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mooishbeam · 9 months

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『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation.

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges.

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice.

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled.

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages.

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.”

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story.

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after. You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him.

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt.

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags.

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her.

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee.

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.”

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”

“No.”

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.”

“So why can’t I see him?”

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.”

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-”

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate.

You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently.

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing.

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you.

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.”

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down.

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?”

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity.

“Wait for what?”

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes.

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek.

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes.

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.”

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes.

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding.

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-”

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint.

“I’m hungry now.”

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-”

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees.

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand.

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.”

“But-”

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops.

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps.

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away.

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while.

“Tell me when to move” he soothes.

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance.

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release.

“I’m gonna come!”

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face.

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down.

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy.

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #dan heng smut #dan heng il #dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng hsr #dan heng imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae

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kaeyas-beloved · 1 year

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It’s The Way He… || #2

Characters: Alhaitham, Cyno, Dainsleif, Heizou, Itto, Kaveh, Xiao, Wanderer

Summary: Just cute/heartwarming/breath-taking things he does <3

Genre: Fluff + Snippets

CWs: gn!reader (you/your), injuries (Cyno), petnames (my love; Kaveh),

a/n: did a pt. 2 because the last one got lots of love and I though they were really cute so I wanted to do some others <3

|| Pt. 1 ||

Alhaitham

It’s the way Alhaitham props his chin on you - your head, shoulder, just whatever is easiest at that moment - as you read. His eyes, a beautiful mix of green and orange, will skim the page you're on. It's no quantum physics or retelling of historic events, but if you like it then he'll give it a chance. Just, don't be too upset when he asks you to read faster, he wants to know what happens next is all.

"Are you almost done? I've finished the page. What? What's that look for?"

Cyno

It’s the way Cyno is so serious as he dresses your wounds, a stark contrast to the genlteness of his touch. It doesn’t matter if it’s a paper cut, a rash, burn or a gash from battle, it’ll receive the same level of attention and care from the general. If he had it his way he’d get Tighnari to fix you right up, because at least Cyno knows you’re in good hands, but that can’t always happen, so he’s your next best. In a way that’s alright, at least this way he can personally see to it that you’re looked after.

“This will sting a little, sorry, but it has to be cleaned. I’ll try to lessen the pain as much as I can and finish quickly. If you’d like, I can tell you some jokes to take your mind off of it?”

Dainsleif

It’s the way Dainsleif never forgets the little details about yourself. You could mention it once and he’s already committed it to memory, he's committed you to his memory. For 500 years he's walked alone, maybe not always physically, but it still felt like there hasn't been anyone with him. You are the first connection he's had in so long, and even if he's doomed to live long past you, the image of everything that creates you, he’ll will himself to remember for as long as he can, because just the thought of you makes him feel like he's alive once more.

“You told me once that the stars brought you peace. I thought it’d be nice to look out at them tonight, for they too do the same for me. However, if I was to be truthful, you, without a shadow of a doubt, bring me the most peace.”

Heizou

It’s the way Heizou leaves a riddle on the kitchen counter for you every so often before he leaves for work or errands. There’ll be clues scattered around the house for you to find as well, each one becoming more cryptic than the last. Of course, he knows you well enough to not make them so tough you can’t figure it out. He wants you to receive your prize after all~

“Did you figure out today’s riddle?” … “Heh, that’s correct, I knew you’d get it! Now, come and claim your reward. I think you’ll really enjoy it this time~”

Itto

It’s the way Itto runs up to you the instant he sees you in the streets of Inazuma, arms ready to grab hold and lift you as high as he can or as high as you allow. He'll even do a little spin with you he's that happy to see you. It doesn't matter if you’re alone or with someone, he is a loud and proud oni who shows off the person that owns his heart!!

"There you are my partner-in-crime, my beetle battle buddy, my number one! Say, if you're not busy how about you tag along with me? I just found this awesome raman place that's pretty cool if I do say so myself. How about we check it out?"

Kaveh

It’s the way Kaveh readily helps you with your outfit and any bells and whistles that go with it. As a renowned architect there are times where he’s invited to formal events, and you are his first go to for a plus one. And where there’s formal events there’s formal attire, and the hassle of making sure everything is perfect. Be it a tie or some piece of jewelry, Kaveh and his keen eye for detail are there to help attain that perfection.

“Ah, here, let me help. Sometimes, it takes another pair of eyes to catch if something’s off. Of course, you look stunning regardless my love. There, shall we head off?”

Wanderer

It’s the way Wanderer stumbles to match your pace. For as long as he's lived he's moved at his own pace, never once slowing or playing catch-up for others. For you though, he'll stop to admire the things he's overlooked due to his immortality, he'll race to make sure you don't run too far from him that he can't raech you. No longer does he run away from those he loves, now he runs alongside them.

"What? You stopped for a flower? It's pretty? Please, I can think of many more things that are prettier than some flower, but I suppose we have some time. Who am I to stop you from doing what your little heart desires."

Xiao

It’s the way Xiao carries with him the little gifts you give. May it be a flower, a picture, a letter or another object of some kind, the yaksha will have it tucked into the safest pocket he has. To you it may have just been something you picked up or made while thinking of him, but for Xiao, it’s his good fortune charm. Something that has a tangible weight to it, his constant reminder that someone is waiting for him back home. However, he can never bring himself to tell you this, covering up the why he brings it everywhere with some barely strung together excuses or redirections.

“Of course I’d take it with me, why would I not? Huh? You think I’d have no real use for it? Tsk, you still don’t know the ways of the adepti, do you?”

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kissinkou · 1 month

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COME AND GET IT NOW !

ft. college best friend! choso kamo

cw : kissing. making out. clothed grinding. groping. cursing. mentions of cum. allusions to s3x. whiny, inexperienced choso my beloved :3

you don’t know how, or when, or why this topic of discussion had come up.

what you remember is sitting in your small student dorm room, splayed out over your pink linen sheets and your puffy white duvet. your best friend, choso, is sat on the end with twiddling thumbs as he examines your room as if he had never seen it before.

truth be told, he’s seen it more times than he could count. girly and poster ridden, desk messy with papers from your professor and rainbow highlighters dropped to the floor.

you’re rambling on about your latest failed date, complaining since the moment you had entered your abode with a bounce as you hit your soft mattress.

“ way too much tongue. he was practically slobbering all over me ! and he didn’t even pay for my food. how dumb is that ?! ”

in the corner of your eye, you can see choso’s face screw into a look you can’t decipher. he hums, knee now bouncing up and down with the slightest taps of his foot.

“ cho ? you okay ? ” you ask in confusion, eyebrow quirked up in questioning.

“ what did it feel like ? ” was certainly not the question you were expecting to come from choso’s mouth.

“ uh… whadya mean ? ”

he debates with himself for a few moments, considering whether or not to ask, but he knows you. you’re not going to give up unless he tells you now.

“ yknow… kissing and stuff… ”

if you were surprised before, you’re appalled now. why would a hot college guy be asking you about sex lives ? and he’s your best friend at that. you can see the puzzle pieces forming, until suddenly, it clicks.

“ holy shit cho ! have you never fucked anyone ? or wait… have you even kissed anyone ? ”

choso’s eyes are darting from you to the floor, heat flooding his cheeks at his random outburst of a question.

“ mm… no… not really… ”

you’re rendered absolutely speechless at this new information bestowed upon you. your best friend of many years, who just so happens to be quite the attractive guy, hasn’t even had his face sucked ? you couldn’t help but giggle in either shock or pure humor, and choso’s face is almost burning red.

“ w-what the fuck ! that’s crazy, you’ve gotta be kidding me ! ” you start, laughter dying down at the pout that takes over his lips. “ sorry… sorry. uh, so you want me to tell you about it ? ”

you can see the sudden glint that takes over choso’s brown eyes, mustering up the courage to ask the question that’s been eating him alive day in and day out.

“ … could you teach me instead ? please… ”

———

that’s how you ended up here, you and your best friend laying on your bed, stripped of any innocence that could be left lingering between you two.

your legs straddle his waist, and his bulge is evidently growing underneath you. his hands are shaky, carefully leaving featherlight touches at the skin of your hip in nervousness.

“ um… so just close your eyes… and follow what i do okay… ? ”

the gulp choso takes makes his adams apple bob, eyes closing at your intstruction. you lean in, hot breath fanning over his face in the briefest moment of hesitation. his heart is pounding, and you aren’t exactly sure why, but yours is too.

you dont hold yourself back when you mold your lips against his, feeling him stiffen under you at the sudden feeling of your kiss. you move your lips again, and he follows, kissing over and over with your lead. you hold the reigns when you dart your tounge out to lick over his bottom lip, him opening his mouth to let you in.

the longer you two make out, the more confident you both are becoming. your hands travel from his arms to his chest, touching in areas you never thought you would in your lifetime. his hands move from your hips, lower and lower before just barely hovering against your ass. he’s shy.

breaking apart the kiss for only a moment to whisper into his mouth, “ it’s okay cho… i want you to touch me. ”

that’s all the conformation he needs to give in to the desires he’s had for who knows how long, squeezing and groping at you like his life depends on it. the kisses you share grow needy, searing hot with the tingles that travel from your feet up to the top of your spine.

choso softens into a whimpering mess, bucking his hips the more heated things get. you’re devouring eachother, hungry and feverish with the sucks and bites that has you grinding back onto choso’s hardened tent in his pants.

“ f-fuck ! am i doing good ? please… please touch me. i want more. ” is what choso whines out, grinding his hips back into yours, desperate for any attention you can give him.

clothed and feverous, the sway of your hips has you both whining and moaning into eachothers mouths. you’re sure if you both kept going, choso just might cum in his pants.

“ ah!— cho… ” you start, voice dripping in desire with the pretentious touches you leave on the man you call out for,

“ want me to teach you how to fuck a girl, too ? ”

©KISSINKOU — do not copy, steal, plagiarize, take inspo from without consulting, or translate my work.

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rubra-wav · 3 months

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May I Request a part 2 to Dealbreaker!Reader (same characters) but it’s the characters reactions to the reader surprisingly breaking their deal? I loved what you wrote!

Angel, Husk and Alastor with a dealbreaker S/O pt. 2

[ Part 1 ] < > [ More lore on DBs ]

A/N Thank you so much, I'm glad you liked it, I loved writing this and the last one. Dealbreaker lore brainrot fr.

With how dealbreaking usually goes, it's not instantly a happy ending, unfortunately. These are all pretty happy endings, though.

Fairly long reads for all of these, but it's worth it, I promise 🙏

!(MY REQUESTS ARE NOT OPEN RN. THIS IS JUST LEFT OVER FROM WHEN THEY LAST WERE.)!

