years, and you’d grown quite close with both of them.  But even before that, you'd always idolized Hana. 

And now with this, too… how could you ever live up to everything your eldest sister was? She was perfect in your eyes. 

Satoru had made a joke of it when you’d told him the news, stating something borderline offensive that made it very clear how sorry he felt for the man. It’d made you laugh before you reprimanded him for being so rude and mean to your eldest sister. Though his reaction shouldn’t have come as a surprise—Hana and Satoru had a tendency to butt heads, even over the smallest of things, but especially anything that involved you. 

Like Satoru wanting to match the pattern on his yukata with yours for the festival, for instance. 

Hana had been firmly against it, later telling you in private that doing so might imply something more. You didn’t go against her advice, choosing not to tell him despite his insistent pestering. Unfortunately, Satoru still managed to figure it out—going so far as to seek out the seamstress your family had nearly employed for every request and event in the past decade.

This revelation was only sprung upon you and your family the day of the festival, when it was far too late for you to change into anything else.

“You’d think they’re the ones engaged with how well-matched they look.” Hana sighed, walking alongside her fiancé.

“I don’t think he can help it,” Haru replied gently. “He seems smitten with your sister even if he doesn’t quite realize it yet. And I can’t blame him,” he stopped, gently caressing Hana's cheek with his hand as he finished his statement, “because I went through the same feelings with you.”

“Don’t try to get them out of trouble by being so sweet with me,” Hana murmured, smiling as she tucked herself closer to his side and rested her head against his shoulder. “I'm still not happy about the way it looks, but I’ll let them be until tomorrow.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Satoru Gojo was not one to share—especially not when it came to you and your undivided attention. 

So he couldn’t quite hide his disappointment when he realized he had to do just that today, not only with your family, but with your friends, too. 

He felt a flicker of annoyance watching as you laughed and talked along with your group, all six of them. Some of whom you’d known your whole life, which he envied to no end.    

It wasn’t until someone suggested feeding the deer around Nara Park and he'd observed your face light up at the idea that his mood shifted in a more positive direction. If only slightly.

The deer were already roaming freely, unbothered by the crowds as lantern lights flickered softly between open fields, stone staircases, and the trees.

Trying to show off a bit, he purchased several bundles of deer treats to share with you. For once, you'd just let him pay without protest. He figured it was because you didn't want to make a fuss in front of your other friends. And that was fine by him, but it also bothered him that you were acting a little different than usual.

You crouched near one of the deer, holding a cracker out carefully between your fingers. It accepted it with surprising gentleness, its nose brushing your hand as it chewed. You smiled, delighted, already reaching for another.

That was when a second deer approached. Then a third.

Within moments, the calm curiosity turned into eager persistence. Soft snorts and impatient nudges pressed in as more deer caught on, noses bumping at your sleeves and the hem of your yukata.

“Okay- hey- wait,” you tittered, trying to step back as one tugged lightly at your sleeve. He'd laughed at your lack of control before stepping in to rescue you, offering his own treats to redirect their attention. 

“Thanks, Satoru,” you said, smiling at him kindly. 

“Try not to get eaten before the rest of the festivities, yeah?” he teased.

You scoffed playfully. “I'm not trying to. I didn’t expect them to zero in on me like that so quickly.”

Without looking, he noted Keiko and Seiji approaching, offering their own set of crackers to the deer that had initially surrounded you. Their help eased the chaos further, and he didn’t mind it—out of everyone in your group, they were the ones he tolerated the most.

Keiko was your cousin, after all, so there was no getting rid of her. And Seiji, as you’d told him more than once, was like a bonus older brother you'd grown up with because of his family’s long-standing relationship to yours. 

“I'll never understand how you still manage to get swarmed by the deer after living here our entire lives,” Keiko said, laughing and poking fun.  

Seiji chuckled along, feeding one doe at a time. “It’s a talent the way you attract trouble at this point, Y/n.”

Satoru smirked, thinking to himself that Seiji's assessment hadn't been entirely wrong—especially after that fiasco with you and that kid in the alley. Though, as long as he was around, he'd always find a way to get you out of whatever trouble you landed in.  

“I can't help that the deer have good taste and always prefer me over you two,” you shrugged, handing off another treat to a baby deer. 

Satoru laughed under his breath in response, clearly amused as he watched you handle their teasing with ease—that was one type of problem he never had to help you with. 

Before they could reply, Rin called out to the four of you from across the way. 

“Hey everyone, look over here. I'm going to take your picture!”

Click. Shutter. Flash.

“Let's do one more. And this time get closer together.”

To no one's surprise, he'd followed her instructions without hesitation, getting closer to you in an instant before the second flash went off.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

“Are you sure you want to row the whole time, Toru? I feel bad not helping.”

“Please. This is nothing. I’m still enjoying everything with you from here,” he responded, guiding the small boat in a slow arc across the pond with every dip of the oars.

“If you say so,” you shook your head, knowing there was no point in trying further. Instead, you turned your attention to the beautiful display of lanterns surrounding Sagi-ike pond. No matter how many times you'd attended, it always looked so magical during the festival. 

“We need to light our lanterns before the fireworks start later,” you murmured, still mesmerized by the scenes around you.

“Don’t worry, we still have time,” he said. “And I figured out the perfect spot for us to watch them from.”

“Just us?” you asked, holding onto the edge of the boat with one hand as it drifted, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?” he grumbled. 

It was obvious he wasn’t fond of your other friends since the day you'd introduced him to them. You chalked it up to his upbringing, knowing from your friendship and time together how selfish he could be. But in some ways, you didn’t mind it. It helped keep the two worlds you were a part of separate, something you’d slowly realized was a blessing of sorts. Jujutsu society and all that it encompassed were often suffocating, and your non-jujutsu-related life came as a much-needed relief.

Nonetheless, it might do Satoru some good to interact with that side of your life more before he leaves for Jujutsu High in Tokyo.  

“If you gave them a chance, you’d see they’re not so bad, you know?” you replied.

“Haven’t I?” he asked, looking away and feigning ignorance as he continued to row. 

“Keiko and Seiji don’t count.”

“They’re fine,” he said after a beat. “I just don’t see why I have to like every one of your friends.”

“I guess that’s fair,” you sighed softly. “But… don’t forget they’re the type of normies you’ll be protecting as a sorcerer later.”

He didn’t answer, just dipped the oars into the water again and watched as the ripples spread across the pond.

You decided to change the subject, not wanting to sour the happy mood of the festival.

“By the way, how’d you get Mrs. Toshino to tell you what I’d be wearing?”

You watched as his eyes lit up, a mischievous grin carving itself across his face. 

“Promised her my family’s business for the foreseeable future.”

You snorted. “What?” then continued laughing as you asked, “are you serious?” 

“My elders were pissed.”

“I bet they were,” you shook your head, smiling and once again admiring all the other delights around you before continuing. 

“You’re lucky Kamo was here to calm Hana down.” 

It was his turn to laugh. “The look on her face was worth it.”

“You’re terrible. Stop being mean to my big sister.”

He scoffed in feigned offense. “She’s the one who’s been mean to me from the start.” 

“And whose fault is that?”

“Excuses, butterfly. Cheap excuses.”

You huffed out a giggle. “You know you probably got me in trouble with your stunt.”

“Nah, I’ll take the blame for it and tell her myself that you weren’t involved.”

You rolled your eyes before adding, “well, that’s the least you can do, Toru. But I have a feeling she won’t believe that I kept it from you.”

“Hmph. She can ask Mrs. Toshino or my family if she doesn't believe us.”

While he spoke, you found yourself looking up at the sky, drawn to how much darker it had become, the stars now sparkling brighter than when you’d first gotten into the rowboat with Satoru.

“The stars are already out,” you commented, almost absently going off topic.

“Like the ones in my eyes? I remember you said something like that the first time we met,” he said, glancing up and then back at you. 

You softly bumped your knee against his as you corrected him. “Galaxies. I said I saw galaxies in your eyes, so these aren't enough stars.”

“Do you still think that?” he asked, tilting his head as he gazed at you from across the boat.

You reached out briefly, brushing strands of hair away from his face to get a better view. “Your eyes haven’t changed, Toru. So the galaxies are still there.” 

He smiled, and you smiled back at him. It felt like an eternity as you looked at each other, until a yell from the Ukimido pavilion that rested over the pond broke the moment.

Your two brothers were waving you both down. And you excitedly waved back with Satoru doing the same beside you, though with far less enthusiasm.

“We should head back to shore,” he said after returning his attention to you. “Don’t want us to miss anything.”

You nodded, letting the moment pass as he rowed the two of you back to the dock and festivities.

 ⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

No matter how hard he tried to focus on the task at hand, on the steady rhythm he’d set for himself, the moment that had just transpired refused to leave his mind. 

He couldn't shake the feeling of your fingers brushing his hair away from his face or the sweet smile you’d given him from across the boat.

If he didn’t know better, it could’ve passed for a scene out of one of those silly romance films you’d force him to watch—right before the first kiss happened between star-crossed lovers. 

But, no. 

That was wrong.

This was you and him he was thinking about.

Not romantic partners in a stupid movie.

‘Stop being weird, you idiot,’ he told himself, tightening his grip on the oars as the boat bumped gently against the dock.

He exited first, lending a hand to help you up and out of the rowboat. The wood creaked softly beneath your feet as you climbed out after him. Now back on solid ground, the two of you began walking towards your family in the pavilion. 

Matching your stride, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you from the corner of his eye. 

Geez. Were you always this beautiful?

“Hey- we got you both a lantern,” Rento shared, interrupting his thoughts as your brother passed one to you and him. “Let’s go light them at our usual spot by the Kōfuku-ji Temple, Y/n.”

“What about Hana and Suki?” He heard you ask.

To which your brother replied, “we saw them earlier and they're heading that way too. So let's catch up to them.”

Satoru followed a step behind, listening to the easy, familiar chatter between you and your siblings while quietly wrestling with emotions he hoped no one could read on his face.

Once the group reached the spot your brother had spoken of, he lit his lantern and placed it beside yours without comment. The two seemed to glow softly together among all the others—though maybe that was just his imagination.  

He watched as you closed your eyes, praying quietly alongside your brothers and sisters near the temple’s shrine. 

And despite himself, he briefly wondered if maybe, just maybe… any of your prayers might include him. 

Was this just a passing thought? Or wishful thinking?

He wasn’t sure of the answer as he, too, shut his eyes and prayed for clarity.  

 ⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

While everyone gathered for the firework display, he’d quietly grabbed hold of your hand and snuck you away from your friends and family, weaving through the thinning crowd toward a private spot he’d refused to share with you until now. 

He couldn’t risk you telling your friends about it beforehand.

The sounds of laughter and chatter faded behind you with each step uphill, replaced by the soft brush of grass beneath your sandals.

“Slow down a little,” you called out, tightening your grip on his hand. “It’s hard to walk uphill in these.”

He glanced back to make sure you were still moving ahead steadily, his hold on you firm but careful. 

“Just a little more, butterfly,” he reassured, slowing slightly for your sake despite his hurry. “We’re almost there. I don’t want us to miss them.”

Finally, after what felt like forever, the two of you reached the top of the hill—just as the first fireworks soared into the sky, erupting above you in brilliant arrays of color and light. The sharp crack echoed across the open space, the glow reflecting off his pale hair and painting your surroundings in fleeting hues of red and gold, then purple and blue. For a moment, the world below seemed to disappear, leaving only the thunder of each illumination overhead and the warmth of his hand still interlaced with yours.

The two of you watched as one burst followed another in steady succession. But his attention wasn’t solely on the sky anymore. It kept drifting back to you. He lingered on the way your eyes lit up with pure joy and the unguarded smile on your face. Everything about you was making his heart race.

And just like before in the rowboat, it felt like a scene lifted straight out of a fairytale as you turned toward him, beaming brightly like you always did—like this was just another shared moment between friends.

He smiled back, taking in every detail of the moment—even the way your cursed energy seemed to be bursting with delight. 

So many times, he'd hated that his eyes forced him to see the cursed energy in the people around him.

Yours, though?

He'd become addicted to it.

“Look at that one, Toru,” you exclaimed in excitement, tugging at his arm. “It’s so pretty.”

“Yeah,” he answered as the truth crashed into him all at once, his voice dropping under the cover of the fireworks, “you are.”   

This whole time, all the things he’d felt—needing to be near you as often as possible, pushing himself to get stronger to protect you, thinking about kissing you, desperately wanting you to come with him to Tokyo—had been pointing to this. 

Damn it.  

How had he not realized what this gnawing tension in his chest meant sooner? 

He liked you.

He really, really liked you.

Now what the hell was he supposed to do about it? 

He gripped your hand tighter, contemplating whether he should confess his feelings to you here, right now. 

The moment was perfect for it.

But… what if you didn’t feel the same way?

The idea made him feel dizzy, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly hear the fireworks anymore. 

Could he live with that, if it were true?

Yes, he could… right? 

No… damn it. 

No, he couldn't. 

And he’d be lying to himself and you if he said otherwise because… just picturing you with someone else, some other sorcerer your family might set you up with, had his blood boiling.

“You alright, Toru? Are the fireworks too much for your eyes?” you interrupted his thoughts with your concerned remarks. 

Had his emotions been too obvious? At least you’d given him an out. 

“A little,” he admitted falsely, forcing himself to give you a small, grimacing smile. “But I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now, butterfly.”

And that was the only truth he had decided to share with you for the time being.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

The walk back down felt shorter than the climb, but not by much. The grass still brushed at your sandals, and the lantern light grew brighter the closer you got to the main paths. Below, the festival had already regained its rhythm, as if the fireworks had never paused it at all.

Your fingers were still warm from holding Satoru’s hand for so long during the display.

In your distracted excitement, you’d forgotten to let go. And judging by the way his grip had remained unhurried, it didn’t seem like your best friend had minded at all. But something about him almost felt different on the way back down. Maybe you’d ask him about it later. 

The moment the two of you came back into view near the lantern-lit path that led towards the food stalls, Keiko’s head snapped in your direction like she’d been waiting for the exact second you’d reappear in the crowd.

“There you are,” she called, dragging out the words with unmistakable suspicion.

