tomie

You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.

Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.

He looks as exhausted as you feel.

"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.

"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."

Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."

"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"

"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."

"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."

"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."

"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.

"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."

"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.

"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."

"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."

"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.

"Our death," he agrees solemnly.

For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.

His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.

"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.

"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.

"I'd just block her."

"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."

"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"

"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."

"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"

"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.

His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

But then his hands start to wander.

It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—

He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.

"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."

"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"

"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"

"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."

"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"

"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."

"That's not science, you idiot."

"It's my science."

You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.

"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.

"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it."

For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.

You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.

"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"

There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."

You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.

"We were having a nice moment."

"We still are."

"You've got a boner."

"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."

You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"

"You are absolutely the problem."

"I literally haven't done anything."

"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."

"I hummed?"

"You hummed."

"I don't hum."

"You do when you're really comfortable."

You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."

"I have."

You glare at him.

"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."

You snort. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm trying to be respectful."

"Are you?"

Silence.

"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."

Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."

His voice is quieter now. "So happy."

You burrow your face further into his shoulder.

"…I like when you're like this."

You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."

"Only for you."

There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.

"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."

"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."

Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.

When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."

"Up where—"

But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."

"Satoru—"

"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."

How are you supposed to say no to that?

"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.

"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."

"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—

"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.

He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."

But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.

"Satoru—"

"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.

It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.

"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."

"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.

"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.

Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.

"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."

His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.

"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"

"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”

His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.

"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."

"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.

But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.

"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"

"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."

He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.

"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"

"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster. 

Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.

When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.

"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."

"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh really?"

"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.

"Oh, baby."

He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.

"Fuck, baby—"

"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.

"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."

"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.

"Yeah." His voice is strained. 

He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.

"Satoru—"

"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”

His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.

"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."

"Satoru, please—"

"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"You know what I want."

"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."

"You're killing me—"

"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."

His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.

"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."

"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.

"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."

"Satoru—"

"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."

Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.

"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.

"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”

"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."

He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."

"Satoru—"

"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"

"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.

His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"

"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."

His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.

"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"

"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.

"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."

"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.

"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"

"Yes—fuck—right there—"

"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."

The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.

"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."

"Don't stop—"

"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."

The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.

"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."

When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.

"Satoru—"

"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.

"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.

"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"

"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"

"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."

"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.

"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."

His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.

"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."

You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.

He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"

You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"

He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."

He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.

"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."

"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"

"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”

The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.

"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”

His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him. 

"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”

His composure finally snaps.

"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."

He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.

"Not until you."

His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.

"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"

Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.

"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"

The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.

"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.

"Holy shit," you mumble.

"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."

"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.

"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."

"I love you too, you needy disaster."

"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.

He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.

"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.

"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."

"Clingy."

"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."

"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.

The thought of filing a missing person's report had crossed your mind more than once, but honestly, what was the police going to do? Put out an announcement asking civilians for help, search a few places, then quietly move on when nothing turned up? Toji's name would become just another file tucked away inside a dusty cabinet alongside hundreds of others. No, you couldn't abandon him like that. You had to try. Figure out what had happened, why he wasn't responding to your messages. 

After throwing together a saddle bag with a flashlight, lighter, cigarettes, compass, and the rest of your essentials, you hurried out of the apartment. Climbing into your car, you headed towards Toji's last known location—the abandoned underground mall. One foot remained pressed against the accelerator while anxious hands tightened around the steering wheel, your eyes constantly drifting between the road and the GPS guiding the way.

The cool night breeze brushed against your face through the slightly opened window as the car sped down the empty highway at nearly eighty miles per hour. Behind you, the city lights slowly faded into the distance, replaced by endless darkness and a sky scattered with bright stars overhead. On the GPS screen, the small blue dot steadily crept closer to its destination.

After an hour of driving, you arrived at the place. Stepping out of the car, you noticed something seemed off right away. Nothing was present; no way in, no doorway collapsed, the fence was intact. The only thing left behind was an abandoned parking lot flanked by lighting that had long since ceased operating.

“Fuck…” you whispered, running a hand through your hair while double-checking the GPS. According to it, you were exactly where you were supposed to be, yet there wasn't a single way underground. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips before you climbed back into the driver's seat, resting your arms against the steering wheel as you thought it through. The mall was here. Every official entrance had been sealed off years ago... yet somehow Toji had managed to get inside. The question was how?

Your thoughts continued racing until one small detail suddenly stood out. His truck wasn't here. “That's strange…” you muttered, starting the engine again. If his truck wasn't in the parking lot, then where the hell was it? 

The car slowly pulled away from the empty lot. If this had truly been his last known location, then there had to be some clue nearby. Toji had found a way inside somehow, which meant that if you searched hard enough, you could find it too.

The steering wheel shifted beneath your hands as you carefully circled the perimeter, keeping your eyes peeled for anything unusual. Your headlights cut through the darkness while the stars overhead illuminated the outlines of distant buildings. Nearly thirty minutes passed before you finally spotted a lone warehouse with its large metal doors standing wide open, the broken lock discarded on the ground. Bringing the car to a stop outside, your gaze lingered on the dark interior. Had it not been for the headlights shining inside, the narrow tunnel stretching underground would've gone completely unnoticed.

You facepalmed. “Toji... how could you be so dumb and enter a place like this?”

Pressing down on the accelerator, you carefully drove into the warehouse, following the ominous tunnel beneath Earth’s surface. The uneven pavement made the car jolt every few seconds, each bump making your stomach twist tighter. You continued driving; in the distance, you could see another familiar vehicle, Toji's truck, lit by your car's headlights.

A shaky breath escaped before you even realized you'd been holding it. “He is here…” you muttered.

Stepping out of the car, you slowly approached his truck, carefully inspecting it. Relief briefly settled in your chest knowing he hadn't left, but it was quickly replaced by another thought. If he was still here… Why hadn't he answered your texts?

Your imagination immediately spiraled. Maybe he'd fallen unconscious. Maybe he'd slipped into that stagnant water he'd complained about. Maybe there simply wasn't any signal underground. Then another thought surfaced: what if he'd been killed? Your fingers instinctively tightened around the fabric of your shirt as you silently whispered a prayer that it wasn't true. 

The hidden entrance to the mall stood eerily still. You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. A handful of lights had been switched on—most likely by Toji—which thankfully kept the darkness from swallowing the corridors whole.

“I hope you're in here.”

The moment you stepped inside, the smell hit you. It was putrid. A nauseating mixture of mold, rusting metal, dust, mildew, stagnant air, trapped moisture, and years of decay assaulted your senses all at once. Instinctively stumbling backwards, your shirt was pulled over your nose as you nearly gagged. After taking several deep breaths to compose yourself, you cautiously stepped inside again.

Slow footsteps echoed through the abandoned corridors as forgotten storefronts stretched endlessly along both sides of the mall. Leaning over the railings revealed nearly the entire structure beneath you. The highest floor remained dry, while the very bottom was completely submerged beneath filthy, murky water.

Continuing your search, you came across a partially illuminated storefront. A tent sat inside. Unlike everything else around it, it looked new. The colors hadn't faded with time, standing out sharply against the decay surrounding it. Cookie wrappers littered the floor—the same brand Toji always bought. 

Your breath caught. Quickly making your way inside, you knelt besides the tent and searched through its contents: a half-empty water bottle, a blanket and a laptop. Carefully lifting it from the floor, you flipped open the screen. The bright wallpaper immediately shone on your face, a stark contrast against the darkness around. It was a picture of you and Toji taken almost two years ago during the beach date he'd surprised you with.

Your throat tightened. Without hesitation, you typed in his password—his birthday—and opened the folder containing all of his recordings, desperately searching for anything that could explain what had happened. The most recent upload had been recorded exactly three days and two hours earlier, almost perfectly matching the time of his final message.

You clicked on the video. The recording began with Toji smiling into the camera. “Okay guys, welcome back to part 3 of my exploring abandoned buildings series, and as you can see we're still at the underground mall where we last left off. Unfortunately, there isn't much in this Sears store, just the ceiling tiles that have fallen off over time and cracks on the floor. There's also those mannequin stands that were left behind still wearing clothes.”

So he'd started in Sears. That was your first clue.

Increasing the playback speed to 2x, you skipped ahead every few seconds. Watching the entire twenty-minute recording wasn't necessary—only the moments that might reveal where he'd gone. Partway through, he wandered into a Claire's and stopped near the entrance, pointing the camera toward one of the display racks.

“Guys, look at this.” the camera zoomed in. Hanging from one of the hooks was a small TY plushie keychain. Dust covered its fur, but otherwise it looked perfectly intact.

“Maybe I'll get this for my girlfriend.”

Your chest tightened. Even in a place like this, he'd still been thinking about you.

Swallowing the lump forming in your throat, you skipped almost to the very end. The final minutes showed him standing near the center of the mall where the stairwell connected each floor. That was exactly where you needed to go next.

Taking one last glance around the small storefront that had served as his campsite, you quietly closed the laptop before continuing to the stairs Toji had walked down only three days earlier.

A hand rested on the railing while the other held your phone, your thumb slowly scrolling through the messages. You had finally made it to his last known location, but now what? The conversation remained exactly as you remembered it. Shortly before he stopped responding, he'd sent you a picture of a dirty wall with nothing more than the caption, “weird.” Judging from the lighting in the photograph, it had to be one of the corridors on this floor. Unfortunately, it was also the only hallway where the lights no longer worked.

A slow breath escaped your lips. “Toji... when I find you, I'm going to kill you.”

Your grip tightened around the phone as you stared at the conversation one last time before locking the screen and slipping it back into your pocket. The corridor swallowed everything silently. Each careful step echoed softly against the cracked tiles as dust floated lazily through the stale air. Empty storefronts stretched on either side, their shattered windows and rusted shutters long abandoned. Every few seconds your eyes darted around, searching for anything out of place, but nothing came, just another forgotten hallway, another forgotten store, more darkness. You continued walking when something caught your eye. A thin line of brilliant white light seeped through the wall ahead. Your footsteps slowed. “...What?”

Carefully moving closer, you leaned forward to inspect it. It wasn't a reflection. It was coming from inside the wall. A narrow crack split the concrete just enough for an impossibly bright fluorescent light to spill through.

Your heart skipped. Almost instinctively, your phone was pulled back out. The messages app opened. Scrolling upwards, you found the photograph he'd sent only three days earlier, then you looked back at the wall, back at the phone and at the wall again.

“No way...”

It was identical. The same crack. The same stains. The same chipped concrete.

Your stomach twisted. Had Toji… actually disappeared through a wall? No, that wasn't possible ...was it?

A nearby bench creaked softly as you sat down, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. There was no logical explanation. People couldn't simply phase through concrete. Unexpectedly, your thoughts drifted back to Mr. Gakuganji's physics lectures, to atoms. Most of an atom was empty space. Under a microscope, the nucleus was unimaginably tiny while electrons occupied a cloud surrounding it. The idea had always sounded ridiculous when he explained it in class, but… theoretically… if matter somehow stopped interacting the way it normally did… could something pass through a solid object?

“...No.” you shook your head almost immediately. “There is absolutely no way.”

Electrons naturally repelled one another. That alone should make something like this impossible. It should. But…

Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “What if…”

Slowly, almost against your own better judgment, your feet carried you back towards the wall. One trembling hand lifted cautiously into the air. What if this was that impossible one-in-a-billion exception? The tiny fraction of reality that refused to obey every law humanity had spent centuries discovering.

“...Okay…” your heart pounded painfully. “This is insane.”

With one hesitant push your hand disappeared into solid concrete. The cold sensation traveled all the way up your arm. You immediately jerked backwards. “What the hell?!” Eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at your own hand before looking back at the wall. It hadn't hurt; there hadn't been any resistance. Your hand had simply gone through it.

A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. “...That's actually kind of cool.”

For a minute, your mind wandered to Mr. Gakuganji. If—when—you found Toji, you couldn't wait to tell him about this. Watching your old physics professor completely lose his mind trying to explain something that shouldn't exist almost made you smile, almost—the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.

Standing there in silence, your gaze returned to the crack. What lay beyond it wasn't just impossible. It completely shattered everything you thought you understood about the world. And somehow your idiot boyfriend had found something capable of rewriting physics itself.. and his very first thought had been to walk straight through it; not call you, ot call the police, not tell anyone, just walk through.

You scoffed, rubbing your temples. “This is exactly why you got F's in half your classes and ended up dropping out.”

Even Jinichi probably would've had enough common sense not to do something so stupid… probably…

A tired sigh escaped you. “I seriously hope whatever made you think this was a good idea was worth it, Toji Zenin.”

Steeling yourself, you took one final breath before doing the exact same stupid thing. The moment your body crossed the threshold, every sense became confused. Half of you felt warm. The other half was freezing. It was like your body was being pulled upwards and downwards at the same time, every muscle struggling to understand which direction gravity actually existed. The sensation lasted only a second before it was over.

Your eyes slowly opened. A yellow room stretched endlessly before you, illuminated by rows of fluorescent lights humming overhead. Nearby sat a tangled pile of discarded electronics, wires, monitors, keyboards, and cables bundled together like some forgotten graveyard of technology.

“...What the hell is this?” the words escaped almost automatically as you stepped farther into the room, slowly turning in place while trying to take everything in; then you remembered something, the compass. Your hand reached into the saddle bag and pulled it free. Immediately something was wrong. The needle wasn't pointing north. It wasn't pointing anywhere. Instead it spun violently, circling in every direction without ever settling. Your eyebrows furrowed. Normally, a compass aligned itself with Earth's magnetic field, always guiding travelers north. In here it was as though the magnetic field existed everywhere at once.

Your gaze drifted back towards the enormous pile of electronics resting against the wall. Without really thinking about it, your feet carried you towards it. Slowly, the compass was lowered until the metal casing brushed against the tangled mass of wires. The needle stopped instantly. There was no more spinning. It settled into one steady direction. Southwest.

“...Huh.” the compass was turned over in your hand a few times, watching the needle stubbornly refuse to move. It was weird, but honestly you had far bigger problems than a compass deciding north no longer existed.

Sliding it back into your bag, you continued farther into the strange yellow room before following the hallway beyond. At the end stood a faded sign.

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

You frowned. “Authorized personnel? Who the hell would even work in a place like this?”

Stepping past the sign, you continued deeper into the endless corridors, moving quietly while doing your best to memorize every turn. With each passing hallway, the entrance disappeared farther behind, replaced only by the endless buzzing of fluorescent lamps and the growing feeling that this place had no end at all.

Your thoughts wandered just as aimlessly as your footsteps. Every room seemed to leave behind another question with no answer. What was this place? Where had Toji gone? Why was everything... wrong? 

Furniture appeared here and there, but none of it looked finished. Tables were missing legs, chairs had been left without seats, lamps pierced straight through walls, while others hung halfway out of the ceiling. Every now and then there'd be another strange opening in either the floor or ceiling leading somewhere else entirely. There were arrows scribbled across certain walls, crude drawings scattered between them, though none of it made any sense.

Your hand reached back into the saddle bag, pulling out the compass once more. With nowhere else to go, it was the closest thing you had to a guide. The needle remained fixed towards the southwest, unmoving ever since it had touched that strange pile of electronics.

“Guess I'm trusting you…”

Quietly, you followed it. 

One hallway blended into another. Some rooms were larger than others, some almost looked furnished while others were completely empty. Certain corridors had working lights, while others disappeared into darkness, forcing the glow from neighboring rooms to spill weakly across the floor. Every turn looked almost identical to the last. 

Before long you'd completely lost track of where you had came from.

At this point there was no point trying to memorize the route anymore. The compass and pure luck were about the only things keeping you moving.

You continued exploring, lingering in each room for a few extra seconds before cautiously moving on to the next. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't safe. Turn back. Leave while you still could. Maybe this had all been a mistake. Maybe Toji had never made it this far, and you'd been foolish enough to believe he had. But another, quieter part of you refused to let go of that hope. If there was anyone reckless enough to wander into a place like this without backup, it was Toji... and, apparently, you too.

The yellow wallpaper stretched on without end, each hallway blending into the next until it became impossible to tell them apart. With the compass in hand, you followed its steady direction, accompanied only by the soft fluorescent buzz overhead.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps running. They grew louder and louder each time.

Your body immediately stiffened, as if staying still could protect you from whatever it was.

They echoed somewhere ahead, faint enough that you couldn't tell exactly where they were coming from. Pressing yourself against the nearest wall, you slowly peeked around the dark corner, holding your breath.

“You sure this is the right way?” someone asked.

“No... but what other choice do we have?” another voice answered.

The silhouettes slowly grew larger as they approached. One had blonde hair, the other black.

Your eyes widened in recognition. Stepping out from behind the wall, you cautiously called their names. “Yuki? Suguru?”

The two froze.

Yuki stared as if she'd seen a ghost. Suguru looked equally shocked, though his expression quickly shifted into suspicion.

“...This isn't real, is it?” he muttered. “Just more of those things.”

Only then did you notice the state they were in. Both were covered in black dust. Sweat clung to their faces, their clothes were filthy, and dried blood stained the front of Suguru's shirt.

Without thinking, you ran over and hugged them both. “What are you guys doing here?!”

“We came with Toji.”

The words made your stomach drop.

“...Toji?” your voice caught. “He... he brought you two here?”

Yuki gave a small nod.

“He told us there was something he wanted to show us. Well…” she sniffled. “Choso, Suguru, Satoru and Sukuna. You know... their boys' only group. I only came because Choso asked me to.”

A hand instinctively pressed against your chest. “Where is he? Where is Toji?” you asked quietly. 

Yuki and Suguru exchanged a glance. Neither of them answered immediately.

“...We got separated,” Suguru admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “We don't know where the others are.”

Before another word could be said, Yuki suddenly dropped onto her knees.

“This is all my fault! If I'd just listened to Choso none of this would've happened!” she sobbed.

Suguru immediately knelt besides her, rubbing slow circles against her back. “Hey… it isn't your fault. We all chose to come.”

Yuki cried, shaking her head. “But if I'd listened to him… we would've stayed together! We don't even know if everyone else is alive... I don't even know if…”

Suguru stayed quiet, gently brushing a hand through her tangled hair while letting her cry.

After consoling her, he finally looked over at you. 

“...How did you even find us?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket and opened the conversation with Toji.

“He stopped replying three days ago. I got worried and came looking for him. I found his laptop in one of the abandoned stores…” you scrolled up to the picture he'd sent. “...then I used this to find the wall.”

Yuki's eyes widened. “...Three days?”

The fluorescent lights flickered. The buzzing grew noticeably louder before settling again.

Suguru's expression immediately hardened. 

“Yuki,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down. We can't let that thing find us again.”

You frowned. “...What thing?”

Neither answered. They exchanged glances before Suguru spoke again.

“...We're not alone.” he swallowed. “There's this thing... really tall. Its body almost looks like vines... or slime. Long arms. Long legs… It almost looks human.”

His eyes briefly lifted to the ceiling.

“Whenever it gets close, the lights start flickering, and the buzzing gets louder.”

The image alone was enough to make your heart stop. Not at the disturbing image of it, but at the idea of Toji being alone in this place with this creature. Silently, you prayed that whatever that thing was… it hadn't found Toji.

After a long pause, Suguru stood back up. 

“...We should keep moving.” he helped Yuki back onto her feet before glancing at the compass still in your hand. “That thing actually works?”

“So far.” you nodded. “It's been pointing southwest this whole time.”

Suguru let out a tired chuckle. “...Well, it led you to us, maybe it'll lead us somewhere else.”

You stepped to the front of the group, tightening your grip around the compass. Suguru draped an arm over Yuki's shoulder as the three of you continued forward. The only sounds came from the constant hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional grunt escaping Suguru whenever one of his injuries flared up. 

After a while, the pace naturally slowed.

Yuki was emotionally drained. Suguru looked exhausted from blood loss alone. Finding a place to stop for a few minutes seemed like the only sensible option before continuing farther into this maze.

You finished crossing one of the longer hallways before it opened into a much wider room. Several entrances branched off in different directions, each one disappearing into another maze of yellow walls and fluorescent lights.

You stopped in the middle of the room. “...Great.” The compass remained steady in your hand, its needle still pointing southwest. “Sooo… besides the obvious... how are you guys?” you broke the silence.

Suguru let out a dry cough, his voice sounding rough. “Very hungry ...and thirsty.”

Your expression softened.

“Oh…” your eyes instinctively drifted to the saddle bag hanging at your side. “I'm sorry... I didn't bring anything.” you quietly cursed yourself. In all the panic of searching for Toji, packing food and water had never crossed your mind. A couple of granola bars. A water bottle. Anything would've been better than showing up empty-handed.

Suguru offered a weak smile despite his cracked lips. “It's alright…”

Silence settled over the group again. The only sounds came from the steady hum of fluorescent lights.

You glanced around the room. Several old office desks had been pushed together near one wall, almost like someone had tried building a barricade before abandoning it. Plastic chairs were scattered around them, one resting upside down atop another. A faded red arrow had been spray-painted across the wallpaper, pointing towards one hallway, while a newer blue arrow pointed in the opposite direction.

“...Someone else has been here,” you murmured.

Suguru followed your gaze. “Looks like it. But whether they made it out…” he didn't finish the sentence.

Nobody wanted him to.

Keeping the compass pointed ahead, the three of you chose another corridor. One room blended into the next. The wallpaper never changed. Neither did the lights. Every now and then the layout shifted just enough to make you think you'd found somewhere different. One room was filled with support columns stretching in neat rows until they disappeared from view. Another contained nothing but half-installed cubicle walls that led nowhere. Ceiling tiles hung loose above your heads, exposing endless pipes and tangled wiring that vanished into the darkness overhead.

The farther you walked, the more impossible it became to imagine this place ever ending. Then something caught your eye. Lying near the corner of the next room was a camera. You hurried over before kneeling besides it.

Dust coated the lens, but the body itself looked surprisingly intact.

“Is that...?” Yuki asked quietly.

Turning it over in your hands, your thumb brushed against a familiar sticker. A tiny cat. Big round eyes. Pink little ears. You'd been the one to stick it there the day Toji bought the camera.

“It's Toji's.”

Your heart immediately began racing. Pressing the power button, the small screen flickered to life. Battery: 4%

“Damn…”

There wasn't enough charge to watch everything. You skipped ahead through most of the footage, searching for the final recording. The timestamp matched almost perfectly with the day he'd disappeared.

The video began playing.

Toji walked through another series of yellow rooms, joking to the camera exactly the way he always did. Every now and then he'd stop to point something out—a strange stain on the wall, another endless hallway, a room that somehow looped back into itself.

Almost at five minutes before the recording stopped the camera suddenly jerked. At the far end of one long room, a person walked across the hallway before disappearing around a corner.

“Wait!”

Toji immediately took off after them. The footage became shaky as he ran. His breathing grew heavier. The fluorescent lights flickered, and the buzzing became noticeably louder.

Toji suddenly stopped running. He turned. The camera swung towards another corridor. Standing at the opposite end was something else. Long limbs. A body that looked less like flesh and more like tangled vines stretched into the shape of a person—same as the thing Suguru had described earlier. It didn't move. For a single second, it simply stood there. Watching. Then it lunged. The recording lurched violently as Toji spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction. The camera slipped from his hands, crashing against the floor. The image tilted sideways. Heavy footsteps echoed away. The recording then stopped.

Everyone went quiet.

“...Toji…” Yuki whispered, a hand slowly rising to cover her mouth.

Your eyes remained fixed on the screen.

“He…” your voice caught in your throat. “He's alive... right?” you looked between Suguru and Yuki, searching desperately for someone to confirm it. “H-he got away... he found somewhere to hide…”

Neither of them answered.

“Suguru saw that thing,” you continued quickly, almost as if saying it aloud would make it true. “And he's here. Maybe Toji had the same luck.”

Suguru lowered his gaze. “I only got away because I managed to hit it with a chair and hid behind one of the columns until it left.” he hesitated. “I'm not sure if Toji—”

“Don't say that!”  your voice echoed through the room before you could stop it. Immediately, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered. The now familiar buzzing grew louder.

Yuki's eyes widened. She hurried closer, lowering her voice. “Please keep it down...”

Your breathing became uneven. “Just... don't say he's dead.” your fingers tightened around the camera until your knuckles turned white. “He's not. I know he's not.” The words sounded less convincing each time you repeated them. 

You swallowed hard. “He just can't be…” The sentence refused to leave your mouth.

For the first time since arriving, the possibility settled into your chest like a weight. Three days. Three days without a message. Three days without anyone seeing him. Three days trapped in a place where things no longer followed the rules of the world outside.

“No. He always finds a way.” It sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself than anyone else.

Suguru quietly stepped closer. A hand rested gently against your shoulder. “I'm sorry…”

That was all it took. The camera slipped from your hands onto the carpeted floor with a soft thud as you buried your face against his shirt. The tears came silently, your shoulders trembling while every desperate thought you'd been pushing aside finally caught up with you.

Behind you, hesitant footsteps approached, then another pair of arms wrapped around both of you. Yuki.

The three of you remained there without saying anything. Time seemed to stop. Only the occasional sniffle and quiet hiccup escaped between shaky breaths.

Eventually, Yuki slowly loosened her embrace and took a small step backwards, giving you room to breathe.

“We should keep going.”

You slowly looked up at her, your cheeks flushed and eyes swollen from crying. “...To where?” your voice sounded hollow. “The only reason I came here was for him…" your throat tightened again.

Yuki's own eyes began watering again. “I know.” she wiped at them with the sleeve of her jacket before forcing herself to continue. “I know exactly how you feel. I lost Choso too…” a shaky breath escaped her. “Because I was too stubborn to listen.” she closed her eyes for a moment. “But… we can't stay here. If we do, none of us are getting out.”

She looked toward the compass ying next to the dropped camera. “Wherever that's taking us… .it's the only direction we have.”

Suguru nodded in agreement.

“She's right.” he leaned down, picking up Toji's camera before handing it back to you. “I lost Satoru too and as much as I want to go looking for him… we can't help anyone if we end up dying here.”

A quiet sigh escaped him.

“If we survive we come back. Better prepared. And we look for all of them.”

The words hung heavily between the three of you. You looked down at the camera resting in your hands before carefully slipping it into the saddle bag. Another reminder. Another promise.

“...Okay.” your voice was quiet, but steadier than before.

The compass was pulled out once again. Its needle still pointed southwest. Without another word, you stepped to the front of the group. Suguru and Yuki silently followed.

The room gradually disappeared behind as another corridor swallowed the three of you. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights became the only constant companion once more. Every now and then, another room opened to the side, some filled with overturned office furniture, others completely empty except for the occasional support column or abandoned filing cabinet. One hallway had dozens of arrows painted over one another, pointing in nearly every direction, as if countless people had disagreed on which path led somewhere safe.

No one said a word. The only interruptions came from Suguru's occasional grunt or the quiet scrape of shoes dragging across the worn carpet.

The farther you walked the more it felt like the building had no end. Another hallway. Then another. The compass never wavered, its needle remaining fixed to southwest no matter how many turns the three of you made. Rooms came and went, blending together until they became impossible to distinguish. Some contained nothing more than yellow walls and stained carpet. Others were cluttered with abandoned furniture. Several walls had words scribbled across them. DON'T FOLLOW THE LIGHTS. Another read: IT HEARS YOU. Farther ahead, the message had been scratched over so many times that only fragments remained.

“People have been here before us,” Yuki murmured.

Suguru nodded. “Looks that way...”

None of you stopped long enough to inspect them. The farther you traveled, the more the rooms changed. The wallpaper gave way to bare concrete in places. Exposed pipes stretched across the ceiling before disappearing behind loose tiles. Water dripped somewhere overhead, each drop echoing through the empty corridors despite there being no visible leak.

Nobody spoke. Everyone was too exhausted.

Suddenly from one hallway there was movement. Someone was walking. 

Your grip instinctively tightened around the compass.

Far across the room, beyond a row of support columns, a lone figure casually crossed from one hallway to another.

“...Did you guys see that?” you whispered.

Suguru immediately raised an arm, silently stopping both of you.

The three of you watched, and a few seconds later the figure appeared again. Not running or hiding, it was just walking.

“That's a person...” Yuki whispered.