Cw: SFW, depictions of violence, mentions of murder, Husk and Angel's is romantic, Alastor's is platonic, gn reader, male reader in mind for Angel's (forgot to add this aaaages back omg)

**Alastor's is written under the assumption that the Lilith owning his soul theory is real + is making a great big assumptions about Lilith + the nature of her deal that will likely be disproven.

She's a great big mystery, I'm just heavily leaning into pure theory in that one.

Angel

- When you break his contract, Angel is overwhelmed with a potent mixture of relief and gratitude.

- The path this far had been fairly easy as far as the process of actually breaking the contract goes.

- The chains on him were poorly crafted and the format was extremely simple with a lot of loopholes to bust the contract wide open.

- It was honestly much harder to fully knock Angel out of the all-encompassing fear-rooted belief that he was doing something incredibly wrong after years of Val's manipulation and control over every part of him.

- It didn't take long to make the counter-contract, just a few minutes referencing the draft as you quickly wrote everything down upon the page pressed against the filthy bench you were sitting at. Angel hovered over you anxiously wringing his hands as he watched you work.

- The lock on his prison cell was quickly broken, along with the actual collar around his neck.

- You cheered as you threw your arms around the disbelieving man next to you. Angel cracked a smile, giddy as he realised that you had done it.

- This peace was short-lived, however.

- You now had to deal with the consequences of actually breaking Angel's deal. Valentino does not take kindly to people taking his toys away from him, especially not one of his top money-makers and favourite souls.

- You had, of course, crafted the counter-contract that was now clutched in your palm in some random location far away from the hotel so Val wouldn't be knocking at the front door knowing it was done then and there.

- However, you two still needed to run.

- Hand in hand, you run away from the approaching sound of distant but loudly approaching cars with the sound of gunshots echoing, legs and lungs burning with exertion.

- As a contrast to your very evident worry, Angel is laughing joyously and more boisterously then he thinks he ever has as the feeling of the heavy sensation of the collar that has been weighing on him is lifts alongside the inability to speak his real name without choking on it.

- The feeling of his newfound freedom and adrenaline mixes in his body, making his blood sing out in his veins like a symphony. An indescribably rich sensation of being alive that he thought he'd never be able to feel again while sober.

- "So long, you overly tall rat bastard! I've found something that's better then anything you could ever fucking give me!" Angel yells out into the warm air of the night as he flips off the general direction of the sound of the gunshots, laughing all the way as you get to the getaway car.

- You're panting as you crank the car into gear, speeding away and putting the glowing counter-contract on the back seat.

- As the distant sounds of gunshots fades into the distance behind you, you turn to the passenger side of the car to make absolutely sure Angel is really okay as he calms down from the high of the chase.

- Your boyfriend is absolutely beaming next to you, glowing with a sense of natural light you'd never before seen in your time being together. It's a beautiful contrast to the artificial sense of life you are so used to seeing broadcast within the studio and his films.

- He looks so different, and not only due to the disguise he had decided upon to lay low until shit calmed down a bit.

- As you make it to your destination - a small house youd been allowed to stay at courtesy of Charlie - you put the car into park and sit there for a for a few seconds.

- "Holy shit. I did it. I actually freed you. And we're not dead." You said, stunned.

- Angel snickered, unbuckling his seat belt and leaning over to you to kiss you on the cheek. "Never doubted you for a second, baby."

- You laugh, relieved, turning to him and gently pull his face close to yours, kissing him deeply. You chuckle at the feeling of the giant smile on Angel's face.

- As you move to settle in to live in the small house for a couple of weeks, you regret turning on the television.

- Angel's face flashes across the screen with text quickly scrolling past a smiling but seemingly close to tweaking Vox on the screen, the man looking like he's about to absolutely lose his shit if one more mild inconvenience happens. The Video Star's eye twitches sightly as if hearing something irritating as he speaks.

- "There is a hefty reward for anyone who can find Angel Dust and the dealbreaker who has interfered with his contract. Any useful information will be welcome. To give us tips, go to the website listed below or call-" You switch the TV off, unplugging it as well just in case.

- If Vox got well and truly involved in this situation to attempt to placate Valentino as soon as possible, this would be even more difficult of a situation. You hadn't much considered the rest of the vees getting involved, assuming they would stsy in their own lanes while Valentino stopped being pissy.

- You shake your head, and move to go to the room where Angel is unpacking. The outside world could wait until later. All that shit could wait until later.

- Angel smiles at you as you walk into the room, such a lightness in it that makes your heart burn.

- You hug him tightly and then fall down on your side into the bed, both of you laughing joyously and filling the empty house with life.

- The road ahead would not be easy, but you were finally on the road to starting your life with him.

- Your life with him as Anothony, not Angel Dust.

Husk

- The road to forming a counter-contract was hard as all hell.

- Alastor's deals are absolutely air tight, crafted with the uptmost skill and attention to detail, so you finding a vague clause to dig your claws into to get it rolling after weeks of arduously reviewing it again and again was a goddamn miracle.

- When he saw that you had made progress, he's shocked as can be. Has a 'well I'll be' moment as you point it out to him after another sleepless night as he wanders up to you.

- Feels bad for fully doubting you after that. He's still pessimistic about your chances of actually succeeding in the counter-contract, but the flame of hope inside of him sparks to embers as you manage to do what nobody has managed to even remotely succeed to do in centuries.

- When you make further progress, he becomes deeply afraid for your safety. If Alastor ever found out you'd been able to get this far, you'd be toast.

- Never in a million years would Alastor allow someone who's managed to undermine his skills to this degree to live. When you say that you've got it covered when he brings it up, he's incredibly skeptical and is even more concerned when you say you can't tell him 'just in case'.

- Is in utter disbelief when you insist you just stay in the hotel as you actually write the counter-contract to break the deal while Alastor is out doing some shenanigans.

- When you say that you don't, in fact, have a death wish, he's extremely stressed and sweating bullets as you begin to write what you'd been drafting for weeks.

- The lights flash and then go out as you're about halfway through writing the contract. Unnatural green light fills the room and Alastor casts a great big shadow on the wall as he materialises out of nowhere.

- Husk feels dread sink into every part of himself.

- The ground shakes as Alastor physically shows up, much larger then usual and snarling. "What do you think you're doing."

- His voice is dripping with malice and static which hurts your ears greatly, but the movement of your pen on the page doesn't stop even though you can feel your heart thudding in terror and your vision is becoming blurry.

- Husk feels nauseous as Alastor looks down at you, growing all the more aggressive the more he feels his hold on Husk slipping.

- Husk fights a panicked yell as Alastor's neck snaps to the side loudly, now looking directly at him with an absolutely vile grin on his face. He cannot make it in time as Alastor's hand moves to crush you, and he fears the absolute worst as you are no longer in his sights.

- His deep despair is interrupted however, as from underneath Alastor's palm great big rose briers grow from underneath and pry it backwards, revealing you still writing - albeit looking extremely stressed - and the figure of Rosie who looks rather angry at Al.

- Alastor's eyes widen in shock and disbelief that one of his oldest friends are currently blocking him from destroying the one trying to take his property.

- Husk hardly hears the back and forth and stalling that goes on between the two overlords as he's running to you to try and pull you the hell out of here.

- He stops in place as he feels it, and hears Alastor let out a terrifying frustrated growling noise. The green collar and chain around his throat appears, and then it breaks with a loud snapping sound. You've succeeded.

- You actually fucking did it.

- The next few moment are a blur as Husk is rendered motionless and speechless, eyes wide and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as if he's about to wake up from this moment.

- He slowly walks towards you, looking to the side blankly as Alastor shrinks back to his normal size and is escorted out of the hotel with a look of pure bewilderment on his face by a now smiling and laughing Rosie. The leader of the cannibals winks at you and gives you a thumbs up as she leaves.

- You turn to Husk and grin at him wearily, still sweating nervously with clear relief on your face. You literally could have just died.

- Husk sinks to his knees beside you from where you sit on the ground, having fallen from your chair as Alastor tried to crush you.

- Husk grips your face in his shaking hands as he looks up at you. He can now see that one of your eyes is black with a deal you've made yourself but for now he doesn't address it.

- "Thank you." His voice is hoarse, low. Tears stream down his face for the first time in a long long time.

- Your face crumples as you allow your brave face to fall to bits. Your heart is still racing and you are still getting over the fear you felt.

- Husk pulls your crying face to his, leaning his forehead against yours as he wraps his arms tightly around you. "Thank you so much." Husk says, closing his eyes and causing more tears to roll down his cheeks.

- "If you ever do something that fucking stupid again, I'll not be humouring you." He added after the wonderful moment stretched out for a couple of seconds.

- You laugh softly, and nuzzle into his cheek as you kiss it. "You're welcome, Husker my love."

- Husk hums in fake annoyance, but he cannot even hide how much lighter he feels.

- The bonds which had kept him trapped for decades had been broken down all at once, leaving him free.

- He had no idea what kind of deal you made with Rosie, but he sure hoped it kept Alastor the fuck away from you and him for the rest of your lives.

- And, for your sake, he desperately hopes it is not the type of deal you will regret making later.

Alastor

- The path to dealbreaking Alastor's is bar fucking none with difficulty, mostly because he doesn't want your help.

- Hurts his his ego so much to see that even though his consistent efforts to tell you to get lost have failed. He's opted to scaring you off multiple times and yet you're still relentless.

- After yet another time of him growing into that massive form and snarling down at you, you snap.

- "Maybe I'm 'overestimating my abilities', but what if I'm not? What if a fresh pair of eyes are what you need rather than you just pissing off to your radio tower and staring at everything until you have a mental breakdown over it!" You yell at him weakly as he turns his back to leave. Blood is dripping from the corner of your mouth, and you're only just regaining your vision from the former static, which blacked it out.

- Alastor stops in his tracks, startled that you know about that too.

- "Maybe I don't have as much experience as you, but I have a different mind and way of looking at things! What if that's exactly why you can't break it? What if whoever it is knows how you think so they've designed this thing so you can't do this alone?"

- You can't see Alastor's face, but he's standing there still not saying anything. One of his ears is pointed backwards in your direction. He's actually listening.

- You gulp, and stand up shakily. "What if they knew that you would never seek assistance, so they've done things which won't be visible to you and only you. If you just give me a chance." You're no longer shouting, rather speaking in a tone you're trying to keep even despite how afraid you are.

- Alastor grits his teeth, ears twitching as he considers it. He's pissed off because you're actually making a good point.

- It goes against every instinct in his body, but suddenly, he's right in front of you, holding out his hand to you as he glares menacingly at you. "A week, and if you find nothing, you will never fucking approach this with me again, or share what you have seen and heard about my deal with anybody."

- You gulp audibly. It's a ridiculously slim deadline for this kind of business, but it's more than nothing. As you accept the deal, he utters a single word you're shocked to hear.