Seiji looked up from where he stood beside her, expression more amused than surprised, already taking in the sight of the two of you together. Rin hovered nearby as well, fingers hooked through her camera strap as though she’d been snapping photos of everything that caught her eye. A few steps back, Asami lingered with Toma and Shu, the three of them mid-conversation until they noticed Keiko’s sudden interest shift.

Keiko’s eyes quickly flicked between you and Satoru. Then she smiled before continuing.

“So,” she said sweetly, “where did you two disappear to?”

“Somewhere with a better view,” Satoru answered before you had a chance to. 

“And you couldn’t have shared that with us, huh?” she asked with a smirk, already looping her arm through yours and stealing you away from him. “Well, since you’re back, we were about to hit the food stalls. Want to join us?”

“Yeah, let's go,” you cheerily replied. 

The crowd thickened as you were pulled toward the food stalls. The air buzzed with voices and laughter, layered with the unmistakable smells of frying batter, grilled meat, and something sweet caramelizing.

Keiko wasted no time.

“I’m starving,” she announced, scanning the stalls like she was on a mission.

Rin’s eyes had already locked onto a stall piled high with cotton candy and candied fruit, glossy tanghulu skewers catching the light.

“Oh,” she breathed. “They have the shiny strawberries.”

Asami, on the other hand, lingered near a stall flipping hashimaki on a griddle, arms crossed as she read the handwritten menu. “This is the one for me,” she said, lining up.

Satoru stayed close at your side as the group spread out, his presence easy but deliberate. The smell of takoyaki drifted past, followed by grilled squid sizzling over open flame, and he leaned slightly toward you.

“Anything you want?” he asked casually. “I’m buying, but just for us.”

You huffed at his clarification, eyes bouncing from stall to stall. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start sweet,” Rin declared, already halfway back toward you with a candied apple in hand. “Then salty. Then sweet again.”

Satoru clicked his tongue in agreement. “Her system isn’t half bad. I’ll go with that.”

He disappeared briefly, reemerging moments later with two skewers of tanghulu, the hardened sugar shell cracking softly as he handed one to you.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “They’re kind of sticky.”

You thanked him, holding on to the skewer carefully as you took your first bite, the sweetness exploding on your taste buds. “Mmm,” you murmured as he laughed at your reaction. 

Nearby, Toma and Shuichi had gravitated toward the yakisoba stall, watching noodles fly through the air as the vendor worked.

“Fig sauce yakisoba?” Shu read aloud, skeptical.

Toma shrugged. “Festivals are for trying different things.”

Keiko returned with a sausage on a stick, mustard already dripping dangerously close to her hand, eyes flicking briefly to where Satoru still stood at your side, tasting the snack he’d just bought.

Keiko took a bite, hummed approvingly, then gestured with the stick toward a nearby stall where a small crowd had gathered.

“Oh- look,” she said. “They’ve got one of those shooting games.”

Seiji followed her gaze, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll win you something, Kei.” He paused, looking at you for a second before extending the invitation. “Want to try it out, Gojo?”

Since Seiji was one of the few friends in your group Satoru could actually stand, you’d asked him to make more of an effort to include Satoru when everyone was together. You silently thanked Seiji with a quick smile, taking another delicious bite of your shiny fruit after.

Satoru glanced at the stall, then at the prizes lined across. You watched as his eyes flicked briefly to you before he shrugged. 

“Sure,” he said. “I'm game.”

Before long, Shu and Toma had joined in too, drawn by the promise of competition and bragging rights. Boys really were simple creatures. 

The vendor slid a wooden rifle across the counter, followed by a small tray of cork bullets.

“Five shots each,” he said. “You knock it off the stand, you keep it.”

Keiko leaned forward, squinting at some of the prizes that were balanced on narrow wooden blocks.

“So it’s not about hitting it,” she muttered. “You have to knock it down.”

“Exactly,” the vendor replied. “Let’s do two at a time, yeah?”

By the time the last cork bullet clattered to the ground, Seiji and Toma had already claimed their rewards—but it was Satoru who drew the small crowd’s attention when his final shot hit the biggest prize, wobbling it once before it finally toppled cleanly from its stand.

He thanked the vendor and then passed on the prize to you without hesitation, much like Seiji had done with Keiko. 

“It’s so cute,” you commented, turning the plush over in your hands. “You sure you don’t want it, Toru?”

“Nah. I won it for you, butterfly.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t forget me when I leave to Tokyo,” he teased, poking your cheek with his finger.

“Still with that?” you replied, rubbing the area he had touched with a huff. “As if anyone could forget you, Toru.”

He smiled at you, clearly pleased by your words, when a familiar face approached. It was Mr. Fukase, the photographer your family had been hiring for years for the festival.

“Miss Morisato, would you and your friends like some pictures taken together?” he asked kindly. 

“Oh—yes, please, Mr. Fukase,” you happily replied. “That would be amazing, thank you.”

“Then follow me, please.” 

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

After taking several pictures of your entire group, Mr. Fukase had saved Satoru the trouble of asking for one with just the two of you, pointing out your matching outfits as the reason.

“Ready? One… Two… Three…”

Click. Shutter. Flash. 

The first image was more formal, proper. Both of you were standing at an appropriate distance from one another. Hana and the Gojo clan would approve of it. That's the one he'd let your family keep. 

“Could we get another one, Mr. Fukase?” he asked before you could walk away.

“Of course.”

“C’mere, let’s do a fun one,” he said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled and nodded as he wrapped an arm around you, his hand on your shoulder as the two of you put up your fingers in a peace sign. 

It was innocent enough, but rather more intimate compared to the first. Hana and the Gojo clan would not have approved, making it the picture he preferred. That one was his to keep. 

Afterwards, he had approached Mr. Fukase alone to ask if he could have the second picture rather than the Morisatos. Besides wanting it for himself, he also wasn’t looking to get you in more trouble. Luckily, Mr. Fukase agreed to honor his request after a little bribe. 

“What was that about?” you asked when he returned to your group. 

“Nothing. Just wanted to make sure I got a copy of our pictures,” he replied with a knowing grin. 

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Once the festival came to a close, Satoru naturally followed you home, staying over at your house for the night after informing the Gojos of his plan. 

You left him for a moment to change out of your yukata into your pajamas, and he did the same in the guest room he usually slept in.

It was late, so you really only came to say goodnight to him afterward. He thought you looked so cute with your messy hair and tired eyes, the soft smile you gave him making something in his chest tighten.

“Hope you had fun today,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn behind your hand. 

“I did,” he replied, watching every one of your sleepy movements. “We should do this again next year.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you agreed, giving him a final smile and wave as you began walking away. “G’night, Toru.” 

“Night, butterfly,” he replied, staring at you until you were out of the room. 

Alone now, he tried to fall asleep to no avail. He kept tossing and turning, trying desperately to quiet his mind. But it wouldn't stop. The realization of his feelings during the fireworks display was keeping him awake. 

And all he could think about was you, you, YOU. 

It felt like he was spiraling when he suddenly sat up in bed, a dangerous idea forming in his head.

Maybe he could just go watch you sleep for a little while. It would be harmless, right? And that just might calm him down enough to get some sleep after. 

He could do it quietly. Get in, get out without anyone knowing. 

Yeah. That's what he'd do. 

Using his technique, he quickly and silently slipped into your room with ease—something he noted distantly as concerning, but useful in the moment. Maybe he’d have to bring that to your attention later, somehow.  

He stood at the edge of your bed, watching your chest rise and fall as your head rested on several plush pillows.

You looked so perfect lying there, only a few inches out of his reach. Your calm cursed energy settling something restless inside him.

He'd been enjoying his view, considering getting even closer, when you suddenly stirred and opened your eyes, noticing him. 

Thinking nothing malicious of his presence in your room, you groggily asked “Satoru?” 

You sat up slowly, blinking your eyes several times while adding, “mm, did- did you need help with something?”

“J-just a blanket,” you heard him stammer. “D'you have an extra one?” 

‘Man he must really be cold,’ you innocently thought. 

Looking over to the left, you grabbed the blanket at your side that you hadn't been using for the night.

“Is this one okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he replied, reaching over and accepting it from you, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Thanks, butterfly.”

“Welcome,” you murmured, closing your eyes and getting comfortable underneath your sheets again. “Sweet dreams, Toru.”

And that was the last thing you said before sleep pulled you under once more.

‘Damn. That was close,’ he thought to himself, heart racing as he stared at you for a bit longer. 

While he would’ve preferred you not catching him at all, it was… comforting, knowing you trusted him enough to be this vulnerable around him.

He sighed, eventually and reluctantly moving out of your room just as quietly as before.

Back in the guest room, he flopped onto the bed and covered himself with the blanket, reveling in the fact that it was yours as he breathed in the faint scent of you that still clung to it.

Yeah. 

He might be in trouble.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

September 4, 2004. 

The Gojo-tax. 

That's what your friends had called it ever since primary school. 

Whenever he'd come by and steal you away during the school day or an event, you had to add an I-O-U to the Gojo-tax box.

Basically, it was their way of poking fun at your friendship and evening the odds, given the leeway the school gave you whenever he randomly showed up. Not like your teachers or administrators could complain, though—you were an excellent student otherwise. Plus, your family's long-standing presence in Nara, along with their monetary contributions to the school, was more than enough motivation for them to turn a blind eye.

Your classmates and friends, however, were not so understanding. They didn't think it was fair, and you knew it wasn't. 

Thus, since its start, you accepted their conditions willingly, living with whatever the Gojo-tax required of you.

Oftentimes it led to you taking on additional after-school chores or class assignments that no one else wanted to cover. 

And privately, when they piled up past a certain number… you had to throw a sort of party or gathering for your six friends at home.

It was the only time you really ever deliberately avoided and excluded Satoru from something, deciding it was better he didn’t know about the tax.

Why?

Because you worried he would dislike your friends even more than he already did. Knowing his character well, you also believed he'd have tried to bribe your way out of the chores or tasks, too. Or worse, threaten your classmates for ever instating such a thing against you. And him doing either would've made things… complicated, to say the least.  

This was one of those days where you owed your close friends a party.

Luckily, your parents were out of town, and your siblings were off “camping” in the forest near Higashiyoshino—at least, that’s what you had to call it in front of your non-sorcerer friends.

In reality, they were ridding the area of cursed spirits.

Having the house to yourself, you were actually excited to host your usual, close group of friends. You had movies, games, and food ready for them even before they arrived.

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and overlapping conversations.

You started with games—video games first, then a few rounds of board games when the group grew too competitive for the screen. There were constant arguments over rules, playful accusations of cheating, and more than one dramatic complaint when someone lost.

Dinner followed not long after, with a hot pot set in the center of the table that had everyone gathered close as ingredients were tossed in and claimed just as quickly. Between that and the steady stream of snacks you’d laid out beforehand, no one could really complain about going hungry.

By the time you moved on to movies—ones you’d rented earlier in the week—everyone had settled into a more relaxed rhythm, spread out across the living room with blankets and pillows, talking just as much as they watched.

It was easy. Normal. Fun.

You almost wished Satoru were here—until you remembered exactly why he couldn’t be… and why that was for the best.

“Kinda crazy, we’re not gonna have the Gojo tax anymore,” Shu suddenly commented, popping a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Seriously,” Rin added from where she was sprawled across the floor. “It's going to be weird actually seeing you every day at school, Y/n.”

Everyone laughed.

“When's Gojo supposed to leave anyway?” Asami asked you.

“Sometime in February next year,” you replied, reaching for your glass of water and taking a sip.

“That’s not even that far away,” Rin said, frowning slightly. “It sucks that Nara's losing its cutest eye candy.”

“Guess we don't count for much to you, huh?” Shu added, rolling his eyes at Rin before continuing. "That's like… what, a few months?”

“Four,” Seiji said absentmindedly. “Give or take.”

“Are you two going to be okay?” Asami asked, nudging your shoulder softly, her expression turning more thoughtful. “I mean… you’ve basically been attached at the hip ever since you met.”

The question caught you off guard more than you expected. Before you could come up with a response, your cousin Keiko replied for you.

“Oh, they'll be fine,” she emphasized. “Pretty sure Gojo’s gonna be calling the house all the time—and he’ll visit her, too.” 

“Or we'll end up in Tokyo more often,” Seiji added with a smirk. 

“And who says Gojo would invite you Sej?” Toma joked. “He just wants to see Y/nnn…”

You watched as a few of them quickly exchanged looks, already knowing what was coming before they started with their teasing.

“His butterfly,” they echoed together, drawing out the nickname in exaggerated unison before bursting into shared laughter.

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back, rolling your eyes and waving them off. But even though you had grown accustomed to their teasing, you could still feel the warmth creeping up your neck anyway.

“You know he's got it bad for you, right Y/n?” Shu added, staring at you from across the room. “He's almost worse than Seiji is with Kei.”

“Hey- why am I being dragged into this?” Seiji retorted. “Leave me out of it.”

“Says the guy who folds every time Kei looks at him,” Shu replied to Seiji as you huffed quietly and reached for another piece of popcorn just to give yourself something to do before replying.

“You guys read way too much into everything,” you said, shrugging as you brought a kernel to your mouth. “We're best friends. That’s just how he’s always been with me.”

“Maybe that's how you see it,” Asami offered with a comforting smile. “But—I don't know, Y/n. We all think he's crushing on you. Especially after the way he acted at the festival.” 

“If I were you, I'd have already gone for it,” Rin playfully interjected—likely to lighten the mood of the conversation for your sake. 

“We know you would, but Y/n isn't boy-crazy like you, Rin,” Keiko taunted. 

Everyone laughed again. Even you. Only yours was more quiet as you took in the implication of their observations.

After a pause, you decided to say something that would hopefully put an end to the conversation and topic.

“Maybe all of you are right, but I don't see him that way,” you admitted simply. “And crushes come and go. So he’ll get over it at some point.”

“Yeah ‘cause that works,” Toma said dryly. 

“Better than ending a friendship, I guess,” Shu retorted, shrugging. 

“Damn, Y/n's totally going to break Gojo's heart,” Rin offered.  

“Oh, shut up. It won't kill him,” Keiko countered. “Don't guilt trip her over nothing.”