Slowly, the group began moving closer. As the distance between you shortened, another figure came into view besides the first. They were holding hands. The woman turned slightly as she laughed at something she'd whispered, the sound carrying faintly through the empty room.

Recognition hit almost instantly.

“...Isn't that…” Yuki squinted. “Sukuna's girlfriend?”

The closer she came, the easier it became to recognize her. She looked completely unharmed. Not a scratch, not a speck of dust, almost as if she'd been out on an ordinary walk.

Your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Guys!” she called, finally noticing all three of you. Her entire face brightened. “I finally found you!”

She happily skipped the last few steps towards the room you were all in.

Only then did everyone's attention shift to the person still standing behind her. The relief vanished instantly.

“Heyyy…” Suguru said her name. “Are you okay?” he asked.

The woman nodded.

Everyone’s attention focused on the figure standing behind her. She seemed completely unaware of the awkward tension that lingered in the group.

Carefully, unable to take his eyes off it. Suguru questioned it. “Sooo… who is that?”

She blinked, confused at the statement. Turning around, she looked at the figure next to her before looking back at everyone else with complete confusion.

“What do you mean? It's Sukuna. Don’t you remember him?”

The figure remained perfectly still. It didn't acknowledge the group. Didn't blink. Didn't smile. It simply stood there, one hand loosely intertwined with hers.

At first glance it resembled Sukuna. He was taller than he should've been. A second pair of arms rested motionless along his sides. Another face protruded from the side of his own, its larger eyes staring somewhere past everyone in the room without ever focusing on anything. It looked less like another person and more like a blurry photograph taken while someone was still moving, the image stretched and distorted before being carelessly stitched back together.

“I see...” you stared at the creature and called her name. “Has Sukuna seen Toji..?”

She looked up at the creature. “Babe? Have you seen Toji?”

The figure didn't answer. It didn't even look at her. It simply remained standing.

She shrugged. “Guess that's a no.” turning back at the group, she smiled apologetically. “Nope. Sorry. Haven't seen him.”

No one said anything, nobody even knew what to say. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly. Somewhere deeper within the endless corridors something metallic clanged once.

Debating wether this was a terrible decision or not, Suguru slowly raised both hands, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Hey...” his voice remained calm. “It's okay. You can come with us.”

She frowned. “...Come with you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. We'll get you out of here.”

She glanced around the room before looking back at him. “...Out of where?”

“The mall. We’re going home.” Yuki answered softly.

For a moment, she simply stared, then she laughed. “You guys are acting weird. We're just walking around.” she gave Sukuna's hand a small squeeze before looking up at him with a loving smile. “Aren't they acting weird?”

The figure remained completely motionless. Not even a nod. Not a blink. Nothing.

“...See?” she chuckled. “Even he thinks you guys are being dramatic.”

Suguru swallowed hard. His eyes never left the creature. “...Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“...Let go of his hand.”

The smile immediately disappeared from her face. 

“...Why?”

“So you can come with us.”

She didn’t respond. Her grip around Sukuna's hand tightened instead. “...No.”

Yuki cautiously stepped forward. “...Please…” she said her name. “That's not Sukuna."

“He is.”

“No…” Yuki gently shook her head. “It only looks like him.”

“It is him.” her voice sharpened. “You were all with him before. How can you suddenly not recognize your own friend?”

Suguru and Yuki didn't answer.

“You guys are scaring me.”

The lights buzzed louder. One flickered, then another.

Suguru slowly took another careful step. “We're not trying to scare you. We're trying to help you.”

“Then stop talking that way about my boyfriend.” her voice trembled. She looked back at the figure standing near her. “...He's been with me this whole time. He hasn't left me. He talks to me. He holds my hand… so stop acting like he's some… unknown entity.”

The creature never reacted. Its oversized eyes stared somewhere beyond the room, unfocused and distant. The only movement came from its chest rising and falling in slow, perfectly even breaths.

You felt your stomach twist. She wasn't pretending. She genuinely believed this was Sukuna.

The buzzing suddenly grew louder, almost vibrating through the ceiling.

Yuki's eyes darted upwards. “Guys...”

No one moved. Another fluorescent light blinked out then came back on. Somewhere in the distance a heavy metallic bang echoed through the endless halls.

Everyone froze.

Suguru's expression changed instantly. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “We have to end this conversation. Now.”

Yuki looked between her friend and the creature with her.

“...Please, just come with us. You don't have to leave him. You can just…” her voice faltered. “...Walk besides us.”

Sukuna's girlfriend slowly shook her head. 

“No.” she took a single step backwards. “If you guys are going to keep talking about him like that… then we'd rather go our own way.”

The lights flickered again. Longer this time.

Your heart pounded. Immediately, you stepped between everyone before another argument could start.

“You're right.”

All three of them looked at you.

“That's Sukuna.” you forced a small, nervous smile. “We'll... uh… We'll take this route.” you pointed to another hallway. “You two can keep going. We won't bother you.”

A long pause followed. She continued staring at the group as if deciding whether to believe you or not. After a minute she finally spoke.

“Good.” turning around, she gently tugged on Sukuna's hand. “Come on, babe.”

The creature obeyed instantly, as if it had been waiting for her to move first. It turned with the exact same pace, the exact same posture, never once looking back. Together, they disappeared into another corridor until only the sound of their footsteps echoed faintly.

The group stood in shock for several seconds.

“Are we really just leaving her?” Yuki asked.

Suguru closed his eyes. “I don't want to, but she won't come willingly, and I don't trust…” he hesitated. “...Whatever was standing next to her.”

“What if it attacks? We can’t abandon her.” Yuki looked down at the floor.

“I know,” Suguru sighed. “But if we force her we’ll just make more noise.” his eyes briefly lifted to the flickering lights. “And if that thing she was holding isn't the only one wandering around…”

Yuki remained staring into the empty hallway. “...Please hold on just a little longer. We'll come back for you.”

You tightened your grip on the compass.

“Let's go.”

Without another word, the group turned and continued following the needle southwest, leaving the empty hallways behind.

Yuki and Suguru continued walking behind you in silence, the events from earlier refusing to leave your mind. You had just left Sukuna with his girlfriend, promising that you'd come back for them, but what if you never did? What if by the time you found a way out it was already too late? Would their deaths fall on your hands simply because you had walked away? Then another thought quietly surfaced. What if you didn't make it out either? What if this place became your grave? Your grip instinctively tightened around the compass as another image forced its way into your thoughts. Sukuna. Was that even him anymore? It had looked like him... but not completely. He'd been taller, another face resting against his own, two extra arms hanging from his sides, two sets of eyes staring in different directions. Everything about him had been familiar, yet every feature had felt wrong, like someone had tried rebuilding him from memory and failed.

The compass continued pointing in the same direction as the three of you wandered farther into the endless maze. Every hallway seemed to lead into another nearly identical one, the yellow wallpaper stretching on without end beneath the constant hum of fluorescent lights. Every so often something different broke the pattern. A row of unfinished office cubicles blocked part of a room before abruptly ending. Several arrows had been spray-painted across one wall, each pointing in a more directions, making it impossible to tell which path, if any, had once been the right one. Nobody stopped to inspect them. 

“Which way do you think those arrows were supposed to lead?” Yuki asked quietly, slowing besides one of the walls.

Suguru barely glanced at them before looking back at the compass. “Doesn't matter. Whoever painted them was as lost as we are.”

You silently agreed and continued forward, trusting the compass more than the faded paint. There were no windows, no clocks, nothing to tell how much time had passed since entering this place. It felt as though the rooms simply went on forever.

As you rounded another corner, something immediately caught your attention.

You stopped walking. Not far ahead, someone was crouched on the floor with their back turned to the group. They hadn't moved. They hadn't even reacted to the sound of your footsteps.

Suguru narrowed his eyes. “...Is that...?”

Yuki leaned forward, trying to get a better look. For a few seconds the room remained completely still, everyone silently staring at the figure. Then she suddenly gasped. “Choso!”

Before either of you could stop her, she took off running.

“Yuki!” Suguru called after her, but she was already kneeling besides him.

“Choso!” her voice cracked with relief as she threw her arms around him. “I missed you so much!”

Choso didn't respond. He didn't hug her back. He didn't move.

“...Choso? What's wrong?” Yuki whispered, slowly pulling away.

Her hand carefully reached beneath his chin, gently lifting his head. The moment his face came into view, she screamed. The sound echoed through the room as the fluorescent lights flickered again with the same aggression as it had back when Sukuna’s girlfriend lashed out.

You and Suguru immediately rushed over, but the closer you got, the easier it became to understand why. Sitting against the wall was Choso, or at least... something that looked like him. His face had been split apart and pieced back together incorrectly, the two halves failing to line up with one another. One eye sat noticeably higher than the other while a thick black substance slowly seeped from the jagged seam running across his nose, disappearing in the collar of his shirt.

You instinctively covered your mouth, trying to suppress the urge to gag. “...What is that?”

Suguru stared at him in complete disbelief, unable to tear his eyes away. “I don't know...”

Was this thing even alive? Was it really Choso? Or was this the same thing that had been walking besides Sukuna's girlfriend?

“Choso!” Yuki cried again, tears streaming freely down her face. “Please... talk to me… What's wrong?!”

The creature barely reacted. Its head slowly lifted, not to Yuki but somewhere past her shoulder, its mismatched eyes lingering on nothing in particular before lazily lowering back to the floor.

The fluorescent lights flickered.

Suguru immediately looked at the ceiling. “Yuki, please keep it down.”

You slowly knelt next to her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Yuki… I'm sorry.”

“I don't understand.” fresh tears continued rolling down Yuki's face as she looked at Choso, desperately searching for any sign that he was still there. She reached for his hand, carefully intertwining her fingers with his. It was cold. Not lifeless, but colder than it should have been. “Choso... please look at me.” her voice cracked beneath another sob. “Please, talk to me...”

The creature remained motionless. 

Suguru stood frozen, his expression twisted between disbelief and disgust. Whatever sat before them wore Choso's face, his clothes, even his hairstyle... but there was something fundamentally wrong about it. It wasn't simply injured. It looked as though someone had taken Choso apart and carelessly stitched him back together, leaving pieces slightly out of place.

Your stomach churned. You had hoped Sukuna had been an exception. A horrible coincidence. But now this made two, maybe even more.

Suguru finally forced himself to speak. “Yuki, we can't stay here.”

Yuki didn't answer. She simply rested her forehead against Choso's forehead as she held onto him a little tighter. “I'm sorry… I'm sorry for arguing with you. You were right... we should've turned around. We should've never come in here.” tears slipped down her cheeks.

Still Choso said nothing. No comforting embrace. No reassuring words. Not even the slightest acknowledgment that she was there. The creature continued staring at the floor as though it had never heard her voice.

“Yuki…”

She didn't look up. “I know…”

“We have to keep moving. If Toji's still out there…” your own voice faltered for a moment before you forced yourself to continue. “...then we still have to find him.”

Yuki wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket before giving a small nod. It clearly hurt her to let go, but after one final squeeze of Choso's hand, she slowly stood. Her eyes glue on him for another moment before she reluctantly took a step away.

Suguru quietly exhaled, giving Choso one last look before turning toward the next corridor.

“Let's go.” he turned around and barely taken two steps when he stopped. His entire body stiffened.

“Suguru?” you asked quietly.

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on something standing just beyond the doorway ahead.

He whispered a single name. “Satoru..?”

Yuki immediately turned around, quickly wiping the tears from her face. You followed Suguru's gaze at the doorway ahead. Someone was standing there. Perfectly still. His back rested against the wall as if he had been waiting there the entire time. The flickering lights cast long shadows across his body, making it difficult to distinguish his features from a distance.

For a brief moment, hope returned.

“Satoru?” Yuki repeated, confused at what was happening.

The figure slowly lifted his head. Suguru took an instinctive step forward.

“It really is you.”

Relief washed over Suguru’s face, if only for a second until he noticed something wrong with him too.

You couldn't tell where to look first. 

Six eyes stared back at him, arranged in two uneven rows of three. The upper row curved unnaturally across his forehead, the skin stretched tightly around them as though they had always belonged there. None of them blinked together. One pair remained fixed on Suguru while another wandered around the room before settling back on him.

Your heart sank. It was happening again.

Suguru's expression slowly fell, the relief draining from his face as disbelief took its place. “...Satoru…” he stepped closer anyway. “I don't understand…” his hand cautiously reached towards Satoru's cheek, stopping only inches away before finally making contact. The creature didn't recoil. It didn't lean into the touch either. It simply stood there, its blank expression never changing as Suguru gently cupped the side of its face.

“...What happened to you?”

No answer. The six eyes continued staring at him without recognition. It was as though whatever memories had once existed behind them had been hollowed out, leaving nothing behind except an empty shell wearing Satoru's skin.

Behind you, Yuki let out another broken sob before collapsing next to Choso once more.

“Oh, Choso…” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “I'm so sorry... I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me for arguing with you. You were right... we should've turned around. We should've left when we still had the chance.” her voice trembled between every word. Her forehead rested against his shoulder as tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt. “I should've listened to you…”

The lights overhead buzzed louder than before. One blinked out completely. Another flickered violently before returning. The room seemed to pulse with each flash, bathing everyone in alternating light and darkness.

Suguru's breathing grew uneven. “Satoru…” his hand tightened slightly against the creature's cheek. “What happened to you?”

The buzzing became almost deafening. A low metallic groan echoed somewhere far beyond the room.

You slowly took a step backwards, your eyes lifting to look at the ceiling. “...Guys.”

Neither Yuki nor Suguru responded. They were too consumed by the people they'd lost.

Another flicker. Longer this time. The room plunged into complete darkness for nearly two seconds before the lights returned.

Your pulse quickened.

“We have to go!” you half yelled hald whispered, tightening your grip around the compass.

A growl echoed through the maze. This time it was unmistakably closer.

You looked to the dark hallway, your pulse quickening as the lights began flickering faster, the room alternating between harsh white light and complete darkness.

Suguru and Yuki ignored you. Suguru remained standing in front of Satoru, his hand still resting against his friend's face, desperately searching for some sign that he was still there. Behind you, Yuki had buried her face against Choso's, quietly apologizing between sobs as though he could still hear every word she said.

The growl came again, much louder this time. It vibrated through the floor beneath your feet. Your stomach dropped.

“Guys!”

Still nothing from them.

Your breathing grew shallow. You looked down the hallway. The darkness seemed to move. Whatever had been making those noises was getting closer each second.

Something inside you finally snapped. “Oh, for fuck's sake!” you stormed towards Suguru first, grabbing him roughly by the wrist before yanking him away from Satoru.

“What are you doing?!” he protested, trying to pull free.

“Look around you!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “He's gone!”

Suguru stumbled backwards, his eyes widening as you physically shoved him away from the creature. 

Before he could argue again, you spun towards Yuki. She still refused to let go of Choso.

“No! Please... just give me one more—” she cried. 

“No!” you yelled, grabbing both of her forearms. “We don't have one more minute!”

She resisted. You pulled harder.

“Yuki!”

Tears streamed down her face. “I can't leave him! Not again!”

“Yuki, that’s not Choso! If you stay here you will die!” your voice echoed through the room.

Another guttural roar exploded through the corridor. This one was so close it rattled the loose ceiling panels overhead. The lights suddenly blinked out. Complete darkness followed for one agonizing minute, then the lights flashed back on. 

Far down the hallway something moved. A mass of twisted limbs briefly crossed the corridor before disappearing behind another wall.

Your heart nearly stopped. 

“NOW!”

You practically ripped Yuki away from Choso, refusing to let her fight you anymore. She stumbled into your arms, still reaching for him as tears blurred her vision.

Suguru finally looked at the hallway. The color immediately drained from his face.

“Run!”

No one hesitated. You grabbed Yuki's hand while Suguru fell in to your side, and the three broke into a sprint just as another guttural growl bounced on the walls.

Nobody looked back. None of you wanted to see what had answered your cries.

Yuki stumbled forward as you refused to let go of her hand. Suguru stayed close, casting one final glance over his shoulder before forcing himself to look away. The group hurried through one corridor after another, no longer paying attention to what each room looked like. The buzzing followed, growing quieter with every hallway you put between yourselves and Choso, Satoru and whatever monster awaited, but none of you slowed down. The memory of those distorted faces remained fresh in your minds, along with the terrifying realization that whatever had happened to them could just as easily happen to any of you.

Only when the growling could no longer be heard did your pace finally begin to slow.

Your lungs burned. Every breath came out ragged as you bent forward, resting your hands against your knees while trying to steady yourself. Yuki wiped at her face with trembling hands, though fresh tears immediately replaced the ones she'd brushed away. Suguru leaned on the wall, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared blankly at the carpet.

You looked down at the compass. The needle still pointed southwest.

“It's still working,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

Suguru nodded tiredly. “Then we keep following it.”

No one argued. The group quickly picked themselves back up and continued walking, running footsteps becoming the only sound apart from the hum of the lights. 

The farther the compass led you, the more the familiar rooms began changing. The faded yellow wallpaper that had followed you for what felt like hours slowly disappeared, giving way to rough concrete walls streaked with moisture. Ceiling tiles became fewer and farther between until they vanished altogether, exposing rusted pipes and thick ventilation ducts that crisscrossed overhead. The annoying lights remained, though many hung crooked from loose wiring, swaying ever so slightly despite there being no breeze. Sections of carpet slowly gave way to unfinished concrete floors littered with dust, broken ceiling panels and abandoned construction materials, making it difficult to tell whether this place had once been built... or had never been finished at all. The place now looked more like an abandoned construction site or an empty parking garage rather than the usual abandoned office rooms.

Minutes passed or maybe hours, it had become impossible to tell. The compass remained steady in your hand, faithfully leading the group through another intersection before pointing to another grey hallway.

Just as the group walked down the corridor on the other side yet another figure was walking ahead of the group. The figure's back was turned, moving at an unhurried pace as though completely unaware that anyone else was there. Broad shoulders. A tall, muscular frame. A fitted black shirt almost ripped apart stretched across his back.

Your heart stopped. 

Was that who you think it was? For a terrifying moment, you couldn't bring yourself to call his name. After everything you'd seen—Sukuna, Choso, Satoru—your mind refused to believe this could be any different. Instead, dread settled heavily in your chest as you found yourself searching for what would be wrong this time. Would he have another face? Extra limbs? Eyes where they shouldn't be? Your heart clenched at the thought. You weren't ready to watch Toji become another empty shell wandering these halls. 

Taking a deep breath you decided to face your fears. He was the only reason why you had come to this place in the first place, so refusing to face him now, even if it wasn’t really him felt as if all of this would’ve been for nothing.

“Toji..?” the words barely escaped your lips above a whisper.

The figure froze. Slowly, he turned around, and dark green eyes met yours. Your heart pounded as your gaze instinctively swept over him, bracing yourself for another nightmare—for another face, another set of eyes, another body carelessly stitched back together. Instead, you found nothing. His face was whole. His body was untouched. Every feature was exactly as you remembered it, expect for the dried blood on his cheek. The person standing before you looked completely normal.

 Confusion spread across his face before quickly giving way to disbelief. He quietly spoke your name. “...Is that really you?”

Everything else disappeared. The maze. The buzzing. The fear.

Without thinking, you broke into a run.

“Toji!”

Tears blurred your vision as you threw yourself into his arms. He barely had enough time to react before instinct took over, catching you against his chest. He stood there, holding you as though trying to convince himself you were actually real.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, equal parts shocked and horrified. His hands tightened around you before he glanced over your shoulder to Suguru and Yuki. “How... how did you even find this place?”

“I came looking for you,” you managed between shaky breaths, burying your face against his chest. “You've been missing for three days. I—I couldn't just sit there wondering what happened to you. You sent me your location... and that picture of the wall. I found the mall... then I found the wall.” you looked up at him, tears still falling freely.

You didn't have to say anything else. Toji understood immediately. He placed a gentle kiss against your forehead before resting his forehead against yours for a brief moment. “I'm so glad you're okay,” he whispered, relief evident in his voice. “But you shouldn't have come. Now because of me I dragged you into this mess and—”

You placed a hand over his lips before he could finish. “No. It was my decision. I decided to come. I decided to track you down, and I'm glad I did.” your fingers slowly slipped from his face, though you never stepped away from him. 

Toji let out a quiet sigh, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smile. “You foolish girl.”

For the first time since entering this place, the knot that had settled inside your chest loosened ever so slightly.

Yuki and Suguru stood several feet away, watching the two of you. Neither spoke. Neither smiled. Their shoulders hung low, their expressions hollow after everything they had just witnessed. Only minutes earlier they had been forced to leave behind the people they loved, and now they found themselves watching someone else receive the reunion they had desperately hoped for themselves.

Toji was the first to notice. His smile slowly faded as he looked at them. “You guys are okay.”

Neither of them responded. Instead, Toji glanced behind them, expecting to see the others eventually catching up.

“Where is everyone else? Sukuna and his girl, Choso, Satoru?”

Yuki lowered her head.

Suguru let out a bitter laugh, though there wasn't any humor behind it. “Where do you think?” he looked away. “Either they're lost... dead... or whatever the fuck those things are.”

Toji's eyebrows slowly furrowed. “You guys saw them too?”

Yuki gave a small nod, her eyes still red from crying. “Satoru and Choso.” she swallowed. “Sukuna too but his girlfriend…”

Toji looked between the two of them. “His girlfriend?”

“She was fine.” Yuki hesitated before correcting herself. “Well... as fine as someone can be while holding hands with…”

“...Whatever Sukuna became,” Suguru quietly finished for her.

Toji's expression hardened. “You left her alone?”

You gently cupped his cheek, turning his attention back towards you. “She wouldn't come with us. She became defensive the moment we tried convincing her that wasn't really Sukuna. We don't know what those things are or if they're dangerous. She wasn't thinking clearly. It's better if we find a way out first... then come back with help.” you explained to him.

Toji remained silent before giving a reluctant nod. “...You're probably right.”

The corridor fell quiet. Only now did you have a chance to truly look around. The faded yellow wallpaper had disappeared entirely, replaced by cold concrete walls stained with moisture and lined with exposed electrical conduit. Thick pipes stretched beside rusted ventilation ducts that disappeared into the darkness beyond the fluorescent lights. Maintenance carts sat abandoned besides stacks of wooden pallets wrapped in yellowing plastic, while metal shelving overflowed with dusty electrical parts and forgotten tools. Every few feet, shallow puddles reflected the lights above, rippling each time another drop of water echoed from somewhere deeper within the corridor.

“I've never seen this part before,” Suguru admitted.

"I don’t even know how I ended up here.” Toji replied.

“So we're somewhere else?” you asked.

“I think so, I stopped trying to make sense of this place.” Toji shrugged. “...Where do we go now?” 

Instinctively, you looked down at the compass still in your hand. The needle remained perfectly still, pointing at Toji, then it shuddered. The needle spun once and began rotating wildly in endless circles.

Your eyes widened in horror. “No…”

“What's wrong?” Toji asked.

You stared at the compass, unable to tear your eyes away. “It was working… It was working this whole time.”

The needle refused to settle. Round and round it spun, just as it had the moment you first crossed through the wall.

The lights flickered. Everyone instinctively looked up. Another light farther down buzzed violently before dimming, bathing the concrete hallway in an uneven glow. The puddles scattered across the floor rippled as another drop of water echoed from somewhere within the maze. Drip. Drip.

The compass continued spinning. The buzzing steadily grew louder.

“...Do the lights always do that?” Toji looked up at them.

“No…” Suguru’s voice had become noticeably quieter. “They only start acting like this when…”

Before he could finish, another section of lights blinked out farther down the maintenance corridor.

Yuki instinctively stepped closer to Suguru. “...I don't like this.”

Your stomach twisted into knots. 

The compass still refused to settle.

A low groan echoed somewhere beyond the concrete walls. It was deep, almost mechanical, as though something were dragging itself through the service tunnels.

Everyone froze.

Toji's expression immediately changed. His shoulders stiffened.

“Crap.” he slowly looked towards the darkened end of the corridor. “I know that sound.”

His hand instinctively found yours, gently pulling you a step behind him.

“It's that thing again.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than another guttural growl rolled through the corridor, much closer than before. The fluorescent lights erupted into another violent fit of flickering. On. Off. On. Off. 

At the far end of the hallway something moved. Not quickly but slow and deliberately. A long, twisted limb emerged from the darkness, planting itself on the concrete floor before another followed behind it. 

The creature slowly stepped into the light. It towered over the corridor, its body impossibly thin and tangled together by vine-like limbs that bent at unnatural angles. There was no face you could recognize, no features that resembled anything human, only a shifting mass of flesh and elongated appendages that seemed to constantly rearrange themselves as it moved. Every step was accompanied by a deep, guttural growl that reverberated through the pipes overhead.

Toji's grip tightened around your hand. “Everyone run!”

No one needed to be told twice. The moment the words left Toji's mouth, the group bolted.

Your fingers tightened around his hand as he pulled you after him, his pace forcing everyone into a sprint. Suguru grabbed Yuki's wrist before she could fall behind, the four of you weaving through one maintenance corridor after another. Concrete walls rushed past in a blur while the lights flickered violently, plunging entire sections of the hallway into darkness before abruptly coming back to life.

Behind you, the creature let out another growl. It wasn't running. It didn't need to. Each impossibly long stride carried it farther than any human should have been able to move, its twisted limbs scraping against the concrete as they bent and unfolded with sickening cracks. Every time it entered another corridor, the lights there immediately erupted into a frenzy, buzzing so loudly they almost drowned out your own footsteps.

“Left!” Toji shouted.

Without hesitation everyone followed, darting into another passage lined with rusted electrical panels and thick utility pipes. Water splashed beneath your shoes as you cut through a shallow puddle stretching across the floor, the cold droplets soaking the bottoms of your pants. Somewhere overhead, an old ventilation fan screeched to life before suddenly grinding to a halt.

Another growl, closer, much close than before.

You instinctively looked over your shoulder.

“Don't look back!” Toji barked.

Immediately you snapped your head forward again, your heart hammering against your ribs.

The corridor suddenly opened into a large storage room. Rows of industrial shelving stood abandoned, each shelf overflowing with dusty crates, coils of electrical wire, rusted toolboxes and broken machinery. Wooden pallets leaned on the far wall while yellow caution barriers had toppled across the concrete floor, forcing everyone to weave around them without slowing down.

The lights above began exploding one by one.

Pop.

Glass shattered across the floor.

Pop.

Darkness swallowed half the room. The only light left came from the surviving fixtures farther ahead.

“It's gaining on us!” Suguru shouted.

“I know!” Toji answered without turning around.

He practically dragged you over a fallen pallet before pushing through a heavy steel maintenance door already hanging crooked from its hinges. The corridor beyond was narrower, lined with exposed pipes running floor to ceiling, steam occasionally hissing from loose valves. The air had grown noticeably warmer here, carrying the sharp metallic scent of rust mixed with damp concrete.

The growling echoed again. This time, right behind the door of the room you had just entered. The entire metal frame shuddered violently as something slammed into it from the other side.

BOOM.

Everyone froze.

Another impact.

BOOM.

The hinges groaned.

“Keep moving!” Toji yelled.

Everyone took off, not daring to wait and see whether the door would hold. Every turn looked identical—unfinished concrete, exposed conduit, humming breaker boxes and endless utility tunnels stretching into darkness. It no longer mattered where you were going. Only that you kept moving.

The four of you ran until your lungs burned.

Every corridor bled into another. Concrete walls gave way to narrow maintenance passages before opening into larger utility rooms filled with rusted shelving, abandoned generators. Thick pipes crisscrossed overhead, occasionally dripping cold water onto the floor below, while exposed electrical cables hung low enough that everyone instinctively ducked underneath them. 

The creature never stopped following. Each time it entered another corridor, the lights ahead erupted into violent fits of flickering. Some burst entirely, showering the concrete floor with broken glass. Others dimmed until only a faint white glow remained before suddenly surging back to life. The growling echoed through every hallway, making it impossible to tell exactly how close it was anymore.

“This way!” Toji shouted, pulling you sharply around another corner.

You stumbled after him, barely managing to keep your footing as your shoes splashed through another puddle. Behind you, Suguru kept one arm firmly around Yuki's shoulders, practically dragging her forward whenever her exhausted legs threatened to give out.