- "Lilith."

- Without any further words, he disappears, leaving a glowing copy of the contract at your feet.

- The week of reviewing the contract was utter fucking hell.

- it's not just that the contract was super air tight, it's just that it was so ridiculously complicated and hard to understand that you could hardly fucking comprehend what you were reading most of the time. It was utterly maddening.

- Your breakthrough, however, came not through solely just reading the words, but from actually talking to Lucifer himself about Lilith when he came to visit the hotel while Alastor left.

- As per the deal, you didn't share anything about the contract, but you did ask about her in private with him and he was actually surprisingly happy to discuss her.

- So that's, how on the last day of the deadline, you cracked the contract wide open with a counter-contract draft you had written in a few hours.

- Alastor almost screams out in pure unadulterated fury when he sees what you've written and hears the explanation behind it.

- Lilith wasn't some skilled dealmaker hellbent on controlling demons. She was a broken down dreamer who had no idea what she was actually doing in the contract, but being Lilith, her words held so much weight that they'd chained him despite that.

- It actually takes every bone in your body to not burst out laughing with how utterly humiliated he looks.

- His ears are pressed forward on his head, and he's making an odd high-pitched audio feedback kind of sound as his face is hidden in his hands.

- He'd been stressing over this thing for years as a skilled dealmaker looking at it, and yet that was exactly why he couldn't do it.

- Couldn't do what you did in a fucking week.

- "So, do you want me to undo this thing now or-?"

- You startle as suddenly he's in front of you, both hands on either one of your shoulders.

- you try so hard to not snicker as you see his expression finally, but fail. He's pressing his still ever-smiling mouth into a crooked line, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed. Dark flush covers his cheeks and neck.

- "Yes. Please." He says those words as if they are poison in his mouth. "I'm.. Sorry. That I underestimated you." Alastor opens his eyes to look at you as he begins to regain his composure a bit more, the hard part of this interaction being over with.

- Fortunately, and also infuriatingly, Alastor had not had his soul contract used once. Lilith simply had him in her back pocket and didn't lift a finger whenever she felt him try to break it again and again. It's like she didn't even give a fuck that she literally owned him.

- This fact burnt hot embarrassment and frustration into him as it destroyed his ego, but now it was a relief as she would most likely not try and come after him. Or you for that matter.

- His claws grip painfully into your shoulders as you fail to stop snickering loudly in disbelief that he actually apologised. Admitted losing essentially.

- "S-sorry! I just can't believe I'm seeing you like this." You apologised.

- Alastor gritted his teeth. "Don't get used to it." He growls before his mask slips right back on like it never happened. "I'm simply admitting my mistake in assuming you could not do this, darling! It turns out you truly can't teach an old dog new tricks. Or deer, in this case." He clears his throat, straightening up.

- You smile up at him, heavy bags under your eyes from where you've barely slept for the past week pouring over this.

- "If it makes you feel any better, it makes sense why you couldn't solve this thing. It's utter bullshit nonsense." You shake your head at the contract.

- The deal was undone embarrassingly quickly after that using the draft you had written. No pushback at all on it.

- Alastor feels his collar slacken and break to bits as you write the counter-contract and sighs with extreme relief as he watches the other contract disintegrate, feeling the power which had been stolen coming back as it turns to dust. It doesn't cure the utter humiliation that still sits heavy upon his shoulders however.

- After everything, he would threaten to kill you if you tell anyone about what went on or how he had fallen apart. Though, it would be a lie to say you two don't grow significantly closer.

- Alastor is still hesitant to fully let his guard down around you, however the massive wake that existed between you two even as fairly good friends has now significantly closed.

- He's still a lying, scheming asshole, but he'll be much more inclined to not be so much with you considering you've kept multiple giant blows to his ego fully secret.

This was a lot longer than what I usually write for requests holy moly, but I absolutely loved writing these. I hope I fulfilled your vision anon 🙏

You get through Angel's and Husk's, which are really emotional and sweet, then you get to Alastor's 💀

Masterlist

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euphemiaamillais · 5 months

Text

blurb - mentor!coriolanus snow corrupts his tribute

cw: 18+//corruption kink//dub-con//blowjobs//fingering//piv sex//mentions of death (you are a tribute after all)

you’re his favourite tribute, he reminds you each time he makes a visit to your apartments. he’s been granted the illusive role once again, after dr. gaul had noticed his success—and to thank him for his immense contribution to changing the way the capitol viewed the games. so, in thanks, he was allowed to pick any tribute he wanted—of course he selected you. pretty, but oh-so-innocent. he mostly wanted you so he could force you onto your knees and have you lap every last drop of cum from his cock.

that’s why he was here this evening, a bouquet of roses in his arms, matching the one on his lapel, coming on the guise that he wanted to have a special dinner to commemorate your going into the games in two days’ time. you’d ensured your stylist had dressed you in the prettiest gown—a soft green dress that flowed over your figure in such a way that you had gasped when you saw yourself in the mirror. you wanted to look good for coriolanus after all—he had been so kind to you, and it was the least you could do to look pretty for him.

when he arrives at the door, he’s dressed handsomely in a starched white button up shirt and black dress pants, and he hands you the array of flowers. you gasp, bowing your head in thanks and rushing to put them in a vase. however, an avox sweeps past and takes them from your hand to rearrange them for you. a feeling of dread washes over you as you realise it’s unlikely that you’ll be alive to see the flowers wilt. however, you force a smile back on your face, giddy with excitement that your mentor has come to pay you a visit.

‘how’s my favourite tribute?’ coriolanus inquires, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to it, his eyes glistening with a certain intention. you blush, the imprint of his lips burning into your hand. you still felt it after he’d pulled away from you.

‘oh, well, i’m certainly doing well now that you’re here, mr snow,’ you smile, making your way to the settee to rest your legs. you’d been pacing for hours in anticipation of his arrival.

‘what did i tell you about calling me that—really, it’s not like i’m president or something.’ he reprimands gently, and you nod in apology.

he can’t keep his eyes off of you; the way that dress hugs every curve on your body, how its neckline plunges to reveal your pert breasts. he fantasises about unzipping you, hands caressing your breasts, fingers bringing your nipples to harden, and then sliding his tongue over them as you squirm beneath him. of course, he’s getting ahead of himself—you notice his face is hot, which only makes you blush in return. whatever could he be thinking of?

‘i do have another present for you,’ he says, and your eyes light up with delight. presents are such a rarity back in the districts that the mere mention of a gift sends your heart pounding with excitement.

‘oh really!’ you gasp gleefully, and he nods, his icy blue eyes glistening at the thought of what he’s about to do. his poor, innocent little tribute. you’d never expect this, but he knows you’re so desperate to please him—you’ll do anything just to make your mentor happy.

‘but you have to close your eyes. can you do that for me?’ he says in his charming tone, the one he uses when he really wants something. you comply, squeezing your eyes shut with a giggle of excitement, body thrumming with anticipation.

coriolanus unbuckles his belt, and pulls down his pants which are already straining with the hard bulge of his cock. he’s aching for you; aching for relief.

‘what is it, coryo?’ he sighs as you use his pet name; one hand firmly gripping his cock.

‘hush, it’s a surprise. but i promise you’ll really like it…’ he uses his free hand to caress your cheek, and you blush at the touch. his large hands are a little cold, but you welcome his ministrations.

‘okay…’ you giggle again, and he feels his cock begin to leak with precum—your innocence eggs him on, he wants nothing more than to tarnish you completely, make you his.

‘open your mouth,’ he commands, and willingly, you oblige. perhaps he’s given you something sweet. your belly grumbles with hunger, the thought of a bonbon or perhaps a chocolate truffle making you salivate.

you feel him ease something in; it’s firm, but it feels familiar in a way. it tastes… salty almost. you hear him let out a breathy sigh. coriolanus feels the sweet relief of your mouth around him, tongue thick with saliva, coating him so well.

‘don’t bite, sweetheart,’ he winces at the slight feeling of your teeth—you can’t help it, you’re just so hungry. ‘you suck it.’

you take his advice, and use your tongue to lick at the thing he’s put into your mouth. your eyes are still firmly shut, and he hasn’t told you to open them yet, so you assume it’s part of your present. perhaps it’s to enrich the experience—something you’ve heard the garishly festooned capitol citizens say.

‘good girl,’ he groans, feeling your tongue swirl around the tip of his cock, and he begins to slide himself in and out at a gentle pace. you’re not ready for a full face-fucking, no. he can’t spoil you that bad.

you blush at his praise, feeling him move your gift further inside your mouth. you feel something hit the back of your throat, and you gag a little, eyes brimming with tears. you try to squeeze them away with your shut eyes, but your attempts are in vain.

your eyes sting, and you are forced to open them, much to his dismay. coriolanus shakes his head in disapproval as you open your eyes to see him standing above you, cock fucking your pretty little throat. you furrow your brow, a little shocked at his corruption of you; but nonetheless you continue to suck.

‘what did i say about opening your eyes, sweetheart?’ he inquires, one hand stroking the back of your head, twisting his fingers in your shiny tresses.

‘i’m sorry,’ you say, voice muffled as your lips stretch around his tip. you’ve never done this before, but figure it’s quite simple. after all, you’d been doing it with your eyes closed.

‘you’ve been such a good girl; i wanted to give you something special, in thanks.’ he pushed your head back down onto his cock, groaning with delight as you sucked him.

you look up at him with your teary eyes, laving your tongue around his throbbing cock, feeling the rigid veins as he ruts into you. coriolanus tossed his head back, lips drawn into a satisfied grin. you looked so perfect taking him all in. god, just imagine how your cunt would feel around him—stretching out your pretty little pussy with his big, hard cock.

he thinks about how you’ll probably be dead in a few days time—he supposes he ought to relish you while he can, as morbid as it seems.

his thrusts slow, and you feel something warm release at the back of your throat. he pulls out, hot cum dripping from the tip of his cock, and starving, not having eaten in hours, you lap up all the leaking spend.

‘oh fuck,’ he sighs, patting your head as you slide your tongue up and down over the tip. he tingles with overstimulation.

you swallow obediently; he tastes a little salty, but not unpleasant, and feel it slide down into your belly. coriolanus leans down to press a kiss to your plump, wet lips; a little bruised from the sucking. he hoped the gamemakers wouldn’t notice you’d been a little maimed before the games.

‘i’m full now,’ you muse, eyes glistening a little with delight. he laughs at your sudden cheek, and you smile, glad to have just pleased him. that’s all you wanted—his approval; him telling you how good you were as you sucked him off.

‘mhm, i don’t know about that sweetheart,’ his lips curl up into an impish grin. you cock a brow; confused.

‘are you going to do that again?’ you inquire, gnawing at your bottom lip. while you enjoyed it, you felt the nagging feeling between your thighs; want, want for something more. a different kind of hunger.