Rather than ending the topic, it seemed you’d only started a debate. 

You sighed to yourself, leaning back slightly to stare up and away from your friends. 

Suddenly, over all the opinions and noise, you heard Seiji's voice. 

“Hey- Y/n, want to do a snack run? Looks like we're running low on chips already.”

You were so grateful for the reprieve, even if the excuse had been a lie. There were more snacks in the pantry, and Seiji knew this. Still, he had a habit of stepping in when you needed it. It was one of the many reasons you saw him as something like an older brother.

On the walk to the store, Seiji had tried to reassure you that things would eventually work themselves out with Satoru and not to dwell on what everyone else was saying. 

“All that stuff is between you and Gojo. Just try to set boundaries if he ever crosses a line. I don’t think he'd risk never seeing you again over a crush anyway.”

“Aren't you the worst example with Kei, though?” you'd replied. 

“Nah, that's different,” he'd said, waving you off. “We're soulmates.”

“Not according to that fortune teller we convinced my grandparents to hire that one year,” you murmured. 

“Yeah… that was not our best idea. Was it?”

The two of you laughed, reminiscing about times before Satoru Gojo ever entered your life for the rest of the trip. 

Thankfully, after the two of you returned with chips and everything else requested, the remaining conversations of the evening no longer centered around you or Gojo.

It was quite late when your friends began to leave, but overall, it was a fun time, and you were glad to have hosted it. 

The front door slid open a while later as you cleaned up, followed by the familiar sounds of your siblings returning—voices overlapping, footsteps heavier than usual, the faint rustle of clothing and gear being set aside.

You greeted them cheerfully, relieved to see they’d all made it back safe and sound. Only by then, you were already tired, so you excused yourself for the night not long after they arrived.

Before you walked away from them completely, Mitsuki asked if she could come sleep in your room later. You agreed without a second thought.

She always had nightmares after assignments, especially the heavier ones. 

For whatever reason, your presence helped keep them at bay—even the worst ones where she'd wake up crying.

And though you didn't understand why she found someone as average as you comforting, you were more than happy and willing to help your dear sister. 

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Your four battle-worn siblings gathered around the dining table, enjoying the leftovers you'd saved specifically for them. 

Their clothes still carried the faint scent of smoke and damp earth, hair slightly disheveled from the long journey back from their assignment. 

There was a heaviness to them tonight, and it wasn’t just from exhaustion.

They had also recently lost someone.

Takahiro—once a classmate, a friend, and a fellow jujutsu sorcerer.

His death was a reminder of their mortality, and how they too might end up the same way one day—devoured or killed by a cursed spirit on a mission gone wrong. 

It was a morbid truth that every jujutsu sorcerer had to face and come to terms with. 

Still, Hana, ever the eldest, refused to let the night sink entirely into mourning.

She reached for a bottle of sake from the pantry and poured each of them a cup without asking.

“Just one,” she said, though it was clear by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t planning on stopping there.

Ren accepted his quietly, offering no protest. 

Bo leaned back as he took his, while Mitsuki hesitated only a moment before following suit. Neither of them were of age to be drinking, but Hana allowed the exception without comment. It was just for the night.

“For Takahiro,” Hana said softly, lifting her cup. “May they be at peace.”

The others followed.

“For Takahiro.”

Porcelain met porcelain with a quiet clink before they all drank.

Silence settled briefly at the table.

Then, gradually, the tension eased as the sake continued to flow and stories of memories followed—some fond, some bitter, some ending in quiet laughter that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

And eventually, as it always seemed to, the conversation drifted to their youngest sister—you.

“You know what I realized?” Bo started, tipping his cup idly as he glanced toward the now-empty living room. “She never invites Gojo to these things.”

Ren let out a short breath through his nose. “You’re just noticing that now?”

“No, but she invites him to everything else, except this stuff with her normie friends?” Bo continued. “Doesn't make sense.”

Hana’s gaze lifted slightly at that, her expression sharpening with pointed amusement.

“Maybe she just needs a break from him sometimes,” she commented. “I know I would.”

Mitsuki hummed softly, resting her cheek against her hand as the world began to swirl around her. “We know you would. Y/n isa’nother story.”

“Think she’s upset with him?” Bo offered.

“Upset?” Ren echoed, pouring himself another glass. “About what? I've never seen them argue about anything.”

“I have but it was trivial stuff,” Hana said, trying to think straight, fingers tapping lightly against the table.

“Wait- what if its ‘cause Gojo doesn't like her friends?” Mitsuki slurred. 

“Pfft, you're probably right,” Bo laughed. “He's gotta be jealous of them or something.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true about us too,” Ren snorted. “He didn't look happy when we interrupted their boat ride at the festival.”

“It's kinda cute the way he dotes on her,” Mitsuki smiled, cheeks ablaze from the sake.

“It's not,” Hana curtly interjected, annoyed. 

“Okay, then maybe she jus’ doesn't want him to feel bad,” Mitsuki continued. 

“Or maybe she got sick and tired of being called a butterfly all the damn time,” Hana countered with a drunken frown, even surprising herself from her lack of usual decorum. 

The ridiculousness of the idea combined with the level of sake consumed by all four of your siblings led to them bursting out in a bout of uncontrollable laughter.

And all at Gojo's expense. 

But it was a much needed outlet after what they'd endured that horrific week. 

They'd never forget this night, raising a final glass of sake to their little sister and your seemingly infinite patience for Satoru Gojo, the most annoying person alive according to your eldest sister.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

November 20, 2004. 

Hana was the most radiant, beautiful bride in your eyes. Draped in layers of pristine white silk, her shiromuku was embroidered with delicate cranes and flowing patterns that shimmered softly with every movement. A traditional watabōshi veil rested over her head, giving her an almost ethereal presence as she stood beside Haru. They both looked so happy throughout the entire celebration.

Seeing it all on full display brought you and your siblings so much joy.

Your elders looked so annoyingly proud throughout the event, as if this union with one of the big three clans had been their doing—or due to the Morisato name alone. 

It wasn't either, but you were sure they'd find a way to claim and spread that it was.

The whole ceremony was wrapped in tradition, with some typical practices and others that were exclusive to sorcerer families, including several that were secret to the world and followed only by the Kamo clan. 

It was part of the reason Satoru Gojo was not allowed to attend. 

Hana and Keiko were overjoyed by this fact, knowing your attention would have been pulled away from the festivities if he'd been around. You had remained neutral while he sulked. 

And given that the Kamo clan was one of the three big families, Satoru was unable to bully, weasel, or buy his way into the small, intimate familial affair. 

To appease his incessant whining and indignation, you had agreed to meet up with him afterwards at the Gojo estate since the ceremony had taken place somewhere private in Kyoto.

It was around 4:26pm by the time you arrived, having stayed in your attire to avoid further delay. You already knew he was going to complain anyway.  

“What took you so long?” he announced before looking in your direction from the couch in one of his personal rooms. 

“Sorry, my sister getting married took so long, young master,” you teased, bowing as you rounded the corner and stood in front of his view of the newer television he’d forced the Gojo clan to purchase. 

He seemed almost stunned to see you. Was it the outfit?

“What’re you looking at?” you asked, slightly confused.

“N-nothing. I just thought you’d have changed before coming over.”

“I would’ve gotten here later if I did that,” you replied, sitting down next to him. “And you were already complaining when I walked in.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s on me. But what wedding takes six hours?”

“Turns out a Kamo clan one. Though that also included the meal after.” 

“How was it anyway?”

“It was perfect. Hana looked beautiful, and they were both so happy,” you turned to look at him. “The food was so good, too. You would’ve loved the desserts.”

He pouted, brows furrowing in annoyance. “And you’re cruelly dangling that information in my face.”

“Maybe,” you replied, laughing at his expense. 

“Think I could get away with having only sweets at mine?” he mused. 

“Everyone would be sick by the end of it,” you said, shaking your head. “But I’m sure you could get your family to agree. Maybe not your bride’s side though.”

“If she cares about me, she’ll agree to it. But you’re definitely not getting any after taunting me today.”

“Keeping your best friend from the only food at your wedding isn’t very nice, Satoru,” you shot back.

He huffed, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite understand.

“What was that?” you asked, nudging his shoulder as he turned and looked at you with a grin.

“Nothing you need to know yet, butterfly.”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to be mysterious. 

“Well, whatever you said, people are going to think the Gojos are cheap just having desserts.”

He snorted. “Let them. I don’t think I’ll care in the moment.”

“But how could you live with yourself if jujutsu society thought so lowly of you?” you replied, mimicking your grandfather’s unmistakable tone. 

“Okay, Mr. Morisato, you can go home now,” he said, poking your sides. “Can I talk to my br- best friend again?”

You giggled, hunching over as you enjoyed the moment, not noticing Satoru's slip of the tongue.  

Once the two of you settled down again, he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Did you want to do something today?” you asked him.

“Can you do anything fun in that thing?” he replied, idly brushing his fingers against the fabric of your kimono.

“Fair point.”

He remained quiet for a moment before speaking up. “I could get you clothes, if you want to go explore Kyoto or walk around the estate. Just need to ask.”

“You’re not going to let me pay you back if I do, though.”

“Hmm. Not a chance,” he replied.

“Guess we’re stuck here with the TV, then.”

He moved away from your shoulder almost immediately, standing up and heading towards the sliding door, where he called out for someone.

“Could you get something for Y/n to wear, Yui? She didn’t get a chance to change because of me, so I feel responsible.”

“Of course, young master. I’ll be back as quickly as possible,” she replied. 

“You know you’re crazy, right?” you asked him after Yui left. “She doesn’t even know my size.”      

“I talked to your family's seamstress, remember? She knows your size.”

“My family still can’t believe that you won Mrs. Toshino over. Like she was even raving about you the last time she came by the house.”

He smiled as he sat back down beside you. “Yeah, I bet. With how prudish she was at first, she reminded me of Hana.”

You kicked his foot with your own. “Rude jerk.”

“So, arcade, movies, or shopping?” he asked, unfazed and setting the previous conversation to rest.

“Doesn’t that depend on how long it takes to get the clothes?” you answered with a question.

“Nah, the Gojo estate isn’t that big.”

“What are you talking about?” you looked over at him, confused

“I figured you’d need clothes here eventually, so she just has to go get them from storage. Guess I forgot to mention that.”

You blinked at him in surprise before allowing yourself to fall back on the couch. “Yup, you’re totally crazy.”

“Oh, c’mon, butterfly. How many sane sorcerers do you know?” he countered. 

“Zero now,” you answered with a grin. “You were my last hope.”

 ⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Nighttime, November 20, 2004. 

Each time he closed his eyes, all he could picture was you in that kimono. The colors had been so vibrant, so perfectly suited to your bright smile, that he’d almost forgotten how to breathe when you stepped into his line of sight.

You’d looked like Spring in the middle of Fall.

And the worst part was knowing everyone else had gotten to see you like that too. It had made him especially envious of all the guests at Hana's wedding. 

But what stung even more was hearing you refer to yourself as a simple guest at his hypothetical wedding when you were the only person he’d ever want standing beside him. As the bride and nothing else. 

He'd almost spoken that truth out loud by mistake while joking around. Thankfully, you hadn't noticed, but he was dead serious. 

Should he start thinking about talking to your family before leaving for Tokyo? 

Or was it too soon for arranging that? 

Would you hate him if he did? 

He didn't exactly want to force you into it just yet… honestly, he'd prefer if the feelings were mutual. 

But what if they tried to bind you to someone else after he was gone? 

Should he risk that? Risk losing you? 

The thought alone was almost unbearable, and he'd never be able to handle it if it actually happened. 

Hell, he might even make the unlucky bastard and his entire lineage disappear if it did. 

No… not might. 

He knew he would, either with the Gojo's influence, money, or other, more permanent means if necessary.

What did that say about him? About his feelings for you…

He sighed, turning onto his side and staring at the picture frame he had on his nightstand—the one holding the more “inappropriate” image from the festival with the two of you.

Looking at you smiling beside him in the photo, he realized he didn’t care what these extreme thoughts and sentiments meant for himself. 

He just knew he wanted you in his life.

And that wasn’t something he planned on giving up on.

 ⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

December 7, 2004.

Somehow, he’d managed to convince both his family and yours to allow you to spend the night at the estate for his 15th birthday. 

Hana, now preoccupied with her husband and the Kamo clan, had not been around to object. And with her absence from the Morisato household, there was little standing in the way of the arrangement.

Unfortunately, it was only permitted under Yui's supervision—and on the condition that Keiko and Seiji join the sleepover as well.  He knew their presence was meant to stave off rumors of a possible “engagement” between the two of you. Such news, real or not, would've been ideal to have spread throughout jujutsu society before he left for Tokyo soon. 

But, much to his disappointment, his elders had stood their ground on this matter.

Even so, having you around had been his only wish for the occasion, so he had been more than willing to deal with the requirements rather than let the opportunity slip away. He was sure there would still be some talk about it anyway. 

The day had been filled with an almost carefree kind of joy. 

One that started with a snowball fight along the stone pathways in the garden between the four of you, with Yui watching from the hallway. She was delighted to see Satoru enjoying himself alongside you, noting how he lingered close—always finding some excuse to brush against you, to pull you behind him, to intercept anything thrown your way. 

She found herself wondering if you could ever imagine just how much of a fuss you'd caused within the Gojo clan already. 

Whole meetings had been held to discuss the possibility of an alliance with the Morisatos without the young master's knowledge—otherwise, he might have taken that as permission to ask for your hand. 

Throughout such discussions, they weighed both the positives and negatives of such a union, taking into account your family's history, your shortcomings in jujutsu sorcery, and other factors. You weren't their first choice, nor their second or third, really. Honestly, they never would have considered you an option for the Gojo clan heir. 

But… seeing the way he was with you had changed that opinion for many. 

You were at the top of their list now. Or rather, you were the only one on it, per Satoru's wishes. 

As such, it could not be ignored that you'd given him motivations to seek additional strength and power. Though less important to some in the clan, it was also undeniable how happy you made him. Both of those circumstances worked in your favor. 