“We can't keep running forever!” Suguru yelled between breaths.

“I know!”

“So what's the plan?!”

“I'll think of one when I have one!”

Another guttural roar thundered. The entire corridor shook. Loose dust rained from the ceiling. The lights blinked out. For one terrifying second, everything disappeared into darkness. When they returned… the creature had gotten closer. Its impossibly long limbs scraped against the concrete as it rounded the corner, twisting around support beams in ways no living thing should have been capable of. The tangled mass that made up its body seemed to stretch and contract with every step, the awful noises coming from somewhere deep inside it reverberating through the pipes overhead.

“Move!” Toji instructed.

The group burst through another steel doorway and found themselves inside what appeared to be an abandoned loading bay. Metal shelving lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with old electrical equipment, empty toolboxes and cracked storage bins. Pallets had collapsed into uneven piles across the floor while yellow caution tape hung from the ceiling in loose strips.

There was only one exit. Straight ahead.

Everyone sprinted towards it. Toji reached the door first. He grabbed the handle and pulled, but nothing happened.

His expression immediately changed. “No...”

He pulled harder. The door refused to budge.

“It's jammed!” he shouted.

Behind him, Suguru looked frantically around the room.

“There has to be another way!”

“There isn't!”

Yuki spun towards the opposite wall. Nothing. More concrete. No windows. No vents large enough to crawl through. No second exit.

The growling grew louder.

The lights began flickering so violently they barely stayed on for more than a heartbeat.

“Fuck!” Toji slammed his fist against the metal door before suddenly turning towards you. His eyes landed on the bag still hanging over your shoulder. “Please tell me you brought something useful.”

Your hands immediately shook as you dropped the bag onto the floor, desperately searching through its contents.

“My flashlight…”

“No.”

“The compass…”

“No!”

Your fingers continued digging.

“...A lighter.”

Toji's eyes widened.

“Give it to me.”

Without another word, he snatched the lighter before quickly pulling his shirt over his head. The muscles across his shoulders flexed as he twisted the fabric tightly around one arm, turning it into a crude torch.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he flicked the lighter. The flame caught immediately. Fire raced across the cotton. Heat filled the room. The creature hesitated. Its growling changed. It took a cautious step backwards.

“It doesn't like fire,” Toji muttered. A grin crossed his face despite the situation. “Good.”

He swung the burning shirt in a wide arc. The creature hissed, its twisted limbs recoiling away from the flames before slowly creeping forward again.

Toji planted himself between the monster and the rest of the group.

“Come on!”

He swung the torch again.

“You want somebody?!”

The creature let out another guttural roar.

“Come get me!”

“No!” you cried, grabbing his arm. “We're leaving together.”

He looked back at you, his expression softened. “Listen to me. I'm buying you time.” 

“I'm not leaving you!”

“You don't have a choice.” he gently pried your fingers from his arm. “You already came all this way. I'm not letting it end here.”

The creature was getting closer to the group. The flames forced it to hesitate again.

“Go!” Toji shouted.

Yuki immediately wrapped both arms around your waist before you could run towards him.

“No!” you screamed, struggling against her grip. “Let me go!”

Suguru grabbed your other arm. “We have to move!”

“I don't care!” tears streamed uncontrollably down your face as you fought against both of them. “He's my boyfriend! He's the reason I came here! I'd rather die here with him than leave him behind!”

The creature lunged. Toji met it with another swing of the burning shirt. The flames brushed against one of its elongated limbs. It recoiled with a shrill hiss.

Then out of nowhere a voice echoed from somewhere beyond the concrete wall.

“Movement confirmed!”

Another followed immediately after.

“Target visual!”

All four of you turned, the monster included.

A section of the wall moved. It wasn't a door. It looked as though reality itself had folded open.

Three figures wearing bright yellow hazmat suits rushed through the opening carrying equipment unlike anything you'd ever seen. One immediately raised a metal canister attached to a hose while another positioned himself between the creature and the group.

“Get them inside!” one shouted.

The third pulled a lever mounted on the side of the device. A dense white mist erupted from the nozzle. The creature shrieked. It stumbled backwards, shielding itself from the cloud as the mist rapidly spread through the room.

“In here!” another worker yelled, waving everyone to the opening in the wall.

Toji didn't hesitate.

“Move!”

Suguru practically lifted Yuki through first before turning to help pull you forward.

You looked back one last time. The creature continued thrashing inside the growing cloud of white vapor while the hazmat team steadily advanced, forcing it farther away from the opening.

Toji grabbed your hand. “Ignore it!”

Together, the two of you crossed through the impossible doorway. The instant your feet landed on solid metal flooring, the sounds disappeared.

Bright white lights flooded your vision. Cold air rushed over your skin. The smell of damp concrete was replaced by disinfectant and machine oil.

Blinking against the sudden brightness, you slowly looked up.

Gone were the endless maintenance corridors. Instead, you found yourself standing inside a clean steel chamber surrounded by people in hazmat suits. Observation windows lined the walls above, where several scientists in white lab coats watched the group with quiet curiosity. Near the center of the room stood an elderly man in a navy-blue suit and thin-rimmed glasses, calmly studying each of you as though your arrival had been expected all along.

“Well…” his gaze swept across the exhausted group before settling on you. “What an unexpected surprise.”

You, Toji, Suguru and Yuki sat in cold steel chairs bolted to the floor, a narrow metal table separating you from the two scientists. Your wrists remained secured by thick metal restraints, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you that leaving wasn't an option. The room itself was almost empty, surrounded by bare concrete walls with only a single observation window made of dark tinted glass. It was impossible to tell whether anyone was standing on the other side watching. 

The scientists didn’t speak.

Yuki stared blankly at the tabletop, her eyes swollen from crying. Suguru leaned back in his chair, exhausted, occasionally glancing to the observation window before lowering his gaze again. To your right, Toji sat with his arms folded across his chest as much as the restraints allowed, his jaw clenched tightly. Every now and then his knee bounced impatiently beneath the table while his eyes remained fixed on the two scientists sitting across from him.

The scientists, meanwhile, paid them little attention. One quietly organized several folders while the other adjusted a small tape recorder resting on the table. Neither seemed particularly interested in acknowledging the group until the recorder clicked to life.

“What's this about?” Toji finally asked, the irritation in his voice cutting through the silence. “You drag us in here, tie us to chairs and don't say a damn word.”

Neither scientist reacted. One continued flipping through a folder while the other scribbled something onto a sheet of paper.

Only after several more seconds did the older of the two finally look up. 

“State your names.”

Toji let out a dry laugh. “First name Fuck. Last name You.”

Silence settled over the room. You nervously shifted in your chair, feeling anxious at the tension in the room.

The scientist merely sighed through his nose before placing his pen neatly on top of the folder.

“Mr. Zenin…” his tone remained perfectly even. “We understand you've had an exceptionally difficult day. I assure you this process will move much faster if everyone cooperates.”

His eyes calmly swept across the group. “So… your names?”

You spoke first, your voice came out soft as you gave them your name, not giving Toji the opportunity to press this further. One by one, the others followed.

“Yuki Tsukumo.”

“Suguru Geto.”

Toji remained silent for another few seconds before finally clicking his tongue. “...Toji Zenin.”

The scientist nodded before writing each name down with neat, practiced handwriting.

Without looking up, the younger scientist asked the next question. “Tell us why have you entered this place.”

“We got lost.” Suguru confessed.

The scientist looked up. “Explain.”

Suguru glanced briefly at Toji before continuing. “Toji messaged us saying he'd found something strange while exploring an abandoned underground mall. We went after him.”

The scientist slowly turned another page inside the folder.

“Mr. Zenin… How did you discover the location?”

Toji looked away. “I'm not telling you a damn thing.”

You let out a tired sigh. “...Toji...”

He turned towards you. Your expression was exhausted more than anything else.

“Please. We're already here.”

His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. After a long silence, he finally answered.

“...I was exploring an abandoned mall. I found a weird light coming from one of the walls. I got curious.” his jaw tightened. “So I touched it.”

The scientist gave a small nod, as though the answer confirmed something he already suspected. Without a word, he reached into the folder and pulled out a folded map. He slid it across the table to Toji. A large red circle had been drawn around the abandoned underground mall.

“Is this the location?”

Toji looked down. “Yeah.”

The scientist made another note before asking without a hint of emotion. “And how did you learn about this location, Mr. Zenin?”

For the first time since entering the room, Toji actually looked slightly embarrassed.

“...I read about it online.”

The scientist finished writing before quietly closing the folder in front of him. Neither he nor his colleague exchanged a word. Instead, the younger scientist reached beneath the table and retrieved another file, noticeably thicker than the first. He carefully opened it, removing several photographs from inside before arranging them side by side across the metal table.

“We're going to show you a series of images,” he said matter-of-factly. “I'd like you to tell us whether you recognize any of the individuals.”

He slid the photographs at the group.

The first showed Sukuna and his girl. 

She was walking calmly through one of the endless hallways, her fingers holding the grotesque imitation wearing Sukuna's appearance. Even frozen in a photograph, the thing looked wrong. Two faces. Two sets of eyes. Four arms hanging unnaturally at its sides while she smiled besides it as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

The second photograph showed Satoru.

He stood alone in an empty room, staring directly at the camera. His six eyes reflected the light differently from one another, giving the unsettling impression that each pair was focused on something entirely different.

The last photograph made Yuki's breathing hitch.

Choso remained crouched against the wall exactly where you'd left him, his head lowered to the floor while the dark seam running across his face continued leaking thick black fluid onto the stained carpet below.

Everyone silently processed what they were seeing.

“Yes,” Suguru finally answered. The rest of you silently nodded.

The scientist observed each of your reactions before asking his next question. “These individuals were traveling with you?”

Another nod followed.

Yuki couldn't take her eyes off Choso's photograph. “What's wrong with them..?”

The scientist leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. “They are not your friends.”

The words hung heavily in the room.

“They're classified as Still Lifes.”

You frowned. “...Still Lifes?”

He nodded. “Autonomous entities native to this enviroment. Their behavior varies, but one characteristic remains consistent.” 

He gently tapped the photograph of Satoru with a finger. “They imitate life.”

His finger shifted to Choso. “The process is imperfect.”

Finally, he rested it on Sukuna. “The result is what you encountered.”

“They're... copies?” Suguru asked quietly.

“In the simplest terms.” the scientist spoke without emotion, as though explaining the weather. “They're not human. They're not your friends. They simply resemble them.”

Yuki shook her head. “No…” her eyes remained fixed on Choso. “That was Choso. I know it was.”

The scientist didn't argue. Instead, he corrected her, “It looked like Choso. There is a difference.”

Yuki's voice trembled. “...Is he still alive?”

The scientist picked up his coffee, taking a slow sip before answering. “Unknown.”

She stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.” he returned the cup to its coaster. “We don't know. He may still be inside there. He may have escaped. He may be deceased.”

Yuki lowered her head, blinking rapidly as fresh tears gathered in her eyes.

The scientist watched her quietly before continuing in the same measured tone. “I'm not attempting to frighten you. I'm answering your questions with the information currently available.”

His voice never changed, never softened. Facts were all he offered, and somehow that made the uncertainty even harder to bear.

One of the scientists quietly slid the photographs back into the folder before closing it with practiced precision.

“What's going to happen to us now?” Suguru asked them.

The two scientists exchanged a brief glance. The older one leaned back slightly in his chair before folding his hands together atop the table.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Toji asked sharply.

“On the decisions made in this room.”

Toji frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The scientist ignored the hostility in his voice.

“As you can probably imagine, the information you've been exposed to is not public knowledge.” he spoke as though reciting from memory. “The existence of this place, its entrances, the entities residing within it, and our ongoing operations are all classified at the highest level. Very few leave that place alive, and even fewer return having witnessed what you have.”

You swallowed. “So what happens to people who make it back?”

The scientist didn't answer immediately. Instead, he opened another folder resting near him. Inside were dozens of photographs. Some showed empty yellow corridors. Others depicted twisted creatures you'd never seen before. Several contained groups of people wearing the same yellow hazmat suits that had rescued you. One photograph briefly caught your attention. A family standing besides a suburban home.

The scientist turned the page before you could look any closer.

“When an individual becomes aware of classified information, protocol requires that appropriate measures be taken to preserve operational security.”

Toji scoffed. “You're talking in circles.”

“I am.” the scientist admitted it without shame. “Fortunately, specificity is unnecessary.”

Everyone went quiet.

Suguru asked the question everyone had been avoiding.

“Do we get to go home?”

Neither scientist answered, not immediately. The younger scientist simply closed the folder and neatly aligned it with the others before looking up.

“There is a path forward.”

Toji narrowed his eyes. “What kind of path?”

“You'll each be offered employment.”

The words caught everyone off guard.

“Employment?” Yuki repeated quietly.

The older scientist nodded once. “Your experience inside the rooms makes you uniquely qualified for work conducted by this facility. You've demonstrated adaptability under extreme psychological stress. You survived prolonged exposure. You successfully navigated multiple environmental shifts. You maintained coherent decision-making.”

He listed each observation as though reading statistics from a report.

“Those qualities are... uncommon.”

Toji let out a dry laugh. “So that's it? You expect us to clock in Monday morning?”

Neither scientist smiled.

“You misunderstand.” the older scientist folded his hands once more. “This is not a recruitment campaign. It is an opportunity.”

His expression never changed.

“If you accept, you'll receive clearance, training, housing if necessary, and access to ongoing expeditions.” he slid the photographs back toward the center of the table. “You'll also gain access to every report, recording, and recovery operation related to the this experiment.”

Your eyes immediately landed on Sukuna's photograph. “Including missing people..?”

The scientist followed your gaze. 

“Including them.”

He tapped the picture of Sukuna. 

“We're already searching for them.”

His finger moved to Choso. 

“If he's alive, we'll know.”

Then Satoru. 

“And if your friend still exists in any meaningful capacity…”

He closed the folder.

“Our personnel are the ones most likely to find him.”

Hope flickered painfully inside your chest.

“And if we don't accept?” you asked quietly.

The room became completely still. The older scientist simply held your gaze for several seconds before speaking in the same calm, measured tone he'd used throughout the interview.

“Miss…” he addressed you by your last name. “You've now been exposed to information that cannot leave this facility. I'm confident you're intelligent enough to understand what that means.”

The implication settled over the room like a weight pressing against everyone's chest.

Toji slowly leaned back in his chair. “So we were never really being questioned.”

The scientist tilted his head slightly. “You were. Your answers simply aren't the only thing being evaluated.”

Both scientists stood from their chairs in unison. The younger one gathered the folders while the older scientist calmly buttoned his suit jacket, taking one last look at the four of you.

“I understand this isn't the future any of you envisioned. Unfortunately, reality rarely asks for our permission.” he stepped towards the door before pausing, his hand resting on the handle. “We'll give you one hour.”

The room remained silent. For the first time since the interrogation began, the older scientist allowed the faintest trace of amusement to creep into his expression. It wasn't warm. It wasn't reassuring. It was the tired smile of someone who had watched this exact conversation play out countless times before.

“Think it over. Discuss it. Weigh the pros and cons if it makes you feel better,” he said with a small shrug. “Just don't spend too much time debating a decision that's already been made. I'd hate for you to waste your hour.”

With that, he opened the door. The two scientists disappeared into the corridor beyond before the heavy steel door swung shut behind them.

Your eyes drifted to the observation window. The black glass reflected the four of you back instead. Exhausted. Bruised. Alive. The irony wasn't lost on you. Hours ago, the only thing any of you had wanted was to escape that place, and you did. Yet somehow… it didn't feel like you'd escaped anything at all.

Dividers by: @\somebitchprobably-graphicdump

The car was rolling slowly along the forest road, all your friends arguing about something that was still understandable to your still-dizzy mind.

A low "Auch" slipped past your lips when Shoko accidentally hit your ribs with an elbow.

"Sorry," she sighed, bending double to check whether the thing they were all looking for was under the seat. "It's not here either."

Suguru, in the driver's seat, sighed and slammed his fist against the wheel. "Satoru, you're such an fucking idiot."

Cursing in the passenger seat, Satoru checked his bag again and again before opening the glove box. Long fingers searched through the condoms and stacks of cigarettes, still not finding the thing everyone was frantically looking for.

"I swear, I left it here," Satoru groaned, pointing at the box.

"What's going on?" You murmured, peeking at Shoko, pinching the bridge of her nose.

She sighed. "Satoru lost the map."

Your eyes widened and lips fell open as you shot a deathly look towards your friend. "What?! Satoru, please tell me you're joking!"

He looked over his shoulder. Milky hair brushed his forehead, and ocean eyes were already squinted in irritation. "I told all of you that giving me a map is not a good idea!"

Utahime, sitting next to Shoko, snorted, and Choso, with Yuki occupying the third row of the van, joined her with mumbled groans.

"Are you five? How could you lose the map?" Utahime groaned, pressing palms to her eyes. "Oh my god, so what now?"

You felt a shiver drip down your spine as the sizzling sun, which had burned your skin just moments before, slipped into a slumber and suddenly disappeared. Instead, a fog rose. It curled and wrapped around Suguru's old van, which was meant to take you straight to the campsite. The rest of the group should already be there, but you still had about two hours of driving.

"Look, the road can't be that fucking complicated," Yuki said, pulling herself up and resting her arms on your headrest. "Let's just drive straight until we find another petrol station. I'm sure they'll have some maps."

Suguru bit the inside of his cheek, cursing under his breath. "We're lost. I know it because that's the third time I've passed this car park."

Everyone leaned towards the right side of the car, following the small spot. The low, stony wall separated it from the slippery cliff overlooking a dense forest. A small body of water, a lake of some sort, peeked through the bending trees, yet the fog was too dense to see it clearly.

He stopped the van at the parking lot, no other soul around.

You wiped your eyes and yawned, opening the van's heavy door.

The air felt cold and crisp, sending shivers down your spine and pinching naked arms with little needles. You took the hoodie from your suitcase, pulling the soft, pinkish material over your top-clothed body. You stepped into the muddy pool in the white trainers, and a groany sigh slipped past your lips as you walked towards the stony wall.

Shoko joined you, a thin cigarette already lit between her fingers, before taking the first draw.

"I did not prepare clothes for such nasty weather," Utahime joined you, curling herself into Shoko's side. "Fuck, where the hell are we? It's been only an hour since we entered the forest. I was literally melting on that station."

Satoru and Suguru were still snapping at each other inside the car, while Choso and Yuki settled on the hood. With an old map from five years ago that was found in the trunk, they started scribbling a new one. They fought like an old couple, with Choso trying to draw neat lines and Yuki pointing her finger at the roads which were no longer used.

You chuckled, turning back to admire the heavy, misty view unfolding before your eyes. A gentle wind carried whispers, and an earthy smell tickled your nostrils. Your foot kicked the little pebble as it rolled and rolled, till it finally fell through the crack in an old stony wall. Trees whistled, a few branches creaking under the gentle mass of the rising fog.

"Are you okay?" Shoko's low voice suddenly brought you back.

Your head turned, a weak smile tugging on your lips. "Yeah, just a bad dream."

Grey smoke curled around her sweet face, brushed with long chestnut hair, slumber eyes trying to decode the restlessness beaming from your gaze.

"You were talking through your sleep."

Another pebble fell down the cliff as you kicked them one by one. Hands deep in the warm sweatpants, you thanked the god for wearing them instead of the shorts.

"Really? Sorry, sometimes it happens."

Shoko hummed, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief. Sometimes.

"You were repeating someone's name."

You bit the plush inside of your cheek, still looking down at your muddy shoes. A visible feeling of curiosity beamed off her eyes, while lips curled around the head of the cigarette. Another cloud of smoke mixed with the fog before she shyly, almost awkwardly, brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

You could already sense her next questions. After all, you've been friends for the past four years, and she'd never heard the name you sometimes repeated in your sleep.

Years of sharing the rented apartment, years of hearing your wailings and cries, always leading to one word only.

"So," she started, helping you kick the pebbles through the crack in the wall. "Do you want to share who's To–"

"Hey everyone!" Choso suddenly called, immediately getting your attention.

Shoko's lips fell into an awkward line before she turned with a muttered curse. In the depth of your mind, you thanked Choso for the timing and whispered, "Sorry, let's talk later," to your dear friend.

"What is it?" Suguru asked, slamming his van's door.

Everyone walked closer to Choso and Yuki, crouching over the old map.

"Here," Choso's finger landed on a crossed mark. "That's where we currently are. And here is the road we should take," he traced the thin line, at some point going outside the forest.

"Great, then let's go," Satoru clasped, turning back towards the passenger's seat.

"Wait," Choso muttered with furrowed brows. "The problem is, this forest road was cut off years ago. We shouldn't even be here. In fact, after leaving the gas station, we were supposed to go here," his finger pointed at the road that went around the dense forest, far away from the coastline stretching behind your hunched backs.

A low fuck slipped past Suguru's lips as he gave a bitter laugh. Satoru took a step back, both hands high in the air – either ready to fight the wrath bubbling beneath Suguru's chest or trying to justify himself for the tenth time.

"I didn't tell you to go through the forest."

Suguru shot him a glare as he bit the soft inside of his cheek. The gentle wind brushed his dishevelled hair, and lavender eyes squinted at his friend.

"I know. I just naturally thought we were supposed to go this way," he squatted with a sigh, head hanging low between his slumped shoulders. "Should we go back to the station?"

"Actually…" Utahime's pitched voice slashed through the foggy air as she pointed her finger at something down the stony wall. "I see a silhouette of the church. Maybe there's a city we can check. I guess they will know the way out of the forest."

Choso's forehead wrinkled as he looked at the map more closely. Finger tracing the point you were supposed to be at, before a faint oh fell from his lips.

"You're right. There is some town here," his hazelnut eyes squinted, a few locks of long hair brushed the pale cheek. "But I can't read the name. There's a coffee stain."

He glanced up at Yuki's cherry cheeks.

"Sorry," she giggled. "I may or may not have spilt a few droplets on it this morning."

She kissed his cheek with a sweet pout before hugging the hoodie closer around her arms. The weather wasn't strictly cold, yet an unpleasant chill bit at everyone's skin, and a nippy fog gently hugged the shivering bodies.

There was something utterly grim yet beautiful about it. The way it floated with an unbothered air, as if gliding over the serene lake and the humming trees long before the dimmed light kissed the chilly earth. It rose high, hugging your ankles, calves, and thighs, as if slowly smooching your skin with frozen kisses.

It moved with you and changed with you, each step dissipating the weak puffs of hazy gloominess before it wrapped itself around you again.

You hid hands in the pockets before covering head with a hood.

"Should we go then?" Shoko sighed, squinting to see the pointed, crossed roof of the church. "Maybe they also have a new map."

A set of old wooden stairs led down towards the little town settled deep in the forest. You had no other option, so, with a heavy sigh, Suguru took a few things from the trunk.

"Here," he said, giving you, Choso, and Utahime a flashlight. "Try not to twist your ankle on this mud."

That said, he slowly walked down the stairs.

A drenched, narrow forest path led deeper into the woods. Trees bent and creaked wickedly over your bodies, humming the melody of long-forgotten memories. Each step rose a wet squelch into the air, as all of you walked in silence, following Suguru carefully.

He bickered with Satoru like an old couple, murmurs and hisses being the only sounds that mixed with the scrape of the old branches.

And as you walked, with each step wetter than the last and the narrow path nearing closer to the old church, something in your chest panged.

Head felt dizzy, almost heavy, as if the trees you passed, the leaves sticking to your shoes, the earthy smell and the old, stony church were a part of some distant memory. The one you tried to forget for a long, long time, as if your mind had simply erased it.

A name of some sort was at the tip of your tongue.

And the deeper you walked, the closer it was slipping towards your lips.

The silence stretched as you left the dense forest and walked next to the first glimmers of the town. Abandoned ranches, a windmill, a cemetery, a church that stood tall and spooky, towering over the gravelly road.

"Why is the fog getting denser?" Utahime shivered, trying to disperse it with her hand. "What is this place?"

Solely shadows and silhouettes appeared on the horizon, with a few more old ranches passing by as you walked deeper. There was no way to tell where you were or which way you were going – the land was cold and wrapped in fog, leaving no option but to immerse yourself blindly.

Something sinister hung in the air. Something that made your chest tighten and tongue fill the inside of the cheek, as if those two words you tried to remember were already tickling its tip.

"Is that a fucking cemetery?" Satoru muttered before he tripped over the small grave. "Fuck, sorry."

Suguru lit the way with the flashlight, casting a few flickers towards the old, long-forgotten tombs.

You've read them, one by one, each letter feeling almost familiar. As if some of them were already deeply carved into your mind, yet closed by a mysterious spell of some sort.

S… the name surely had an s…

"Choso, are you sure we're going the right way?" Satoru asked, instantly pulling a snort from Suguru's throat.

"That's rich coming from you," he muttered, ignoring his friend's deadly glare.

Choso lit the map, hazelnut eyes squinting as if trying to check your position. But as it was rather clear – he couldn't. For the town was simply too small and too unknown for the map to show its narrow, old roads exactly.

"We're on a good path. I guess."

"It's not like we have any other option," Yuki muttered, a grim tugging on her lips as she traced all the neglected stones. "But looking at this place, I'm not sure whether there's any civilisation."

And there was also an H… yes… S and H…

"A ghost town?" Shoko wondered out loud, lighting another cigarette. "That sounds fun."

Utahime, wrapped around her arm, trembling and shivering either from the cold or from fear, furrowed her brow. "Don't say that! This place is terrifying. I would much rather go back to the gas station."

S… hmm… S-s-s-s…

A light pinch to your arm brought you back from your thoughts, and you quickly looked at Shoko. She pushed Utahime towards Yuki, then slowed her pace and led you to the back.

"Are you okay? You're doing this again," she said, hooking her arm under yours.

Grey smoke mixed with the fog, its density only worsening. You didn't even notice she was observing your crazy, private murmurs to yourself all this time, and so a warmth kissed your neck.

"Just tired," you lied, sending her a weak smile. "It's just that…" I feel like I know this place. "I didn't get much sleep. I'm fine."

She pouted, taking another long drag. Her cheeks flushed sweetly beneath the chilly pinching, arms brushed yours. Lying to her felt horrible, nipping little needled into your aching chest.

Yet explaining the sudden fog that filled your mind seemed too difficult. First of all, it was something you wished to unravel yourself – this eerie sensation that tried to guide you towards a memory that warmed your heart with a pleasant flame.

Similar to the one you felt during the dream – hot and tender, with the name of the man who traced the loving kisses down your weeping spine.

The man who felt so familiar yet distant, plaguing your dreams for the past year. His face was never there, as if your mind had simply erased it.

"If you say so," Shoko sighed. "Oh, everyone. There's some board over there!"

All three lighters turned to a washed-green metal sign and… and your heart stopped.

"Silent Hill," Suguru read.

The air felt as if it had suddenly slipped into something heavier, colder, sending a wave of shivers through everyone's spines.

"Silent indeed," Satoru tried to relax the atmosphere, yet his pale cheeks turned cherry-red.

Silent Hill.

A soft, almost inaudible oh fell past your lips, yet everyone turned their heads to peek at your frozen, plagued-by-dread face.

With eyes bulging and lower lip trembling, you shifted your gaze from the old sign and looked farther towards the road. The fogged houses, abandoned and wrecked, looked so familiar. The mill, the church, the weeping willow hanging somewhere on the horizon. Long, slender branches weeping silently as the fog brushed them gently.

Something in your mind unlocked.

A memory of something, someone. And with it, the various sensations washed over you one by one. Dread of a sort, yet mixed with the passion that swelled your heart with the maddening, almost threatening temptation.

"What is it?" Shoko asked, squeezing your arm. "Do you know this place?"

A minute had passed before your short nod made everyone take a deep, whistling breath.

"It's my home," you mumbled, taking a step closer.

You walked slowly along the concrete road, with nothing but fog guiding you farther into the familiar, earthy smell swirling in the chilly air.

"Your home–"

Yuki started, but you quickly interrupted. "I was born here. I left this place five years ago, just before going for graduate school."

"Why?" Utahime tilted her head as everyone passed the old sign and followed you deep into the town.