‘no,’ his voice trailed off, and he knelt down, placing his hands on your thighs. ‘but i’m going to fill you another way.’

his hands creep up your dress, pushing the flimsy fabric aside, revealing your lack of panties—after all, it was impossible with the dress. he groans, seeing your cunt on display, his hands parting your legs which are sticky with want.

‘what are you doing?’ your voice trembles a little, not out of fear, but out of curiosity. back home, you’d known very little about the ways of the world. sure, you’d kissed boys, but nothing ever went further than a bit of tongue. you only knew that your body was desperate for him, and that you assumed, he’d use some part of himself to relieve that aching pressure building up.

‘shhh, relax, sweetheart,’ he put a finger to your lips, and thus you obliged, watching as he dips fingers in the slickness of your cunt.

you cry out, his fingers stretching out your tight little hole. he purses his lips together smugly, feeling you tense around him again—you’re a virgin. he feels his own belly burn with desire at the knowledge that he will be the first to tarnish you, to fuck you full of cum and claim you as his. in fact, you really do belong to him. your life depends on how many sponsors he can rack up for you, and how well he prepares you for the arena. he has to admit, he loves the power surge he gets from this.

he pumps his fingers in and out, adding another when he feels you loosening around them; wanting to stretch you out enough for you to be able to take him.

‘oh!’ you mewl as he fucks you with his fingers; your own making a fist in the rich upholstered fabric of the settee.

‘good girl,’ he praises, and you smile, proud to be pleasing him so well. you see his cock harden again. it is pressing against his stomach, the tip red with need; he’s so desperate to fuck your tight little hole and pump you full of his cum.

‘lay back,’ he demands, and you oblige, wiggling back on the settee and propping yourself up with your shoulders.

he guides his cock with his hands, and slides it slowly inside of you. you feel your walls loosen around him; stretching with a little pain at first, but you’re so wet that soon all you can feel is a delicious fullness, and the tingling growing more.

‘fuck you’re tight,’ he grunts, beginning to thrust into you. he can’t help but be a little greedy, bucking into you with vigour and force—he doesn’t really care if it hurts you, you’re just so tight that he is filled with the desperate need to spoil you.

he is poised over you now, muscular arms propping himself up, and you reach your hands around to caress his back; wanting to feel some sense of closeness. you’ve hardly known him a week, and yet he’s shown your more kindness than anybody else in the capitol.

he begins to pound into you, overcome by his intense desire, and the feeling of you clenching around his big cock is enough to send him yearning for satisfaction. you moaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he filled you full; cock buried so deep you could feel his balls slapping against the bare skin between your cunt and bottom.

‘mhm, coryo,’ you mutter into his shoulder, fingers clawing at his back.

‘such a pretty baby, taking my cock like this,’ he grins, rutting you like you’re nothing better than a common white. ‘can’t believe you’re letting me make you mine, huh? what other tribute would do that? are you a little slut, hm?’

‘uh huh,’ you nod, too fucked out on his cock to muster up anything but a few moans. you’d never imagined he’d be taking you, spoiling you with his big cock. and yet, you’d let him. he’d known how much of a desperate little whore you were; blushing too much whenever he praised you as you showed him your stamina in training.

coriolanus grips your hips as he fastened his pace, driving himself in and out; your wet pussy making a delightful sound as he rutted you. he watches as your tits bounce in that flouncy green dress, threatening to spill out with every thrust. if he wouldn’t get in trouble for ruining your dress, he’d have cum all over your tits, painting you with his spend. but he delighted more in pumping you full instead; watching it drip out as you tried to clean yourself up and put on a show of decorum.

‘fuck,’ he moans as your walls tense around him, your heat burning as his thrusts turn slow. ‘i’m gonna fill you up, hm? would you like that?’

you nod drunkenly—absolutely blissful from his cock. you shudder a little, feeling a sudden tightness in your belly—your cunt contracts slightly, and you gush around him, your first and albeit weak orgasm.

he bucks his hips, grunting and groaning as he finishes inside of you, filling you up with his second load; sticky and hot with desire.

‘god, you’re such a little slut, taking all of my cum, letting me ruin you like that,’ he says exasperatedly, not sliding out yet so he can ensure his cum stays in you—after all, you need to be reminded that you’re his. ‘i wonder what the gamemakers would say if they knew you were letting your mentor pump you full of his cum? letting a fucking slut into the arena…’

your cheeks burn with embarrassment, feeling his cum inside of you; a deliciously full sensation. you’re not so hungry anymore. he slides out of you, and watches as his seed begins to slowly trickle out of you and down your thighs.

‘will you come again, coryo?’ you ask, bottom lip between your teeth, a sheepish look painted upon your pretty face. he laughs in disbelief.

‘what, that desperate to have me before you go into the arena?’ he is a little surprised by this, but is gloating all over at the fact that you’re just so drunk on his cock.

‘mhm, please coryo,’ your lip trembles, eyes stretching wide with plea. ‘grant a dying girl her wish.’

his look darkens, and you feel a pit in your stomach form. neither of you were saying it, but it was unlikely that you’d be making it out alive. perhaps if you were especially lucky… but chances were slim.

‘i’ll try my best. for my favourite tribute,’ he half-promises, feeling a tightness in his chest when he has to remember that you too, are human. not some little doll to play with. he’s not one for getting feelings involved. he learned that the hard way, with lucy gray.

‘thank you coryo,’ you muse, pressing a kiss to his lips. you feel a tender flutter in your heart.

he dresses, and then leaves with the half-hearted promise of being back soon, perhaps later tonight if he can manage to sneak past the guards. of course, he only cares about satisfaction. knowing he has you wrapped around his finger means he has better luck at getting you to win—you’ll do whatever he says.

that’s how he leaves you, his favourite tribute, blissful from his cock, and wanting more; desperate for him. you don’t know his real intentions, that you’re just his little plaything, the chance to bring further glory to his name.

coriolanus snow is a bad man.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo x reader #x reader #female x reader #tom blyth #hunger games #smut #president snow #tbosbas x reader #tbosbas #tbosbas fanfic #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games #drabble #blurb #fanfic #coryo smut #coryo snow

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trendywaifus · 25 days

Text

who would let the world burn for you? cw: yandere themes, mentions of blood and dead bodies. angst. possible oocness. gn! reader.

I LET THE WORLD BURN, I LET THE WORLD BURN FOR YOU, THIS IS HOW IT ALWAYS HAS TO END.

FIREFLY/SAM would gladly let the world burn if it guarantees your safety. you’re like an ever-lasting flame they can physically cradle in their hands; you give them hope, a purpose. what makes you think they’ll purposely snuff you out for a world—the universe who didn’t dare to show not an ounce of mercy to them?

sam gently holds you in their arms, green wings resembling flames behind their back. behind them is a vast sea of angry fire—burning buildings and corpses sam doesn’t bother to look back to as they walks away from the ruined civilization. “ sam. .” you weakly whisper, the mecha looks down. if it could frown as it scans the cuts and nasty bruises littered all over your body, they would.

“ i came here for you. “ sam says, their voice soft and full of worry reserved only for you, “ it wasn’t apart of the script but i couldn’t bear to stand by and let you do everything by yourself. i feared that you could’ve. .” a familiar feminine voice blends in with sam’s low robotic one as they trailed off.

they fall silent when your shaky hand reaches out to touch sam’s “ face “, soft orange flames sizzles out from their metal slits.

I LET THE WORLD BURN, JUST TO HEAR YOU CALLING OUT MY NAME, WATCHING IT ALL GO DOWN IN FLAMES

KAFKA would let the world burn to show you what she’s willing to do for you. she wants to see the look on your face when everything is in flames because of her.

“ k-kafka. .” you mutter, backing away in fear as she saunters closer to you, stepping over dead bodies with no regard. her velvet lips stretches into a grin, teeth baring as orange flames are reflected in her eyes, making her look menacing. “ there’s no need to look so fearful, ” she drawls, stretching her arms wide as she draws nearer and nearer. “ you know i wouldn’t dream of laying a finger on my precious doll. “

you backed up against a cracked brick wall, legs trembling as she finally in arms length. “ y-y-you, wh-wh—“ kafka chuckles, placing a gloved hand on your cheek, her pinkish purple hues stares into your own. “ use your words, darling. i’m listening. “

“ wh-why? “ you choked out, (e/c) eyes filled with tears. kafka hums, placing the other hand on your cheek, now cradling your face. “ why? it’s simple, really. you may think the reason why i’m doing this is to make you suffer or something cliche straight out of a boring hero vs villain flim. hmm, it’s none of that. “

she leans closer to your face until her lips brush against yours. “ it’s an act of love. all i did was make it dramatic, isn’t it ironic? “

I SHOULD’NT HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE, LOOK AT WHAT IT MADE ME BECOME

RUAN MEI never could understand the concept of love due to her trauma and just couldn’t emotionally grasp it. but you—you made the loose ends stretch and connect and she finally gets to have a taste of what it means to love. but soon after, things began to spiral out of control—specifically her emotions. it’s now always you, you, you on her mind. it’s frustrating because it’s making her think irrational, illogical things. so, will she let the world burn for you? yes—undoubtedly so.

ruan mei winds her slender arms around your waist, guiding you into her midst. her cool breath fans against your skin as she outlines your cheekbone with her lips. and she doesn’t stop there—no, she’s moving down to the corner of your lips, jawline, neck, and then right at a certain spot where she feels your pulse. it’s slow and steady. a hand trails up your arm and eventually three fingers press against the opposite side of your neck. a blue light and a warm tingle follows suit.

“ ruan mei, you don’t have to do all of that. i’m alive. “ you sighed. ruan mei moves back a bit to peer into your eyes, she touches your cheek. “ i’m aware. “ she says softly, contrary to the glint in her eyes, a emotion that you can’t recognize—a emotion so passionate yet ominous that it sends a chill down your spine.

“ and I’ll keep it that way. “

I LET YOU GET TOO CLOSE, JUST TO WAKE UP ALONE

AND I KNOW YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN, YOU’RE SCARED TO BELIEVE THAT I’M THE ONE

BUT I CAN’T LET YOU GO

ACHERON allowed herself to get swallowed up by the waves of love—she allowed it to rush through the cracks of her heart and fill up the emptiness within. you’ve imprinted on her soul and now she’s hopelessly devoted to you. if the world must burn for you to be by her side, so be it. the world means nothing if you’re not in it.

her white tresses flows into the wind as she calmly walks towards you. her ruby eyes settled only on you as the once blue sky is ripped apart with one clean red slash and ruins scattered everywhere behind her. “ acheron. .what have you done? “ you asked in disbelief, holding onto your shattered blade. “ what needed to be done.” acheron merely replies, snatching your forearm and pulled you into her possessive embrace.