Further, they realized it did not particularly matter that you weren't a strong sorcerer either. With Satoru around, no one else would be born with the Limitless technique or the Six Eyes, and whatever children that resulted from the union would undoubtedly be special anyway. So, in the end, they had found no reason strong enough to prevent him from pursuing what he so clearly wanted for his future.

And your family, of course, would be of no issue. 

Thus, the only obstacle he might face in his pursuit of that desire would be… you. 

A sharp burst of laughter rang out across the garden, followed by the soft thud of packed snow hitting fabric.

Lifted from her thoughts by the commotion, Yui watched as a snowball meant for him never quite made it. And it wasn't his Limitless technique that had prevented the hit. No, you’d stepped in first, laughing as it burst harmlessly against your sleeve instead.

“I can protect you too, Toru,” you'd shouted, throwing snowballs back at Seiji and your cousin, Keiko, who quickly returned with an onslaught of their own.

“You don't have to do that—I can handle everything,” he'd called back, despite the grin on his face as he took the hits for you now instead, turning his back to shield you while wrapping his arms around you to guide you both toward cover.

“So what if you can?” you shot back, laughter still in your voice. “I still want to.”

Yui stilled, her eyes widening slightly before a quiet warmth settled in her chest as she looked away.

Perhaps… this was not as one-sided as she had believed.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Eventually, the cold drove you all back inside, where you'd crowded around the television as Satoru insisted on winning every round of whatever video game you were playing. Neither you nor Seiji allowed that to happen often, much to his dismay.  

Afterwards, a grand meal with all of Satoru’s favorite dishes had been prepared by the Gojo estate. They truly did spoil him rotten when it came to occasions like this. 

There had also been a strawberry creme cake, of course, with fifteen candles, singing, and many gifts. 

And through it all, he’d stayed close to you, like he always did.

But, while the day had been filled with nothing but merriment, there was a bittersweet feeling lingering beneath it too—as if the world itself knew these moments between the two of you were coming to an end.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

That night, he broke the rules—sneaking into the room you were staying in and stealing you away from your cousin for a few hours.

He’d come prepared, of course, with a coat in hand and proper footwear for you tucked under his arm, already anticipating your quiet protests about the cold. You couldn't tell him no after seeing that.

The two of you ended up at your usual spot in the forest, where he'd also already prepared a small fire near the pile of rocks to keep you both warm. He’d even dragged over a dried tree trunk earlier in the day, setting it up like a makeshift bench for you both to use. The setup made it painfully obvious that he had planned to ignore the conditions of your stay from the start.

The low temperature and camp-like fire were the perfect excuses to huddle together under a blanket he'd also brought along. Taking full advantage of the circumstances, he'd wrapped one of his arms around you, pulling you against his shoulder to keep warm. 

The night sky, along with all its stars, was so visible from here. He'd caught you looking up in awe several times before you finally spoke.

“This reminds me of when I'd go camping with my brothers and sisters near Higashiyoshino.”

“The area your family is in charge of purging?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm surprised they let you go.”

“I wasn't. I snuck off after them. No one realized until it was too late to take me back home.” 

“Now I get it,” he sighed, secretly impressed by your stubbornness. “Guess I'm not the only person you act reckless around.”

You smiled. “I couldn't help it. I grew up seeing my family go up there. I was impatient to be a part of it.”

“How old were you then?”

“Maybe 6? I still thought I was going to be a sorcerer like them,” you replied as the fire crackled.“But anyway, did you enjoy your birthday?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause they didn’t drag me through another one of those formal dinners like last year.” He nudged a stick into the fire with his free hand, watching the embers shift. “And I wasn't almost bored to death by old geezers before getting to hang out with you.”

“You're never going to let me forget that, huh?”

“Never.”

You pouted. “But aren't they doing that for your coming of age ceremony next month?”

“Ugh. I told them I didn't want that.”

“Well, they already told us about it, sooo I don't think you're getting a choice, Toru.”

“That means you'll be there, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “We all should be.”

“Then I guess it won't be too terrible,” he replied, still staring at the fire. “Just don't ask me to sit away from you this time.”

You sighed, your breath visible in the cold air. “I don't think that'll be allowed…”

He groaned, looking over at you now. “Seriously? Why does it even matter?”

“If it helps, Haru and Hana might be closer to you this time.”

“You think you're so funny, don't you?” he joked, pulling you closer to his side. 

“Maybe I do,” you teased, pushing back. “But it's the truth.”

“Then find an excuse to come sit with her,” he said, frowning. “Or I'll shout across the room to talk to you if I have to.”

“They'll be mad at both of us if you do that, Toru,” you reminded him.

“Tsk. I'll talk to them tomorrow,” he murmured, feeling you shiver slightly. He knew he couldn't keep you out here much longer. 

After more conversation, laughter, and maybe another thirty minutes out in the cold night, the two of you returned to the estate. He quietly helped you back to your room before going to his own, happy to have gotten some time alone with you.  

In the morning, he spoke with several of his elders about the ceremony. Threatening that he wouldn't attend if they arranged seating by hierarchy like on his birthday last year.

They fought him on it for all official proceedings—like the ceremony itself—but ultimately allowed for you to sit with your sister and brother-in-law as a guise during the dinner. That was better than nothing, he supposed.  

‘Guess Hana marrying into the big three had its advantages.’ He'd thought as he sensed you around the corner, excited to share the update with you. 

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

December 27, 2004.

After his birthday, Satoru had almost been visiting your home on a daily basis, even if only for a few hours.  

It should've been considered inappropriate… but your elders had been quite happy about it when they were told.

They'd gone as far as to encourage you, not too subtly suggesting to secure some kind of binding promise from him before he left for Tokyo in the coming months.

You thought their intentions were disgusting. Shameless. Wrong.

And their pushiness had only reinforced your feelings from before. You'd never give them what they wanted most, power and influence in the jujutsu world through a marriage like this.

Which meant you refused to let yourself see Satoru as anything more than a friend.

Even if… no.

You couldn't. Wouldn't.

‘He'd get over that eventually, right?’ You thought as you watched him unbox the package he'd received in the mail. ‘You were just a stupid, childhood crush he'd eventually forget about when he met someone else, someone better,’ you quietly reassured yourself.  

“Oh, it's my uniforms,” he finally said, stealing you away from your thoughts. “Should I try it on for you, butterfly?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you replied, faking a smile.

“Be right back, then.”

Satoru hadn't expected tears, but here you were crying on his shoulder as he rubbed circles onto your back. Normally he would’ve been ecstatic for an excuse to hold you like this, but not now. 

“Butterfly. What's wrong? Aren't you the one who said we're going to be fine?”

“I know and we will,” you mumbled, voice muffled against his shirt. “But it's going to be so weird not having you around, too.”

Were you just realizing that? 

“Just come with me then,” he replied, desperation slipping into his voice. “I can still talk to your family and Jujutsu High. I won't let either tell me no.”

“Toru… I can't.”

Fuck. Why did it feel like you were breaking up with him right now? It didn't make any sense. You weren't even “a thing” yet. Why did it feel like this was killing him?

“I'm sorry,” you started, moving away from him while wiping at your eyes. “It just hit me all at once seeing you in this. I'll stop…”

He was about to force the issue when your mother walked into the room with a tray of snacks. She'd just set it on the coffee table when you quickly spoke up. 

“Look, Mom. Satoru got his uniform today,” you said, trying to play it off. “Doesn't it remind you of Ren and Bo?”

She smiled at you and then him before she agreed. “It is quite similar to your brothers. They used to complain about how stiff they were at first. Make sure you break it in properly, or you’ll be uncomfortable during assignments.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Mrs. Morisato.”

He watched your mother place her palms together before she continued. “The house is going to feel even quieter without your visits,” she said gently. “But you’ll always be welcome here, Gojo.”

“He knows that,” you added softly, smiling at him sincerely this time. He returned it with a yearning you probably couldn't read. 

Should he just come out and ask your mother right now if he could steal you away? Would you forgive him if he did? And what if she said no? There were too many unknowns, damn it. He knew he couldn't. Not yet at least.

“Then I hope you also know how all of us, including my eldest daughter, are proud of you for taking this on. It's not easy being a sorcerer, though given your abilities I'm certain you'll be just fine.”

“I doubt Hana is, but I appreciate the support of most Morisatos,” he replied, huffing out a bit of a dry laugh.

Your mother smiled in response, looking over at you as she responded. “She has her reasons for being protective. Anyway, I'll let you two get back to your movies. Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, mom.” 

She nodded back at you before exiting the room. 

“You okay?” he asked almost immediately, nudging your leg with his own.

You leaned back and tilted your head on the couch in his direction.

“I’m fiiiiiine,” you replied, stretching out the word. It was obvious you didn't want to talk about it. 

“That’s not convincing.”

You stretched out your hand towards him then. “Is a pinky promise good enough?”

“For a kid, maybe,” he answered, staring at your hand.

“Hey, I’m still fourteen, so I can act as childish as I want,” you continued, still holding out your pinky. “Final offer.”

“Only because it’s you,” he said under his breath as he intertwined his pinky with yours.

“See,” you laughed sweetly despite your earlier tears. “We’re fine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off before standing up. “I’m going to change out of these, and then we can start our marathon.”

“‘Kay, Toru.”

For your sake, he hadn't dwelled on the matter. Making you cry again wasn’t something he wanted to do anyway.  

Even so, he had really wanted to ask you more. 

Was it just that you'd miss him when he was gone? That you'd worry?

Or could it be that you might… reciprocate his feelings?

No. 

Save for today and unlike him, you hadn't given signs of that. As much as he wished you had. What’s more, you treated your other friends the same way you treated him, with genuine kindness, laughter, and warmth. That was part of the reason he couldn’t stand them.

But… that didn't mean he couldn't change your mind eventually.

And he wouldn't let this separation keep him from trying. 

Already he'd come up with a way to make sure he'd still be present in your day-to-day life. 

Technology. Cellphones. 

He'd planned on going to get a pair with Yui later and would ask your parents for permission to cover all the resulting, ongoing expenses today before he left. 

After watching movies with you for hours, he was finally heading back to Kyoto with Yui. 

However, without you knowing, he had made sure to speak with your parents about the cellphones idea privately on his way out. 

They'd been resistant at first, stating that they couldn't possibly impose on or allow the Gojo clan to purchase and pay for such a thing. 

But eventually, they’d given him permission after respectfully insisting that his family had already given him the ‘okay’ to do so. Yui had supported his claim, despite it being a lie at the time—not like he'd give the Gojo clan much of a choice in the matter anyway. 

This would likely be his final gift to you before he left, and he was going to make it count. 

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

January 10, 2005.

The Genpuku. 

The Coming of Age Ceremony.

In the weeks leading up to it, preparations moved quietly through the Gojo estate. Formal rooms were restored, ceremonial garments prepared, and invitations sent to the other major clans and select members of the Jujutsu Council. Nothing about the event had been left to chance. Not when Satoru Gojo’s name alone carried as much weight as it did.

On the surface, it was like any other traditional rite.

A formal acknowledgment that the Gojo clan heir had reached a level of maturity where he would no longer be regarded as merely a gifted child, but as a young man expected to stand as a representative of both his family and their power within jujutsu society.

But in truth, it was much more than that. 

Save for you, very few knew that Satoru had made it clear to the Gojo clan that he intended to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High, even if it meant severing ties with them completely. That would have cost them their leverage and place within jujutsu society—which is why the Gojo clan had eventually compromised and allowed his wishes, but not without some terms. This ceremony was one of them. 

And what else was this public display of unity supposed to mean?

That even if Satoru Gojo left home for Jujutsu High and strayed from his intended role as future head of the clan, the family was still together. Harmonious.

As the morning progressed, formal attire replaced his usual preferences, every layer chosen for him with care to showcase the Gojos' wealth and standing within the Jujutsu community.  

Words were spoken by the officials of the ceremony, reaffirming roles and responsibilities while offering congratulations to the “new adults” and their families and friends. 

To those who cared, his place within the clan, and by extension the structure of jujutsu society itself, was made unmistakably clear as he stood among the crowd of other emerging adults.

Overall, the entire affair was elegant.

Seamless.

And somewhat suffocating.

By the time it was over, very little had changed on the surface.

He would still leave for Tokyo soon.

But now there would be no mistaking what the Gojo clan intended that departure to mean.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

You’d caught him glancing at you several times throughout the procession of the Genpuku ceremony.

He looked annoyed, standing in a crowd of strangers that were mostly non-sorcerers. 

What else could you do but smile at him in reassurance?

Just like the Gojos had done for Satoru, your family had dressed you quite elegantly for the occasion. So much so, that you felt like an ornate decoration meant to be admired—gawked at, even. You hated it. But unfortunately, given the significance of the event, you couldn't refuse their choice of attire for you. 

Looking away from Satoru, you caught someone else glancing in your direction as well. You didn’t recognize him per se, but you were aware of the family he belonged to—the Zen’in. Both Satoru and others you trusted had warned you to stay away from that clan. They were not kind to women, nor particularly honorable in any regard from the stories you'd heard.  

You wondered briefly why he might be staring at you—though, given how you’d been dressed, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising—before your attention returned to Satoru, whose eyes had already found their way back to you.

You smiled again, giving him a small wink that earned a faint grin in return.

The two of you continued this quiet exchange until the ceremony came to a close, and the Gojo's guests began making their way to the estate.

You didn’t get to speak to him properly until the official, celebratory dinner. Even then, it was only through brief, superficial exchanges around other people.

Just as Satoru had told you, you'd been seated by your sister Hana and her husband, Haru Kamo. Though your sister’s position at the front of the table kept you from looking entirely out of place, you still felt it.

Worse, you finally understood why Satoru was bored half to death by these conversations. So much so, you planned to apologize for last year whenever the two of you were alone.

Either way, you listened politely, offering the appropriate reactions and expected commentary of a young lady from the Morisato clan—just as you'd been taught to do. 

When the meal was over, representatives from each family began presenting Satoru with congratulatory gifts. You could see his patience wearing thin the longer it dragged on.

Finally, he was able to peel himself away from formalities and quickly made his way to your side while you sat among your three other siblings—Hana was busy with your parents. They’d offered him their own congratulations and genuine advice for the next chapter of his life as a jujutsu sorcerer. 