You shrugged, passing the old university, now looking more deserted than ever. The old, creamy building was coated in dark smoke, as if someone had attempted to burn it.

Some memories, old and eerie, flashed through your mind, but you simply couldn't piece them together into a coherent picture. As if whatever happened here, in the town where you spent over twenty years of your life, was too scarring for your mind to remember.

As if the horrors you went through simply vanished from your memory, as if blotted out by the thick, unremovable marker.

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the unpleasant sensation squeezing your heart.

"I don't know," you answered honestly. "My parents told me I had an accident just after finishing my bachelor's degree. I only remember my life after moving cities. Whatever happened here…" you sighed, seeing that the hospital, built of deep red brick, was also half-burnt. "I don't know. They never talked about it."

Suguru and Satoru looked into some old cars standing freely by the road, as if looking for any sign of life.

But it seemed that the city had been abandoned for a long, long time, leaving nothing but the mist and tattered buildings.

"I don't think we'll find anything useful here," Choso sighed, opening another car's door. "I just don't understand why everyone suddenly left. Some of those cars probably still work." He slipped inside and grabbed something. "You see? Someone's purse, with the ID and everything. Why would you leave it behind?"

It was quite clear that none of you wished to be here anymore. That the goosebumps rose on your skins and foggy breaths escaped with a shudder.

The air was slipping into something eerie, wicked – not quite cold, but tingling your spines with the sense that lingering here any longer would do you no good.

"We should go back…" Utahime whispered, cuddling into Shoko's arm. "I don't feel good here."

"Well, why won't we at least visit your old home? Maybe you'll find something to bring back your memories."

"And we also need a few more batteries," Suguru murmured, shaking his slowly fading flashlight. "Let's look around, okay? But please don't walk alone anywhere."

You didn't remember exactly where you lived. But it seemed that your feet did, as after a few minutes you all found yourselves standing beneath the crimson-brick gate of an old apartment complex. No more than five floors, with the weeping windows and wet ivy curling around the empty frames.

Another tingling ran down your spine, as if to let you know it was here. That was the place you called home five years ago. Before you woke up in another city, with hazy memories of a life so strange, your mind simply decided to leave it alone.

A small garden curled around the building. The withered trees hung over the grimy windows; ivy covered the full length of the black metal gate. You pushed it gently, sending a high-pitched creak through the air.

Leaves swirled in the thick mist, falling gently onto the grey earth as you took the first steps inside.

"I don't remember on which floor my apartment was," you murmured, opening the old, crimson door.

Leading you all right into the long building. The fog slipped around you, marking the old, dusty rugs covering the creaking wooden planks. The air inside smelled musty and damp, yet much warmer than the chill spiralling outside. As if the heating was still active, with warmth running through the pipes connecting the abandoned apartments.

Two pairs of stairs led towards different parts of the building, and so you all looked at each other with the what now painting your tensed faces.

"Okay, me, Satoru, Yuki and Choso will go and look for some batter," Suguru said. "You, Shoko and Utahime will try to find your apartment."

"That's not fair. Why is no man coming with us?" Utahime snorted, wrapping her jumper more tightly around her goosebumped shoulders.

Satoru chuckled and slipped, "Because you have Shoko," before a low ouch followed after the brunette hit the back of his head.

"Anyways," Suguru sighed, pulling Satoru to his side. Like a naughty child who always needed a trusted adult around. "Let's meet here in thirty minutes. And please, don't leave this building no matter what. If you get lost in this fog, then it's over."

With brief nods, all of you went your way. You, Shoko and Utahime, climbed the left side, as something deep in your gut, a sense of sorts, led you towards it.

And the truth was that – you didn't know what to expect.

Your memories were slowly returning. Of Brookhaven Hospital, of Rosewater Park just passed, of Heaven's Night Club, which seemed to whisper tricksters' hints, as if wishing you to remember all the evenings you spent there. Drunk and giggly, always hanging on someone's shoulder, never on the one who haunted your dreams.

And the man, whoever he was, seemed to be a piece of the larger puzzle.

His low voice still swirling at the back of your mind. Heavy body pressing against yours, as you lay in the small, cosy room. With the sun or rain or fog slipping through the cracked window, as the seasons outside changed through all within one dream.

Sometimes, he kissed you during winter.

Another time, fucked amid the dark, rainy autumn.

When the feverish heat coated your bodies with the sheen of sweat, he promised his life to you over the deep, summer night. With the grasshoppers peeking through the thin blinds, and your mind registering nothing but the pleasure he bestowed upon your slumbered body.

And the farther you walked into the building, the more you seemed to recognise.

Because the room from your dreams must've been here.

You walked up the second floor, taking careful, quiet steps and checking every apartment with a flashlight, each and every corner.

Sometimes, a mouse crossed your path. A cockroach warmed itself next to the heating radiator, while the yellow lights flickered over the long corridors. There were at least ten apartments per floor – each one you quickly checked, holding your breath as you walked in first.

Because after a while, being here felt almost natural. As if your body consciously remembered your way around. Fingers brushing the familiar handrails, flicking the creamy light buttons, walking the old, wooden stairs that creaked under your feet.

"It looks more like a hotel," Utahime murmured, checking herself in the hallway's dirty mirror.

"Because it was," you confirmed, walking up to the second floor. "But it was too expensive, and developers changed it into an apartment complex."

Shoko hummed, opening the first door of the second floor with a gentle push. "That would explain why it's so easy to get lost in here. And also, why some flats are so tiny."

You checked the second floor, then the third, and only when you went onto the fourth did your breath hitch.

Because at the very end of the corridor, a door was ajar.

With the warm, steady light spilling from the small crack.

The three of you looked at each other, each more scared than the other.

"Don't tell me…" Utahime started, her voice trembling as if she had walked a mile in the snowstorm.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. "I think that's my apartment."

So you walked closer and closer and closer, each step careful and soft, as if you were afraid of awakening whatever resided inside the still-warmed flat.

And when you pushed the wooden door, nothing but a normal, cosy apartment spread before your eyes.

Opening right into the living room, with the sofa still intact and the crimson rugs hugging the clean floor. The kitchen, whose shelves seemed fine and almost full, with a soft buzz from the fridge filling the small space.

The little, round table stood in the middle, with a withered rose hanging low over the burnt candle.

You stepped inside, your eyes sweeping the place as if looking for the hint of life you had left there.

As if trying to see your past self spread on the green sofa. Or looking out at the garden from the balcony, with a cup of tea in your hand.

Maybe dreaming on the soft bed, filling the tiny bedroom fully. Till nothing but a single bedside table slipped neatly between the frame and the wall.

Your fingers brushed the slightly dusty dresser, and you noticed a few dusty pictures.

All of them showing you.

And a–

"Oh, was that your boyfriend?" Utahime gasped, grabbing one of them. "Oh gosh, so handsome!"

And handsome he was.

Much taller than you, with muscles bulging beneath the leather jacket and white T-shirt showing through his broad chest.

Short, raven hair brushed his forehead gently, ending just above the bottle-green eyes. Deep and lowered, looking right at your smiley figure, cuddled to his side.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and only then did you spot a nasty scar running across them.

He was… someone.

Someone dear, someone close, yet someone you should stay away from. The sheer sight of him made your heart swell with both inexplicable fondness and fear.

"I don't know," you muttered, brushing his face with your thumb.

Shoko was going through the search on her own, and when her frightened, trembling voice filled the silent apartment, both you and Utahime quickly made your way to her.

She sat at the kitchen table, with a few old newspapers lying on the wooden surface and her trembling fingers turning through them one by one.

A gentle, yellow light hung over her head, casting a soft glow on her bulging, chestnut eyes and fallen lips.

"I don't know who you were just talking about," she took a deep breath before turning one of the newspapers your way. "But if that's him, then your parents had a good reason to leave this town."

Your eyes traced a row of neatly printed letters. Turning into words of some sort, but the longer you read them, the less sense they made. They puzzled over a piece of something peculiar, almost eerie, that gave you a painful, pulsing headache.

Utahime gasped, covering her mouth with a hand.

Shoko sat frozen, following the changing expressions on your face, as you dropped onto another chair.

She said your name. Whispered, while Utahime placed a hand on your shoulder.

You didn't understand why.

Because the words on the paper, linking into a Five male students and one female bartender killed out of jealousy! still sounded incoherent.

And when your eyes moved onto another newspaper, the world started to swirl.

The jealous boyfriend strikes again – another three lives to mourn.

Kidnapping of the female student – the girl found after a week!

And when your eyes dropped onto the newspaper from five years ago, just a few weeks after you left – your breath hitched.

Murderer on the loose! The man who took the lives of eight male students and kidnapped his girlfriend escapes from jail.

And in each one of the articles, there was the same face.

The one who looked at you with unconditional love, as you nuzzled your cheek into his leather jacket and let the heavy arm wrap around your shoulder.

"Toji Fushiguro," Utahime read before giving you a quick look. "And the girl who was kidnapped…"

You nodded, still staring blankly at the piece of paper. "Yeah. That was me."

And yet you had no memories of the supposed days spent under lock and key.

No, but rather of something warm and fuzzy tickling your skin. Of the warm kisses peppering your neck, thighs, and breasts, as the same man hung over you, wrapping you in a protective embrace.

You couldn't tell, however, whether those were memories of sorts, or rather yet another dream that haunted your mind every single night.

A dream of you loving someone, and him loving you – in an utterly twisted, possessive yet true manner.

"Toji Fushiguro," the name spilt sweetly on your tongue, like a honeyed glaze that stuck to the inside of your cheeks.

Sounding familiar and almost lovable, ripping another large, foggy flake from your memory. And as it fell somewhere into the depths of your mind, the man's face, always hiding behind your arched back, suddenly became clear. The name you whispered in your dreams over and over again, stuck heavy to your throat.

Toji Fushiguro.

A man, a lover, a nightmare.

You bit the inside of your cheek, brushing with a thumb his printed face. Handsome, yet scarred with an intimidating look. Completely different from the voice that guided you sweetly in your dreams.

Before you could open your mouth, a loud, weeping scream filled the whole building, as if it were coming from the deepest, ripest parts of someone's lungs, sending a surge of shivers down your spine.

Shoko immediately stood up and walked towards the ajar door. She peeked through the little crack, as if waiting for another scream to bounce off the dark hallway's walls.

And when it came with the same intensity, you and Utahime joined her.

"It sounded like Yuki," Shoko whispered, lighting the old carpet with a trembling flashlight.

A shuddered breath escaped her throat as she tried to keep the hand steady. But it seemed impossible, with the metallic stench slowly rising above the floors and floating right your way.

"Should we check it?" Utahime asked, trying to hide herself behind the doorframe. "Let's find the rest and just get the hell out of this place. I'm going to start crying any second now.

And she was right, as her lip trembled in fear and fingers clenched Shoko's arm in a deadly grip.

You curled your hands into a fist and took a flashlight from Shoko's hands. "Follow me. There's a hallway linking both sides, we can join them through it."

In a slow, single file, you slipped out of the room, with Shoko gripping your arm and Utahime's muffled cries filling the silent corridor. Each of your steps left a creak as the carpet-clad floors wept under your trembling bodies.

The hallway felt never-ending, leading you through the darkness and ajar rooms – always empty and cold, very different from your still cosy apartment.

Something moved at the end of the corridor. Another weep pinched your spines, and this time, it wasn't Utahime.

All three of you froze in place when a few muffled voices came from a place nearby. Unpleasant whispers, dull sobs, sounding slightly familiar.

"Yuki?" You whispered, waiting a few seconds before calling, "Suguru?"

You took another step, although your two trembling friends made it almost impossible. Utahime didn't try to hide her tears anymore, weeping right into Shoko's hoodie. She, on the other hand, bit her lower lip hard, till a few droplets of crimson blood bubbled on her dry skin.

"Choso?" You whispered again, awaiting any sign that the voices you've just heard were not, in fact, your imagination.

Or something worse – unknown, eerie, befitting the mystery that hugged this town with the innocent, soft fog.

You took a few steps before something grabbed your arm and pulled all three of you into one of the rooms.

"What the–"

But before you could finish, someone's trembling hand covered your lips.

You would recognise that light hair everywhere. With chestnut eyes dancing madly and milky skin dirtied with some sticky liquid.

"S-shh-hh," Yuki whispered, pressing a crimson finger to her lips. "Don't s-say anything, f-fuck…" She quickly looked out the room before closing the door.

Someone gasped, and only then did you notice Choso sitting right next to her. Curled against the wall, with his head between his shoulders and muffled, low cries slipping past his trembling lips.

"Choso…" Shoko inhaled with a hiss before her trembling hand touched his shoulder. "Choso are you okay?"

When he looked up, all three of you froze.

With mouth agape and eyes wide as porcelain plates, he traced the crimson stench trickling down his cut eyebrow. His white shirt turned vermilion, and his lip trembled as he looked at your untouched state.

"So you didn't meet him, huh?" He whispered, grabbing Shoko's wrist. "The m-monster, you didn't see h-him?"

Utahime was already on the verge of tears, so she curled up in the room's dusty corner, her thighs drawn to her chest. Shoko ripped a piece of her T-shirt and pressed it to Choso's bleeding forehead.

"What monster? Where's Satoru and Suguru?" Shoko asked, trying to keep a cool, steady tone.

But you could see the sweat trickling down her creamy neck. Eyes darted between Yuki and Choso, one looking worse than the other.

A loud sob slipped past Yuki's lips before she quickly muffled it with her hand. Choso groaned, banging his head against the wall, trying to hold back the tears that were scratching his eyelids.

"They're gone," he said so quietly, you needed to take a second look at his face.

Shoko placed hands on his cheeks, keeping his head steady. "What do you mean gone?"

He didn't need to say anything, for the deep, miserable sigh that escaped his throat and Yuki's storming sobs were enough.

"They were in another room, looking for those f-fucking batteries, a-and…" Another muffled cry filled the chilly room.

"He got them," Choso finished.

"He?" You asked, curling fingers on your hoodie. "Who's he?"

"I don't know. He's massive, like a fucking monster. Wears a helmet of sorts, but it looks triangular. And carries this, I don't know, long, heavy knife," Choso buried hands in his hair, tugging on them with a painful breath. "He cut them as if they were a fucking slice of meat. Fuck, we barely managed to run away, but he's still somewhere here."

And before you could ask anything else, a loud bang sliced through the long corridor. Something heavy hit the old pipes, and the dull clatter rose into the stale air. Hit after hit, growing steadily closer, as whatever was causing it turned your way.

Yuki and Choso looked at each other with bulging eyes before flying towards the door. Through the small crack, they peeked their heads out for a second before closing it with a thud.

"Everyone hide," Choso ordered, frantically scanning the small room. "His sight isn't the best, but he has a real-fucking-good sense of smell. Hide somewhere here."

Shoko pulled the trembling Utahime from the corner, then moved them both behind the long, dirty curtains.

The deep night had fallen over the abandoned town, bathing the tiny room in darkness as deep as the midnight sky. The fog rose in thick layers, slipping through the cracks in the window sills. The rain lay a thin layer over the tall windows, painting them with cries and weepings, as if wishing to muffle your heavy breaths filling the lonely apartment.

The noise was growing louder as all of you hid in the darkest corners of the room – behind the curtains, deep inside the closet, and under the lone, thin bed.

Yuki and Choso curled together beneath it, while you breathed in the old, musty air of the dresses waiting patiently in the closet. Sweat trickled down your neck, lungs squeezed, head pulsed.

Not in pain, but rather a strange feeling that pinched your heart in such an unsettling manner.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor as someone began kicking in the doors to the apartments one by one. Looking inside for a few minutes before moving to the next, and next, with the dull, metallic noise cutting the vermilion carpet.

A low groan accompanied each step, as if the monster mumbled something under his nose.

A word… a name.

Sounding familiar yet so strange, only when he stood under your door did you recognise that it was indeed a name of yours.

A faint oh god, fell past Utahime's lips before Shoko quickly pressed her hand to shut her up.

Because the moment your room opened – everyone held their breath.

You peered through the little crack in the closet and pressed a hand to your lips. A shaky, teary gasp filled your tiny space as you saw a monster walking inside the room.

At least two metres tall, with shoulders barely fitting through the door frame and a single dirty cloth wrapped around his hips. A large, triangular helmet covered his panting face, while a vein-bulging hand dragged a long knife. Heavy, covered in vermilion liquid dripping onto the floor.

The stench of blood swirled in the air, mingling with a heavy, musky fragrance that tickled your nose. His footsteps shook the floor; beefy arms squeezed through the entrance as he stood in the middle of the room, looking around it at a slow, unhurried pace.

Your name once again fell off his lips, followed by a muffled baby baby baby, stuck in his mind like a mantra. A low, groany voice deepened the density of the aura he spread around himself.

And then… the massive, crimson helmet turned your way.

He took a deep breath, as if following the smell that slipped past the closet's cracked door.

He has some real-fucking-good sense of smell, you remembered Choso's words and gasped.

His steps were slow, rather crooked, as the long blade bent his back in an utterly strange way. The muscular, wide chest was covered in a thin layer of sweat, yet the fragrance smelled rather pleasant.

Familiar.

"Baby," his muffled groan slipped from beneath the helmet.

You knew this voice – low, raspy, lined with the tenderness that contradicted the pulsing dreadfulness it drew beneath your chest.

The same softness that haunted your dreams.

Your hand pressed against the door, eyes following his body as it came closer. And closer, and closer, until the musky smell hit your nostrils much harder as he grabbed the old closet door.

He didn't just open them, but tore them from the hinges with a single pull. Till nothing but a few pieces of wood hung loosely, exposing your small figure curled between the flowery dresses.

"T-To–"

But before you could finish, his fingers curled around your neck.

Pulling you closer, until you needed to stand on your toes to match his eye level. Although it was difficult to tell where his eyes were, as he hauled you right in front of his triangular helmet.

You've never felt such strength. Deathly, monstrous, overpowering you in every sense, with fat fingers gripping your throat.

"T-Toji…" you coughed again, dragging your nails over his beefy forearm. "Toji i-it's me."

His head tilted, as if trying to register your words.

You wriggled beneath his grip, twisted and squirmed, feeling pulsing blood slowly hitting your head.

A moment passed before he set you free, letting you fall back into the closet. But not for long, as a second later his arms curled around your waist and the world suddenly turned upside down.

You were hanging off his shoulder, with head dangling high in the air till you could see nothing but his blade dragged dully across the carpet.

You've noticed Shoko's bulging eyes mingling beneath the crisp moonlight. Yuki's arm trying to wriggle itself free from beneath the bed, until Choso quickly pulled her back in.

Everyone heard the monster whisper your name.

So everyone was ready to leave you be and save their own life.

And for that matter, you didn't mind it. As the long-gone feelings that had stayed locked deep within the confines of your heart suddenly spilt through the tiny cracks.

Your body hung swaying as the monster walked along the corridor. Towards the only apartment that was still brimming with life, as if cared for and tended to for years, waiting for your comeback.

When he passed the entrance and closed the door with a thud, you waited for your feet to touch the floor.

But instead, he dragged you to the bedroom, throwing you onto the soft bed. Your back bounced off the mattress as you tried to squirm into the farthest corner of the room.

He didn't let you go, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back in. Until you gasped, feeling his massive hands hook under your thighs, only to fold you in half.

"Take it off," he mumbled, dragging the end of his metal helmet along your trembling chin. "Take it off, baby."

You bit the inside of your cheek, grabbing the heavy, triangular helmet with both hands. The bloody stench dropped down the floor together with a loud clacker, filling the rain-peppered bedroom.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as the fog covering the face that appeared in your dreams every single night finally melted away your sealed memories.

The face of the only man you have ever loved loomed over your head.

With emerald eyes tracing the softness of your skin, gleaming in the chilly moonlight filtering through the blinds.

You trembled when he lifted his fingers to brush your cheek.

"My baby," he whispered, a low groan hitting you with a blooming warmth. His massive body fully blocked the only moonlight spilling in, bathing you in heat radiating from his chest. "It's been so long since I've lost you."

You didn't know what to do with your hands, but as he nuzzled his face against your breasts, you wrapped them around his neck. Tugging gently at raven hair, damp against his skin.

"Tell me you missed me," his fingers dug deeper into your thighs, as he pressed them against your chest. "Baby, tell me you thought of me this whole time."

But answering him was much more difficult than you expected, with fear and dizziness knotting deep in your neck. Only a soft pant slipped past your lips as he kissed your neck gently, licking the sweaty skin with a groan.

"W-why did you kill them?" you finally asked. "My friends…"

He knew who you were talking about, and chuckled, pulling away slightly, just to get a better view of your lovely face, with softly pouted lips and big eyes, looking up at his massive frame in panic.

"Because they wanted to take you away from me," He grinned. "Why the sad face, baby? Were they someone special for you?"

You bit lower lip, but he quickly pulled it down from between your teeth. "Answer me, baby. Were they someone special?"

"Y-ye–"

But Toji tilted his head, quickly cutting you off. "I would think twice before answering, baby."

You felt his fingers playing with the hem of your trousers. Fat digits, slowly, slowly slipping them off your hips. He used one hand to straighten your knees and roll the tracksuit swiftly, while keeping the other on your belly. Heavy and strong, pressing you into the mattress with a force you had no chance against.

The fear froze you in place as his fingers slipped beneath the hoodie.

"You don't want to make me angry, baby. Remember, some of your friends are still here," he muttered, warm breath tickling your earlobe. "Were the men I killed anyone special to you?"

"N-no," you sighed when one of his fat fingers brushed the hem of your bra. "No t-they weren't."

You wriggled beneath his massive body as he folded it in half again. He lifted your hips off the mattress and pressed himself against you with his full, crushing weight. A soft moan slipped past your lips as he tore your bra with a single pull.

Toji hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your chin. "You should be happy I didn't kill your parents, baby," Teeth bit the soft spot just beneath it, forcing you to tilt your head back. "That I was still in jail when they took my girl away from me."

Fear, panic and anxiety mixed with the waves of pleasure he sent through your body. With fingers pinching the perked, naked nipples, and teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck.

You voluntarily lifted your hands, allowing him to pull off your hoodie in one swift motion. Leaving you bare and sweating – splayed beneath his massive body, with nothing but a bloodstained leather tunic wrapped around his hips.

The panic echoed through your mind, but the body acted as if it longed for the touch that used to make your head spin from pleasure. Willingly working with his fingers, melting softly beneath the tender touch and kisses, his soft lips peppered you with.

"Those men…" You mumbled, recalling his face plastered to all the major news from five years ago. "The kidnapping. I don't remember anything."

Toji pulled away, his squinted eyes observing your face closely. As if looking for any signs of deceitfulness.

"What do you mean?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, when he leaned over your chest, wrapping lips around one of the perked nipples. Sucking it gently, with a tongue swirling the sensitive bud and giving it a soft bite.

"M-my memory, mhm," your eyes fluttered, feeling his hips press against your soaked panties. "T-tell me, what happened here?"

The stench of vermilion blood still covered his skin, painting it in dripping red strokes. The blood of your dearest friends, most surely.

He ripped your drenched panties off, using the flimsy material to wipe himself clean. Letting your lingerie soak the remains of the people you spent your past few years with.

You didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to fight.

Just allowed yourself to melt under his fingers slipping down your belly, towards the clenching, fluttering cunt that drenched your inner thighs with the nasty, sticky juices.

It felt utterly inappropriate. To feel the lustful flame biting your flesh while spreading yourself beneath the man who had killed your friends just a few minutes earlier.

The roll of your hips in desperate waves, tugging harshly at his raven hair sticking to his neck.

But he was the man you, supposedly, loved dearly those years ago, and it was no surprise that your body, heart, and soul pulled you towards him in weeping despair.

"That female bartender," you gasped, as his finger brushed your trembling clit. "T-toji, wait, please tell me–"

"Shhh," he licked the long stripe between your breasts, across your chest, up your neck, until his lips met yours in a messy, metallic kiss. "My pretty girl. You truly don't remember, hm?"

Your head shook, and lungs desperately gasped for air, as he put his massive weight on your body. Till the mattress dipped beneath your back and a few bedsprings pinched your spine.

"You killed her," he whispered, tugging slightly to keep an eye on the surprise twisting your face. "That's right, baby. You killed her because she flirted with me in the club's bathroom. And I only took the blame for you. After all, I never denied killing those eight fuckers, and another victim didn't make much difference."

Another big slab of memory slipped back into your mind.

From years ago, with a girl, tracing kisses up Toji's neck, as he tried to push her away. Her fingers on his bulging jeans, hand wrapping around the biceps.

You, waiting for her at the club's back door, till she walked out alone and had the misfortune of meeting you.

Her head smashed with a heavy stone, as you huffed and puffed over her body, a rage still bubbling in your veins.

And then Toji appeared – always lurking somewhere around, never out of your sight – hugging you from behind. "She made my baby angry, hm?"

You pouted, turning in his embrace. Eyes looking up to meet his, drenched fingers brushing his cheeks. "I didn't like the way she touched you."

He giggled, nuzzling into your soft palm. He kissed it tenderly, allowing a stench of blood to coat his gentle lips. "That's okay, baby. No one can ever take you away from me. I'm forever yours."

The memory slipped into your mind suddenly, almost like an intrusion, sparking a surge of panic and anxiety that filled your heart with a painful throb.

You killed someone.

You killed a woman, only because of your foolish jealousy.

And the man hanging over you took the blame because there was nothing, ever, he wouldn't do for his precious girl.

"I missed you so fucking much," he connected your maws again, pulling your lower lip with a soft groan. His finger scooped the honeyed juice sticking to your clenching folds, as another filthy moan hit your cheeks. "I bet you taste delicious, hm?"

A shuddering cry fell past your lips, as you felt his fat finger trying to squeeze itself through your tight, wet hole. Sticky juices coated his skin like a spiderweb, yet your clenching muscles were too shut to let his finger in.

"Baby, you need to relax," he chuckled, peppering kisses down your chin.

Through neck, breasts, staying a bit longer to suck on your perked nipples, before biting a small roll of your belly and finally kneeling in front of your spread legs.

"I won't be able to fuck you if you won't open up," emerald eyes followed your tightly shut cunt, before moving up to glance at the warmth hitting your embarrassed cheeks. "It's been so long, hm?" his warm breath smooched your trembling clit. "No one has touched you for the past five years, right, baby?"

Your head nodded in panic as a sly smile tugged at Toji's lips. "N-no one, I-I thought I was a virgin…"

And because the past few years of your life had been nothing but a misty memory, you frankly thought of yourself as fully inexperienced in sexual pleasures. With only lustful dreams plaguing your nights, of a man who currently looked up at you from between your spread legs.

"Truly, baby?" he sniffed your leaking cunt, shifting the air with a loud groan. "Because when I kidnapped you, we did nothing but fucked for a whole week," his fat finger once again tried to push through your walls, only to send a crying moan from your throat. "I filled you with so much cum, we were sure you would walk out pregnant," scarred lips finally pressed to your clit, swirling the trembling button with a drenched tongue. "My sweet baby, you were always crying so prettily on my cock. Come on, open yourself for me."

He sucked, licked, and kissed your puffy clit, with soaked fingers slowly stretching your sealed walls. The muscles wrapped around his digit in an almost painful manner, and he hissed, feeling how tight you truly were.

Your back arched from a pleasure washing over your spine, as he swirled his tongue all over your weeping cunt. Sucking gently on a clit, biting the swollen lips, drinking the spilling juices like a madman, till the sweetness of your pussy marked his whole face. Cheeks and chin, both smeared in the sticky cum, as emerald eyes rolled back at the creaminess spilling over his taste buds.

"I missed you so much, my love, my baby," Toji moaned, pulling you closer to his face. One meaty palm fell over your belly, while two fingers of another tried to slip inside your clenching pussy. "You have no fucking idea how angry I was when they took you. Fuck," another groan of his pinched your spine with a trembling pleasure, as your back arched. "I killed them all."

You glanced down at his wet forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair sticking to creamy skin. "Who?"

He groaned when you tugged on his hair. "Everyone. I killed everyone for taking you away from me. For locking me up and letting your parents take you, God knows where."

The abandoned hospital, burnt university, destroyed ranches – he killed them all.