“ you didn’t need to do this and you know it! why did you fight me to stop me?! i could of saved millions of lives if it meant giving up my own. a whole civilization is gone now! people—ch-children! “ you sobbed, pushing your palms against her shoulders to escape her hold. acheron holds you tighter into her strong body and buried her nose into the side of your neck. it’s wrong, so, so wrong for her to do something so reckless—so selfish to discard innocent life for the safety of your own. but she’s gone through enough loss and suffering and the hole in her heart is full of you—her everything. if you died, she fears that she would of. .

“ forgive me, forgive me, “ acheron mutters into your skin like a prayer, “ i’m truly a coward but i’d gladly continue to be so if i can hold you in my arms like this. “

FEAR IN THEIR EYES, ASH RAINING FROM THE BLOOD ORANGE SKY, I LET EVERYONE KNOW THAT YOU’RE MINE

jingliu is letting everything burn. you’re her beloved— she would do anything for you. her blade will cut through anything and everything, even the moon itself to prove that to you.

her glowing, red feral eyes matched the color of the sky as corpses of the cloud knights laid around her like a ritual circle. jingliu looks at you and smiles lovingly in contrast to the horrific act she’s done. “ darling, come here. “ she softly commands, lifting her hand (which is stained with the blood of many!) out to you, waiting for you to take it and join her. you shake your head with terror, your body trembling. “ n-no, jingliu. th-this is madness! “

jingliu tilts her head to the side, her expression falls expressionless. then, she takes a step towards you, her hand falling limp to her side. “ this is madness you say? how laughable, my dear, “ she lets out a breathy laugh and casts you a chilling smile. “ this is hardly anything. once i annihilate the abundance in your name, only then you can speak to me about madness.”

honorable mention

I’D LET THE WORD BURN, I’D LET THE WORLD BURN FOR YOU

STELLE intentionally and unintentionally would let the world burn for you without a doubt. she’d choose you over the world, not caring about how bad it’ll make her seem. all she’s really thinking about is you and not the full consequences of her choice. and because of the astral express, things will get complicated. ultimately, you’ll be the one to give yourself up if the situation really requires you to step up. she’ll prob need to be held back.

“ we don’t have much time, i’ll go. i’ve dropped it anyways. “ you volunteered with a heavy heart, looking back at the city covered in flames. dan heng and march quickly opens their mouth to speak but stelle beats them to it, “ no, you’re not! i-if you’re going, then i’ll go with you! “ she shouts, taking your hand into hers, “ it’s just an artifact—“

“ an artifact that is needed to save this planet and it’s not like dan heng can use his powers either because he’s just going to flood everything and march you already exhausted yourself which means i have to—“

march chimes in, “ h-hold on a minute, even i think it’s a bad idea to go back in by yourself!everything is covered with smoke and ash, there’s no way you can find it on the ground somewhere and you can’t see anything! we need to call welt and himeko—“

“ okay, you call them and i’ll go find it. i know it’s a terrible plan but we’re out of options guys. stelle. please, let go of my hand and stay with dan heng and march. “

stelle stubbornly refuses, “ no. i said i’ll go with you so i am. if you think you’re going to go by yourself then you’re absolutely silly. if it was my choice, i wouldn’t let you go at all. “

your brows furrow with frustration, “ no, you’re being silly, stelle. look—we don’t have time to argue! you’re not going with me! “ without thinking, you jabbed your fist hard into her stomach, causing her to gasp and kneel over in pain. she still holds onto your hand but you hastily break free from her weakened grip. “ i have to go! dan heng! hold stelle back if she tries to follow me! give me 5 minutes tops, i’ll come back! promise! “ you dash towards the burning city, covering your nose in search of finding the lost artifact.

“ no! “ she screams horsely as she watches your figure run further and further away and eventually disappear into the sea of smoke. although in pain, stelle attempts to get back up and run after you. dan heng swiftly restrain her. “ l-let me go, dan heng! can’t you see what’s they’re doing?! it should of been me! no, not even me—the world should just burn! “ she screams at the top of her lungs, tears rolling down her cheeks.

#trendy #firefly x reader hsr #kafka x reader #acheron x reader #ruan mei x reader #stelle x reader #jingliu x reader #honkai star rail women x reader

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s4lv4tions · 8 months

Text

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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44st4rs · 3 days

Text

...AND ON THAT NIGHT!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ synopsis: With his account just a few cents from a negative, Toji turns to his favorite site to ease his woes. Until a certain ad gains his attention...and feeds his need for cash. He'll just please a lady who's half a mile away!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ pairings: widow!fem!reader x toji fushiguro

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ cw: 9.2k words, pwp, mentions of death, age gap (toji’s 35, reader’s 27), pet names, grinding, toji has an implied mommy kink, n*pple play, cuņnilingus, cūm eating(?), power play, use of protection

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ words from chris: part one is here...again! please read up and enjoy! i'm having so much fun with this and i can't wait for you all to share in that love, xoxo!

part 2 • the man for hire m.list

"Damnit...'nother day and I'm still broke."

It's easy to say that Toji is stuck in a trance as his dead eyes are pinned to the bolded words in his palm.

CHECKINGS: XXXX

BALANCE: ¥ 0.45

Toji's thumb has yet to leave the screen of his phone, the illuminated screen shouting back at him. He's dragging along the cracked surface like he's looking for something—something that would change his life right at that moment.

He's so ingrained in his search that he's managed to drown out his current reality—seated on the empty late-night train tracing around Tokyo with only himself to claim as baggage. He's even got earbuds in too, though the only sound in his ears is the tugging clash of the train running along the tracks.

He pulls the hand braced along his knee to comb the messy black crown of his hair, brushing back thick strands away from his strained eyes.

It's a hard pill to swallow and the only urge Toji has at that moment is to spit it out and crush it beneath the heel of his black leather work boots. But for now, he's settling for the warmth of the train cart for peace of mind.

Toji leaned back into his seat, tugging at the gray fabric of his thermal bunched along his chest. His eyes shift from his phone to anywhere other than his despairing reality, only to catch his reflection in the train window.

It's a sight to take in—his fair skin smooth and polished, his black hair frazzled due to his touch. There wasn't a lick of hardship to be found within his visage—all except for his eyes, of course.

His once vibrant azure hues now mimic that of the night sky. He's alive on the outside but akin to that of a zombie within his soul. In his very seat, he's sitting there dead to himself and dead to his surroundings.

So much potential burns at the palm of his hands but opportunities have yet to appear to Toji. So much time and years have passed, and not a single one caught up to him to reap some reward. He could sit here and think about all of his life choices, but he knew better than to dwell on what couldn't be fixed.

That didn't mean he couldn't pout for a minute, though.

"What a life..." he utters, bringing a hand to wipe over his tired features, leaving the rough thick tips of his fingers to pinch along the bridge of his nose.

"How did I get here? Strapped for cash and livin' on the lam...just perfect."

Toji knew one thing though—he needed a get-rich-quick scheme quickly. Not for millions, just enough to get him by and afloat.

His eyes settled back onto the blackened screen of his phone, racking through his brain to decide what could ease his monetary woes: XXXHub.

No matter his mood, Toji can always count on his favorite porn site to brighten his mood. All he needed was a quick peek at the newly uploaded filth that awaited him.

His thumbs went to work, clicking on one of the bookmarks to bring him to XXXHub's homepage. The grin that glows upon his features is devious but the thoughts that swirl his brain surpass all curls of his mouth.

He was already scrolling through the categories, deciding which one would be his sin for tonight...that was true until a certain blinking red banner beneath the website's logo caught his regard.

"FUCK A LONELY LADY AND GET PAID TODAY! SHE'S 0.7KM AWAY!"

"Hm..." he mumbles through a tightened pout. "Is that all I gotta do for a quick dump of cash?"

The title piques Toji's attention, earning a sharp arch of his brow. In better days, he knew better than to click on links like this, but with the reality he's living in, the risk of a virus is worth it.

And so...he did it. His thumb—without a lick of hesitancy in sight, clicks upon the blinking banner, navigating him to a home page of profiles and a lengthy explanation.

"Fuck a pretty lady right now! These women are all lonely and can't please their poor pussies anymore :(!

They're all alone and begging for your cock! So scroll down and pick whose bed you'll end up in tonight!"

Toji merely shrugs his shoulders as he begins his search, his eyes scanning through the first page of profiles. He taps, he huffs, and he flips through all the options, eagerness bubbling deep within his belly. How could he choose between all the pretty faces, the perfect tits, and racy lingerie?

"God these women are perfect! She's got a cute face...that's a nice ass...and oh...who's this? She's a real pretty broad," Toji drones as he taps the profile.

He couldn't explain it, the sudden gravitation to the woman on his screen. She has a single picture on her profile—a mirror picture of her in a black silk robe.

Whatever expression she wore was hidden behind the sleeved arm of her robe, leaving just her eyes to view. Her hues told Toji a different story, a look of innocent doe eyes pawing on his heartstrings. This—this site, this kind of exposure wasn't her cup of tea. She isn't like the other hundreds of other women who had their legs spread first for the camera.

In search of learning more about his new beau, he lingers down on the woman's biography, his lips reading the words aloud.

"I'm Y/N, 27 years old, and a widow. My husband died a few years ago...that got dark real fast...and I haven't had a man in my life since. I'm not looking for anything serious, just for the night. If interested, please call the number below and...I'll be paid handsomely?!?"

"I'm handsome...and she's gonna pay handsomely?!... She's mine!"

That last sentence is all Toji had to read before sending his fingers to race across the screen. He simply had to take up the deal before anyone else did. If all he had to do was fuck a pretty girl for his account to finally see a change, he would've done it years ago.

Toji flipped between apps, punching in each digit of the phone number carefully. A set of sweaty palms and a shaky grip soon creep over him. Nervousness, something Toji hasn't felt in years. Him? Nervous to call a woman? He didn't know what to expect, whether he'd be welcomed by the mere sound of his voice. Should he try to sound different? It's a long shot but with his pockets running on empty, anything's worth trying.

With a heavy chest, Toji gave the phone number a series of checks to make sure he got every digit right before clicking the awaiting green button of fate. Bringing the phone to his ear, Toji brought his attention to his reflection once more, taking in the reality of his choice.

One ring. Two rings. Three—

"Hello?" The voice purrs into Toji's ear.

His grip on the phone grows heavy, the color of his skin fading to a ghostly white. Toji swallowed down the lump in his throat, searching for the words to begin his first impression.

"Hey! I'm calling for the ad on uh...phew...XXXHub...I just wanted to see if you were willin' to...y'know...have me for the night?"

All Toji can hear is the sharp huff of your breath before his question gets an answer.

"I'll text you the address. If you can be here in the next 30 minutes, I'll add 10,000 yen to the overall pay."