You could tell he was relieved to be talking to people who weren't here to win favor. It made you proud that your brothers and sisters could give him that. 

Not long after, the two of you had snuck out to your usual spot at the Gojo estate—far from prying eyes and ears. 

“I owe you an apology, Satoru,” you started, sighing as you leaned back against the familiar stack of stones. “That really felt like torture.”

“Oh, now you believe me?” he said, approaching you and bracing his arm just above your head as he leaned in.

“Yes, and I'm sincerely sorry,” you replied, slightly bowing with your head.  

The two of you laughed together then, like you always did—right before he surprised you with something bolder.

He pulled you forward and away from the stones, resting his forehead against your shoulder as his arms wrapped loosely around you, his weight slumping just slightly into your space.

“You okay?” You asked quietly, internally wrestling with the thought to politely push him away. 

This felt too romantically charged, and you shouldn’t have been allowing it given what you’d decided before, but... it was difficult to set boundaries with Satoru.  

“Just exhausted,” he groaned.

“You know, I could leave so you could really rest, right?”

“Hah! Screw that,” he answered quickly, moving back from you with a frown on his face. “I barely got to speak to you today.”

You shrugged, quietly grateful for the distance he’d put between you again. “I'd be a bad friend if I didn't offer.”

He rolled his eyes. “You got it backwards. Leaving me after putting up with fake people all day would make you the worst best friend.” 

You laughed before replying. “I guess you've got a point.”

“Like my haircut, by the way?” he asked, running a hand through it, showing it off. 

“Mmm, it's not bad,” you hummed, moving away from the rocks and sitting down on the tree trunk Satoru had previously brought over on the night of his birthday a few weeks ago. “But I think longer hair suits you better.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, joining you. “Don't worry, I plan on growing it out again.”

“Was I supposed to worry you wouldn't?” you asked, sarcastically.

“Maybe,” he smirked, looking over at you. 

“I must've missed that requirement on the invitation, then.”

He chuckled dryly, nudging your knee with his own as he changed the subject.

“You look very pretty today. Forgot to tell you that earlier.”

“I think it's a little too much,” you disagreed. “Felt like a peacock showing off its feathers at some point.” 

“Mm, except the ones with the pretty feathers are guys.”

You turned and looked at him, catching the teasing look across his face. Narrowing your eyes slightly, you matched his all-too-pleased smirk with a grin. “You know what I mean, jerk.”

He poked your cheek with his finger. “I actually don't, so please explain.”

“You weren't the only person looking at me at the ceremony and I'm sure it was because of this,” you answered, gesturing towards your kimono. 

“Oh yeah? Was some dumb normie staring at you?”

“No, some Zen'in clan kid. But I don't know his name...”

You swore the air felt thinner around you after you'd said that. 

He curled one of his hands into a tight fist, away from your sight in a feeble attempt to hide how angry he was at the revelation. 

“What did he look like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, voice quieter than before.

“I couldn't tell you,” you mumbled, running a hand over the silk of your kimono. “Didn't stare back long enough to notice. I was mostly looking at you, remember?” 

Almost instantly, he felt his body relax at your words, fist unfurling slowly at his side. 

“Yeah…”

He was glad that he'd been your main focus, but it was still concerning that a piece of trash Zen'in was looking at you.

Were there talks going on between your family and the Zen'in, maybe? He hadn't heard anything from Yui or his other sources… but it was always possible with those bastards.

Before he could stop himself he sighed and blurted out, “Listen, Y/n. There's something we need to talk about.”

“O-okay,” he heard you stutter, watching you look down at the ground rather than up at him.

“Are you- do you- ugh,” he started and stopped twice, unable to decide what words to use so as not to sound too insane. 

“When I’m gone… they’re not going to try to marry you off, are they?”

You remained quiet for a moment. The seconds felt like an eternity for him.

Damn it. Why weren't you answering the question?

“I don't know Satoru… But Hana-”

He'd stopped listening after you'd muttered the first three words. 

“You can’t let them do that,” he said, more firmly than he meant to, cutting you off as he panicked.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before continuing, still not realizing he hadn’t let you speak.

“If they try anything like that… just say no. Refuse and use my name if you need to. Hell—use the clan if it comes down to it.”

“Satoru-” you tried to say, but he was still too busy spiraling. 

“The Gojos will back you up if I say so. They wouldn’t risk this whole bullshit ‘unity’ charade and-”

Suddenly, you clapped your hands in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance-like rambling as you said his full name. “Satoru Gojo!”

Heat crept up from his neck to his cheeks as he immediately stopped, looking down at you as you sighed. He knew he'd gone overboard. 

“Sorry… butterfly,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head as he tried to do damage control. “I just worry about you, and what might happen if I'm not here to help with your family's annoying marriage fixation.” 

“I appreciate it, Toru. But that's not your problem,” he watched as you started fumbling with your hands while you spoke. “And I don't want you worrying about that in Tokyo or on assignments.”

He listened to you sigh again, more deeply than before. “I'm not really supposed to tell anyone this, specifically you. But Hana’s already working on using her status as a Kamo to keep them from doing anything until I’m older.” 

“So, things will be okay here even after you're gone… You just focus on staying safe over there, please? As a favor for your best friend.” You smiled at him then so brightly, so sweetly that he felt tears threatening to form at the corners of his eyes from the reassurance.

He reached for you before he could convince himself not to, pulling you into a tight embrace while you were still seated beside him. He felt you relax into his arms, albeit slowly. 

“Pinky promise?” he murmured against your ear.

“I thought you said pinky promises were childish, Toru,” you whispered back. 

“Yeah, well, right now I want one.” 

“Pinky promise,” you replied, leaning away from his weight and offering up your hand.

He moved his arms back reluctantly and intertwined his pinky with yours as you both smiled at each other.

You were so annoyingly cute, he could stare into your eyes forever right now. Damn, maybe he should try to kiss—

“Young master! Miss Morisato!” The two of you suddenly heard Yui calling out into the forest.

He grumbled, knowing all too well that it meant your family was likely leaving and you had to follow suit.

“Can I come over tomorrow?” he asked as the two of you stood up and started along the path back.

You nodded, adding a slight laugh as you asked, “you can, but since when do you ask for permission? You never have before.”

Because he wanted to hear you say yes—so he could pretend, even for a second, that he was already… courting you? Dating you?

Geez, you were really turning him into one of those delusional guys in all those sappy romance films without trying.

Whatever the case, he obviously couldn’t tell you that.

“I'm an adult now, so I've got to act more responsibly,” he lied. 

You shoved his shoulder lightly, scoffing as you quickened your pace just enough to move ahead of him. “Oh, please. I'll know the world's ending if you ever take something too seriously.”

Laughing at your words, he caught up and reached for your hand, instinctively threading his fingers through yours—only to feel you hesitate with a small twitch beneath his touch.

Had you almost pulled your hand away just now? The movement had been so subtle… but enough for him to still notice.

He slowed slightly, glancing over at you as he muttered a seemingly innocent, “what?”

You slowed as well, your gaze flickering down to your hands before tightening your grip—this time holding onto him just as warmly as he was you.

“Nothing,” you said after a beat. “But if Hana scolds us about this…”

You lifted your joined hands, swinging them lightly between you. 

“Just say I almost fell and you're helping me or something.”

He grinned—devilish and entirely unapologetic as a wicked idea passed through his mind. 

“You make it sound like we have something to hide,” he teased, stretching the last word with just enough emphasis to make your stomach flip. “When I’m just being a good host to my younger guest.”

You huffed, squeezing his hand gently as the two of you continued along the path.

“This whole ‘I’m an adult now’ thing is going to get old before you even leave.”

Ouch.

He knew you'd meant it as a joke, but it still landed harder than it should have. Trying to hide the sting it left behind also proved impossible.

“Well, don't sound so eager for my move either,” he pouted, tugging at your arm, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “At least pretend like you’ll miss me a little.” 

“I'm not eager-” you started, faltering as your eyes flickered away from him. He swore he saw a faint blush on your cheeks, too, but maybe it was just the cold air. “You already know I'm really going to miss you, Toru...” 

“Yeah, but…” he said, pausing as his attention was pulled to Yui, who was standing by the grand garden's gate ahead. “It's still good to hear you say it.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

February 12, 2005.

Satoru would be leaving in one week. 

It almost didn't seem real that in a few days, your friend would be miles and miles away. 

While he had been busy preparing and sending things of his to Jujutsu High, you'd been occupied working with Mrs. Toshino making a gift of sorts for him.

An omamori.

One partly embroidered by you, though you weren't the best at it. You’d made mistakes—crooked stitching here, uneven spacing there—but you figured Satoru would appreciate the effort more than perfection. He might even prefer it that way, actually. 

The fabric itself was a deep navy, rich and dark enough to make the lighter embroidery stand out.

On the front, you’d tried to carefully stitch a butterfly in soft shades of pale blue and gold, its wings outlined just enough to catch the light against the darker fabric. At the top, there was a thick, gold braided cord looped into an intricate knot that secured the charm closed.

After finishing the pouch, you’d taken it to a nearby shrine while offering a quiet prayer for Satoru with it in your hands. 

It was meant to bring him luck and protection during his first year at Jujutsu High.

You'd decided to give it to him when you saw him later today, along with some other gifts you and your family had prepared for him. 

It'd be better this way. He'd likely be very busy the closer his departure date got. You might not even be able to see him by then… but maybe that was for the best. Or at least, that’s what you had told yourself. 

You heard him exchanging pleasantries with your parents before walking into the kitchen as you were finishing up a recipe. 

“Hey Toru,” you started, not looking away from your stirring. “Just gimme a bit, I'm almost done here.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his head dipping to the side to see what you were doing. It surprised you so much, you felt yourself jolt. He noticed.  

“Did I scare you?” He laughed, loosening his hold and placing one of his hands on the counter. 

“A little,” you were honest. 

“Sorry, my bad. What're you making today?”

He might’ve said that, but he didn’t look all that sorry to you. 

“Sweet curry with my own twist on it,” you answered, giving him a side-eye. “You'll be one of the first to try it.”

He smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed. “I added a bit of honey and apples this time—so it'll be a little different.”

“Can't wait to taste it then,” he said before adding, "anything I can help with in the meantime?”

“Wanna chop some veggies?” you replied, tipping your head towards the washed vegetables you had yet to get to. 

“Sure.”

The meal came together easily after that.

Between the two of you, the kitchen filled with the warm, comforting scent of curry, your earlier nerves settling into something softer, more familiar. By the time everything was plated on the dining table, your parents and Mitsuki had already gathered around.

Unfortunately, your brothers were away on assignments, and Hana now lived with her husband, which left the house even emptier than usual.

Satoru took the seat beside you without hesitation, but that was to be expected.  

He was surprisingly well-behaved throughout the meal.

Polite when speaking to your parents, attentive when they addressed him, even offering to help clear the table and wash dishes after—though you suspected that had more to do with staying close to you than anything else.

Still, he played the part well.

And when he wasn’t speaking, he leaned just slightly into your space, close enough that you could feel his presence without it being too obvious to anyone else. 

“This is really good,” he said after the first bite, glancing at you with something softer than his usual teasing. “You might have to make this for me again before I leave.”

Your parents agreed, complimenting both the dish and your added twist, while Mitsuki happily went back for seconds.

You smiled to yourself, happy and relieved that everything had turned out the way you'd hoped.

When the meal began to wind down, you turned to your parents.

“Would it be alright if Satoru and I went out for a bit?” you asked, politely. “There’s a new arcade that just opened in town that we wanted to visit.”

Your mother exchanged a brief look with your father before nodding.

“Just don’t stay out too late,” she replied with a smile.

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

The arcade was loud that evening, filled with flashing lights and overlapping sounds of machines chiming, coins clinking, and distant cheers from other players. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to find something to your liking—challenging each other from one game to the next.

“You’re cheating,” you accused, narrowing your eyes as Satoru effortlessly beat your score again.

“Nah, I’ve just gotten better,” he shot back with a grin, not even looking away from the screen.

“Better at being annoying, maybe.”

He laughed at that, stepping away as the arcade game flashed his high score across it.

“C’mon, don’t be a sore loser. I’ll let you win the next one.”

“That’s even worse,” you huffed, though you followed him anyway. “I miss when I used to beat you more often.”

It wasn’t until after a few rounds of games that Satoru pulled something from his pocket.

“Oh—almost forgot to show you. Look what I got.”

You glanced over, curiosity piqued as he held up a sleek flip phone, its gold-colored surface catching the glow of the arcade lights.

“This is how I’ll be calling you,” he added casually, though there was something a little too intentional in the way he said it.

“That’s really cool, Toru,” you beamed as he flipped it open and handed it over for you to see. 

“It's supposed to be the newest model with the best camera out right now,” he continued, pointing at the button with the corresponding symbol. “Press this and it’ll start it up.”

You clicked it, and immediately the arcade floor came into view on the small screen.

“Come stand next to me so we can try it out,” he directed, reaching his hand out. You passed it back to him as you moved to his side like he’d said. 

He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, tugging you a little closer than necessary as you put up a peace sign.

The first photo came out crooked, his aim quite a bit off from the lack of practice. 

The second was a bit better but blurry, catching the two of you mid-laugh because your face had been mostly cut off in the first image.

The third, fourth, and fifth were finally what you sweetly called “cute” as he tapped through the photos next to you. 

Without asking and in your full view, he clicked to set his favorite of the three as his homescreen.

“Satoru, what’d you do that for?”

“Just showing you how customizable it is,” he replied, grinning before adding, “remind me to give you my number when we get back to your place later, yeah?”

You nodded, deciding to change the subject slightly. 

“I will if you promise to take pictures of all the places you go to in Tokyo,” you said. “So you can show me when we see each other.”

“Already planned on it, butterfly.” 

You smiled up at him, something soft settling in your chest at his words before remembering that you meant to give him gifts today as well. 

“Want to head to a café for a bit? I have some things I want to give you.”

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After ordering drinks, the two of you settled into a booth at the nearby cafe. Thankfully, it wasn’t too busy so you both received the items rather quickly. 

He watched you pull a wrapped package from your bag as he finished up his treat.

“This is from the Morisato family,” you said as you slid it over to him on the table.