And as much as you wished to feel some sympathy, all the lost memories were slowly flooding your mind.

The days spent in Toji's pleasure, with his maniacal, possessive love, were flooding your mind again. His jealousy and territorial control led to so many unnecessary deaths.

Some of them caused by your hands.

"Good," you suddenly whispered, feeling an overwhelming, blinding pleasure bubbling in your loins. "Mhm, Toji–ah–that's o-okay."

His fat fingers barely slipped inside your cunt, lips worked on your swollen clit with a groan sending tremblings through your sensitive bud. He kissed and licked and sucked your pussy with an almost devoted passion, massive hand pressing your lower belly to the mattress.

You spread your legs farther, allowing his wide shoulders to paint red the insides of your thighs.

"Yeah?" he muttered, slowly looking up. "Are you happy, baby? I punished them all. Just for you."

When his fingers slipped deeper, your head fell back, and a bubbly moan escaped your tightened throat. "F-fuck, am so happy–ahhh."

Your hips rolled against his plastered tongue, chasing the pleasure slowly splashing in your lower belly.

But you didn't want to cum like that. Not on his tongue, when you've already noticed the meaty cock stretching his leather tunic.

And so you placed a foot on his forehead, pushing his starving mouth away. Your sticky juices dripped from his chin, hearts dancing in the emerald eyes, plagued only by the longing and desperation to eat his pretty girl alive.

"Don't test me, baby," he muttered, kissing the sole of your foot. "I've been waiting for you five years. Do you know what it does to a man?"

But you could only smile – slyly, cheekily, as if the girl from five years ago were slowly slipping back into your body – and roll onto your belly. Just to lift your hips and spread your cheeks with one hand.

The droplets of cum oozed from your tight cunt, landing softly on the drenched mattress. The sudden surge of boldness smooched your neck with warm kisses, leaving you bare and trembling right in front of your lover's eyes.

"I don't wish to test you," you muttered, still a bit shyly, avoiding his heavy gaze. "Just please, fuck me already. I want to cum on your cock."

He hummed and stood up. His head almost brushed the ceiling, and his massive body cast a large shadow over your trembling figure. He ripped the leather tunic off his hips with one pull, leaving you completely breathless.

The sudden confidence… suddenly disappeared.

And instead, panic rose in your chest as you saw the hanging monstrosity he had been hiding all this time.

Too heavy to stick to his abdomen, yet stony hard and oozing with musty precum. The bluish veins curled around his fat, pulsing shaft, and the reddened head was ready to burst any second.

Before you could change a position, suddenly feeling that this one felt too intimidating and deep, his hands grabbed your hips and pressed them to his hanging length.

"What happened, baby? You were so confident just a mere seconds ago," Toji chuckled, feeling the heat of your cunt against his cock. "I wanted to stretch you a bit longer, but if you're sure that it's not needed…"

He grabbed pulsing head, drenching it in your juices. It already felt heavy, monstrous, as he smooched your tight entrance with the biting heat that spread all over your swollen pussy.

"N-no, wait–" you tried to push him away, but he quickly pressed you to the mattress with one hand.

A massive palm landed on your back, locking you in one position – with hips high up and nipples brushing the bedding. You begged and wriggled, feeling his massive body tremble with laughter.

"Shhh," he bent over, kissing your spine. "Take a deep breath, baby. You brought it upon yourself."

His massive cock poked on your entrance. Pulsing head squeezing through the tight rim of your muscles, getting itself drenched in your honeyed juices. Your walls squeezed his shaft with a painful pleasure, letting a low groan slip past his lips.

"Toji, you're too big–mmm," a muffled cry hit the pillow, as his hand still kept you pressed to the mattress. "I can't–"

"No, baby," he chuckled, yet a few droplets of sweat bubbled on his forehead. "You can. And you will. I haven't cummed in five fucking years. Do you know how much I've been holding up for you, hm? I hope you came hungry, because today I'll be stuffing you full."

The grip of your cunt was simply maddening, almost tormenting, and if he didn't bite down his lower lips, he would already tear your sweet cunt with a lone thrust. But instead, he slowly pushed in, taking a deep breath as his head fully slipped in.

Thick shaft swabbing your insides, his hand sliding down to feel himself through your belly. Palm pressing the shivering muscles, as he pushed, and pushed, forcing inch by inch into your weeping cunt.

Completely deaf to your sobbing when you tried to pull yourself off his massive cock.

"Toji, please, fuck, that's–ahhh," you attempted to turn your head back, but his hand between your shoulder blades was keeping you in place.

"Just a minute, baby," he hummed, feeling his cock, slide through the tightness of your cunt. Your belly bulged with his thickness, sending another ruffling chuckle through his chest, and a crying moan out of your lips. "I'm almost here. Arch yourself a bit more, hm? Let me hit that sweet spot of yours."

You did as he ordered, hugging the pillow he pressed your face to.

"That's right, my good girl." His fingers opened your pussylips to see the nasty mess coating his length. "Don't tell me you hate it, baby. Your pussy is sucking me in. And I know that if I do this," he suddenly, without a warning, pushed his full length in, drawing a weeping scream from your throat. "You will immediately cum."

And he was right, because the moment his fat, bursting head hit your womb, and fingers pinched your clit – you cummed all over the mattress. Drenching it in crystalline juices, as a wave of pleasure washed over your quivering spine.

He didn't stop. Didn't wait for you to calm down after the first orgasm.

Instead, his thrusts became brutal, almost inhumane, as he pounced on you like a savage monster. With one hand still rolling your clit, he leaned over to lick a filthy strip of your sweat-coated skin. Teeth biting deep into your shoulder, as you cried pitifully, feeling his cock rearrange your insides.

"What's wrong, baby?" He chuckled, noticing a warmth creeping up your neck. "You still want me to pull out?"

Your head shook, teary eyes glancing back at his handsome face. "You're so mean."

Yet your hips started to willingly hit against his, chasing the hefty smooches of his leaking head that swelled your womb. The fat shaft filled you with maddening fullness, hitting all sensitive bumps inside your pussy. Soft walls clamped down on his cock, as if desperately trying to keep it in place.

But Toji's hips were stronger, faster, as he pulled his cock out, till nothing but his tip was still getting sucked by your sweet cunt, only to slam it back and force a moany cry out of your lips.

"Yeah baby, I'm so fucking mean," the sweat glazed his forehead, a few droplets trickling down his massive back. "And I'll be so mean while stuffing your poor belly full. You're not leaving this room until I get you fucking, pregnant."

You moaned, rolling your hips to feel more of his monstrosity brush against your sweet spot. Eyes rolled back and mouth agape, a thread of crystal spit trickling down your chin.

Toji laughed, seeing your fucked-out face drooling into the pillow. "And you're going to thank me for it, right, baby?"

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and gently nodded your head. "Yeah, my sweet girl. You're not leaving my side ever again."

His hips hit you faster, more brutally, making your back twist into a painful arch and your feet curl, as another wave of pleasure already pinched your lower belly.

"Try to run away, and I'll promise you'll never see the sunlight again."

His cock pounded you madly, and you could swear that it somehow, suddenly, swelled. Becoming even thicker, fatter, till your poor womb cried from the brutal madness of his leaking head and fluttering walls tried to stretch under its sudden growth.

"Tell me how much you love me," he ordered, biting gently on your earlobe. "Come on, baby, tell me how much you missed me."

His massive body pressed you into the mattress; air barely slipped past your compressed lungs, yet a muffled, "I love you–ahhh–T-toji I love you s-so much," still forced its way out of your lips.

"I-m going to, mmm, Toji fuck–"

He chuckled, rolling your clit between his fingers. Cock ravishing your pussy brutally, another wave of cum already splashing in your lower belly, as he put all his massive weight onto your poor, trembling body.

The fat shaft sat heavily inside the sweet warmth of your cunt, nuzzling itself deep against the swollen womb.

And within another second – he finally came.

Or likely burst, painting your insides white, with thick, hefty spurts of sticky seed, filling the little belly pouch. Stuffing your womb full, just as he promised, till the cum started leaking past the veiny shaft swallowed fully by your weeping pussy.

Trembles after trembles flooded your spine, as he whispered sweet little nothing to your crying cheeks. Kissing away the salty droplets, before he rolled you over and folded you in half.

"Toji, it hurts," you mumbled, yet still softening from pleasure under his touch.

He didn't need another minute, not even a second, as his cock hardened a moment after seeing your puffy, lovely face.

"What hurts, baby?" He cooed, licking your soft cheeks. "Tell me, what's the matter?"

You pressed your hand to your lower belly, feeling the waves of his cum splashing inside your pulsing womb. "It's too much. Mhmmm, Toji, I can't do it again."

But he simply didn't give you any mind. Knowing how much pleasure you always took from being manhandled like a rag doll. Getting stuffed full, till the nausea hit your throat from the taste of his cum and cunt leaked for whole weeks.

And if you haven't remembered it yet, he simply needs to remind you.

So he did – over and over again. Until you truly became nothing but a doll, liquefying in his beefy arms and weeping sweetly as you rode his massive, gut-turning cock. And although your face was swollen from constant sobbing, your heart swelled with maddening, almost terrifying adoration.

Or a torment, maybe, towards a man whom you should rather hate than care for.

A monster, a nightmare, a beast.

Your most dearest lover.

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

Well, I hope you enjoyed it...

I'm sorry, I cannot find the artist of Toji's fanart! :( dividers by @pixopix and @diviniyae

The wind had turned strange.

It carried something stronger than before, threading through the town with a low, uneasy whisper. The air felt cooler against his skin, damp and heavy, smelling of earth, rain, and something faintly rotten beneath it all. A storm was coming. He could feel it in his bones, in the way the night held its breath.

He walked towards the church.

An elderly woman stepped out just as he reached the steps, her small frame hunched, her cane tapping against the wood. She noticed him immediately, offering a soft, welcoming smile as if nothing in this world could possibly be wrong.

“Well hello there, darling,” she said warmly. “Came to pay your respects to our Lord and Savior? Come in come in, but do hurry now, the priest will be closing the doors soon. It’s getting quite late.”

The man stared at her for a moment.

“That so?” he replied, voice smooth, unreadable. Then, quieter, almost thoughtful. “You should head home. It’s going to start pouring soon.”

“Huh?” The woman glanced up at the sky, confused by the absence of any sign of rain. No stars. No moon. Just a thick, suffocating dark pressing down on the town.

“Oh… well, you’re right, I suppose,” she murmured. “I should get going. Thank you, darling.”

She adjusted her cane and made her way back down the path, unaware of how close she had come to something that did not belong in God’s world.

The man watched her go, then he stepped inside. 

The church greeted him with decay.

It was dark, the rows of pews barely visible, their shapes swallowed by shadow. Only the faint glow of a candelabra near the altar kept the place from being consumed entirely. The air was thick with dust and dampness, the wooden planks beneath his boots soft in places, warped with rot. Mold crept along the corners of the walls like a slow confession, spreading unchecked.

Neglected. Forgotten. Or perhaps… willfully ignored.

At the altar stood the priest, a Bible clutched tightly in his hands, his figure stiff beneath the flickering light.

“May I help you?” he called, raising an eyebrow, unable to make out the figure lingering near the entrance.

The man let the silence stretch, then he spoke.

“Just wondering if you had any food to spare,” he said, stepping forward slowly. “Me and my friends… we’ve been traveling for a while now. Haven’t eaten in days.”

The priest hesitated. Not out of compassion, but out of calculation.

“Are you a resident of Sourwater?” he asked.

The man already knew where this was going. “No… just passing through.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, then,” the priest replied, voice firm. “Perhaps the general store, or the saloon if you have coin.”

“We don’t, Father…” the man answered.

“That’s not my concern. This is not a charity.” The words settled, sharp and final.

“I see,” the man murmured. He began to walk forward. Step by step, the candlelight climbed him. His boots, his coat, his hands, until it reached his face. Pale, too pale. His features were sharp, almost carved, unnatural in their precision. And his eyes… they crimson. Not shadow or trickery, crimson blood.

The priest’s breath caught in his throat. Sweat beaded along his forehead as his grip on the Bible tightened, knuckles paling. And when the man spoke again, the priest saw them.

Fangs.

“What… what are you?” he stammered, voice breaking under the weight of something ancient and wrong pressing against his chest.

The man tilted his head, almost amused. “Me?” he echoed softly. “I’m just a man, Father.”

Behind him, two other figures stepped into the light, silent, closing in.

“You’re not supposed to be here…” the priest said quickly, backing up a step. “This is the house of God.”

The man didn’t stop. “God is not here,” he replied. The words felt colder than the air. “Your god’s love is not unconditional,” he continued, voice quiet but cutting. “And he does not love you.”

“My life’s work is in His name!” the priest snapped, anger rising to mask the fear clawing at his throat.

“Is it?” the man asked. Another step. “Because I recall asking for food.” His voice lowered. “For mercy. And you turned me away.”

“I am the priest of Sourwater!” he shouted. “I have done nothing but the Lord’s work!”

“Lies?” the man murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “In your house of god?” He moved closer. “You starve the needy. You take from those who have nothing and call it devotion. You use his name like a leash.” His voice dipped, almost gentle. “No wonder he abandoned you.”

The priest’s back hit the altar. 

“But us…” the man continued, the other two now at his sides, closing the space completely, “we don’t pretend. We love you exactly as you are.”

Then they moved, fast.

Teeth sank into flesh before the priest could even scream, hands gripping him in place as his body jerked and twisted. The Bible slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow sound that echoed far too loudly in the empty church.

Blood spilled, warm, thick, and wrong. The man drank first, then pulled back, his expression tightening slightly.

“Rotten,” he muttered under his breath. 

The others followed, less eager now, but still feeding, still tearing, still taking.

Tainted blood never satisfied. It never did.

The priest collapsed at the base of the altar, his body crumpling like something hollowed out, something already gone long before they arrived.

The man wiped his mouth slowly, glancing towards the open doors where the wind had begun to howl, louder now, carrying with it the distant creak of wood, the restless stirring of a town that did not yet know what had come for it. 

He exhaled. He was content, but not full. “Well…” he murmured, voice almost thoughtful, “the night’s still young.”

Behind him, the other two shifted, hunger still gnawing, still sharp.

In a few more hours the sun would rise… but not for Sourwater. 

Inside the small office, two men spoke in hushed voices, wary of being overheard. If what they were discussing ever left the room, it wouldn’t just stir whispers, it would send panic ripping through the town of Whiskey Falls, then beyond it, into the state of North Clementine… and eventually the entire country.

And that would be very bad for everyone.

“Are you certain of what you’re telling me, Father Clarke?” the sheriff asked, brows drawn tight with disbelief. His teeth worried at the nail of his thumb, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Positive,” the priest replied, voice low, strained. “There’s nothing natural about a whole town simply… vanishing overnight. No bodies. No signs of struggle.” He paused, swallowing. “I sent two of my boys out three days ago with supplies Father Bell requested. When they came back…”

He exhaled slowly.

“They were shaken. Pale. Sweating like they’d seen the devil himself.”

The sheriff leaned forward. “And?”

“They refused to speak at first. Wouldn’t say a word to the other deacons. I had to pull them aside, calm them down.” His grip tightened slightly against the desk. “When they finally spoke… they said the town was empty. Completely empty. Not a soul left.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“Well…?” the sheriff pressed.

The priest hesitated. 

“The only thing left behind,” he said carefully, “was blood.”

The word seemed to settle into the room like something alive.

“Everywhere,” he continued. “Walls. Floors. Ceilings. Doors. Windows. Rooms soaked in it—as if something tore through the place and left nothing but what was inside the people.”

The sheriff went still.

“This isn’t normal,” the priest added, quieter now. “But I’ve heard stories before. A group of Native travelers that once passed through town spoke of something like this. Said if it ever came to pass…” he trailed off, jaw tightening. “If my suspicions are right, they might know what we’re dealing with.”

“And what exactly do you think that is?” the sheriff asked.

The priest didn’t answer right away.

“I’m going to Sourwater tomorrow,” he said. “I need to see it for myself before we involve anyone else.”

The sheriff straightened. “Then I’m going with you. Just in case things turn… sour.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, slowly stepping away from the door before either man could catch you listening.

Blood? An entire town gone overnight? Your stomach twisted. Better not to think too much about it. Thoughts like those had a way of growing teeth in the dark, turning into things that kept you awake long after the candles burned out.

Still, the unease lingered.

You stepped outside, boots crunching softly against the dirt as you made your way towards the town center to meet your friends.

Whiskey Falls was beautiful, it had always been enough.

There was the farmers’ market, bursting with fresh produce and the smell of baked bread. The general store stocked nearly everything anyone could need. The tailor shop where Manami worked, her hands crafting gowns so fine they looked almost too delicate to wear. The small doctor’s office where Shoko spent her days tending to patients, learning everything she could in hopes of becoming one herself.

There were smaller establishments too, each owned by someone who knew your name.

The sheriff’s office stood at the entrance of town, right across from the church. Stables lined the outskirts. A train station waited on the far end, bringing in letters and strangers alike. And at the heart of it all was the saloon.

Loud. Warm. Alive.

Your favorite place.

A place where laughter came easy, and secrets even easier.

Inside, Yuki sat at the bar, already waiting, her presence as bright as ever.

“Glad you’re finally here,” she said, grinning. You couldn’t help but smile back. Yuki had a way of doing that, lifting the mood without even trying.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” you said, lowering your voice slightly. “But wait until Utahime gets back.”

“I’m here,” Utahime announced, stepping behind the counter with a tray in hand. She set it down with a soft clatter before glancing between the two of you. “What’s going on?”

You leaned in. “Promise me you won’t repeat this.”

They both straightened slightly, your tone enough to tell them this wasn’t gossip. “I promise,” they said in unison.

You nodded.

“I overheard the sheriff and Father Clarke talking,” you began. “Something happened in Sourwater. A whole town gone overnight. No bodies, just blood everywhere.”

Nobody said anything for a second. Utahime’s fingers stilled against the counter.

“Satoru’s leaving town?” she asked, almost to herself, her hand instinctively clutching the fabric of her dress. Her feelings for him had always been complicated—something unspoken, lingering in the spaces between her words. One minute she was fine with him and the next she wanted to carve out his guts. 

“I think so,” you said. “He offered to go investigate. I just… I don’t know. What if whatever happened there—”

“Hey,” Yuki cut in gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t go thinking like that. Even if he leaves, we’re not helpless.”

She flexed her arm with a grin. “I can handle just about anything.” It wasn’t an empty claim. Years of ranch work had built her strength into something real, something reliable.

“And I’ve still got this,” Utahime added quietly, opening a drawer just enough to reveal the grip of a revolver. A gift from Satoru. Protection, in a world that didn’t always care for women’s safety.

You nodded.

Once, you would’ve thought it improper. Unladylike. Unholy, even.

But you had grown. You had seen enough to understand that sometimes survival mattered more than purity.

“Alright,” Utahime said after a moment, forcing a smirk. “Enough of that. Let’s talk about something better.” She leaned in slightly. “I overheard Mr. Smith earlier, turns out that hair tonic Mr. Matthews sold him?” she snorted. “Did the opposite.”

Yuki blinked. “No way.”

“Oh yes. Looks like we’ll be seeing that ridiculous hat of his a lot more often.”

Laughter broke the tension.

There had been rumors for weeks about Mr. Smith developing a small bald spot. One he tried so hard to hide beneath his perfectly combed, honey-blond hair. The kind people used to compliment. The kind he took pride in. Not so stunning anymore.

Served him right.

A month ago, he had laughed—loud and careless—at Ms. Arizona’s greying hair, calling it a sign of “giving up.”

Funny how things had a way of turning.

You glanced up at the clock, it was midday, and chores still waited back at home.

“I’ll see you both later,” you said, standing from your seat. “I’ll come back tonight after I’m done.”

Tonight was special.

The town would be celebrating Yuta—Satoru’s younger cousin—passing his qualifications to become a deputy.

A night full of music, drinks, and laughter. A night like any other.

You had spent the rest of the day tending to your duties.

Helping your father at the church, preparing his lunch, attending to anyone who walked through those front doors in whatever way you could. Offering kind words, small comforts, quiet guidance. Then, when the sun had begun its slow descent and you returned home, your work did not end.

You washed clothes until your hands smelled faintly of soap and worn fabric. You prepared dinner, the scent of it filling the house in a soft, familiar warmth. You swept every corner, pushing away dust that always seemed to return no matter how often you chased it out. And finally, you fed Gabriel and Mary.

Gabriel and Mary, your pets, your heart.

Gabriel was an American shorthair cat your father had rescued one stormy night years ago, soaked to the bone, trembling beneath the church steps as thunder cracked overhead. He had been so small then, barely more than a bundle of fur and fear. Now he moved through the house like he owned it, quiet and watchful.

Mary was different.

A beautiful beagle who had wandered into the church one afternoon while your father was in the middle of a sermon. You remembered it clearly—the way your father had been speaking about Jesus’s teachings, voice steady and full of conviction… and there she was, sitting right in the center aisle, ears perked, eyes fixed on him as if she were truly listening.

It had been funny. Sacred, in a strange way.

She never left after that.

They were both your treasure. Your babies. You didn’t know what you would do without them.

By the time everything was done, the house had settled into a quiet stillness.

So, while you waited for your father, you stepped into the bathroom, where the wooden tub rested against the wall. Filling it bucket after bucket with warm water, the soft sound of it pouring into the tub echoing gently in the small space. Steam began to rise, curling faintly in the air.

You undressed and stepped in.

The warmth wrapped around you instantly, sinking into your skin, easing the day’s exhaustion from your bones. You reached for the soap, lathering it between your hands before using the sponge to scrub away the dust and sweat clinging to you. Watching the bubbles gather across, thin and glistening.

Tonight mattered. It was important for Yuta.

He had been officially appointed by Satoru as a deputy. A title he had wanted for years, following closely in his older cousin’s footsteps. Training every day—horse riding until his legs ached, practicing how to tie and throw a lasso with precision, learning how to shoot until his aim became something near perfect.

He was a good kid, though not a kid anymore.

He had turned nineteen just three months ago. A man now, by all accounts. But to you he would always be that little boy knocking on your door, asking if you wanted to play.

You weren’t much older than him. Just recently turned twenty-four.

Back then, when time had been kinder, you would run through the fields together, wade into the river, disappear into the forest and pretend you were cowboys, living wild and free, untouched by responsibility.

But time changed things. It always did. There were no more games now. No more long afternoons without purpose.

Still, being there tonight mattered.

To show him that even if life had pulled you in different directions, you hadn’t forgotten him. That you were still there.

You stepped out of the tub, water dripping softly from your skin, and reached for the oil bottle resting on the top shelf. Keeping yourself clean was one thing. But neglecting your skin afterward felt almost careless. 

You poured a small amount into your palms, the scent of jasmine blooming instantly in the air. Soft. Sweet. Comforting. You smoothed it over your arms, your shoulders, your collarbone, watching as your skin caught the light with a faint, subtle shimmer.

There were no downsides to moisturizing the skin, none at all.

You dressed simply, a plain white blouse, soft and modest. A long, full skirt in a light pink with a delicate floral pattern that brushed gently against your legs. Long stockings beneath, paired with simple black boots.

It looked nice, casual. Nothing too captivating or that it would draw the wrong kind of attention.

When you stepped into the hallway, your father was already there, still dressed in his priest’s robes.

“Daughter…” he said, his voice softening as he approached you. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, warm and familiar, before he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you, father,” you replied, smiling up at him.

“I know you’re going out tonight,” he continued, “to celebrate your friend’s big day. But please, be careful.”

There was something in his voice.

“I will, father.”

“I know you will,” he said, offering a small smile. “You’re a good girl.” He reached into his robes. “Here… I got you something. Wear this tonight.” He placed a silver rosary around your neck, his fingers adjusting it gently so it rested just right.

You looked down at it.

“Thank you, father… it’s lovely.”

He nodded once, satisfied. “I’m glad you like it.” His tone shifted. “But there’s something else I need to speak to you about, my child.”

Your chest tightened.

“I know you were listening earlier. Outside the office. When I was speaking with Gojo.”

Your heart sank, not really expecting for anyone to have noticed you earlier. 

“I’m disappointed,” he said. Not harsh, but firm. “But that is not why I bring it up.”

You stayed quiet, waiting. 

“I’m sure you heard what we discussed about Sourwater,” he continued. “I will be leaving tomorrow with Gojo and a few of the men to investigate. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone… hopefully less than a week. I’ve left Junpei in charge of the church in my absence.”

“Junpei?” you repeated. “Isn’t he a bit too young for that kind of responsibility, father?”

“He may be young,” your father replied, “but he is capable. More than he lets on. I’ve seen him studying late into the night, practicing the Lord’s teachings in silence. He believes no one notices…” A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. “But I do.”

You considered that.

“I’ve had a good feeling about that boy for some time now. If he continues on this path… he may very well follow in my footsteps.”

You nodded slowly. “If you believe in him, then I will too. I’ll help however I can.”

“I knew you would,” he said gently. “Thank you, daughter.” He hesitated, just for a moment. “As I said… I’ll be leaving early in the morning. I wanted you to know before I go.” 

Then, softer he said. “Now go. Enjoy your night with your friends. Don’t stay out too late… and keep yourself out of trouble, my sweet child.” He took your hands in his, pressing a kiss into your palms.

You pulled him into a tight embrace in return, holding him just a minute longer than usual before stepping away, out into the night.

The saloon was full of life.

People were drinking, singing, couples swaying to the music, and somehow—despite all the noise—the older men still managed to sit at their table and play poker as if nothing around them mattered.

 Utahime had her hands full, pouring drink after drink, barely getting a moment to breathe. Riko played the piano, her melody lively and bright as a small crowd gathered around her, clapping, singing along.

The place was loud, messy and alive.

You spotted Yuta upstairs on the second floor, standing beside Satoru and Suguru, all three with beer bottles in hand.

“Congratulations, kid,” Suguru said, raising his drink before taking a long sip.

“Yuta!” you called, offering Satoru and Suguru a small nod of acknowledgment as you approached.

“You’re here!” he said, his face lighting up.

“Of course I am,” you smiled. “I wouldn’t miss your special day. Congratulations.”

“Thanks…” he muttered, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he scratched the back of his head.

“So… how does it feel?” you asked. “Getting the job?”

“Exciting,” he said. “Nerve-wracking too, but mostly exciting. I can’t wait to catch some outlaws.”

You laughed softly. “Of course that’s the first thing you’d want to do.”

“It’s the best part,” he grinned. “The action. The thrill of it all.”

You noticed Satoru and Suguru exchanging a glance behind him.

A silent cue.

“Alright, Yuta, I’ll catch you later.” you said gently, already making your way back down the stairs, scanning the room for Utahime.

She was behind the bar now, finally catching a break, her eyes still alert as she watched the crowd. Ready to step in if anyone got too rowdy, or if someone needed another drink.

“Utahim—”

“What. Is. That?!” a voice cut you off. It was Manani.

“Manami, long time no see,” you said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to see you too, sugarplum,” she replied, her tone sweet. Then her eyes narrowed. “But what is that you’re wearing?”

You blinked, glancing down at your outfit. “My clothes… what? Is there something wrong with them?”

“They’re hideous, sugarplum,” she said bluntly. “You look like you’re about to attend one of your father’s sermons.”

Before you could protest, she opened the bag she always carried with her. “This is why you always listen to your gut.” Manami handed you a small bundle of clothes. “Now go change. Immediately.”

“Manami… I can’t wear this,” you hesitated. “What would father say?”

“Mm-hm,” she waved it off. “In case you haven’t noticed, your father isn’t here.”

“But the people… they’ll talk. If he finds out—”

“The people are too drunk to remember their own names tomorrow,” she cut in. “And it’s a celebration. It’s not a sin to have a sense of fashion.” She pushed you into an empty back room, bracing herself against the door. “I don’t want to see you until you’ve changed.”

With a defeated sigh, you slowly removed the blouse and slipped into the new clothes. A pale cream corset with vertical stripes and small front buttons a pink shawl, and heeled lace-up boots in a light neutral tone. When you turned to face the vanity mirror you froze.

You looked… different, more striking, more noticeable.