With that, the call went dead, leaving Toji with furrowed brows, widened eyes, and his mouth agape.

"She didn't even ask for my name...she must be as crazy as me."

Deep in thought, the flicker of a text message caught Toji's eye.

(XXX)XXX-XXXX:

108 Minato-Ku, TO

I'm on the 45th Floor.

"Minato? She's the next stop!" Toji rises to his feet upon the realization, his hand bracing around the steel pole for balance.

To his luck, the train slowed its pace to enter the station of Minato, the blur of the concrete platforms gaining clarity. The doors opened in time for Toji's newly encouraged stroll as he planted his foot onto the yellow line. Excitement courses through his veins as Toji begins his perilous walk. He inhales the cool Tokyo night breeze, staring down his phone once more.

"Time to get rich 'nd laid!"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

1:14 A.M.

Your eyes stare at the digital numbers illuminating your phone screen. He called at one and in the fourteen minutes that's passed, all you've done is roam about the penthouse living.

"He's coming...he's actually coming! I–"

"Uh Ms. Y/N?" a voice on the intercom interrupts your nervous ramblings. The call grabs your attention, urging you to walk towards the elevator doors. Your finger pressed against the red response button, prompting your reply.

"Yes?"

"You have a guest coming up. Says his name is Toji. He's tall, kinda an off guy, but he's real attractive, so...have fun!"

"Oh um...t-thank you!" You stammered, leaving your teeth to sink into your bottom lip. It was one thing to have a complete stranger come into your home—but to have your doorman wish you a fun night was one for the books.

Now, a mere few minutes stood between you and Toji— and the pummeling heartbeats flooding your senses didn't begin to calm your nerves. Your eyes scanned over every inch of the living room, searching for some form of relief.

The comfort of your space quickly calmed your racing mind–the polished red granite floor, the fluffy tan pillows, and white throw blankets covering the espresso-colored sectional, and the glimmering chandelier hanging over the glass coffee table in the center. Your eyes fell onto the mirror along the wall, scrambling steps pitting you before it.

"Okay...I look great," you hummed, scanning over your mirror's reflection. A pink silk robe graced your body with a lacy black matching bra and panties hidden beneath.

You're so invested in your reflection that the common ring of the elevator doors falls on deaf ears–until what followed brought your blood to a stilled run.

"This is a nice place! I've only seen these places on TV, never thought I'd be seein' it in real life!"

Your arms dropped to your side, allowing for the white polished tips of your nails to grab at the hem of your robe. You turned around to greet him head-on, yet all the words you had for him weathered down to a few jumbled thoughts.

"Well...hello to you, too...what's your name?"

He came to a standstill, turning around on his heels to meet you. His eyes widened in sheer awe at the sight of you, something he paired with a soft smile.

"Toji, oh and...Hi!" He announced, tugging his hand out of his pocket to wave. "You've got a nice home, Y/N."

"Thanks..." you push off as you direct Toji towards the sofa, seating yourself at the opposing side of the coffee table.

"Please, have a seat. I didn't think you'd get here so fast, I would've made tea or something to eat."

"No need to do anything special for me, Pretty girl. You're already helping me more than you know," Toji grinned as he settled into the sectional, sitting opposite of you.

A sly smile grew across your lips as his words filled the air. You turned away to avoid his gaze but it wasn't enough for Toji to ignore.

He leans back into the ribbed cushion of the sectional, his legs spreading apart to mirror his newfound comfort.

As his arms stretch along the backing, Toji's head fell into a tilt as he took in the full sight of you at last—glossy lips, smooth skin hidden behind that pesky robe he wishes you'd lose already, and all the curves he's dying to get his hands on. But before he could, Toji knew he had to warm you up to some extent.

"So...I know y're husband died, sorry 'bout that. I bet he's looking down at the pretty lady he left behind."

You shrugged his courtesy off, "It's alright. The pain's washed away and I just keep moving on. Can't dwell on it forever."

"I feel ya, just keep on moving."

"You...understand?"

"Lost my first and second wife...trust me, I know."

A shrouding silence falls over you both, with just the subtle stifled breaths filling the tense air. Putting aside his wary means of kindness, you were finally able to gawk at the strange man you've allowed to enter your sacred world.

Your sights finally meet Toji's, the two curious gazes softening with each passing moment. Per the doorman's warning, Toji truly was attractive. Tall, black hair that fell just short to the curves of his ears, azure eyes perfect for the job of enchanting, and that scar along his lip piqued your interest in him more than it should. Just his demeanor alone—the blend of a bold, menacing confidence carrying a timid wave to wash over you.

Until Toji's musing finally cuts the awkward tension in half.

"Y'know...I'm just thinking...this is a really nice place," he notes as he stretches his thumb to graze along his jaw.

"Yeah, Toji, thanks, you said that already," you huff.

"But listen, I'm thinking...why don't we...extend our deal? Would you be willing to have me...past tonight?"

Your lips don a growing grimace, your eyes narrowing a taunting squint.

"That's not what we agreed on."

Toji's hands immediately shot up in defense, waving the invisible flag of surrender.

"Yes, you're right. But think about it, I'm a pretty clean guy—keep myself groomed if I do say so myself. And I'd be here to fulfill any and all of your needs. I can even be your bodyguard! I know some creeps try to throw themselves at you—"

"Like what you're doing right now?" You shot back, folding your arms against your chest.

All Toji conjures is a smirk, "Can't be a creep if I'm here to fuck you, Pretty. But I like the sassy attitude....Like I was saying...I can just...protect you. Plus, you can take down that ad and save yourself the hardship of dealing with another me."

"And how do I know you'll be any good at pleasing me?"

That's when a heavy scoff—dark, heavy, and accursed with scorn rang from Toji's lips. It was almost your question just pricked at his pride, using his laughter to protect the endangered sanctum of his ego.

He broke away from your stare, leaving you to study him instead. He plows his palm to his chest, lazily dragging those rough digits of his to delineate along the hidden contours of his abdomen, right down to rest atop the peeking glint of his belt buckle.

"I told you to trust me either, didn't I?" He rasped lowly. "I know your type and let's just say it's my weakness. I'm gonna please you, sweetheart. Just keep your end of the deal and we'll be getting along."

"Someone's cocky, and what do you mean you know my type?"

"You're doing too much talking," he gripes, "And not enough thinking. I just offered to be your personal toy, what's your answer gonna be?"

You hold back any thought to ridicule Toji further, your teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip. He wasn't playing around anymore, not with that blooming dark glint blending with the denim blue hue of his eyes.

"I'm assuming you still expect to be paid?"

"Naturally. I don't need a fortune, just enough to stay afloat."

The tips of your fingers drummed along the wrinkled leather cushion as you mulled over Toji's demands. It wasn't a bad deal, you both did gain something in the end. It feeds whatever he was looking for and it strangely calms some of your nerves.

Maybe having Toji would finally ease your nerves about having a man around again. His conditions truly brought some security to you and your home—unless he planned on robbing you.

You give him one final glance over—hinging over his own tantalizing stare. A risk to say yes, but something told you it'd be a bigger risk to let him walk out once the time came.

"Fine," you sigh, " We have a deal, but the second I even sense that you're crossing the line, you're done."

Toji lays his hand on his chest once more, huddled over his heart. "You have my word. I won't do more than what you tell me. But now that we've struck a deal...I think we should celebrate."

Toji pats at the empty spot beside him, the leather reverberating his taps softly into the air. "Anyways, don't you wanna come sit...near me at least?"

"That's..fair," you agree, standing from your spot on the couch.

A few sauntering steps bring you to sit beside Toji, leaving just inches of space between you both. You couldn't even begin to look at him, but the heat of his stare is hard to ignore. He's taking you in, better than the cryptic profile photo online could ever present you.

The weight of the cushions shifted slightly as Toji leaned in towards you, finally fixing his sight over you entirely.

"This is your first time doing something like this, isn't it?"

"No... What if I'm just quiet in nature?"

A gentle chuckle flooded Toji's chest. "If you were naturally quiet, we wouldn't be here right now. This isn't your type of thing, I know. But hey..." Toji trailed off.

To lure your attention, he places an outstretched finger to nuzzle along the curve of your chin, forcing you to face him without room for interference.

"You've got me now."

The scent of mint floods your nose, accompanied by the robust musk of a cologne. He was so close, and with the stare he voluntarily pulled you into, you had no choice but to bear him for all he was.

A man with such flawlessly fair skin, seemingly invigorated with a refreshing glow. His brows were thin and groomed from what could be seen, hidden behind the fluffy onyx strands of hair. His lips plump, brushed with a sheer coat of pink as he bared a faint smile towards you.

And right there on the corner of his mouth was a rough scar, a crude memory that now complements his charms; the same charm that struck you with awe. He barely had a hold over you, yet you were melting into his whims quicker than you could even begin to think.

Toji's free hand came to lay along the curve of your thigh, his thick, calloused palm settling into the warmth of your supple skin. You study his hand carefully—his hand's easily twice the size of your own, shaped by rough skin and faded scars.

Though, Toji carries a gentle touch, so gentle that the nerves under your skin prickle with sheer anticipation. Your gaze flows from Toji's hold, leading your sights to meet his own.

"This is a better look on you, Princess. Think we can get a little more comfortable?"

"I think we can do that," you grin, freely leaning into Toji's care. Your arms are quick to fold around the nape of his neck, leaving Toji to close the distance as he leads you onto his lap. His hands cup at the hem of your pink robe, the pads of his fingers teasing to slip beneath.

"You said you're gonna be able to pleasure me, right? Then...do it, I'm letting you take control," the astute words rolling off your tongue.

"Oh, I like you already!," Toji smirks, the scar on the corner of his lip curling.

His hands slipped from your back to the rich heft of your ass, his digits finally kneading at the silky plush. "Tell me what you like, or we can spend all night figuring it out together. It's not like we're rushing to go anywhere."

Hearing Toji's question brought a flickering heat to swarm your cheeks. But you've picked up on one thing thus far with Toji—he didn't have a single care for what could be vulgar, or lewd—he just wants what's real and raw.

"Um...well I like being touched...like what you're doing now. I really like kisses, I-"

Toji nuzzles himself into your chest, his breath fanning over your skin.

"So...you like kisses like this?" His lips settle against the crook of your neck.

His efforts were nothing short of delicate, his lips painting peppering pecks about your skin like a brush to a canvas.

"J-Just like that," you mutter, your hands bracing the weakened collar of Toji's shirt.

Your hands slip away from the nape of his neck to cup his face, gently prying him from his splayed mess of kisses. Within your hands, the cushions of your digits are careful to stroke along the contours of his jaw. But your touch wanders a little higher, hovering over his lips. The pad of your thumb sits along his bottom lip, wiping away the glossy sheen of spit.