“Can I open it here?” 

“Yeah, and I'll put the stuff back in my bag so you don’t have to carry it after.”

He began unwrapping the package to find several stationery items a student would need. It was boring stuff really, but he didn’t want to seem ungrateful in front of you even though he wasn’t fond of the elders from your family. 

“These seem great,” he commented. “I’ll make sure to tell them thanks when we get back.”

You laughed. “It’s okay, I know you wouldn’t be too excited about that one.”

“But I have my own to give you that you should like better…” you continued, bringing out your personal gifts for him and passing them over. 

Once more, he tore away the wrapping and opened up the box to find a portable gaming device and a few games, too—including Digimon and Pokémon among them.

He chuckled, turning the Pokémon game over to you as he said, “really?”

“Yeah, really, and you better catch a Butterfree in my honor when you play it.”

“‘Course I will, but these gifts are kinda sending mixed signals,” he teased. “One side of the family gives me stationery to study and the other an excuse to slack off.”

“It is not!” you nudged his leg with your own underneath the table. “My brothers use stuff like that to pass the time when they have to travel for assignments.”  

“I’m kidding,” he said, chuckling. “I love the gift.”

“There’s one more thing in there for you,” you replied, tilting your head to the side as you took a sip from your tea.

After a moment, he pulled out the navy blue omamori with the pale blue and gold butterfly. He traced his fingers along the design, able to tell it wasn’t entirely constructed by a professional.

Had you made this for him yourself?   

“I know it's not the best embroidery, but I tried,” you admitted, smiling a little as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, warmth creeping into your cheeks. “But don’t worry, Mrs. Toshino helped make sure it wouldn’t fall apart on you.”

“It’s my way of wishing you luck and protection during your first year, Toru,” you continued.  

“I’ll keep it on me always. Thank you, Y/n,” he said, beaming with pride before adding, “I think the design’s my favorite part.” 

“Yeah? I thought you might like that. This way you’ll still have a butterfly bothering you in Tokyo,” you teased lightly.  

“Well, I wouldn’t need this if you just came with me,” he pointed at it, playfully complaining despite the truth in the statement. 

“Not this again, Satoru,” you waved him off before he dwelled on the topic. “Are your parents joining you at the train station, by the way?”

“Pfft, those two strangers?” he scoffed. “No way.” 

Wait, why were you asking him that to begin with?

“Why do you ask?”

“I just figured they’d want to be there. Or I guess if not your parents, someone else from the Gojo clan? Maybe Yui?”

“Huh?” he asked, confused. “Who else would I want there but you, butterfly?”

He could tell that his words had caught you off guard.

“Oh… I actually expected us to say goodbye today,” you replied after a pause. 

“W-what? Why?”

“Well, I thought you’d be too busy preparing to leave. Was I wrong to think so?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re still stuck with me this week,” he said, pouting in your direction. “Here I was trying to finish everything early so we could have this last week to ourselves, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Ah- but you never told me that,” you countered, slightly annoyed and amused at the same time. “How could I have known otherwise?”

He exaggeratedly sighed. “Well, you made some pretty horrible assumptions, but I guess you’re right.” He glanced at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You still have to make it up to me though.”

You laughed under your breath, accepting his childish antics despite the whole coming of age ceremony. “And how am I supposed to do that?” 

“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “I’ll think of something by the end of the week.”    

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Midday, February 19, 2005.

And just like that, the week had come and gone, leaving the two of you only with a hard goodbye. 

Yui had accompanied you both to Shinkansen station in Kyoto as instructed, but she remained behind near the gates. You had thought that was where you’d say your final farewell, but Satoru had other plans. Somewhat crazy ones, in fact, but it had worked. 

He’d wanted you with him until the very last second, so he’d gone as far as reserving two seats just to get you through to the platform where he would board the train. 

It was selfish of you, but you almost wished you weren’t here with him today. Why? Because it was proving difficult not to show how sad you actually were after initially meeting him at the Gojo estate.

He’d been a bit down too, despite the brave smile he was wearing here, sitting next to you on a bench on the platform. You could tell he was giving this performance for your sake. 

“It almost feels like one of your stupid movies,” he suddenly said, filling the silence between the two of you. “Where the guy goes off to war and leaves his wife behind at a train station.”

“How in the world does that apply right now?” you countered, eyes growing wide with unfiltered disbelief as you glanced at him briefly before looking at the ground. 

“Well, I am going off to fight cursed spirits sooo,” he pointed out, playfully leaning towards you to whisper, backpack hanging over one of his shoulders. “That counts as a war. One that never ends either.”

Despite knowing he was right about the first half of his earlier statement, you rolled your eyes at him. “Mm, okay fair. Except I’m your best friend, not your wife, remember?” 

He laughed, poking your cheek. “Yeah, but don’t people say that they should be the same person?” 

You blinked at him, genuinely at a loss for words at his boldness right before his departure. Were you really going to have to tell him that you didn’t want anything other than friendship right now? Put boundaries in place? Of all times?

“Calm down, I’m just messing with you,” he said when you failed to reply quickly enough. “Though, I would be a pretty good husband with all the money I’m about to earn, I’d definitely be able to spoil you.”

“Says the person who’s already rich and spoiled," you added, laughing somewhat nervously, still uncomfortable with the topic despite his reassurance. It was best to just deflect and ignore whatever it was that he was doing, right? He was leaving in a few minutes anyway… why ruin anything now?

“Speaking of,” he started, placing the backpack on the ground as he unzipped it and pulled out a gift bag. “This is for you. It’s an early birthday gift since I won’t be around for the actual day.”

“You didn’t have to do this, Toru,” you mumbled as he handed it over to you, carefully placing it on your lap. 

“I wanted to,” he replied. “You can’t open it till later, though.”

“I’ll wait till my birthday then,” you said. 

“Nah, you can open it sooner, just not right now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, puzzled.

“You'll know when, trust me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, already accepting that your pushy best friend would always be something of a mystery. “Well, thank you. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“You better,” he added, nudging your leg with his own. 

Just then, a soft chime echoed through the platform, followed by an announcement for the arriving train—Satoru's train.    

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, zipping up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder again before turning back to you.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Y/n,” he said, the sincerity in his voice breaking straight through the composure you’d been trying so hard to hold onto as he stood up. “C’mere.”

Your vision blurred behind tears as you quickly stood, nearly fumbling with the gift bag in your hands before he pulled you into a tight embrace, arms wrapped closely around you. Instead of fighting against it like you should, you held him just as warmly. Maybe this was your own parting gift to him…

This was nothing like any of the times before. It felt like more—too much more. You forced yourself to ignore it.  

“I meant what I said about using my name if you ever need something to get your elders to back off,” he murmured into your hair. “Even if it isn’t about marriage. I’m always going to be on your side, so use me as an excuse as much as you want.”

He felt you nod before he continued. 

“And no matter what they try to tell you, you’re something special. To me,” he paused, like that alone should’ve been enough. He only went on for your sake. “...to your stupid friends I can’t stand… and your annoyingly cool siblings, too. Even Hana.”

You let out a soft, broken laugh against his chest.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you then, gently wiping away the tears that had slipped free. “Hey, stop crying or you’re going to make me cry.”  

“M’sorry,” you smiled up at him through the tears, his hand still on your cheek. “If it isn’t obvious, I’m going to miss you, too.”

The two of you laughed softly, the sound tinged with something heavier in the moment. Was it sadness? Or maybe something more akin to grief… loss.

Another soft chime echoed through the platform, followed by a final boarding call that warned of only one hundred seconds remaining. He had to let you go now, as much as it hurt to do so. 

“Please take things seriously and be careful out there, Toru,” you said quietly, removing your hands from his back. “And call me if you can, when you get to Tokyo.”

“I will,” he promised, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back from you for the final time. “I’ll catch you later, butterfly.”

“Bye, Toru,” you replied, waving as you watched him board the train.

Only a few seconds later, you heard a noise coming from the bag in your hand. It was a jingle of sorts. You tried to ignore it, but…

Why did it sound like Satoru's phone? 

Your heart jumped as the doors closed to the train. Did he accidentally leave it behind while packing your gift?

Quickly reaching into the bag, you pulled out a cellphone. It looked identical to his, except for the color.

The one in your hands now was pastel blue, with a small floral and butterfly charm hanging from the side.

You flipped it open to see “Satoru Gojo” flashing across the screen, the motion answering the call. 

Putting it up to your ear, you said, “Hello?”     

“See, I told ya you’d know when,” he said, staring at you through the window as the train started to move away. 

“Now about that favor you still owe me…” he continued, a grin tugging at his lips. “Think you can keep me company for two hours? I already miss you too much.”

⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔

Tag list: @ms-aman, @ilyannailyanna, @mel-vaz, @cursedadoration, @chiefsandwichcrown, @b-e-d-o-m, @s1sc1pl1n3, @sakura666777, @fingwh0r3, @juneburrow, @problematicthinker, @itskimsara (let me know if you'd like to be tagged as well <3)

The ocean outside was velvet-dark, its only shimmer the flicker of moonlight splintered by waves. Above it sailed a behemoth of indulgence—an Onychinus cruise liner, gleaming like a floating city, cloaked in celebration and secrets. Music pulsed from the gala deck like a heartbeat, echoing through the ship’s opulent veins.

It was a decadent affair—gilded ceilings reflecting the glittering chandeliers above, their shimmer cascading like rainfall over a sea of masked guests dressed in silk, diamonds, and ambition. Every surface gleamed. Every laugh held secrets.

And at the heart of it all, like a star in his own gravity field, stood Sylus.

The name itself was almost a sin, tasted like something forbidden. White hair falling carelessly over crimson eyes that could ruin you with a glance. He stood near the grand piano, fingers lazily caressing the rim of a wine glass as he listened to a group of investors trying far too hard to impress him. He was barely listening. He never really had to.

Years of pursuit had led to this moment. And still, your breath hitched.

You had tracked Sylus from the shadowy depths of trading networks to rogue Evol labs, always just a step too late, always outmatched. Your assassination attempts were clever, calculated—but he danced through them like smoke. Mocked you, even.

And the worst part? He never retaliated.

You’d survived only because he’d let you. Like a cat with a mouse it wasn’t quite finished playing with. You didn’t know if it was mercy or mockery, and it clawed at you.

You watched him from a distance, holding a silver tray like it belonged to you. Your disguise was simple: black waistcoat, crisp apron, plain white colombina mask similar to those worn by the other waitstaff; and a name tag that read “Isla”—whoever she was. The real Isla was bound and gagged in a supply closet five decks below—your work.

Makeup skillfully applied to conceal your features—particularly your eyes; which he’d seen enough through the masks you wore during your attempts of wiping Sylus’ existence.

Waitress, your brilliant disguise. Nobody important. Nobody worth looking at twice. A perfect shadow to blend in with the glittering snakes of society that slithered through the gala.

The scent of champagne lingered in the air like deceit dressed in silk. You stepped lightly, shoes silent over imported marble, tray perfectly balanced on your gloved hand. But your eyes never left him.

Sylus.

He was a flame in a room of moths—every eye caught in his orbit, every laugh a little louder when it came from his direction. That white hair, always slightly disheveled like he'd just walked away from a fight he enjoyed. Red eyes half-lidded in amusement, danger coiling beneath the velvet of his voice as he conversed with guests draped in silk and sin.

You hated him. You wanted him… dead.

But tonight was different. This time, you had a plan so foolproof it sang in your blood. A few seconds alone with him and you’d deliver a toxin engineered to mimic a slow-onset neural shutdown. He’d never see it coming.

And yet…

Your hands trembled slightly as you passed by him, just close enough to smell the faint musk of his cologne—clean smoke and cedarwood. His voice reached you, smooth and disarmingly amused.

“Careful,” he said, not even turning. “You almost spilled that champagne.”

Your spine went stiff, though you managed to murmur. “Yes, of course, sir. I apologize.”

The party wore on like a fever dream. Dancers spun in silks. The air was thick with perfume, the tension of contracts being made, broken, and reborn. Sylus vanished from the main floor for only a few minutes—and you followed, pretending to carry a new bottle of Dom Perignon.

The hallway was narrow and dim, the hum of the ship louder here, industrial and alive. You’d made it past the ballroom and into the suites' passageway, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline slick on your palms. You reached for the blade—

And then:

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” The voice was low, taunting.

Just as you turned around a corner, two men flanked you before you even registered them—sharp suits, cruel eyes, hands like stone. A heavy hand closed around your arm. The tray clattered to the floor, the expensive wine and glasses shattered like fragile illusions. One wordless, the other sneering as he caught your arm. You struck fast, a knee to the gut and elbow to the throat—but you weren’t fast enough.

Before you could draw, the first guard's arm locked around your waist, another hand slamming a linen-dampened cloth over your nose and mouth.

Chloroform. The sickly sweet smell filled your lungs. Panic surged—your pulse raced, your instincts frenzied, your scream muffled.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You woke with the ache of time lost, your limbs heavy with the residue of the sedative. The room was too quiet. Your head throbbed like a war drum as you stirred awake. Lashes fluttering. Breathing shallow. You blinked, only to find blackness still—until you realized the silk blindfold was tight across your eyes. You tried to move—and realized something was wrong.

You were lying on a bed. Silken sheets cradled your body, disheveled, legs tangled in expensive fabric you didn’t recognize. Your wrists were bound—cold metal cuffing them to the upholstered headboard. Your legs were free, but trembling. The clothes you’d worn had been stripped of their weapons, apron gone, hair untucked, the crisp blouse now wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, askew, pulled halfway down your torso. There was no pain, but the disarray was unmistakably deliberate.

And someone was there.

His presence was unmistakable, even with his back turned. Broad shoulders beneath a crisp button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the crimson lining flickering as he lit a cigarette with quiet fingers. The cherry flare cast shadows on the walls like firelight in hell.

Sylus.

He exhaled slowly, a long stream of smoke curling toward the ceiling like a prayer lost on the wind.

“You know,” he said, voice smooth as obsidian, “I had a bet going. How long would it take before you tried again?” He turned just slightly, enough for the orange glow to paint the side of his jaw.

“Happy fucking birthday,” you rasped, voice hoarse with disbelief and fury.