Your shoulders bare, your figure shaped in a way you weren’t used to seeing. It felt foreign, yet strangely freeing.

This was wrong... wasn't it?

You swallowed, quietly hoping Manami was right, that no one would remember. “Manami, I’m done.”

The door swung open instantly.

“Well look at you, sugarplum,” she beamed. “Gorgeous. I knew that was the one. It matches your skirt perfectly.” She handed you lace gloves, then placed her cowgirl hat on your head. “There,” she said, satisfied. “Magnificent. How do you feel?”

You hesitated. “I feel ...different.”

She smiled. “That’s good. Different is good. You can’t stay in your comfort bubble forever.”

Manami guided you back into the saloon. The moment you stepped out, a few heads turned. Eyes lingered, some curious, some indifferent, some didn’t care. Maybe she was right.

When your friends saw you, they reacted instantly.

Shoko let out a playful whistle. “Well, look at you.”

“You look different…” Yuki said, then quickly waved her hands. “But in a good way! A really good way!”

“You look good,” Utahime added, pouring whiskey into five small cups.

“She looks perfect,” Manami chimed in proudly. “Another masterpiece.” She grabbed a glass and handed one to each of you. “To us.”

“To us,” your voices echoed, blending as the glasses clinked softly together.

You drank, and the night carried on.

Yuki ended up beside Riko, drunkenly singing along to the piano, a beer bottle loosely in her grip. Manami disappeared upstairs, no doubt entertaining herself with whoever caught her interest. Utahime leaned against the bar, barely awake, while Satoru talked endlessly beside her, oblivious to her slumbering form.

Shoko stayed close to you. Her hand resting in yours as the two of you caught up. It had been a while. You rarely saw her these days, always busy at the doctor’s office.

At some point during the conversation with Shoko, you noticed a woman with short black hair and glasses leaving, accompanied by a man with spiky hair and thick eyebrows.

Then the saloon shook. 

The doors burst open. 

Three men stepped inside.

The piano faltered for only a second before continuing. Conversations quieted, eyes turning towards the entrance. People stared—just for a moment—before pretending not to.

But the noise didn’t return the same. It dropped. Lower and uneasy.

You turned abruptly, Shoko’s grip tightening around your hand.

The men lingered by the door, taking in the room—watching, measuring—before making their way towards the bar.

One of them sat besides you.

Shoko’s hold on your hand hardened, protective. Utahime straightened, Satoru’s attention snapping to them instantly.

“What can I get you, fellas?” she asked, forcing calm into her voice.

“Give us the strongest liquor you’ve got,” the man besides you said. His voice was low and sharp.

“Coming right up.” Utahime moved quickly, grabbing a bottle, pouring into three glasses before retreating back to Satoru who was still watching them. 

You tried to continue your conversation with Shoko, keeping your voice low, but then a hand touched your shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss.”

You stiffened.

“Y-yes…?” you answered, your voice quieter now.

Up close, he was worse.

Dark jeans, worn thin at the knees. Black boots fitted with spurs. A holster at his waist. The gun gleaming faintly, its leather looking like snakeskin. A black shirt, a bandolier across his chest. A coat lined with fur. A hat pulled low.

Danger. Every part of him screamed it.

“Is there somewhere we can stay the night?”

You hesitated. 

“…There’s a hotel across the saloon,” you said slowly. “Near the bank. With a bathhouse… but…”

“But?”

“You shouldn’t be here tonight,” you murmured. “We’re celebrating someone, something important.”

He chuckled softly, lifting his drink.

You caught a better look at him. Pale-tan skin. Sharp, defined features. Hair a strange pinkish-salmon shade. And his eyes, red. Watching. Measuring. Hungry.

“Why not?” he said. “Some folks outside invited us in.”

You didn’t respond to that, instead asked, “…Do you need anything else?” 

His gaze dropped to your chest, to your rosary. His tongue clicked. “Nothing else for now, sweetheart.” He turned away.

You exhaled quietly, turning back to Shoko. Utahime watched you from behind the bar, worry clear in her eyes. Satoru hadn’t looked away from the men once.

“I think I’m going home,” you whispered. “It’s late.” You glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. Later than your usual sleeping hour.

“You should,” Shoko said softly. “I’ll see you soon again.”

“Goodnight,” you said, offering a small nod to the others before stepping outside. Leaving them behind with the strangers.

You didn’t sleep well that night. Not even close.

Your mind refused to quiet, thoughts tangling and twisting into darker shapes the longer you lay there. Every time you closed your eyes, your chest tightened. As if something was waiting for you in that darkness, just beyond reach.

So you didn’t let the dark take you.

You kept a candle lit beside your bed, its flame trembling softly, casting long, shifting shadows across the walls. You watched it for what felt like hours, afraid that the moment you blew it out something would come.

Gabriel had not settled either.

The cat sat perched near the window, body stiff, tail flicking slowly, his eyes fixed on the glass. Not blinking, not moving, just watching.

Mary had been worse. She paced back and forth, back and forth. A low, uneasy whine slipping past her throat every now and then, her ears twitching at sounds you couldn’t hear.

“Mary…” you whispered, your voice barely there.

She didn’t come to you, she stayed near the door. As if she didn’t want to turn her back on something.

At some point you swore you heard it. A soft sound outside your window. A faint disturbance in the grass.

Step.

Pause.

Step.

Too slow to be the wind. Too deliberate to be an animal.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stayed still in bed, listening, waiting, but nothing came after, only silence.

Eventually.

But not gently.

You hadn’t slept. Not truly. Your body ached with exhaustion, your eyes heavy, dark circles settled beneath them like bruises. The candle had burned low, its wax pooled and hardened on the metal tray you placed on your nightstand.

Gabriel was no longer at the window and Mary had finally laid down near the door.

But neither of them looked at ease.

The day didn’t wait, never did. There was work to be done, Junpei to assist, a church to tend to, and a prayer to give, one you suddenly felt desperate to be heard.

Outside your window, the grass slowly rose from where something had been. Beyond the reach of your candlelight, something had waited in the dark, watching you all night long.

  Last time you told him your cousin was in town and you had to show her around, he had shown up at your house the next morning and escorted you and her around in his brand new automobile. The time before that you had told him you had to work at the soda fountain, he had spent a few hours sitting at the counter during your shift then he had insisted on walking you home. And before that at your graduation he had asked you to come to a party for him and his twin Jin, you had had to go, he hadn’t left your side once and even had slung his muscular arm over your shoulders by the end of the night.

“I’ve got to wash my hair.” You know it’s a lousy excuse the moment it leaves your lips, but it’s all you got. 

“Alright,” he says, his lips pulled tight. He looks over his shoulder, the muscles in his neck tight. 

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

Your shoulders sink in relief as he leaves. How could you ever start seeing the boy who used to put gum in your hair and constantly mock you? What did he expect? For you to just forgive him, to let him take you out, even marry him? You had heard from Betsy Lawrence that Pete Corners had seen Sukuna looking at rings in the jewelry store. She had said while smacking her chewing gum. Grinning at you like you should be elated. You hadn’t reacted. You knew anything you said or did would be all around town by the next morning. And he would know.

You pulled your coat around you and left the post office. While you were glad Sukuna had left you alone, a ride in his automobile would have been nice. After all, it was early December. 

 The attack happens on Sunday, the war starts on Monday, and two days later it is not just Japan but the entire Axis powers. Just about every fellow old enough and able has already signed up. You're one of the first to hear that Sukuna has signed up. Your mother mentions that Mr. Itadori had mentioned that Sukuna had gone to register that morning when she dropped off some cookies. “Such a good boy,” she says, eyeing you. You keep stirring the green beans. 

“Mr. Itadori wants you to come to dinner at their home tomorrow night” she says. You lift your head in surprise. Sukuna was going to the city tomorrow, you knew that because of Betsy Lawrence. And Betsy was never wrong. 

“Alright,” you say quietly. Mr. Itadori was a kind man. His health was bad so everyone in the neighborhood tried to do the small things he asked for. What was one dinner? Besides, Sukuna wouldn’t be there. 

  The dinner was quiet. Jin was interesting and kind, but he looked so much like his twin, that you had a hard time looking at him head on. But Mr. Itadori kept the conversation going, talking about how the war would change the prices of things, how he suspected Mr. Jones of taking the neighborhood stray cat in, how he Mrs. Kilmeny wouldn’t stop pestering him to join her bridge group. You had to suppress a smile at that. Everyone knew how Mrs. Kilmeny was after Mr. Itadori after her husband had passed away two years ago. 

Mr. Itadori sat back in his chair, eyeing you. “Jin you can go call Kaori, if you want to.” 

“Really, pops!” Jin set up, his chair scraping against the floor. He was gone from the room before his dad could get another word out. 

You sat in silence. Your hands folded in your lap. Mr. Itadori looked at you hard, his brows furrowed.

“I know my boy is rough around the edges,” he says. Your throat goes dry and you wish you were anywhere but here. He sighs. “I never let him have what he wanted, he was so stubborn, it was always a fight.” You blink, squeezing your shoulders together. 

“It made him better, tougher. Jin didn’t get the same, but Jin was built different than Sukuna,” he pauses, but he keeps his eyes on you. You’re reminded of Sukuna and his predator eyes. “I know he’s been after you these past few years and I understand why you wouldn’t be interested, you’re a soft thing. But he’ll be shipping out in a few weeks.”

You wish you were home. You wish you hadn’t agreed to come to dinner. You wish you had never known the Itadori’s. You wish Sukuna had kept sticking gum in your hair, rather than trying to clumsily claim you. 

“Just one date. Let him take you out, the fellow will be in Paris Island in a few weeks or so.”

Why is he doing this to you?

“Just one,” he says. “Give him a memory to take with him to his training and to the war.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. If you were stronger, smarter, you would have said no. But you had been trained to obey, to submit to authority. Maybe if you had known, but how could you have known?

“Who knows," he says, “you may even start to like the bastard."

You see Sukuna the next day as you finish your shift at the soda fountain. He looks at you, his face looks harder somehow. Like he’s grown up, like he’s stopped being a boy.

“Hi Sukuna,” you say quietly. 

  He looks surprised that you talked to him without his prompting. But then his face settles into a mask of smug confidence. He says your name like it’s a prayer to some ancient goddess. “What have you been doing?” Sukuna asks you like he isn’t used to asking you questions. And he isn’t, you can’t remember a time when he ever asked you your feelings on anything. 

You give him a small smile. “I’ve been busy getting ready for the holidays. How about you, Sukuna? What have you been doing?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders back. “Signed up for the Marines. I’m going to basic training in two weeks.”

“Oh.” What are you supposed to say? Usually you would sit in silence while he would brag about himself. 

Sukuna rubs the back of his neck. He says your name again, low almost sweetly. “Would you like to go out for milkshakes tonight?” He asks. 

“I’d like that,” you say, blinking as you lie. 

 His pupils widened. Then a slow smile pulls his lips back. You’re reminded of a dog with a dead animal in its jowls. He steps closer, you freeze. Sukuna takes your chin in his fingers. His eyes are the color of dried blood, you notice.

“I knew you -” he cuts himself off, glaring at someone over your shoulder. You hear your Boss - Gladys making a little cough. 

You look at him, really look at him. You wish he was dead, dead in the war. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you internally wince like you touched a hot coal. How could you think such an awful thing? Even about Sukuna.

The date goes relatively smoothly. He picks you up in his automobile because the milkshake place is a town over. The ride is silent as you pick at a loose string in your sweater and he keeps his eyes on the road. But once you reach the ice cream parlor, still open in the dead of winter, he starts talking. He tells you about how Jin is signing up for the Navy, how Jin is planning to propose to Kaori. He pauses then and looks you over. He asks you what you think about marriage. You tell him what you think, you’d like a few years. He nods at that, like a rich man doing inventory over the things he owned. 

When he takes you home, he kisses your cheek, all slow, his mouth lingers on your cheek. The heat of his lips sears your cheek. But you do nothing. 

  The next time you see Sukuna, he’s shipping out for basic training. You stand on a dusty platform with the rest of the residents of your town. You feel him before you see him. Sukuna Itadori looms over you, then his mouth is on yours. He dips you back in a kiss, and then he is gone. 

Gone for good you hope. 

Then the first letter arrives. 

Hell, you had even gained a thing for Sokka for a while, and not once had you ever thought of Aang as a romantic interest, despite his many 'advances'.

You saw it then, in the way he would seek you out, always hanging around you, asking for your advice on waterbending, even though Katara was right there, the one person who actually knew combat waterbending, unlike you, who could only heal.

So you did your best to push him toward Katara, trying to free yourself from the burden of his feelings.

It had worked.

And how you regretted it.

Because the man who stood before you now, grinning ear to ear at the sight of your arrival, was someone you no longer recognized.

After the war had ended, you returned home to the Northern Water Tribe, where you were praised for your contributions in the war.

Which is why you had taken to teaching the younger female generations the beauty of water, passing down your learnings from Katara and Aang.

The elders had not been too pleased at your notion, but they didn't stop you either, reminding themselves of what Katara had changed within the misogynistic hierarchy of the tribe.

You spent those years teaching, learning, advising, not having much contact with your friends other than the letters you all exchanged.

Katara and Sokka would visit now and then, but the Southern Water Tribe girl stopped once her free time was redirected to developing Republic City. Sokka continued to visit with Suki, mostly to pay respect to a certain moon spirit.

You weren't in touch with Zuko, never having gotten too close with him. And Aang would send you letters more often than you had expected. But even those reduced over the years, only showing up on birthdays.

So now, nine years later, you finally decided to give a visit when you received an invitation from Aang, planning a reunion on the occasion that Republic City was an year old and flourishing.

You had agreed, because you wished to see your only actual friend you had made on your journey.

Toph.

The blind bandit had formed an unusual bond with you, mostly built around constant jokes and taunts towards the rest of the group.

So when you saw Toph upon arriving, you hadn't expected Aang to be standing there beside her with the others, towering over everyone else in his newly acquired form.

You couldn't even think straight as Aang and Katara led everyone to the inn all of you could stay in during your time there. After settling your stuff into your rooms, Aang had taken to showing all of you around.

You heard him for everything he had to say, paying more attention to him than you ever had. Your eyes hadn't left him once, watching him light up every time he spoke, waving his hands around animatedly towards all directions.

Fuck. His hands.

Asking what you would do with them was a stupid question, because what wouldn't you do?

You'd have them pressed to your tits all the time. Those warm hands that have mastered every element to the point of second nature, swirling wind, bending the earth, doing everything imaginable with ease.

How trained he would be with those hands. Maybe he would put his learnings to good use on your pussy, mimicking the elegant motion of his fingers over your clit as he kept you stuffed to the hilt, hopefully using his other hand to clamp your mouth shut.

Maybe he'd even let you take his fingers in your mouth, sucking and drooling around them to divert your attention from the fullness of his cock.

Your thoughts didn't let up even as night fell, by which you had completely soaked through the fabric of your underwear. The group had split up to retire for the night, holding a proper get together party at Katara's home the next evening.

The time before the party had been given to everyone for sight seeing, but you could barely make it out of bed, the previous night spent restless as a certain airbender plagued your mind, making your reach for your pussy for most of it.

What's worse is that you had to keep your moans to the lowest, too scared that Toph might sense you out from wherever her room was in the inn.

You never truly understood the extent of her power, you didn't even know if something like this would even be possible for Toph to sense, but you sure as hell didn't want to take any chances.

Before the get together, you had sat in front of the mirror to gather your thoughts. You had chosen to wear a henley much like what Toph had worn the day before, while beneath it you had put on a rather bold choice.

You had first seen Suki wear a miniskirt during her visit with Sokka at the Northern Water Tribe. Her choice of clothing was something you had questioned, trying to understand why she would wear swimwear while visiting such a cold place.

She had only sighed, explaining to you the growing trends of fashion in the newly developing city.

On her next visit, she had brought you your own.

You never wore it before, given the weather, but you had packed it, figuring the warmer weather of the city would make the skirt more bearable.

Arriving at Katara's home was hell, because not only had Aang opened the door on your arrival, he was bare from the waist up as he did so.

The blood had rushed straight to your cunt, trying not to blatantly look at his abdomen, or the hard planes of his chest.

"Wow, did your clothes run away?" You joked, craning your neck to look him in the eyes, not daring to avert your gaze elsewhere.

"I spilled my drink on it." Aang huffs, pouting a little which only made things worse on your end, wanting to bite his cheeks that puffed out a little.

"You didn't think to Air bend and dry it?" You ask, trying to remain composed even as your breath hitched, walking through the door as you stood close to him.

"That doesn't remove wine stains. Katara threw it in the wash." He answered, walking beside you as he led you to the stairs.

"You're drinking?" Your voice came out shocked.

"I was going to, but then Sokka bumped into me." He sulks yet again.

"I thought...Air Nomads do not drink."

"Well...I don't. But everyone has been asking me to try it once, so I agreed to do it today."

"Looks like I came on time." You tease, trying to meets his eyes but failing when he gave you the cutest smile ever.

You both had made your way upstairs, and you were very aware of just how short your skirt was. You wondered if Aang had looked at your ass as you walked in front of him, or had he diverted his gaze out of respect.

Either option had you pressing your thighs together, not daring to turn your head to see where his eyes lingered.

"Hey! You wore it!" Suki's voice had greeted you the moment you entered the room beside Aang.

She was talking about your skirt.

"Yeah. I have no where else to wear this." You had answered with a smile, looking a the spacious room, a low table in the center with food already set on it.

"It looks great!" Katara compliments you, to which you smile.

"Thanks!"

"Yeah, cute outfit!" Aang chimed in from behind you, making you turn to face him.

"...Thanks Aang." You had tried to keep it in, but your heart had practically leapt out of your chest as his voice.

"You're late!" Toph greeted you in her own manner, making you turn back around and roll your eyes at her.

"Oh! I am so sorry, ma'am."

"You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?" She commented, taking a chug of whatever was in her cup.

"Yep. Proudly too." You retorted with a grin walking towards the group.

Toph had taken one of the shorter ends of the table, sprawling comfortably in her spot while Suki, Sokka, and Katara settled along one of the longer sides. 

Across from them sat Zuko with an empty place beside him, which you claimed easily, folding your legs beneath you once you sat down.

And a part of you had hoped Aang would occupy the space that had been left empty on your other side, but you should have known better as you watched him take the opposing end of where Toph sat...right beside Katara.

Well, Zuko was technically also seated beside him, but it barely mattered when you watched Katara subtly close the distance between herself and Aang.

No one would have noticed it unless they had been observing closely.

Which you were.

You watched the two as the conversations picked up again around you, watching how Aang too scooched a little closer to Katara each time she said something.

It made you nauseous.

You had done this. You had practically thrown him into her arms all those years ago, and the karma of it had come to bite you in the ass.

It only made things worse that all you could think about in that situation was how gorgeous his abs were.

You could already imagine how nice they would feel against your cunt, rubbing mindlessly on them as those sinful hands of his would keep you pressed to him, grabbing the flesh of your hips to move you even faster, letting you cum on his skin. 

You watched as Aang finally took his first sip of whatever alcohol Sokka had poured for him, observing as he gagged at the taste of it, leading him to have a coughing fit.

While the others chuckled at his antics, Katara reached over to rub slow circles against his back, trying to ease him through the coughing fit.

It made you sick.

The sight of her hands against his bare skin. The ease with which he leaned into her touch, comfortable enough to accept it without thought.

And it only got worse when he turned slightly toward her while thanking her softly.

"Are you alright, Aang?" you asked, hoping to interrupt whatever quiet little moment had begun forming between them.

Aang looked over at you immediately, a sheepish smile pulling onto his face.

"Y-yeah. Just need a m-minute," he managed, his voice still rough from coughing as he tried to steady his breathing.

You simply nodded, masking your satisfaction beneath a look of concern when Aang motioned for Katara to stop, quietly insisting he was alright now. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away and settled back into her place beside him.

It was around 10 minutes later when the effects of whatever amount of alcohol had managed to bypass Aang's throat had started to take effect.

A warm flush spread slowly across his skin, staining not only his cheeks but trailing down the length of his neck and across his chest in soft patches of pink.

You tried not to stare at him.

Without the excuse of him talking animatedly or moving around the room, admiring him so openly would have been far too obvious.

But, the sight of his lightweight body unable to withstand a shot of alcohol had you squirming in your seat, knowing your pussy was actively soaking your panties as the conversations continued. 

Aang had long since stopped participating in the conversation, now hunched over the table with his face buried into his folded arms while the others continued talking around him. 

Every few minutes, Zuko would slide another glass of water toward him, insisting it would help flush the alcohol out of his system.

Aang only mumbled that he was fine, though his words slurred slightly when he complained that he had not expected to feel so "floosy" after a single sip.

You on the other hand, were burning. Your pussy was desperately clenching around nothing, dripping on the flimsy fabric, as you now regretted wearing the skirt.

Aang's drowsy posture had given you something entirely new to admire. The broad slope of his shoulders, the defined muscles shifting faintly beneath his skin whenever he adjusted against the table, the elegant curve of his back disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

It took everything in you not to stare openly.

Your thoughts drifted embarrassingly fast, fixating on the sight of his back and imagining what it would feel like beneath your hands.

You fantasized how desperately your nails would claw at his back as he pushed his cock into you, fucking your fervently.

Or maybe he'd let you rest your legs over his shoulders as he ate you out, driving his tongue into you which will make your heels dig into his back, only pushing him closer. 

Maybe he would even make you squirt? He was quiet talented at waterbe—

Your thoughts came to an abrupt halt the moment Aang pushed himself upright, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before slowly making his way out of the room.

You lifted your wine glass toward your lips, eyes instinctively following him until he disappeared down the hallway, turning left once he stepped out.

Only then did you take another sip, absentmindedly humming in agreement to whatever Toph had just said.

Your attention was divided between the room and Aang. And the heat between your thighs had become unbearable to the point you had to take care of it. 

A few minutes later, you finished the last of your wine and set the empty glass aside before excusing yourself as well, adjusting your skirt once you rose to your feet.

You followed the same path Aang had taken earlier, slower with your steps this time, though upon reaching the hallway you quickly realized the restroom was empty.

You only shrugged to yourself before slipping inside anyway, locking the door behind you and closing the seat before sitting down, hiking your skirt up around your waist.

You spread your legs wide enough to let your hand slip inside, sliding your panties to the side to bury two fingers deep.

You were so slick and hot, it was almost pathetic. 

Your fingers did absolutely nothing in comparison to the fantasies you'd built of Aang doing this to you.

Leaning back, you began pumping your fingers, but the ridiculous amount of wetness made it difficult to find any real friction against your pussy. 

It was frustrating, yet amusing; you had drenched yourself to the extent that you could barely feel your own fingers rubbing against you.

Nonetheless, the need to have your cunt filled was somewhat satisfied, letting your fingers curl pathetically against the spot you probed for a quick, desperate orgasm.

The pressure built relentlessly, and with it, your voice. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress the sounds, but the rising heat was too much; a few desperate whimpers slipped past your teeth despite your best efforts.

It was only when you heard two giggling whispers close by that you froze. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes widening in a flash of panic as you forced your body to go still.

Judging by the voice, one of them was definitely Suki.

Had she and Sokka slipped away for some privacy?

You sat up straighter immediately, halting every movement as you listened more carefully.

"Oh come on! Isn't it time already? You've liked each other longer than Sokka and I have even been together."

"That doesn't mean we're compatible! You've seen him...he's always busy being the Avatar..."

Katara.

You nearly stopped breathing.

Carefully, you stood up and adjusted your skirt, suddenly far more aware of every tiny sound you made while crossing the bathroom floor. Your hand remained clamped tightly over your mouth as you moved closer to the door, pressing your ear lightly against the wood to hear them better.

"So? He's never going to stop being the Avatar! Does that mean you'll wait until he's on his deathbed?"

"No...I just don't want to become a burden. He already has so many responsibilities, I don't want to add myself to them."

"Katara! You've kissed, for Spirits' sake! And...didn't you have that one night..."

"Shh! Suki, Aang is still out here..."

"Sorry," Suki whispered, lowering her voice even further. "But didn't you?"

You could hear Katara hesitate before she answered.

"Yes...we did do that..."

You froze.

Nausea twisted violently in your stomach at the thought of Katara and Aang together like that, tangled together somewhere inside this very house.

"Then why aren't you two together yet? Did he just use you? Because I can absolutely beat some sense into him."

"No! Spirits, no." Katara sounded horrified by the suggestion. 

"It's my fault. I asked him not to talk about it again...to just put it behind us."

"Why?!"

"I panicked!" she admitted. 

"I really do love Aang, but afterward I just...felt cheap. I couldn't believe we had done something like that before even talking about our feelings properly."

Slowly, you pulled away from the door.

Your hand slipped from your mouth while something sharp and terrible settled into place inside your mind all at once, so sudden it almost felt divine.

That was it.

Your chance.

"What did Aang say?" Suki asked after a moment.

"He agreed," Katara murmured. "Although...now that I think about it, he did seem a little hurt by it."

"Oh Katara, I am so mad at you—"

"Shh!" Katara cut her off quickly. "We've already been gone too long, and we still need to pick up the food from the kitchen." 

Katara quickly hushed her again, dragging Suki away before her voice could rise any further.

Their conversation had given you everything you needed to know.

It seemed you had been terribly wrong about whatever existed between them.

They did not belong to each other, and that meant you could still do something about it.

You waited another few minutes before leaving the bathroom, taking the time to clean yourself up while listening carefully for the sound of their footsteps returning from the kitchen. 

Only once the hallway had gone quiet again did you finally unlock the door and slip outside.

You did not particularly care that your little trip to the bathroom had left you unsatisfied.

Because in the end, it had not been pointless.

As long as there was still a chance for you to have Aang, you could live with the ache between your thighs.

You quietly made your way back toward the room where everyone had gathered, relieved to find them distracted enough to not notice you lingering briefly behind the doorframe.

You only peeked inside long enough to check whether Aang had returned.

He hadn't.

The realization made a smile threaten at the corners of your mouth.

This was your only opportunity.

So you slipped away again, quieter this time, searching through the massive house floor by floor while the sounds of laughter and conversation faded further beneath you.

Only upon reaching the topmost level did you finally slow.

Just before stepping fully into the room, your attention caught on the open balcony doors inside it.

There he was.

Your expression brightened instantly at finally finding him, eyes fixed on the sight of Aang leaning against the railing alone, letting the cold night air wash over him while the city lights flickered below.

Just as you were about to take a step forward—

"Just what are you plotting?" 

Toph's voice came through, although quiet, held her usual fierceness.

You whipped around immediately, barely stopping the startled noise threatening to leave you before finally spotting the blind girl standing further down the hallway.

"Toph!" You hissed under your breath, pressing a hand against your chest before realizing what she had actually asked.

"I...was just making sure Aang was alright..." you answered quickly, which technically was not a lie, hoping it was bypass Toph's instincts.

Toph snorted.

"Yeah. Sure you were. Because you've always cared about him so much."

"Of course I do. He's my friend."

"Exactly," she drawled. "Your friend. Come on, at least try sounding convincing."

"I am not lying."

"Please." Toph folded her arms. 

"I may be blind, but even I can sense your desperation from across the house. 'Cute outfit!' 'Thanks, Aanggg.'" 

She mockingly pitched her voice higher during the imitation. "You were practically squealing."

Heat rushed straight to your face despite your irritation.

"And following after him?" She continued mercilessly. "Could you make it any more obvious? You're lucky everyone else in this house is dense enough to miss it."

You lowered your head slightly, irritation and embarrassment mixing unpleasantly inside your chest while Toph continued talking without pause.

"But not me. Since I am obviously the greatest Earthbender to ever li—"

Her voice rose noticeably toward the end of the sentence, forcing you to quickly slap a hand over her mouth before she could accidentally alert the entire floor.

"Fine, I get it," you whispered sharply. "Now can you please leave?"

Toph peeled your hand off her face with visible offense.

"Rude."

To your surprise, Toph's presence seemed to grow heavier beside you, the teasing tone disappearing entirely.

"You do know what you're doing is wrong, right?"

You paused, genuinely not expecting an actual lecture from her of all people.

"How is it wrong?"

Toph folded her arms. 