Toji's eyes remain on you, intrigued by your developing notion. His hands kept busy to ground his drifting mind, roaming about to brace your arching spine. The pit within his stomach churns with suspense, yearning for that fragile touch of yours to engulf him in a world far away from his own.

"What do you wanna do? Got my attention now, Princess."

"Tell me what you like," you croon with a winding smile on your lips.

The faint flare of rouge sprinkled across the highs of Toji's cheeks, his swollen lips bearing a gaping 'o'.

"Oh, you don't gotta worry about me—"

"But I want to. So...I'm waiting to hear something."

"Just making you cum is all I want. Don't worry much about me, you hired me, remember?"

"That's not the answer I want," you brood with a pout.

"But that's the answer you're gonna get. Trying to spoil me, huh? 'M not used to that these days," he murmured as he pressed his pursed lips against your thumb.

"Guess I'll just have to learn, I'm excited too though," you smile.

"I'm not gonna make it—"

Before the next word could roll off his quipped tongue, you push a kiss onto Toji's lips, your fading smile buried within the slew of lust.

You couldn't have imagined Toji's lips to be so soft against your own. He's mimicking your every move, welcoming a fluid tide crashing the two of you. When you push, he pulls with just enough force to leave you chasing for more.

Your tongue swipes along his bottom lip, inducing a shy whimper to trickle from his throat. He tows you in that much closer, desperately trying to contain himself within your care. Your chest smothers against his, the laggard breaths filling his lungs.

Toji gives into you as your tongue slid over his. He couldn't help it, greedily coiling the slicked flat around your own. It's selfish to drag you into his sick urges, but with the way you fit in his hands, your lips dancing with his own, and god—your tongue rolling over his like a binding knot, apologies were nowhere near due.

In the heat of it all, you pull away for a moment's breath—but not without sealing Toji's tongue between your lips, suckling at the limp muscle.

Breaking away from the messy kiss you've fallen into, your thumb drums along Toji's cheek, his fluttering eyes opening to reveal a lust-blazoned glow.

"Guess you like kisses too," you chuckle, planting a peck along the highs of his flushed cheeks.

"Fuck, I can't take it, where's your bed?" he hounds, adjusting you in his hold.

Toji lifts you with sinful ease, your legs instinctively lacing around his waist.

You bury your head in the crook of his neck, taking in the intoxicating

"It's the door down the hall, you're already staring at it."

Your muffled words guide Toji down the dimmed hallway towards your bedroom door, nudging his knee at the agape door to expose the sanctuary of your bedroom.

"Wow, got a nicer room here than out there," Toji marveled as he stood over the bed. He laid you down onto the plush white blanket, the shape of your body imprinting into the fluffy white weft.

"Thank you," you smirk as you perch yourself onto your elbows, peeking up at Toji as he tends to himself. He works quickly to rip the gray henley shirt from his waist over the top of his head off and onto the wine-carpeted floor of your bedroom.

Toji's hand sits along his stomach, wiping his broad digits across the defined cuts of his abdomen—earning a well-deserved gaze from your hungry eyes.

"Go on, I know you wanna touch me," he hints as he dips his body over yours. You drop onto the bed, your hands pawing at the vast hull of Toji's chest as he traps you beneath him. The sheer warmth of his skin lulls you further into his captivating hold. You found yourself in a hypnotic state the more your hands explored along Toji's bare skin.

"I know that look—you like what you see, don't you Angel?" Toji sneered as his fingertips reached out to your visage, stroking the back of his digits along your cheek.

"I-I don't know what to say, I—"

"So...don't. Don't say anything. Just...kiss me like that again...please," Toji pleads, his puffy lips brushing against your own.

A weary grin teases your lips to curl as you nod, your arms encircling Toji's neck. You oblige with a light peck before dragging him back down into the dizzying bliss he's begging for.

Just an hour could have passed since Toji's met you and already he's bound himself to you just like that. He can't understand why either—it's just a kiss. Yet he can't remember the last time when a kiss like this held him captive, wanting more with each passing second.

It's just a kiss but he can't bring himself to stop pouring pitiful whimpers when your tongues coiled around each other. It's just a kiss and he's losing himself to the flourishing desire you draw out from the depths of his being.

Well...almost losing himself.

His hand breaks away from the caress of your features, sending those heavy digits to drift across the silhouette of your body. His wandering touch made itself just shy of your panties, the lacy edge grazing against his fingers.

But he's careful not to break the seal that barriers your navel from the heat between your legs. Rather, he finds himself crumbling what bits of fabric he can between his fingers tips, tugging the panties taut against your cunt.

A lewd wince breaks from your lips, and a smile cracks along his own.

"Aww, you like that?" Toji hums, "Think you've got something to tell me?"

You can only stare at Toji with a mouth wearing a witless gape as he continues to tease you, yanking at your panties with no end in sight. He's lazy with it but that doesn't mean it's not without intent. He's intending to work those thin panties of yours to slip past the fat lips of your cunt and fix whatever friction he can build to drive right up against your poor clit.

Your hand races to find some way to end his selfish exposé, nails clipping into the worked bulk of his forearms. Yet the words you want to say to him come out in nothing but broken gasps and whimpers.

He's leaving the comfort of your lips for something new, laying a trail of kisses down to your chest. Gently, he brings his free hand to your breasts, pushing away the annoying robe to slip his hand into the cup of your bra.

You're so soft, such delicate skin shouldn't have been handled by a man such as he, but for the sake of pleasing you, he'll ignore it for tonight.

He slowly guides the pillowy plush from behind the pesky bra, your tits sitting pretty for his sore eyes to take in. A sight just for him but he can't help but to drag that tongue of his past your nipple, smirking at how the decadent buds stiffen between his lips.

Toji pulls away with a lewd 'pop', overlooking your poor nipple twitches in the room's cool air. He carries his fingers to draft along the curve of your tits, mindless strokes leading him to roll out the stiffened peaks for his ministrations all over again.

But he isn't satisfied by this game, his brows furrowing into a knot. His hues shoot your tested stare—his eyelids heavy enough to squint but fluttering just enough for you to absorb the full intent behind his eyes.

"Oh, 'm trying so hard to be nice, Y/N, swear I am. 'Til you tell me what you want, just gonna keep teasing you," he sings softly as he welcomes your nipple into the gummy hollows of his mouth once more.

"O-Okay okay, let me just—"

Toji's impatient. He can't wait for you to try and find the words, not when he knows they are sitting right there at the tip of your tongue. So he's willing to help you draw it out—by using his own tongue to suck at suckling at the roused bud of your nipple as you speak.

"Wait, Toji 'm trying!" You whine, tightening your grip along his forearm.

"Try harder, 'm not the one making a mess."

Your hand searches for his wrist, lithe digits binding around him. The hold he has over your panties loosens as you pull his hand to sink past the soiled cotton triangle at last.

"Please...touch me."

A chuckle cracks within Toji's throat, "That's what I've been waiting for—Tch, really making me work for my pay."

Without another word breaking into the air, Toji's fingers work themselves into a sweeping whirl about your clit. He's so soft, using a feather-like touch to ease the roused bundle of nerves into his trust.

He's painfully tender from what his mouth leads on, leaving his fingers to drift past your fold and pinned to the stingy slit of your pussy. The tip of his digit pecks at your hole, coaxing your walls to accept his touch.

Bit by bit he's slipping in, stuffing your pussy with the overwhelming girth of his digits. He reaches your sweet with disgusting ease, he would curse his luck if he wasn't so focused on the cute faces befalling your face.

But there was one in particular that he's fond of—your eyes rolling back into your skull, your swollen lips pursed onto a quivering frown. Your hands can't seem to decide where to rest, both palms grasping onto his surging forearm—as if that was really enough to stop him.

"This is all you wanted, isn't it, Princess? You aren't that mean, just can't use those hands of yours to touch yourself like you need to. Let me fix all that for ya," he hums, pressing a kiss onto your cheek.

But Toji doesn't just stop there. He's reeling away from your side completely, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands bracing along the contours of your waist.

"C'mon, lift your hips," his digits tugging at the elastic waistband trolling your hips.

You bring a finger to sit against your lips, biting down on that digit as you follow his words.

The rough edges of your panties sting your legs as Toji pulls the gossamer cloth from its post at your hips and off onto the floor.

He drops to his knees, his hands cupping the supple underside of your thighs. Toji doesn't give you the chance to retaliate or rebel, pushing your legs to swell against your chest.

"Be nice and hold your legs back fr' me, won't you? Need both my hands for this."

A hum serves as your response as you replace Toji's brash embrace around your legs with your own, mustering up all your strength to fulfill his wish.

And Toji was right, he did need both his hands—setting a hand to your hip to keep you at bay and a hand draped over the sticky, plush mounds of your cunt. He's splitting the dripping mess of your lips apart, just to gawk at what's become of you.

He bit back any words that came to mind, they were all just going to come out as mindless drivel anyway. He didn't know where to start, especially when your pussy's already blooming beneath his very eye.

It's so lewd the way he catches everything; the sticky wispy threads of glass barely keeping your lips nuzzled together, how your slit gasps for attention, eager to be filled all over again, and how your clit erupts into anxious twitches over desperate anticipation.

He's itching to feel you, that's the reason his digits ghost along the plushy bead, trailing his touch to sink past your silky folds.

But there's something missing from this equation...

"Y/N?" he breaks out lowly.

"Yeah?"

"Can't see you, mama. Spread those legs open too, 'kay?" he whispered as he laid his cheek against your thigh.

"Mmhm, Toji, you tease me too much." That still didn't stop you from parting away your trembling thighs off your chest, and onto the dipping stress of the bed.

Toji greets you with a ruined smile, "See, that's so much better. Plus...I love an audience."

The words ready to slip off your tongue opted for a breathless moan the second Toji delves into you, his warm breath covering you. He starts off so considerate with you, peppering kisses from the flushed bud down to your gummy slit. His kiss is challenged by the introduction of his tongue, languidly flushing out your folds as your slick drenches his senses.

Toji's working his lolling tongue into steady strides, coiling at the burning nerves to catch every drop of essence dripping from you. His nose knowingly bumps at your clit through all this, earning a slew of scattered moans to chime from your lungs and into the air.

"O-Oh! Mmm fuck, Toji! Feels 's good!

"Aww, I know it is, Princess, 'm hearing you sing my name after all."

But what Toji's after is more–more of that pretty voice of yours crying out his name, more your sweet flooding his mouth, and more of those cute twitches drumming against his lips. So when he's finally ready to pay your clit well-deserved attention, Toji's head falls into a tilt to close any possible gap. He's serious about no distractions, he wants every drop of you he can get.