“You remembered,” he murmured in mock sincerity. “I’m touched.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric, buzzing with tension. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. The cold thrill that swept through your veins wasn’t fear.

Not exactly.

“You gonna kill me?” you asked.

Sylus chuckled—low, indulgent. He flicked ash into a crystal tray and stepped closer. The room felt suddenly too warm as you listened to the faint rustling caused by his movements.

“Kill you?” he repeated. “Now why would I ruin the one thing that’s kept me entertained these last few years?”

His hand touched the bedpost. A lazy drag of his fingers down the metal. “You should’ve worn something prettier,” he mused. “But I suppose we’ll fix that soon enough.”

You swallowed hard, pulse screaming in your ears.

Sylus moved like a predator—slow, deliberate, savoring the prowl. He took a long drag from the cigarette, his movements languid and deliberate. With the soft flick of his wrist, the smoke spiraled upward in thick plumes, and you could feel the faint sting of it in your nostrils, even as the weight of the blindfold made the world blur into darkness.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beside your hips, a subtle shift that sent every nerve ending screaming awake. The blindfold turned the world into a void, and in that darkness, every sound amplified. The faint rustle of fabric. The soft clink of his belt as he sat down. The sharp flick of the lighter once more, followed by a second exhale of smoke that drifted across your cheek like a ghost.

"You look… quite helpless, like this," he murmured, his voice a low hum that reverberated against your chest. "I wonder what you'll do now. You can't even see me coming, can you?"

You could hear the amusement in his tone, and it stoked the fire of defiance inside you.

"I don't need to see you to know what kind of monster you are," you hissed, biting back the tightness in your throat.

Sylus’ presence hovered over you like a storm. He put away the tobacco, pressing it down against the tray until its last ember faded into ash.

You could feel the heat of him radiating, the crisp, clean scent of his cologne growing nearer, mingling with the tobacco and subtle musk of his skin. Every breath you took felt laced with danger, and yet there was something irresistible about the way he moved, like a predator toying with its prey. The luxurious bed beneath you shifted with the weight of his body as he leaned closer, just close enough for the heat of his breath to ghost across the curve of your neck.

He wasn’t in a hurry. There was no rush. The teasing silence between you felt like an eternity—your heart pounding in your chest, your pulse thrumming against the cold, unforgiving steel of the handcuffs. You tugged, pulled at your restraints, but they only gave a small, satisfying jingle that mocked your struggle.

“Struggling?” His voice, like velvet and whiskey, was too close, and yet you couldn’t see him. You could only feel his presence, like an electric charge that arced between your skin and his.

“I’m not your toy, Sylus,” you spat, squirming on the bed, body tense and restless.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers traced the edge of your jaw, delicate and deliberate, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. The touch was light—almost playful—but you knew it was a calculated move to test your reaction. Your jaw clenched, and you turned your head away from his touch.

He chuckled. “You can keep telling yourself that. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think you’re in control.” His fingers dipped lower, brushing the curve of your collarbone, the pads of his fingers circling as if savoring every inch of your skin.

You bit back a breath, trying to remain composed despite the undeniable warmth spreading through your body. But your body betrayed you. Every brush of his fingers, every exhaled word, coiled your insides tighter.

“You’re playing with fire,” you warned, though the words trembled in your throat.

His response was a soft, dangerous laugh, and then, just as you thought he might back away, his lips were on your ear.

“You have no idea how much I like fire,” Sylus murmured, hot and husky in your ear. “It burns. It licks at your skin until there’s nothing left but the heat.” His lips brushed over your earlobe, making your breath catch, but you couldn’t turn your head away. You couldn’t even see him.

You felt his hand—strong and unyielding—grip your chin, lifting your face toward him. You twisted, but the restraints held you fast, and then his lips were there, brushing over your mouth, just a whisper of pressure.

The kiss didn’t come. He teased you with it, letting his lips hover so close you could feel the warmth of him, feel the pulse of his breath.

“I know what you want,” he murmured, lips still a breath away from yours, “and you know exactly what I can give you.”

You tried to fight back, twisting your body beneath him, but it was futile. The strength in his hands was overwhelming, more than you’d ever anticipated. His fingers slipped over your waist, dragging across the fabric of your disheveled clothes, tracing the lines of your body as if mapping out every secret you tried to hide.

You kicked out instinctively, your heel connecting with his shin in an attempt to push him back. But it only seemed to amuse him further. Sylus’ fingers wrapped around your ankle in a grip so tight you couldn’t move, pulling your leg back and pushing it to the bed as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“You think kicking me will get you out of this?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement and something darker. His lips brushed your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “It only makes me want to hold you down more.”

Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath. His proximity made you burn, yet every instinct told you to fight. You bit your lip, forcing your body not to react. “I won’t let you control me, Sylus.”

“Oh, darling,” he whispered, the words sinking into your skin like a promise of something dangerous. He brushed his lips lightly against your earlobe, the touch so soft, it almost felt like a ghost. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

You yanked against the cuffs, trying to twist your body free, but the moment you did, he pressed his knee between your thighs, forcing you to stay still. His touch was all consuming—firm, teasing—his knee nudging, pressing just enough to make your pulse race, but never quite enough to give you what you wanted.

You gritted your teeth, refusing to let him see how much his touch affected you. “Fuck you,” you spat, voice dripping with defiance, though your heart was pounding, erratic in your chest. “I won’t beg.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound rough and amused, as if he was finding your resistance amusing rather than frustrating. His hand moved lower, trailing across your ribs, fingers skimming over the curves of your body with maddening precision. You shivered, trying to turn your face away, but your blindfolded senses only made everything sharper.

You tried to bite at him, teeth snapping in his direction, your breath ragged and angry beneath the blindfold. But Sylus only chuckled again, a sound that made your skin burn and your heart race even faster. He seemed to revel in your resistance.

"Such a fire," he mused, almost to himself. "But it won’t be enough to burn me down."

The lightest brush of his lips against your collarbone made you flinch, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t want to admit. You hissed in frustration, trying to pull away from him, but he was everywhere now—his scent, his heat, his overwhelming presence.

You felt the pressure of his body closer, now brushing against yours. Your breathing was shallow, erratic, every brush of his skin sending a ripple of tension through you. His fingers, still tracing up your thigh, slid higher, pushing the edge of your clothes up with a slow, deliberate drag.

You felt him shift, moving above you like a predator circling its prey. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your mind screamed at you to fight, to not give in to the burning tension building between you.

“You won’t get away from me,” he whispered, voice dark and filled with something primal. The way he said it made your breath hitch in your throat. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You squirmed again, trying to break free, but Sylus leaned down, his lips finding the pulse at your throat. His kiss was soft at first—almost gentle—but then his teeth grazed your skin, and you gasped, the sensation sending a flood of heat straight to your pussy. He didn’t let up, his hands moving with a purpose, pulling you closer to him, as though he was marking you as his own.

"I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm, little hunter," Sylus murmured, his voice low and almost pleading with cruel delight. His lips dragged down your neck, his body pressing in close, and the fire between your legs burned hotter, more intense with every breath. The fight was draining from you, replaced by something else—a deep ache that you couldn't deny.

“Stop,” you hissed, the defiance still clinging to your voice even as your pulse betrayed you. Your body reacted—tensed, arched, seeking something you couldn’t name. Anything to break the suffocating tension.

But Sylus wasn’t interested in letting you off that easily.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned in, lips finally meeting yours in a slow, agonizing kiss. His mouth was fierce, claiming, tasting, as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss was a clash of heat and hunger, a storm that flooded your senses.

His hand slid down your ribs, and you gasped at the sudden heat of his touch. He was testing your limits, deliberately pushing you until your restraint faltered. His voice came again, softer this time, the heat of it like a furnace against your ear.

“You like that?”

You kicked, thrashing against the bed in a futile attempt to throw him off, but he simply shifted, pinning your legs down with a weight that left you breathless. Every movement only fueled his resolve, deepened his touch.

“Still fighting?” he asked, lips brushing against your neck as he traced his thumb across your jaw. “Such a shame. I thought you’d learned by now.”

He kissed your throat again, his lips moving with dark intention, pressing against the sensitive skin, as if marking you in a way no one else would dare. The contrast between his warmth and the cold steel of your cuffs made your skin tingle, the sensations amplified by the blindfold that left you without sight but all the more aware of every other nerve in your body.

You couldn’t see him. But you could feel him. Every inch of him. Every breath, every whisper of his touch. The taste of him lingered on your lips, intoxicating. He was a drug—something dangerous and addictive.

You were so close. So close to giving in. But the game was far from over.

Sylus pulled away, his smile wicked in the shadows, his breath hot against your cheek. "You're so predictable," he taunted, his voice a seductive caress. "But that's what makes this so much fun."

You could feel the heat of his eyes on you, even through the blindfold, and you clenched your fists in anger. "I'm not playing your games," you ground out, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and desire.

"But you are," he murmured, his fingers tracing a line from the base of your throat down to the swell of your breasts. "And you're losing, sweetheart."

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to moan as his thumb brushed over your nipple, already peaked and sensitive. His touch was a brand, searing through the fabric of your shirt. You felt yourself softening, your body betraying you with every stroke.

“Please,” you breathed out, not sure if you were begging him to stop or to go on.

Sylus’ smirk was palpable in the air, his thumb circling your nipple with a cruel precision that had you writhing beneath him. “Please what?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

You clenched your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected you. But your body had its own agenda, your breaths coming faster, your chest rising and falling against the restraint of the handcuffs.

Sylus chuckled, the sound a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very bed you were bound to. "I've been looking forward to this," he murmured, his hand sliding down to the hem of your shirt. He tugged it upward, the fabric dragging against your skin as it revealed the softness of your stomach. "To finally see what's beneath that stoic exterior."

You felt the coolness of the room against your exposed skin, the stark contrast to the heat of his touch. The anticipation was agonizing—a delicious torture that had your senses on high alert. The smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, the way the mattress dipped and groaned beneath his weight as he leaned closer—it all painted a picture in your mind that was more vivid than any sight.

“You’re going to regret this,” you whispered, trying to sound menacing, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Doubtful,” he chuckled, his voice a dark purr that sent a shiver down your spine. His hand slid up under your shirt, his palm flattening against your stomach, the heat of his skin making you quiver. You tried to keep your body still, but it was an impossible task as his fingers danced over your skin.

With a sudden jerk, Sylus ripped the fabric, the sound of the tearing fabric echoing through the room. The shirt was torn away followed by your bra, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. You gasped, the chilly bite of the air making your nipples tighten further under his gaze.

Sylus leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his tongue demanding entry as his hand moved higher, cupping your breast with a possessiveness that made your toes curl. You whimpered into the kiss, unable to stop yourself, and you felt him smile against your lips. He knew he had you.

His thumb circled your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, hips moving restlessly against the bed. His other hand moved to your other breast, teasing and taunting until you were panting for more. He broke the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

"Is that all you've got?" you spat out, trying to sound brave.

Sylus’ chuckle was a dark promise. “Oh, no. That’s just the appetizer, darling.” He leaned back, his hand still cupping your bare breast, thumb flicking at the peak. You bit your lip to keep from crying out. The pleasure was unexpected, unwelcome, but it was there, pulsing through your veins like a siren’s song.

He took his time, the sound of his belt unbuckling like a gun cocking in the stillness. The zipper on your pants followed, a slow, meticulous descent that made you feel like a butterfly being unwrapped from a cocoon of steel. You could feel the coolness of the air against your skin, the anticipation making your stomach tighten and your pussy throb.

"You're wet," he mused, “you know that?"

With a firm grip, Sylus pulled your pants down to your knees, leaving you exposed. You kicked again, trying to fight the rising tide of need. But he was too fast, too strong. He caught your ankles in his hands and held them down, his fingers digging into your flesh as he bent to kiss the inside of your thigh. His breath was hot, his tongue tracing the path of your veins, moving closer and closer to your center.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to taste you, to feel you come apart in my mouth.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the whimper that threatened to spill out. “I want you to go to hell,” you managed, though your voice was little more than a whisper.

Sylus’ smile was a wicked curve against your skin. “Now, now,” he said, his breath warm and teasing against the dampness between your thighs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You squirmed again, trying to get away, the movement only serving to arch your pelvis further against the bed. You felt the soft brush of his nose against the fabric of your panties, and despite the anger, your body reacted, your hips jerking slightly. It was a betrayal—but it was a betrayal that had your heart racing, your breaths coming in quick, desperate gasps.

The jolt of sensation, and your breath hitched. He took the opportunity to nip at your inner thigh, teeth scraping just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your pussy through the fabric. The wetness grew, a silent confession to your body’s betrayal. “Say you want me to lick you until you scream my name. Until you forget why you ever wanted to kill me in the first place.”

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the way your body responded to his touch. But the way his tongue slid against the fabric of your panties was a sweet agony that made it difficult to hold onto your anger. The heat of his breath against your clit made your hips buck involuntarily.

"You're a monster," you whispered, but it lacked conviction.

"Darling, you kill solely for the money. I don't think you get to tell me that." Sylus' words were laced in sarcasm. He pressed his lips on the damp spot of your lace panties, sneaking a deep inhale of your arousal before pulling away.

Your body was trembling now, your mind racing with a mix of anger and lust. The way he talked about your past made you feel cheap, used—like you were just a toy to him, but the way he touched you...it was driving you wild.

“You’re right, I’m a monster,” Sylus whispered, his breath a warm caress against the damp fabric. “But so are you, aren’t you?” His voice was a seductive purr, his words a dark confession that seemed to resonate deep within you.

You felt his fingers hook under the elastic band of your panties, sliding them down your legs, exposing you completely. The coolness of the air made you shiver, but it was the heat of his gaze that made your skin burn.

"I don't want this," you lied, trying to ignore the slickness between your thighs.

Sylus' response was a knowing smirk that you could feel rather than see. "Your body says otherwise," he whispered, his thumb stroking your pussy lightly. You bit back a moan, the sensation sending a jolt through your body.

You felt the bed shift as he stood, the loss of his weight making you feel exposed and cold. The silence was maddening, but it was broken by the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor. Your heart raced as you tried to imagine what he was doing, the anticipation making you wetter.