"First you reject him. Then you throw him toward Katara. And now that those two finally have something going on, suddenly you want him back?"

"Toph, we were kids," you argued quietly. 

"He's not still hung up over some rejection from when we were twelve. We're friends." You hesitated briefly before adding—

"And those two barely even have anything happening between them. I literally heard Katara admit it herself."

"Doesn't matter. It is still wrong."

"You're acting like I'm breaking them apart. They were never together to begin with!"

Toph clicked her tongue.

"You're still meddling. Worse, you're trying to steal him from your own friend."

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your composure intact.

"Toph," you said carefully, "you're supposed to be the sensible one here. Is it really my fault if, after all these years, Aang ends up choosing me?"

"What makes you so sure he will?"

"Because Katara already had her chance." The words left you more sharply than intended. 

"They've spent years dancing around each other and still nothing came out of it. I disappeared from his life completely, and somehow even that wasn't enough to push them together." You glanced toward the balcony again. 

"At some point, maybe you have to admit it's simply not meant to be."

"You can't be the judge of that."

"I'm not trying to be." You straightened slightly, smoothing your skirt back into place before lifting your chin. 

"Aang will make his own choice. And if he chooses me...then just know I was right." A faint smile touched your mouth.

Toph let out a slow breath through her nose.

You glanced toward her once more before stepping back toward the doorway leading to the balcony.

"Now go, Toph. I'm sure you don't want to become someone who meddles."

She clicked her tongue at that, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at turning her own argument against her, though after another moment she finally sighed and began walking away down the hallway.

Yeah.

She really was a good friend.

Unlike you.

You stepped into the room slowly, making sure your footsteps were loud enough to announce your presence rather than startle him.

Still, you saw Aang's shoulders tense slightly at the first creak of the floorboards behind him.

He turned around quickly. "Katara?"

The name struck harder than you expected.

But the moment he realized it was you instead, surprise softened into a smile.

"Hey..." His voice quieter now, softened by the lingering haze the alcohol had left behind.

You approached carefully as you joined him near the railing, sliding the balcony doors shut behind you to block out the noise from downstairs.

You smile up at him, trying not to show your irritation at the name he had called out.

"Hi, Aang. Are you alright? You've been gone for a while." You kept your tone light, sweet enough to avoid making him cautious.

"Yeah," he answered with a small laugh beneath his breath. "I just needed some air. Clear my head a little."

"I see." You rested your arms lightly against the railing beside him. 

"Feeling better now?"

"Much."

He smiled again before glancing back toward the streets below.

"I think we should've predicted you'd be a lightweight."

"Seriously. It felt like my head fell off after one sip." Aang laughed rubbing the back of his neck.

"You head seems to be on right at least." You muse, leaning your back against the railing, having your head turned towards him as you spoke.

"Yup! I feel like myself again! For the most part at least." He jokes, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"You certainly look like you do." You tease, your eyes drifting over him once more before returning to his face.

"Come on. Let's go back! You did find me after all...everyone must be waiting." He says, before stepping away from the railing.

He had barely taken more than a couple of steps before your hand reached out instinctively, fingers wrapping around his forearm to stop him.

"Wait, Aang!"

He stopped the moment your hand touched him, turning back toward you almost immediately while you gently pulled him to a halt.

"Everything alright...?" He asked, remaining where he was instead of pulling away from your touch.

"Yeah, I just...I wanted to talk to you about something." You slowly let go of him once he stepped back beside you again.

"Oh." Aang settled against the railing once more, patient as ever. 

"What's up?"

"Aang..."

Well fuck. You didn't actually think this through.

You had managed to get yourself up here alone with him, had spent the last twenty minutes convincing yourself this was your perfect opportunity, and now that he stood in front of you waiting so openly for whatever you wanted to say, you realized you had absolutely no idea how to make any of this work without sounding insane.

How exactly were you supposed to convince the boy you once rejected to choose you over the girl he had spent years being smitten with?

The girl he had apparently already shared a bed with.

Your teeth sank unconsciously into your bottom lip while nerves clawed their way through you, your throat tightening with the sudden realization of how pathetically desperate you must have looked tonight.

Toph had been right.

Spirits, she had been completely right.

You tried not to let any of it show on your face, but something must have slipped through regardless, because Aang picked up on it immediately.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Aang's voice softened immediately with concern as he stepped closer, one hand settling carefully against your shoulder in an attempt to pull you out of whatever spiral you had disappeared into.

The touch snapped you back to reality far too quickly, his touch sending a chill throughout your skin, his newly matured voice doing wonders for your already fuzzy mind.

It completely ruined your ability to think straight.

"Why didn't you ever visit me?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Aang blinked in confusion. "What...?"

Well.

You had already said it now.

There was no point trying to take it back.

"Everyone visited me. Or at least wrote to me often. You never did...and eventually your letters stopped showing up too."

Aang looked genuinely taken aback by that.

"Is that why you've been mad at me?"

You frowned slightly. "I've been mad at you?"

"You keep glaring at me, and you've barely talked to me since you got here." He admitted carefully.

Between obsessing over him and trying not to stare at him every five seconds, you may have completely forgotten to behave like a normal person around him.

In hindsight, perhaps openly glaring at Katara every time she touched him had not been particularly subtle either.

The realization made heat crawl straight up your neck, embarrassment settling uncomfortably in your chest at the thought of who else might have noticed your behavior tonight.

Though, considering Toph had described the others as "dense as rocks," perhaps you still had some dignity left intact.

But then again, you figured you could use that to your advantage.

"Yes. I am angry with you." You confirmed, averting your gaze, knowing damn well his absence in your life hadn't been significant either way.

Aang's expression fell almost immediately.

"I'm sorry. You never wrote back and I just thought..." He hesitated briefly before laughing awkwardly under his breath.

"I don't know. I thought maybe you hated me." Aang admits, trying to convince you he didn't do anything deliberately.

"Why would I hate you, Aang?"

Your voice softened deliberately around his name while you turned your face again, grateful for the lingering effects from the wine making your flushed appearance seem far more believable.

"I don't think my heart could ever hate you," you murmured. "No matter what you did."

"That means a lot to me. Really."

You nearly frowned when Aang completely missed the implication behind your words, smiling instead at what he clearly believed was simple affection.

"I know I annoyed you a lot back then," He continued with a sheepish laugh. "Following you around and all. I just thought you didn't like me."

You knew he did not mean 'like' in a romantic sense.

Though even if he had, he would not have been entirely wrong.

"I did like you, Aang," you admitted softly. "I think...I admired you more than I wanted to."

His looked taken aback at that.

"At first, I honestly couldn't stand any of you," you continued with a quiet laugh. "Watching you and Katara run around the North Pole disrespecting centuries of tradition nearly drove me insane." 

You shook your head lightly. 

"But I'm grateful for it now."

"I heard you started your own academy for women."

The pride in his voice made warmth bloom annoyingly in your chest.

"Yes. Alongside healing, I teach combat to anyone interested in learning." A faint smile crossed your face. 

"For that, I only have you and Katara to thank. Which is why..."

You let your voice trail off after that, deliberately avoiding his eyes while your fingers traced absent patterns against the railing, hoping it would make him more curious. 

And it does, almost predictably so.

"Which is why?" Aang prompted gently.

You hesitated just long enough.

"Which is why it hurt when you never showed up."

The apology appeared on his face instantly.

You could see it in the subtle stillness that overtook him, in the way his hands loosened against the railing as though guilt had slipped into his bones before he could defend himself.

"I thought you didn't want me there." He admitted quietly. 

"You never answered any of my letters, and after a while I just..." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head once. 

"I didn't want to bother you."

A smile touched your mouth, carrying just enough sadness to make him regret the sentence before it had even finished leaving him.

"You could never bother me."

The night air drifted between you both, carrying distant sounds from the streets below, though they hardly reached the balcony anymore. 

His attention had settled entirely onto you now, patient and open in the way only Aang could be, and you hated how easy it was to pull him in once he decided to listen.

"I kept thinking you'd visit eventually," You continued.

"Every few months someone would arrive at the tribe and for a moment I'd convince myself it would be you." A quiet laugh escaped you. 

"Sokka and Suki came whenever they could. Katara visited enough that the children started asking when she would return. Even Toph showed up once and insulted half the tribe before she left."

That finally earned a laugh from him and you waited for it to fade before looking up again.

"But never you."

The amusement disappeared from his expression so quickly it almost made you feel cruel.

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

"I think I just expected you to know."

You softened the line the moment it landed, turning your head away before it could sound accusatory.

"Aang" and "knowing" had always belonged together. 

He noticed every frightened child, every wounded stranger, every person trying too hard to pretend they were alright. 

You were counting on that part of him now, feeding it carefully until he began searching your face for things you had not yet said.

"Spirits. This sounds embarrassing now." You say, covering your face with your hands.

"No, it doesn't."

The answer came too quickly, and so did his hands as they rested on yours, pulling them away from your face.

"Back then, you always pushed me away. You never really took me seriously whenever I..." A small laugh escaped him, awkward and fleeting. 

"I thought it meant you didn't want me around."

You looked at him for a moment before smiling faintly.

"Aang, we were children."

The embarrassment on his face deepened instantly.

"You were running around the world flirting with every girl who smiled at you."

"That is not true."

"Suki told me you tried to impress the Kiyoshi Warriors by flexing your staff."

"That was one time. I had never been around people who admired me before."

"You asked me if I thought your tattoos made you look mysterious."

"That—! That was Sokka's idea of— Ugh..." Aang groaned quietly into his hand while you laughed under your breath, watching the tension ease from him little by little.

"You were impossible, of course I didn't take you seriously." You chuckled.

"But...you do now?"

There it was.

Just a sliver of hope in his voice.

You waited, hesitating for a good anticipating moment before you spoke.

"I just...I think somewhere along the way...you stopped being a boy I simply found...amusing."

The honesty in that sentence unsettled him. His attention lingered on you, trying to read through your expression and failing each time you softened before giving too much away.

"You still could've written back to me." He muttered, though the guilt had not left him entirely.

"I know." You sighed lightly, searching your head for a believable excuse.

"But after the war ended, everything changed so quickly. You had a city to build. Katara stayed beside you. Sokka had Suki. Zuko was ruling an entire nation. Toph disappeared into whatever cave she crawled out of. " A smile tugged briefly at your mouth. 

"I suppose I convinced myself there wasn't really a place left for me."

"That's not true." 

"Isn't it?" You shot back instantly.

You did not say it bitterly. It was important not to do so. You couldn't show any anger or place blame. 

"You all built something together here while I stayed behind in the North teaching children how to heal sprained wrists."

"You did more than that."

"I know," you answered gently. "But it's different hearing about someone's life through letters instead of being part of it. And every time your letters became shorter, I told myself it was normal. You were growing into someone important. But..."

You paused again, and you knew every time you did so was nipping at his curiosity.

"You were important to me, Aang."

His throat shifted around a swallow.

"You were important to me too."

"Were?"

The correction slipped out playfully, but it struck him all the same. You watched realization move through him at once, watched him stumble over himself trying to fix it.

"Are. I meant are."

You let him have the recovery, lowering your eyes with a quiet smile that rewarded him for it.

"I know everyone needs something from you now," you said after a moment. "The council needs the Avatar. Republic City needs its founder. Whole nations probably line up waiting for a piece of your time." 

His attention was rooted to you. 

"But I didn't miss the Avatar."

He had gone entirely still beneath your words, waiting for you to finish your sentence. 

You slowly moved, catching him off guard as you softly took his hands in yours.

"I missed you."

You could practically feel him trying to make sense of it, trying to decide whether this ache blooming inside his chest had always been there or whether you had placed it there yourself.

"You...make it sound like I abandoned you..." He admitted, though there was no defensiveness in it.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him through your lashes.

"Didn't you?"

"Aang!" A voice echoed faintly somewhere inside the house, muffled by walls and distance. 

Katara.

You felt the interruption scrape across your nerves, but you did not let it show.

Instead, your thumb brushed once against the inside of his wrist, subtle enough to feel accidental.

His attention remained on you.

Interesting.

"I know you had your reasons." You continued gently, lowering your voice until it almost blended into the wind around you. 

"You've always done what everyone else needed first. I think that's why people expect you to wait forever for them."

Something unreadable passed through him then, because he understood exactly what you meant even without hearing her name.

"And what do you need?" He asked.

There it was.

Not the Avatar speaking.

Just Aang.

You let the silence play out for a while before finally moving your hand from his wrist and sliding it slowly into his palm instead, holding it facing up.

"I think, I wanted to know whether you would've chosen me if I had asked you to stay." You said softly,

"...Stay where?" His breath got heavier, very aware of your hand in his. You moved to use both your hands to hold one of his, bringing it closer to yourself with every word you spoke.

"With me? Continue to be a part of my life?" You say with a tilt of you head, brining his hand even closer till his fingers were barely grazed your stomach.

It was only when you slid his hand down, letting it slip under your skirt did he react. His breath hitched a sharp, stifled gasp and a deep flush crept across his face, catching him completely off guard.

"Wait—" 

Aang barely managed his protest before you smoothly cut him off with your own plea.

"I needed you, Aang. And I still do."

You really did.

He felt the heat of you, letting out an audible hiss at the touch. You weren't just warm; you were burning, so soaked that the fabric covering you had long since lost its purpose.

To test the waters, you removed your hands from the equation.

To your surprise, Aang does not pull his hand away, resting it right where it was, fingers pressed into the drench fabric.

You shifted, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a deep embrace that forced him to hunch over and rest against you. 

As you pulled him close, his face instinctively tucked away, hiding the sheer embarrassment of having his hand still buried between your thighs.

He could have moved. He should have. Yet, he stayed.

And he only melted further into you when your voice added—

"I really need you...Aang."

Apparently it had been enough to set him off, as you felt his fingers slip past the fabric failing to hold your desire, and his touch began experimental movements across the length of your folds, testing just how wet you really were.

"Hahh...!"

A breathless huff escaped you. The sensation of his fingers was far better than any fantasy had led you to expect.

Aang still hid his face against the curve of your neck, but you could feel his warmth radiating against you. 

The sweat that had beaded on his forehead, cutting through the arrow, now getting smeared onto you.

It didn't bother you not when you could feel his ragged, confused breaths fanning against your skin.

Dropping one arm from around him, you slid it between your thighs, pressing yourself against his hand to encourage him to dip inside.

He complied, though with a heavy hesitation, taking a few agonizing seconds to decide which finger would breach you first.

A moan escaped you, only to be stifled as you bit down hard on his shoulder. The memory of Katara looking for him just moments ago flashed through your mind.

You silently wished the fellow Water Tribe girl wouldn't ruin this moment for you.

Not when you were so close to having him.

Aang remained pressed against your shoulder, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. The frantic beating of his heart was uncontainable, and he knew you could surely feel the thud of it against your own skin.

His mind drifted to Katara. He remembered when they had finally seemed to have something, only for her to put a hold on it never speaking of it again, acting as if nothing had changed.

But you were right here, soaking his hand with a heat that was clearly a desperate need for him.

Sure, you had turned him down, but you were kids! And he was annoying and unserious back then.

And he had insulted your tribe's customs, likely offending you far more than he had ever intended.

He had spent so long thinking you hated him, never realizing that you had been caring for him all along.

And he had denied you that care, never once coming to visit.

He was torn.

He was caught between the woman who had shut him down when they were children, the one he held right here beneath his fingers, and the woman he had spent nearly a decade with, only to be turned away just as they had finally made progress.

Unable to decide, he forced himself to focus on the way you wrapped around his fingers, feeling the warmth of your honeyed walls clinging tightly to him.

"Have you...done this before?"

Your voice came in a breathless rasp, finally pulling away from his shoulder where you had been biting down to muffle your cries.

He couldn't be dishonest with you, but his voice failed him; instead, he answered with a silent nod.

You felt the small, hesitant shake of his head against your shoulder. You already knew his answer, after all you had overheard enough of Katara's words to lead you to this very moment.

"Would you like to...tell me who...it was?"

You pressed the question, struggling to keep your moans contained as your focus drifted from the slow pumping of his fingers.

Fuck...he was doing so good.

Aang still couldn't find his voice; worse, he felt too exposed, too shy to answer. 

He found a strange comfort in the way you gave him an option. You hadn't demanded a name or forced him to relive the details; you had simply asked if he wanted to share.

He figured that since you cared for him so deeply, you would never hold his past against him. With that thought, he responded with a small shake of his head.

He disagreed.

If you hadn't already known about him and Katara, his disagreement to sharing the name would have bothered to no extent. But knowing the truth made his hesitation sting. 

Still, in this moment, his reluctance only worked in your favor.

You shifted your weight, swapping your arms; you replaced the one draped over his shoulders with the one that had been aiding him, bringing it down to join his hand between your thighs. 

Your now free hand reached up to his head, stroking softly against his skin as you whispered—

"Okay. You don't have to tell me."

You spoke softly, a gentle balm intended to soothe his nerves.

Minutes passed as his fingers continued their work, though in the lulls, he opened his eyes to gaze at the city sprawling below.

Even though they were on the topmost floor of Katara's home, they weren't entirely invisible. They weren't high enough to be truly hidden; while a passerby at this hour was rare, it wasn't far from impossible. 

If anyone were to look up, they would find the Avatar in a very compromising position.

But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when it felt like he was searching for the lost puzzle piece of his life inside your cunt. 

You on the other hand were thoroughly enjoying yourself, completely dazed under Aang's tentative touch.

But of course, it was only a matter of time before someone had to ruin it.

You didn't see who it was; all you noticed was the sudden creak of the door as the corridor light spilled into the room, a sharp intrusion that made you instinctively push harder against Aang.

"Someone is here, Aang straighten up!" you ordered in a hurried whisper. He barely seemed to register the command, so you pushed against his shoulders with renewed urgency, forcing him to straighten up and take a frantic step back.

"Oh! There they are!" Sokka's voice cut through the silence, muffled and faint behind the balcony door. You knew you only had a few seconds before he made his way over.

Moving with desperate grace, you caught Aang's hand, guiding it out from inside you. 

You brought his hand up to your face, and he watched, mesmerized, as you used both hands to direct him.

You pressed his slick fingers against your lips, observing his wide eyes as you slowly dragged the wetness down, your bottom lip bouncing back into place as the finger passed.

His first real reaction came when you took those same fingers into your mouth, cleaning them with a slow, deliberate sweep of your tongue before letting them fall.

His lips pressed together in a tight, pained line as you licked your own, wiping your tongue across your bottom lip while keeping his gaze locked onto yours. 

It was only when Sokka finally swung the balcony door open that you used a free hand to casually wipe the remaining moisture from your mouth.

"Do you have any idea how long we've been looking for you?"

Sokka's voice came first. You still could not properly see him with Aang standing between you and the entrance, though the annoyance in his tone painted the expression well enough.

"Why would you guys come all the way up here?"

Katara spoke next.

Instinctively, your attention flicked back toward Aang, searching immediately for some reaction at the sound of her voice.

There was none.

He remained entirely absorbed in the moment you had dragged him into, eyes fixed stubbornly on your mouth as though he still felt your lips around his fingers. 

And because he was looking at you so devotedly, you knew you could not risk letting your satisfaction show.

So you put on a usual cheeky smile.

Leaning slightly to the side, you finally stepped into view of the Water Tribe siblings.

"Katara! Sorry for intruding around your house," you said easily. "I just needed some air and ended up finding Aang here."

You smiled sweetly while speaking to her.

"It's alri—"

Katara barely managed half the sentence before Aang interrupted unexpectedly.

"Could you guys give us a moment?"

Even while speaking, he never looked away from you.

"What?" Sokka laughed. "You guys talking about something we're not allowed to hear?"

The joke landed far closer to the truth than he realized.

"We were discussing your birthday present," you answered smoothly before Aang could attempt it himself. "You don't want us ruining the surprise, do you?"

The lie came easily, effortless beneath your smile.

"Oh, sweet." Sokka grinned immediately. "Come on then, you two. Aang's still not off the hook for abandoning his drink after one sip."

You nodded along lightly at his teasing.

"Come on, Katara."

He motioned toward his sister, though Katara still had not taken her eyes off Aang.

"Your robes are clean now," she told him quietly. "You can dry them out and put them back on."

She was waiting for him to answer.

You truly expected him to.

But after several seconds passed in silence, with Aang still standing there looking entirely lost in you, you finally spoke for him instead.

"He'll be there in a minute," you said gently.

Katara's expression shifted almost imperceptibly at that, though all she gave in response was a small nod.

The siblings eventually turned away, disappearing back through the doorway.

You missed the way Sokka's smile slowly faded the moment they left the room, suspicion settling quietly beneath his expression.

The second they disappeared from sight, you turned back toward Aang and lifted your arms around his shoulders, slowly pulling his face closer to yours.

"Aang..."

He said nothing.

For one horrible second, you genuinely wondered whether you had pushed him too far, whether everything you had carefully built tonight had finally cracked beneath the weight of your own desperation.

Still, you forced yourself to continue.

"I have certain feelings for you, and..."

You let the sentence trail off deliberately, lowering your eyes for only a moment to see whether he would follow.

He did, meeting your eyes quickly.

"...If you feel the same," you continued softly, "or even if you don't...I would rather you tell me honestly instead of making me guess."

He still doesn't say anything, and suddenly you became painfully aware of the fact he still was not touching you back. 

His hands remained tightly wrapped around the balcony railing while he stayed slightly hunched within your hold, breathing harder than before yet making no move toward you at all.

So you leaned in first.

Your lips barely brushed his, letting it rest against him softly, giving him every opportunity to close the distance himself if he wanted to.

You waited.

But when nothing came from him, you slowly pulled away again, forcing yourself to accept the rejection with whatever dignity you still had left.

You released him completely after that.

Without another word, you moved past him and made your way back toward the room alone, fixing your appearance along the way while trying not to think too hard about the humiliation burning through your chest.

By the time you reached the room again, Zuko was approaching from the opposite hallway carrying a rolled mattress beneath one arm.

"You're staying over?" You asked quietly, falling into step beside him.

"We all are," he answered simply while pushing the door open. "Sokka's idea."

"Let me help."

You moved beside him automatically, helping spread the mattress across the floor while the others continued setting up the rest nearby.

Several minutes later, Aang finally returned.

The moment he stepped back into the room, nearly everyone looked up toward him automatically while Katara quietly approached with his robes folded neatly in her arms, still slightly damp from washing.

"Thanks..." he says, accepting them with a small smile though noticeably avoiding her eyes.

With one absent motion of his hand, warm air rushed through the fabric until the remaining dampness vanished completely, pulling the robes back on quickly.

"You're staying over, right, Aang?" Katara asked him.

Aang let out a distracted hum first, clearly taking a second to even process the question.

"Y-yeah! Yeah, I'll stay." He answered.

Then he moved toward the others to help arrange the remaining mattresses across the floor.

You noticed immediately how carefully he avoided looking at you.

Humiliation crawled so violently through your chest that for one awful moment you genuinely thought you might burst into tears right there in front of everyone.

So, you decided to play your final card.

After finishing helping Toph with one of the mattresses, you slowly rose to your feet. The others remained distracted arranging blankets and arguing over sleeping spots, giving you the perfect moment to speak.

"I'm sorry, guys." You said quietly, right before the final mattress could be laid down properly. 

"I think I'll head back to the inn for the night."

Almost immediately, Suki looked up in concern, her attention catching on your agitated expression.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." You forced a faint smile. 

"I don't think the wine sat right in my stomach, and I'd rather be alone before it gets worse."

The excuse sounded embarrassingly pathetic even to you, though thankfully nobody questioned it.

You had barely managed three steps toward the hallway when Aang's voice suddenly cut through the room behind you.

"Wait—"

The word came out louder than he intended, pulling the attention of everyone gathered across the floor. Conversations halted almost immediately, Sokka halfway through unfolding another mattress while Suki looked up from where she sat beside him. 

Even Katara paused mid movement, fingers still curled around the edge of folded blankets.

Aang looked momentarily caught off guard by the silence he had created, standing near the doorway with his robes hanging loosely from his shoulders. 

His eyes found yours first before quickly shifting toward the others.

"I'll be back. I'll just walk her back. It's late." He said, clearing his throat once.

You stopped at the sound of him volunteering himself so quickly, though you made sure not to turn around immediately. 

The smile threatening to betray you curled against your mouth before you forced it back down, lowering your head just enough to hide it beneath the curtain of your hair.

Behind you came the soft sound of approaching footsteps.

You finally glanced sideways once his presence settled near enough to feel, only to notice your shadow disappearing beneath his entirely, swallowed whole against the wooden floorboards.

"Let's go."

You nodded softly before leaning sideways toward the room, offering everyone one last smile.

"Goodnight."

A chorus of sleepy replies followed, though the atmosphere had shifted too strangely.

You stepped into the hallway first, Aang close behind you.

Perhaps Katara already understood he would not be returning tonight. 

Perhaps all of them did.

Because right before Aang had pulled his robes back on, the mark you left behind had not gone unnoticed.

The bite pressed near his shoulder stood out plainly against his skin for one terrible second before fabric covered it again, though one second had been more than enough.

Enough for Sokka's expression to flatten beneath confusion.

Enough for Suki's eyes to widen before she quickly looked away.

Enough for Katara to go completely still.

No one spoke of it.

They simply resumed around the absence, voices awkwardly finding each other. 

Toph remained the only one untouched by the shift in atmosphere, still arguing with Zuko over where she wanted to sleep while the rest of them waited quietly for the Avatar's return despite knowing, somewhere deep down, that he would not be coming back anytime soon.

The walk back to the inn passed beneath a suffocating silence, neither of you quite knowing what could possibly be said after what had happened on that balcony.

Aang stayed half a step ahead the entire way, shoulders tense beneath his robes, attention fixed stubbornly on the empty streets ahead rather than you. 

You noticed it after the second block.

His hand.

The same hand that had been between your thighs less than half an hour ago kept flexing at his side every few moments, fingers curling tightly into his palm before releasing again, restless and agitated.

Once, he nearly lifted it toward his face before abruptly stopping midway, jaw tightening faintly as he forced it back down again.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.

Because despite the distance he was trying so desperately to create between himself and what happened, his body had already betrayed him entirely.

By the time you reached the inn, the silence between you had grown so dense it nearly felt tangible.

Aang stopped only once the two of you stood at the entrance, the lantern hanging beside gate casting a dim glow across the side of his face. 

For the first time since leaving Katara's house, he finally looked at you properly.

"Okay. Goodnight." He said after a moment.

You watched him step past you.

And just before he could get too far, you finally spoke.

"Come to my room, Aang."

He stopped instantly.

For a second he did not move at all, standing there with his back turned toward you before slowly facing you again. 

The flush across his face had not faded in the slightest, still spread stubbornly over his cheeks and ears while confusion sat plainly beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly.

"Did you really come all this way just to say nothing?"

Aang opened his mouth briefly, only for whatever response he meant to give to die somewhere before reaching his tongue. 

His attention slipped away from you again, landing somewhere near the floor while his hand flexed once more at his side.

Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you.

You turned before he could second guess himself, walking down the hallway with measured steps while his followed close behind you. 

Neither of you spoke as you unlocked the door, pushing it open before stepping aside to let him enter first.

Aang hesitated slightly before walking in.

You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for one brief moment, fingers still curled around the handle while your heartbeat thundered violently against your ribs.

Because all you could think now was—

It was now or never.

"Aang." You call out softly, just his name, testing the weight of it.

He flinches like you've struck him. His shoulders drop, his head bowing as if he's suddenly carrying the weight of the entire world again. 

"I shouldn't be here," he whispers into the quiet of the room, his voice cracking enough to show how close he is to snapping. 

"I should go back. It's not right, and—"

"It's not right," you interrupt, your voice dropping an octave. You take one step closer, watching him tense. 

"But you want to stay. You want this so badly it's making you tremble, Aang."

He lets out a ragged, broken sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he finally looks up. His eyes are wide and desperate with of confusion. 

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" You're in his space now, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. 

You reach out, your fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his robes along his collarbone where you bit him earlier. 

He shudders at the proximity, his breath hitching. 

"You can go back to being the perfect Avatar, the perfect friend, the perfect everything. You can walk out that door right now and pretend this never happened."

You lean in closer, your lips brushing his ear, your voice a velvet promise. 

"But you won't. Because for the first time in your entire life, you're going to choose what you want. Not what's right or expected of you. Just what you want."

You pull back enough to catch his gaze, your eyes dark with the truth of it. 

"So tell me, Aang. Are you really going to walk out that door?"

He moves away from you, crossing to reach your bed.

Aang sinks onto the edge of your bed, burying his face in his hands as if he can squeeze the conflicting thoughts right out of his skull. 

You move to sit beside him, your thigh brushing his, and the way he flinches even now makes your pulse thrum.

"Why is this bothering you so much?" You ask softly, your voice a gentle caress against his turmoil.

"It's not..." He chokes out the lie, his fingers digging into his scalp. 

"It's just...everything changed. The way I look at you, the way you look at me it's like the world shifted and I don't know where my feet are supposed to land."

He turns his head, searching your face for something an explanation, a reason.

He finally asks—

"What do you need from me?"

You paused, not having expected it but grateful for his question nonetheless.

"I just want you." You say simply.

He stares at you, eyes wide and searching, trying to untangle the knots you've tied in his mind. 

You don't make him wait. 

You stand, moving between his knees as you straddle him, settling yourself firmly in his lap.

His hands hesitate in the air, fingers twitching as if they want to catch you, to hold you and then they drop, fists clenching at his sides as he forces himself to stay still.

"I will give you everything you want, Aang," You promise him, leaning in until your breath fans over his lips. 

"I will never disappoint you. I'll give you a home. Children. A safe place where you can just be Aang. No burdens."

The silence that follows is different, heavy with the weight of the life you've just offered him. 

Finally, he finds his voice. 

"Why...?"

"Because I want to." You say, the words sure and steady. 

"I want to be your wife."

Aang's entire body stills. 

His eyes widen, his breath hitching in his throat as if you've just knocked the wind out of him. 

"Why...why would you want that?" He sounds genuinely lost, as if you've just spoken a language he doesn't understand.

"Because..." You hesitate, letting out a chuckle as you see him unconsciously lean closer in patience.

"I love you," you say, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, closing your eyes. 

"And I want you to be free."

You stay there for a moment, letting the weight of your confession settle. 

When you pull back, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read.

It was something between awe and sheer terror.

For a long painful while, Aang said nothing at all. 

His eyes slowly slipped shut, his head lowering slightly while his fingers tightened into fists. 

You watched the conflict move across his face in, watching him sit there trying to untangle every thought pulling him apart from the inside.

And suddenly, fear crawled its way up your spine. It truly felt possible that he might pull away from you completely.

"You will have to come live in Republic City," He says quietly.

You were snapped out of your wallowing thoughts. 

When you finally replayed the moment, his sentence barely registered.

You were still too focused on the fear twisting inside your chest, too busy preparing yourself for rejection to properly process what he had actually said.

Then the meaning finally settled into place.

Your head snapped up immediately, as you froze, pulling back to stare at him in shock. 

"Are you...agreeing?"

He hesitates, his throat working as he swallows hard. Then, slowly, he nods.

You can't help it; a squeal of pure triumph escapes you. 

"Thank you, Aang!" 

You lunge forward to hug him again, the momentum sending you both backward onto the mattress.

When you sit back up, Aang's breath hitches. 

His eyes go wide as you reach for the hem of your top and pull it over your head in one fluid motion. 

The fabric slides off your shoulders, leaving you bare chested in the dim light, your nipples already peaked from the adrenaline.

"What are you doing?" He almost exclaims, his voice cracking. He wrenches his gaze away, jaw tight, shoulders hunching as if he's trying to make himself smaller.

"Isn't this why you came here?" You tilt your head, watching him through your lashes, your voice dropping into that sweet, manipulative purr.

"We still have things to talk about," He says, forcing himself to sit up straighter. 

He stares at your face with desperate intensity, pointedly ignoring the way your breasts are inches from his chest.

"Do you...not want me?" You let the question hang, making your voice go small, making your eyes well with perfectly calculated tears.

"That's not—!!" He cuts himself off, the confession dying in his throat.

"Then kiss me..." You whisper, the command soft but absolute.

Another moment passes in a thick and suffocating silence before he finally gives in. 

He leans in, his movement hesitant as he presses his lips to yours. 

It's not the confident kiss of a man who knows what he wants, it's the kiss of someone who's finally stopped fighting the inevitable.

You let the kiss linger, pressing into him enough to leave him breathless, then pull back with a shy, triumphant smile. 

"There..." You whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Before he can answer, you reach for the ties of his robes. 

Your movements are swift as you undo the knots. 

Aang freezes, his breath hitching in his throat, but he doesn't pull away. 

You peel the heavy fabric from his shoulders, exposing the broad span of his back and the striking blue line that curves down his spine. His skin is hot beneath your palms, and you feel the way his muscles jump at your touch.

"You're so beautiful." You coo, your voice a velvet caress as you slide the robes down his arms, leaving him bare chested. 

The arrowheads on his hands flex as he grips the mattress, knuckles white, his chest heaving.

You shift your weight, moving from his laps as you sink to your knees onto the ground between his legs, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

"May I?" you ask, your hands already moving to the waistband of his pants.

Aang makes a sound like he's choking on it. 

"I... yes," He manages, his voice barely a whisper.

When you finally free him, he's already past the point of no return. 

You take him in your hands first, stroking him slowly, watching his head fall back as his hand tremble to hold his weight upright. 

Then you lean in.

The first touch of your lips makes him gasp, his hips jerking up involuntarily. 

You go slow, teasing him, swirling your tongue around the head, catching every drop of pre cum. 

You want him to feel every sensation, to realize exactly what he's been missing. You take him in deep, inching slowly as your throat tightens around him, and the sound that leaves him is raw and broken.

"Spirits, please..." He moans, his fingers digging harshly into the sheets.

"Do you like this, Aang?" You murmur against him, pulling back enough to look up at him. 

"Do you like how I take care of you?"

You let the question hang in the air, your tongue slowly tracing the length of him again, making him whine that sweet, broken sound that tells you exactly how close he is. 

You can feel the way he's trembling beneath your touch, his breath coming in shallow, uneven hitches.

"Shh, I know," You whisper against him, your lips barely brushing the sensitive skin. 

"I've got you, Aang. Let me take care of you."

You keep your movements agonizingly slow. 

You drag your tongue up and down, teasing the ridge with just enough pressure to make his hips twitch involuntarily before you pull back. 

You want him suspended here right on the edge of conflict and emotion, hoping it might bring out some of his truth out with it.

His hand moves, finding the top of your head.

His fingers tangle in your hair, not pulling you but holding you there, grounded by the contact. 

"You're...you're making it so hard," He chokes out, his eyes squeezed shut, his head lulling back and forth.

"Is it too much?" You murmur, your voice dripping with fake concern as you take him deeper. 

You swirl your tongue around the tip, and the sound he makes, that wrecked, desperate whimper is better than any confession he could have given you.

You keep your pace steady, your eyes never leaving his face as you watch him whimper breathlessly. 

You lean back to press a soft kiss to his inner thigh, your lips barely grazing him, and hear him catch his breath sharply.

"Please..." He pleads, his voice cracking. "I don't... I don't know how to "

"It's okay," You interrupt softly, your hands sliding up his thighs to feel the taut muscle there. 

"Just feel it, Aang. Just feel how good this is."

You go back down, your tongue working in slow, deliberate circles, teasing the sensitive skin just below the head. 

When his hips buck upward, nearly meeting you halfway, you pause, pulling back once again to look up at him through your lashes. 

His chest is heaving, his skin flushed, those arrowhead on his hand flexing as he dug into the bedding.

"Do you want more?" You ask, your voice a velvet trap.

He can't even find words. 

He just nods, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You take him in deep, your throat tightening around him, letting out a soft, satisfied hum as you feel him shudder underneath you. 

You keep it slow, tantalizingly close to the edge, making him feel every single second of it.

You pull away abruptly, the sudden absence of your warmth making him let out a pathetic, wounded hiss through his teeth. 

You can't help the laugh that escapes you as you watch his hand leave your head and meet the mattress again, eyes glazed over and unfocused.

"You said earlier you've done this before," You state, moving your hand to resume that slow, torturous slide up and down his length. 

"Did she not do this...?"

Aang shakes his head, his entire body betraying him as a fresh bead of pre cum wells at the tip. 

He doesn't know you already know. He doesn't know you've already heard the truth, and you savor that.

"What did you do then?" You ask, your voice dripping with faux innocence.

"I...I used my fingers on her..." He trails off, his blush deepening to a feverish red that stains his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"Then I tried to..."

"Go on..." You encourage, stopping your hand entirely. 

You watch the way his breath hitches at the sudden lack of friction, his hips twitching upward instinctively.

"I used my mouth..." He chokes out, his voice barely audible. "But she didn't like it..."

"Not everyone enjoys it." You say with a gentle shrug.

"It difficult, being so exposed to the person you like..." Trailing off, you wait for a nuance, but his breathless gasps continue.

"Had she asked you to do it?"

"No..." He says immediately, the word tumbling out with a touch of guilt. 

"I just...I didn't want it to hurt her when we..."

You pout.

"How sweet of you, Aang," You coo, resuming the rhythmic movement of your hand. 

His hips jerk in place, his breath hitching as he fights to keep it together. 

"And then what happened?"

"Then we did... it." He groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Is she still in your life?" You question, watching to see if he would finally admit it.

"We never spoke about it after..."

"Oh, you poor thing..." You murmur, letting go of him entirely as you move upward to wrap your arms around him. 

You press your face into the crook of his neck, feeling the rapid thudding of his heart. 

"I would never deny you like that, Aang. Never."

The silence stretches and the weight of your words fall thick around you. 

Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms come around you. His touch is almost reverent, his fingers curling into your back as he pulls you flush against him. 

"Thank you..." He whispers into your hair, so quiet you almost miss it.

You pull back to look him in the eyes, your expression a mask of perfect, gentle understanding. 

"Would you like to...try it with me?"

He doesn't hesitate this time. He nods, his grey eyes focused on yours with a look of surprising relief.

"Okay." You say, your smile widening just a fraction too far to be entirely innocent. 

"I think we can skip a step, since you've already used your fingers earlier tonight. Not that I'm opposed." You give a gentle wink, making him shyly avert his gaze.

The air in the room feels like it might combust from the sheer, unadulterated tension as you slide off his lap, the movement agonizingly slow. 

The sound of your skirt hitting the floor is the only thing breaking the silence, followed by the sight of your soaked underwear being peeled away.

Aang's breath hitches audibly as he watches you maneuver onto the bed.

His eyes drop to where you're sitting back against the pillows, legs spreading open to reveal everything to him, glistening and swollen in the dim light. 

He looks completely undone. 

He crawls forward on his knees, hovering over you like he's approaching something sacred, his hands trembling as they ghost over your thighs.

When his thumb finally makes contact, pressing against your already swollen folds, you can't help it that sharp hiss escapes your teeth.

"Hahh!" 

You arch slightly, your fingers digging into the bedsheets. 

You look down at him through your lashes, voice breathless and strained. 

"Do you...know what to do?"

Aang shakes his head, his face flushed a deep, burning red. 

He looks absolutely terrified to mess this up, yet the need in his eyes is undeniable. 

Without waiting for another word, he leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste you.

The contact makes your hips jerk upward, and when he pulls back, a long, broken moan tears from your throat. 

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer desperation in his movements.

"That's okay..." You say, your voice dropping into as devastatingly sweet, encouraging tone. 

You reach down, your palm cupping his cheek, forcing him to look up at you while his mouth is still wet from you. 

The arrow on his head catches the light, his pupils dilated and hazy with need. 

"I...I will help you..."

You slide your hand over his head, guiding him back down, pressing him closer until his lips meet you again. 

Under your hand, you can feel the way he shudders, gasping against you as he finally lets himself lose control, his tongue working with a clumsy, earnest passion that makes your vision blur.

The way he's looking at you right now dazed and flushed, is better than any orgasm. 

You reach down, your fingers spreading his lips apart just slightly so you can guide his face, your voice dropping into a low and instructional tone.

"No, not like that..." You mumble, your thumb grazing his bottom lip. 

"Lower. Right...there." 

You push him down, your hips tilting instinctively toward the contact. When his tongue finds the swollen nub of your clit, you let out a sharp, broken gasp that makes him jerk back. 

"Slow down, Aang. Use the flat of your tongue. Don't...don't be so frantic."

He obeys instantly, his movements cautious and devout as if he's afraid he might get the same reaction he got last time. 

But you can feel the desperation beneath his hesitation, the way his fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, knuckles white. 

You guide his head with your hands, showing him exactly how you want to be touched long, slow strokes that make your whole body tense, then quick, teasing laps that make your breath hitch.

"Yes...just like that,... You pant, your voice making the short hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. 

"Oh Aang...! You're doing so good. So good for me..."

The praise is clearly working; you feel him adjust, his tongue finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

You can feel him watching you through his lashes, studying your face for every twitch of your lips and every stuttered breath. 

You want him to see exactly what he's doing to you, to witness the way his tongue is pleasuring you unimaginably.

You tilt your head back and whisper his name like a mantra. 

"That's it, Aang! Just like that...You're doing so well for me!"

You let your head fall back against the pillows, your breath coming in shallow, staggered gasps as you guide him. Your hand is gently pressing his face closer whenever he hesitates, whenever he pulls back to look at you with those wide, uncertain eyes.

"There...keep going—!" You moan, your hips tilting up of their own accord. "Right there!"

The ragged sound he makes when he's trying to be careful is more intoxicating than any physical sensation. 

Every time your soft instructions pull a whimper from him, a spike of triumph shoots through you.

He's being so careful. So incredibly gentle with you, his tongue moving with a hesitant reverence that makes your stomach flip. He's trying to learn you, trying so hard to do this right, and the sheer vulnerability of it is what finally breaks you.

You did it.

You eyes flutter shut as another wave of pleasure rolls through you. 

You actually did it.

The thought is more intoxicating than the sex itself. 

The realization that you've dismantled the Avatar, stripped away the hero and the monk until all that's left is this raw, exposed boy who is so desperately trying to please you...it's better than anything you could have imagined when you started this a day ago.

"Y-you're doing so good..." You whisper the genuine praise that makes him shudder. His tongue sweeps again, longer this time, more confident, and you can't help the way your thighs tighten around his face, pulling him in. 

"Just like that, Aang. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop...!"

You listen to the wet, slurping sounds of him working on you, the way he swallows every moan you let out, and you feel that possessive heat blooming in your chest. 

He's not yours yet.

Not entirely. 

But you can feel the shift in him. 

The way he's clinging to you, the way he's listening to you.

When he finally presses his face harder against you, his breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel that first surge of your orgasm building. 

You meet him halfway, your hips arching up, your fingers digging into his skin as you whisper his name like a prayer.

"That's it...oh spirits, Aang..."

You watch him through heavy eyelids, the way his jaw works, the way his eyes go unfocused as he feels you writhe under him. 

And you realize that you're already planning how to make him do this again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until he doesn't even remember what it was like when you weren't the only thing he wanted to please.

"Aang, I'm—!" The words catch in your throat as a wave of pleasure begins to build harshly.  "I'm going to—!"

"I've got you..." He mumbles against your skin, his voice thick and unrecognizable. 

He presses his face into you, his tongue working with a sudden, focused intensity that shatters your last thread of control.

Your orgasm hits like a physical blow, your entire body going rigid as you cry out his name, sinking your fingers into his scalp as you come apart beneath him. 

You feel him catch every drop, his tongue sweeping over you with a greedy thoroughness that leaves you shaking and breathless.

When you finally slump back, your chest heaving, your skin slick with sweat, he pulls back to look up at you. 

His face is feverish, his lips wet, and his eyes are completely glazed with something that looks terrifyingly close to worship.

"Was that..." He starts, his voice cracking. 

"Was that okay?"

You can't even find the words to tell him it was better than perfect. 

You just reach down, your fingers trembling as you cup his face, pulling him back up for a kiss that tastes of you and him.

You guide his back to the pillows with gentle pressure from your hands on his shoulders, watching the way he settles beneath you, all broad shoulders and lean muscles, his tattooed arms splayed out like he's surrendering to something inevitable. 

He looks utterly wrecked, his breathing still coming in ragged puffs, his gaze following your every movement with a mix of curiosity and unadulterated terror.

"I've got you..." You assure, your voice like honey as you straddle his hips. 

You do not rush it. 

You don't even move to come down on him yet. 

You just sit there, your knees on either side of his thighs, feeling the heat radiating off him. 

"Just breathe, Aang. Look at me."

His gaze snaps up to yours, so wide and vulnerable. 

You reach down, your thumb grazing over his lips to wipe the remnants of your pleasure, and he lets out a choked sound when you touch him.

"Shh..." You coo, leaning forward until your breasts brush his chest, your nipples grazing against his skin. 

"I'm going to be so careful with you. I promise."

When you finally lower yourself down, the way he gasps a broken, shattered sound that rips straight through your chest is almost enough to make you stop. 

But you don't. 

You sink down slowly, agonizingly slow, taking him in inch by inch. 

You watch his eyes pull open before screwing shut the next second, his head falling back into the pillows as you fill yourself completely. You can feel his hands hovering just above your waist, trembling, wanting to grab you but terrified to do so.

"That's it..." You moan, your voice thick with the pleasure he's giving you. 

"Oh Aang...you feel so good."

You start to move, but it's not fast. No matter how desperate you were, you do not pick up your pace. 

You move slow, grinding back and forth on him. 

You're taking your time, riding him with a languid motion that forces him to feel every single corner of you. You lean forward and whisper in his ear.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Aang. Tell me how you want me."

"I..." He swallows hard, his hands finally coming to rest on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperation that makes your smile.

"I want you to...just like that. Please." His sentence was incomplete, but you understood plenty. 

You let out a throaty moan, arching your back as you grind down on him, your moans getting louder, more shameless. 

You want him to hear it. You want him to hear exactly what he's doing to you. You press your palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammering like a trapped bird beneath your touch.

"You're so beautiful..." You whisper, your voice trembling with genuine awe as your eyes brim with tears. 

"My perfect, beautiful Aang."

The way he says your name after, in that broken, wrecked manner is when you know you've really done it. 

You've broken him open. 

And as you find your rhythm, as you ride him with the motive to give him that devastating pleasure, you know you're never letting him go.

You lean forward, as you press your chest against his, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your fingers find your own aching heat, working in a rhythmic counterpoint.

Aang is completely lost now, his head lolling back, his throat working around a broken moan as you guide him toward the edge.

"Aang..." You whisper against his skin, your breath hot making him shudder. You pull back, looking at him softly as you ghost your lips over his.

"I need you to...I need you to let go. Just like that. For me."

His fingers press into your waist with strength. 

His eyes find yours, and for a moment, you finally see it.

The moment he decides to stop fighting.

When it happens, it's so beautiful. 

You feel his entire body seize beneath you, his hips arching off the mattress as he finally breaks. 

You don't even flinch when he gasps your name with a sob, pressing yourself down hard, grinding against him, ensuring every single drop of him is claimed. 

You take it all, swallowing his release with a greedy, possessive whimper, your own orgasm crashing over you in that leaves you trembling.

You stay there for a long time, collapsed against his chest, listening to the frantic, uneven thudding of his heart. 

You can feel the warmth of him still inside you, a thrumming weight that makes your stomach flip with triumph.

Slowly, you pull back. His eyes are still blown wide, staring at the ceiling with a look of complete, hollowed out shock. 

He's breathing hard, his skin flushed, the arrow on his head a stark against his pale skin. 

He looks utterly shattered, completely undone by you.

"Aang?" you whisper, your voice innocent.

He doesn't answer. He just lies there, staring, still taking long inhales through his nose. 

You know exactly what you've done. 

You've crossed a line he can never uncross. 

You've claimed him in the most irreversible way, and you did it while making him think it was his choice.

"Oh, Aang..." You murmur, your hand coming up to stroke his cheek, your thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip. 

"You were so good. So perfect."

His eyelashes flutter, and for a moment, you think he might cry. Then, his hand moves slow, hesitant and rests against your thigh. It's not a push away. It's still there.

“Weren’t you…supposed to…move?” he managed to choke out eventually, his eyes searching yours while you stared back at him in confusion.

For a moment, you genuinely had no idea what he meant.

So you simply waited for him to explain himself.

Except he never actually said it.

Instead, his attention dropped lower, landing where your bodies were still pressed together intimately, and realization hit you almost instantly.

You giggle, lowering your chest to his, as you hold him.

"I wanted it." You confess softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his temple. 

"I wanted you. All of you."

You stay there, wrapped around him, waiting. 

Waiting for the moment he realizes he can't go back. 

Waiting for the moment he accepts he's yours.

And as you feel him exhale, a long, shuddering breath that dissolves into that of relief, you know.

You've already won.

Months later, sometimes you still thought about the look on Katara's face when you and Aang announced not only that you were together, but that the wedding would follow two months later.

You had not enjoyed it.

That was perhaps the cruelest part of all this. 

Beneath the jealousy, the selfishness, beneath the quiet satisfaction curling inside your chest, Katara had still been your friend. 

The sight of her standing there so perfectly composed while grief leaked through the cracks of her face had filled you with immediate guilt.

But guilt did not undo anything.

She had her chance, and she let it pass her by with trembling hands and too much hesitation. 

You had been offered the very same thing only once, and you had taken it without allowing yourself enough time to think twice.

That alone had decided everything.

It did not matter now anyway. 

The damage had already settled itself between all of you. 

You still saw them, of course.

Toph remained unchanged, thankfully immune to awkwardness, still insulting you with the same affection she always had. 

Zuko treated everything with neutrality, though every now and then you would catch the faintest exhaustion in his eyes whenever tension filled the room for too long.

But Sokka had grown quieter around both of you, his easy laughter no longer arriving naturally, while Suki watched situations unfold with patience, refusing to interfere. 

And Katara—

Katara tried.

Spirits, she really tried.

Yet there was only so much grace a person could carry before it started collapsing under its own weight.

The worst part was that none of them even lived in Republic City anymore except for her.

Despite it, you moved to the city.

You had promised Aang you would, and unlike everyone else, you never made promises to him you did not intend to keep.

The pregnancy had complicated things almost immediately. 

Explaining why your stomach had already begun rounding before the wedding was difficult enough, though the true horror came when four months into your marriage you could no longer disguise it beneath layered robes and loose fabric.

People counted months cruelly.

Especially your own friends.

Still, none of them said anything directly. 

Not even Katara.

Marriage itself settled around you strangely fast. 

Domestic life came naturally, and it unexpected how easily your fell into it.

Slipping into place piece by piece until you could no longer imagine waking without Aang somewhere nearby.

Though 'nearby' often meant temporary.

He was gone more than he was home, forever chasing disasters across nations, disappearing on Appa before sunrise whenever the duties of the Avatar demanded him elsewhere. 

Sometimes he would return exhausted enough to barely stay awake through dinner before collapsing beside you still half dressed.

Other nights he came home restless, carrying the weight of too many people needing too much from him all at once.

But whenever he was home, he loved you openly.

That was what mattered most.

By the seventh month of your pregnancy, Aang had developed the habit of kneeling in front of you every evening, pressing his ear against your stomach with complete seriousness while the twins shifted violently beneath your skin.

"They're arguing again." He would say thoughtfully.

You laughed every single time.

"They are not arguing."

"They definitely are. This one keeps kicking the other."

"They must have inherited your inability to sit still."

Aang only grinned before pressing another kiss against your stomach, completely unbothered by your jokes.

He was convinced both babies would be girls.

You remained certain one would be a boy.

Neither of you won.

The labor lasted nearly an entire night, leaving you exhausted beyond reason by the time the twins finally arrived screaming into the world shortly before dawn.

You gave birth to two boys. 

Two impossibly tiny boys with lungs strong enough to wake half the district.

Aang cried harder than either of them did.

You would remember that forever.

The sight of him sitting beside you with one baby clutched awkwardly against his chest while the other rested in your arms, tears slipping down his face faster than he could wipe them away.

You knew he was overwhelmed by something too enormous to fit inside him.

They looked more like him than you from the very beginning.

Those very grey eyes. His nose. Their pale skin that scrunched impossibly whenever they cried too hard.

You could feel it already, that they would be very powerful.

He held those boys carefully, almost fearfully, as though he could not quite believe they were real.

Months later, late at night. you would often find yourself curled against Aang’s side in bed while the twins slept against his chest, tiny bodies rising and falling steadily.

Something deep in Aang seemed to settle whenever the twins were in his arms. The sight softened something deep inside him every single time.

“What’s wrong?” You asked once after catching him staring at them for far too long, distant thoughts clouding his face while one of the babies slept soundly beneath his chin.

Aang blinked before smiling faintly.

“Nothing.”

You leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss against his shoulder before settling back into his side again, one hand moving instinctively to pat the back of the baby resting on his chest while Aang carefully adjusted the other higher against him.

Then, after a while, his hand drifted absentmindedly toward one of the twins, fingertips brushing softly through the wisps of hair on his head just as a tiny gust of air stirred weakly around the tiny blankets.

The movement was small, but it made you go completely still.

Because suddenly, you understood.

After all, you had not simply become his wife.

You had become the future of the Air Nomads.

The only future left.

a/n: i laughed OUT LOUD on many occasions as i was editing it. but i still like it very much. so, i will sit in my shame like the clown that i am.

masterlist :: atla masterlist

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

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

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

“Everyone likes me better.”

“Mm. Bold claim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely.”

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

“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”

“That’s most people, though.”

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

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

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

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

“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

“Name one.”

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

“That’s not better.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I’m off-duty.”

“You’re never off-duty.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do—”

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

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

“Shame,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not my dragon,” you remind him.

He winks. “Technicality.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you catch them?”

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

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

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

He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna huffs happily in response.

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

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

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

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

“What is?” he asks.

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

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

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

“Satoru!” he bellows.

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

“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d rather not,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, you did.”

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

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

“I’m working.”

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

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

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

“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.

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

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

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

“You did good,” Satoru says.

“So did you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just a rag,” you say.

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

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

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

“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.

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

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

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

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

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

“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your continued survival.”

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

“Show-off,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

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

You focus very, very hard on the roof.

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

“Done?” Satoru asks.

“For now,” you say.

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

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

You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll live.”

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

“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.

“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But then?” you prompt.

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

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

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

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

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

“And by we you mean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I worry plenty.”

“You don’t act like it.”

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

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

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

Your stomach sinks. Already?

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

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

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s effective,” Yaga says.

“He’s insufferable,” you say.

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

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

“Did somebody say my name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you mutter. “At dawn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, boss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is gonna be fun,” Satoru says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably?”

“Eighty percent sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I saved you,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even a little,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— Excuse me?” you splutter.

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

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

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

You pointedly do not stare.

“You’re ogling me,” he says.

“I’m glaring at you.”

“Your glare looks a lot like ogling.”

“Die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See?” Satoru gestures grandly.

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

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

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

“You’re unbearable.”

“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”

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

The shivering ebbs. Your eyelids grow heavy.

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

“Oh, my Gods.”

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

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

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

“Oh,” he says. “Morning, kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stolen?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to believe him. You don’t.

“Which direction?” Satoru asks crisply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later. You’ll think about it later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s meant to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go,” Yaga growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The knot in your stomach hardens into stone.

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

Instead, you find the apprentice.

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

“Where’s the Chief?” you demand.

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

“Yaga,” you say. “Where is he?”

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

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

You slip inside.

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

It’s empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna.

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

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

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

“Sukuna,” you breathe, your voice cracking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the centre of it all: Yaga.

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

Satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not yours,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re working with them?” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh.

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

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

“He will be.”

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

The Night Fury roars.

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

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

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

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

“Miss me?” he drawls.

You shove his shoulder. “Get up.”

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

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

A horn splits the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru’s lips move.

Eighty percent.

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

Eighty percent.

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

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

You make the choice first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your first kiss with Satoru Gojo occurs because of Sukuna.

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

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

Sukuna, it seems, has other ideas.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nearly. Keyword.”

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

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

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

“You—” you splutter. “I— That’s not—”

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

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

“He is not,” you say flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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