“What are you doing?” you choked out, trying to sound more in control than you felt.

“What does it feel like?” His voice was a dark caress as his fingers found the fabric of your torn blouse. He took his sweet time, brushing the stray fabric with a leisurely confidence that made your heart race even faster. The fabric parted, revealing the swells of your breasts more.

“What does what feel like?” you asked, playing dumb, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“The anticipation,” he said, his voice a low growl. “The sweet, sweet taste of victory as it lingers on your tongue. And the thrill of knowing you’re about to get what you’ve been chasing for so long.”

Sylus' words hung in the air like a promise as you felt the coolness of your breasts exposed, the air teasing your nipples into hard, sensitive peaks. His fingers danced the side of your breasts, his movements a silent question. You didn’t respond, but your body did, arching into his touch without your consent.

With a smug chuckle, he tugged at your overstimulated nipples, rolling them gently between calloused fingers. The sensation was jolting, making you gasp as your skin tightened into gooseflesh. But it was his eyes—his hungry, predatory gaze—that had your breath hitching. He studied you like a piece of art, his eyes lingering on the rosy tips of your breasts, the way they pointed to the ceiling in silent invitation.

And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away, he leaned in. His mouth closed over one peak, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud in a dance that was both tormenting and exquisite. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips, the sound a mix of protest and pleasure. He bit gently, the sting sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core.

You writhed beneath him, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you tried to arch away from the sensation. But Sylus was relentless, his mouth moving to the other breast as his hand took over, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Please...” you whispered, the word slipping out despite your best efforts.

Sylus’ eyes glinted with triumph, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop. He leaned back, his eyes raking over your exposed body with a hunger that was both terrifying and thrilling.

“Please what?” he taunted, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “Please stop, or please more?”

Déja vu.

You glared at him, though you knew he couldn’t see it through the blindfold. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you spat.

Sylus’ smirk grew wider. “Immensely,” he admitted, his eyes dark and gleaming. He slid a hand down your stomach, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was both terrifying and thrilling—like a dance with a snake, you weren’t sure if you’d end up charmed or bitten.

The bed shifted, his weight moving to hover over your chest. His thighs bracing against the sides of your breasts, the tip of his cock brushing against your cheek. The smell of him was intoxicating—musk and power, a heady combination that made your mouth water in spite of yourself. You could feel the heat of him, the solid length of him, the blunt reality of his desire pressing into your skin.

“Open up, darling,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with arrogance. “Let’s see if you can handle what I have to offer.”

With a jerk of your head, you tried to turn away from him, the tip of his cock grazing your cheek. The gesture was one of defiance, but it only served to make him chuckle. His hand wrapped around your jaw, turning your face back to him, his grip firm but not painful.

“You don’t get to dictate the terms here,” he said, his voice a soft command. “You’re mine now.”

You felt his hand tighten on your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, the pressure of his cock against your cheek insistent. You wanted to bite, to make him feel the same pain you did, but the need to breathe was stronger. You parted your lips, the salty taste of him coating your tongue as he slid inside your mouth.

He groaned, a sound that was pure male satisfaction, and you felt a twinge of anger at the power he had over you. But that anger was quickly drowned by the sensation of his length pushing deeper, filling your mouth, his hand guiding you to take him as he wished.

Your tongue worked against him, reluctant but obedient, as he began to thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your cheeks hollowing with every movement. You could feel the slickness of your own arousal coating your thighs, the wetness a traitorous confession of how much he affected you.

Sylus’ eyes never left your obscured ones, watching your every reaction with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and desired. The hand that wasn’t guiding your head moved to cup your breast, his thumb teasing the nipple in a rhythm that matched his hips. Each tug sent a pulse of pleasure straight to your pussy, making it difficult to maintain your resolve.

But you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t. You were a bounty hunter, not a plaything for his amusement.

With a growl, you tried to buck your hips, to push him away, but the movement only served to drive him deeper into your mouth. His grip on your jaw tightened, a silent warning not to bite.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark praise that had you clenching your fists. You hated the way your body responded to him, the way your pussy grew wetter with every stroke of his cock.

The hand on your breast moved down, his fingers slipping between your legs to find your clit. The touch was feather-light at first, a mere whisper of sensation that had you gasping around his cock.

You could feel his smirk against your skin even as he began to move faster, his hips pistoning into your mouth, his thumb circling your clit with a skill that was impossible to ignore. You tried to fight it, to hold onto your anger, but the tension was building, the pressure growing with every beat of your heart.

The hand on your jaw released, leaving you gasping for air as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. But the relief was short-lived as you felt his wetness coat your cheek, a silent declaration of his intent.

“You want this just as badly as I do,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Admit it.”

You bit back the words that wanted to spill out, the truth that you were dangerously close to begging. Instead, you turned your face away, your jaw clenched tightly.

Sylus chuckled again, a sound that seemed to echo through the room. “Alright, if you want to play hard to get...”

The bed shifted again, and you felt him move away. But before you could take a breath, you felt his mouth replace his hand between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with a precision that had your body arching off the bed.

“Sylus!” you gasped, the word torn from your throat despite your efforts to keep it contained.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. “That’s better,” he murmured, his mouth closing over your clit, sucking and licking with a hunger that was almost terrifying.

Your legs trembled, your toes curling into the bed. The handcuffs bit into your wrists as you tried to find purchase, the pain a strange counterpoint to the pleasure that was building deep within you.

Sylus’ mouth was a weapon, his tongue a masterstroke that painted patterns of desire on your sensitive flesh. He licked and sucked with an intensity that was almost punishing, his teeth grazing your clit with enough pressure to make you jolt but never quite enough to push you over the edge. You could feel his smile against your skin, his enjoyment of your struggle a dark thrill that only added to the tension coiling in your belly.

Your hips moved of their own accord, trying to find the friction you so desperately craved. His fingers slid into your pussy, the invasion both welcome and unwelcome, stretching you as he explored your depths with a curious thoroughness that had you biting your lip to keep from crying out.

His tongue swirled and danced, each pass bringing you closer to the precipice, your body tightening like a spring ready to snap. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to echo through the very air.

Sylus’ teeth scraped your clit, the sensation sending a bolt of pleasure that had you arching off the bed, a desperate sound ripped from your throat. He didn’t stop, his tongue lapping at your folds, his fingers curling inside you, the rhythm of his mouth and hand in perfect synchronization—creating a salacious symphony of wet slurping and reluctant moans of delight.

Your mind was a whirlwind of sensation, thoughts of escape and anger lost in the storm of pleasure. The only thing that remained was the need, the all-consuming demand for release.

But just as you felt the first wave of your climax building, he pulled away, leaving you panting and trembling with need. The absence of his touch was a physical ache, your body crying out for more.

“Please just…” you begged, the word slipping from your lips despite your best efforts.

Sylus’ laugh was a dark symphony that seemed to fill the room, his eyes gleaming with victory. “Ah, so you do know how to ask nicely,” he murmured, his voice a sweet torture that had you clenching around his fingers.

He didn’t move for a moment, letting your desperation build, the anticipation almost as potent as the pleasure. Then, with a smug smirk, he leaned back in, his mouth closing over your clit with a renewed fervor that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

You were lost now, unable to hold back the tide of sensation. Your body bucked against his mouth, your legs tightening around his head as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. The hand that wasn’t cupping your breast slid down to your waist, his grip firm as he held you in place, his other hand continuing to play with your nipples.

You could feel the orgasm building, the pressure in your core threatening to burst like a dam. You didn’t know if you could take much more—every touch, every lick was like a match thrown on gasoline.

And then, with a final, agonizing stroke, you shattered. The world fell away, leaving only the blissful oblivion of pleasure. You screamed his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, pussy juices pouring like ambrosia that made him want to taste you more.

Sylus didn’t let up, his mouth working you through the climax, drawing out every last tremor until you were limp and panting, the handcuffs the only thing keeping you anchored to reality. You felt him shift, his weight leaving the bed, and for a moment, panic gripped you. But then you felt the coolness of a cloth against your face, gently wiping away the sweat and tears.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark purr that had your heart racing. “Now, let’s see if you’re as good at giving as you are at receiving, shall we?”

The blindfold was removed, and you blinked against the sudden brightness, your eyes adjusting to the sight of him standing before you. He was completely naked now, his cock erect and the bulbous tip gleaming with precum.

The look in his eyes was a challenge, a promise of what was to come. You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body still humming with the aftermath of your orgasm. You knew what he wanted, knew what he expected of you.

With a smirk, Sylus positioned himself between your spread legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your swollen pussy. Your body was still reeling from the intense orgasm he’d wrung from you, but the anticipation of what was to come had your breath hitching.

He didn’t rush, taking his time to align himself with your sensitized cunt, his eyes never leaving yours. The teasing was a silent declaration of his dominance, a promise of the pleasure—and pain—he had in store for you.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid the tip of his cock along the plump folds of your labia, the sensation making you bite your bottom lip to keep from gasping. He watched you, his expression one of dark amusement, his eyes hooded with lust.

The first shallow thrust made you moan, your body already begging for more. But Sylus was in no hurry, pulling out almost immediately and leaving you with only the memory of his thickness. Your eyes narrowed, and you could feel the challenge in his touch. You weren’t going to let him win so easily.

“You’re going to beg for it, aren’t you?” you taunted, your voice a mix of defiance and need.

Sylus chuckled, the sound low and predatory. “We’ll see about that,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again. His tongue danced with yours, the taste of you still on his mouth, making you crave him even more.

The second time he pushed into you, he went deeper, the pressure making you arch your back. You could feel every inch of him, the thickness of his cock stretching you, filling you in a way that was almost painful.

But you wouldn’t beg. Not yet. You’d make him work for it.

He pulled out again, leaving you panting and desperate. The room was filled with the slick sound of his cock sliding along your wetness, a sound that seemed to echo in your ears.

“Please,” you whispered, unable to stop the word from escaping.

Sylus’ eyes gleamed with victory, his smirk turning into a full smile. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice a seductive purr that seemed to resonate in your very bones.

He slammed into you then, the suddenness making you cry out. The handcuffs bit into your wrists, the pain mixing with pleasure, making it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Sylus’ hips moved in a steady, punishing rhythm, his cock hitting all the right spots, making your body sing with every thrust. You could feel another orgasm building, the pressure mounting with every stroke.

“Is this what you wanted?” you managed to say between gasps. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?”

His only response was a groan, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he drove into you, his teeth gritted with the effort to hold back his own release.

The third time he pulled out, you were ready to beg for more. The need was a living thing inside of you, demanding to be satiated. But you bit your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

When he entered you again, it was with a force that had your eyes rolling back in your head. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every movement, the friction making your toes curl and your back arch. The hand that had been playing with your breasts moved to your clit, his thumb pressing down with just the right amount of pressure.

Your second orgasm crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath and your resolve. You screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room as you shuddered around him, your body writhing in pleasure.

You were lost in the sensation, unable to do anything but feel. The handcuffs that had once been a symbol of your captivity now felt like a strange sort of freedom, allowing you to give in completely to the storm of pleasure.

Watching you lose yourself once more to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your veins, Sylus allowed himself an indulgent flush of pride at having brought his enemy to such heights of ecstasy twice in quick succession. With every guttural cry that escaped your trembling lips, he felt himself edging closer towards a gratifying climax.

His rhythm grew erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he pumped into you with a ferocity that sent shockwaves through the very core of your being. The headboard thudded against the wall in a staccato beat, setting the room's atmosphere alight with a primal energy that seemed to feed the flames of your passion.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, those eyes filled with a mix of anger, desire, and something else—something unidentifiable that sent a shiver down his spine. The fire in your gaze only served to stoke his own, making him push deeper, harder, until you were both teetering on the brink of oblivion.

And then, with a final, earth-shattering thrust, Sylus let go.

"Fucking hell…" He panted heavily, his mind momentarily blanked out by sheer physical exertion required to reach his explosive peak. His eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied himself into you, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. Your walls tightened around him, milking every drop of semen from his body.

For a moment, the world stilled, the only sounds the harsh gasps of your shared breathing. Then, with a shudder, Sylus collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his heart pounding against your chest.

One of his hands gently cradled the back of your head as he kissed you, his mouth soft and seeking. The kiss was a stark contrast to the raw power of his earlier touches, a gentle reminder that even in this twisted game of power and domination, there was something deeper—a connection that neither of you could deny.

As your breathing evened out, he pulled back, his gaze searching yours for any signs of regret or fear. But all he found was a smoldering challenge. The fire in your eyes had not been extinguished—it had only been banked, waiting for the next round.

With a smirk that held the promise of future battles and even greater pleasures, Sylus reached up to unlock the handcuffs, his movements surprisingly gentle as he freed you from the headboard. The metal clicked open, the sound echoing in the quiet room like the promise of release.

You didn't move immediately, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. But as the reality of the situation set in, you pushed him off, sitting up with a jerk, the fabric of your torn shirt sticking to your damp skin.

"This isn't over," you murmured, your voice thick with a mix of lust and anger.

Sylus chuckled, his cock still semi-erect and gleaming with the evidence of your passion. "On the contrary," he said, his voice a seductive promise. "It's only just begun."

The air in the suite grew thick with tension, the power dynamics shifting once again as you both stared at each other, the unspoken challenge hanging between you like a live wire.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a low, possessive growl. "You've always been mine, even when you were chasing me across the galaxy."

You stood, the remnants of your clothing falling away to reveal the marks his desire had left on your body—the bruises from his grip, the bite marks on your skin; and especially the creamy white liquid that has started running down your inner thighs. You felt a strange thrill at the sight, a dark thrill that made your stomach clench.

"And now," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "now, you're going to find out just how much of a monster I can truly be."

The smile that played on his lips was the most terrifying thing you'd ever seen—promising a night of pleasure and pain that would leave you forever changed, forever marked as his. And deep down, you knew that you were ready for it. You were ready for whatever he had in store.

You took a step towards him, the taste of his dominance still lingering on your tongue. "Bring it," you said, your voice a dare.

Sylus' smile widened, and in that moment, you realized that you had just accepted his challenge. You had stepped into the lion's den, and there was no turning back. The hunt was over—now, it was time to become the prey.