That's why he's pecking at the raw bulb, teasing your clit into a false sense of security. He's so sweet with it, just barely pushing back with his kiss. He lets the pearl press up against his plush lips for a change, just teasing the hungry confines behind his supple curves. But it's that final tender display is when Toji's trap falls into place, enveloping the perked bud behind the lush seal of his lips.

He wastes no time to draw your clit into the pulsing stream, Toji sucking at the bundle of nerves. He's not too hard, but he's not playing coy either. Rather, he's eager enough to invoke your clit into a silky swell, with methods that suit only his whims.

He's so messy with it too, allowing spools of spit to drip from the corners of his mouth. Squelches ring from the filthy scene—but he makes them even louder just for your ears to hear by ending each reeling tide with a 'pop' of lips. He could stop to clean himself up, but what was the point? Laving your clit in the lewd cocktail of his spit and your sweet honey made it all worthwhile.

"T-Tojiii," you draw out, " I-I'm...'m fucking gonna cum, pleeeease don't stop!"

A frigid heat washes over your body, the pit in your tummy stirring with an addictive pull. There's a weight befalling your entire body, the building high within your core pinning you to the bed. If only he knew just how close you were, maybe he'd take some pity and help you out more–but you knew that was out of the question.

But with desperation taunting your blank mind, you only had one solution to rely on.

Even though Toji's hand clings to your hips, he doesn't stop you from all movement. And with how his tongue laps at your clit in between his taunting treatment, it was the perfect chance to ease your hips into a messy cadence, your hips driving your pussy to ride against Toji's tongue.

Your pussy paints a salacious story all over Toji's face. Your slick glosses over his lips, a sloppy one too, just how he's grown to like it coming from you. Your essence paints his lips, chin, and even the tip of his nose alike in your glossy veil.

It's almost like Toji's receiving a kiss back when your hips start to rock against him. It's disgusting but his eyes are trained to capture every detail. The stutter in your rhythm whenever you nudge against too hard, or those trembling strands of your slick that drips from the tip of his nose whenever your hips drawback too far.

"T-To-ojjjiii, 'm g-gonna cum!"

Every one of your moans hits Toji hard, that dominating nature he wears only ebbs the longer he's nuzzled between your thighs. He can't think straight, not with the throbbing pangs trapped behind his pants.

He isn't one to chase after his own urges during a time like this, but you simply have that effect on him. He has to do something, or else he'd make such a pitiful mess of himself.

He's placing a hand right on your tummy, using just enough force to pin you down while his other hand races to fidget with the buckle of his jeans. It's a hard but successful struggle when he yanks the metal clasp off his hips, allowing him to unbutton his pants.

His hand ravages across every inch of his cock, his fist strumming from the base to the weeping tip. He gives the head just a good enough squeeze to ground him, but it's a fleeting dream when his lips catch your clit in his lips once more.

A merciful whimper croaks from behind Toji's lips, he hopes you'll forgive him but if he doesn't do something more than just squeeze at himself, he'll burst sooner than planned.

And you, well you have no idea of the struggle you've put on him, and Toji knows this. He can see it on your face—donning that cute look he's fond of. You finally found relief and he was selfishly chasing it right beside you.

That building guilt isn't much of a hindrance though, and it certainly doesn't stop Toji's thumb from swiping along the heavy underside of his cock, bringing the flustered nerves lining his fat girth to a brimming stir.

"Go ahead, baby. 'm right here to clean up your mess," he whimpers, sending his hips to buck up into his sheathed fist.

Toji uses your undoing as a distraction from his own as his lips bear one last stride of your hips. You fall back onto the bed, your legs slamming shut from hungered efforts.

Toji grins to himself as he pulls away from you, leaving just one final kiss to skim over your quivering clit. He picks himself from the floor, standing over you with a softened stare.

Your arms drape over your face, covering your eyes behind the sleeves of your robe as you struggle to grapple with steady breaths. You look so peaceful coming down. Toji really doesn't wanna disturb you, but the pangs wrecking his cock tells him otherwise.

"Hey, hey, can't pass out on me yet. Still got more for you, Angel," he calls out, resting his hand over your heaving belly.

"O-Oh, right. Almost forgot 'bout that," you chuckle, sighing as you sit up to face Toji.

And you really did want to, but something else grabbed your attention quicker than he did.

A stretching wet spot on his pants, bounding your hand to mend his troubles.

You crawled onto your knees towards Toji, closing the gap between you both. Your hand moves on its own, gravitating to the opened clasp of his pants. With his briefs in tow, you tug the remaining clothes down his legs with Toji slipping out of the restricting confines at last. His hands fold behind his back, his sign of giving you free-range over him.

"Whatcha gonna do with it," Toji muses as he casts a heavy stare over you.

Before you could even think to reply, your eyes swarm over Toji's cock, hinging on its upright curve. There's a happy trail that leads right down to the base, the thick gathering of hairs neatly trimmed.

He's big, from each inch he carries to the fat bulgy girth, even his twitching red tip's thick enough to flood in your mouth with ease. Even now, the veins melding into your twitch, coaxing rivulets of white to bud from his slit. With nowhere else to go, each drop runs along his underside, curling at the heavy swell of his ball and landing on the bed's blanket.

"You're making a mess on my bed, Toji."

"Oh..'m s-sorry, Miss. Can't help myself, y'know? Your hands are so soft and I..."

Your finger swipes at the spilled tears, drifting that sullied finger to your lips. You peer up at him, just for his deprived sights watching your every move. He's biting down on his bottom lip as he observes, failing at holding back those whimpers leaking from his throat.

"I'll clean up...just this once," you purr, pressing the pad of your digit to your tongue. The rich swirl of salt coats your mouth and numbs your senses. The drops of precum melt nicely along your tongue, down to the last drop as you wash away his presence with a loud gulp.

"Oh f-fuck...'m so sorry. Promise it won't happen agai–"

The last word didn't get the chance to finish off Toji's mind before a striking tremor jolts through his cock. A river of white gushes from out his tip and onto the bed, sinking through the plush material. His poor cock's weeping for that attention, just a taste would satisfy that burning—a taste that you also found yourself starved of.

You roll your eyes at Toji's pathetically faltered apology, setting your lustful eye back down onto the mess of his cock. White's a good color on him, especially when it bled from his poor, dribbling cock.

Your digits grip the base of Toji's cock, lazily pulling into a loose fist as you strum along his tanned length. That tip of his is just begging for attention, and you're more than willing to serve it. You inch your lips closer to the blushing tip, but the sudden hand Toji places under your chin force your sights up at him and only him.

"Whatcha doin' there?"

"I was gonna–"

"Ah ah, can't let my pretty girl do such a dirty job. Just ignore it, I'm gonna cum soon anyways."

You give Toji a stifled nod, your grip over his shaft fading away. For your cooperation, Toji blows you a kiss before reaching down for his pants, searching around in his pockets.

He stands over you once again, this time with a gold foil between his fingers.

"Here," he says, offering you the packaged condom. "Help me out 'nd put it on for me, yeah?"

"Just the one?" You enquire, ripping apart the small foil square.

You press the rim of the condom to the head of Toji's cock, the slickened sheet of plastic rolling down his length. Yet the rolling momentum ends just shy of his base, the condom coming to a staggering halt.

"Toji, it doesn't fit," you sigh as you pay him a stern glare.

He simply cups your cheek, "No, it does. I'm just a little too hard for the condom to handle right now—but it's not gonna break!" he's swift to assure you as he tugs at the stressed slicked latex.

"Alright whatever–"

It doesn't take long for Toji to hover over you, his arms caging you into his world. His brash entrance halts your sentence, but a new conversation takes place when your eyes fall in line with his.

Toji flickers over you, his eyes tracing along every curve to be found on your body. You're perfect, made just for him. His hand crowds along your waist, massaging the supple skin that melts into his grip.

"I don't know why you hid your body under that robe, you're perfect."

"So you wanted me to answer the door naked?" You hinted, lacing your arms about the nape of Toji's neck.

"Well if you did, things would've been a lot different, but let's take this off."

Toji hums to himself as he slowly drags the satin sleeves of your robe off your arms. He quickly bundles the silky fabric into a ball, tossing it out of mind and into the bedroom's surrounding abyss.

He's drunk off some carnal instinct as he settles onto the bed, his arms caging you into his world.

This time, he's the one with the feverish kiss, sending his tongue to grace the caverns of your mouth.

Your legs tether around Toji's hips, pitting his body flush against your own. The thick hull of his chest smothers against your own, but your hands race to outline his dewed skin.

His every breath, the drum of his heart, and the rippling twitch of muscles thaw in your palm. You've seen it since the night started, but now you've become more keen to study Toji's body, tracing over his smooth skin adorned with scars.

"How'd you get these?" the question rolling off your tongue as you peer up to him.

"I'll tell you one day, but for now, just focus on me," he chuckles, stealing a kiss from your pouty lips. Sure, it's not the answer he knows you're looking for, but you're the one staring at him with those pretty doe eyes, rubbing at his chest tenderly.

So it's no shock that this time he's the one with the feverish kiss, sending his tongue to grace the caverns of your mouth. He has a job to see through to the end, but for some strange reason, Toji can't find the energy to part from your lips.

He's adamant on keeping you under him too, at least for as long as the night wills. His arms bracket beside your head as he rests some of his weight over you, his body settling against your own. He slides his digits to your thigh, shifting your weakened legs to lace around his hips.

"Mmph, Toji," you moan as your arms coil along the broad of his shoulders. The weight of his cock sits homely between the puffy lips of your cunt, the weight mindlessly coaxing your hips to rock against him for some friction.

Toji's too ready to reciprocate, easing himself to accompany your lust-ridden rhythm. Your pussy paints him in the same wet kisses he held over you, sending the spry head of his cock into a sputtering frenzy.

"Mmhm–fuck..c-can't wait anymore," Toji seethes as he snakes a hand between your bodies.

"Relax for me, 'm gonna go nice and slow," he murmurs, drawing lazy circles with his tip as he aligns himself with your entrance.

It's the crown of his cock that ruins you, the thick mushroom tip nuzzling to fill your hole. Toji's ever so kind for your sake, using the gentle pace to coax your walls to his girth. Your pussy's even got the nerve to tease him, singing those cute little wet hymns to welcome him.

An outpouring sob breaks Toji from your kiss, his head dropping beside the pulse of your neck.

"Oh f-fuuh—s-so tight, Princess! 'Nd you're squeezin' me like that, fuuuck, Y/N!"

He's hesitant to press on, relying on sheepish bucks to drive his cock deeper inside of you. But Toji's so slow that you can't help but aid him, tilting your hips to ease his descent.

The fat of his cock finds a way to fill your cunt to the hilt, Toji grinding his hips against your own. All you can do is rely on him to ground your fleeting sense of self, your nails decorating his arms in crimson crescents.

"Ooooh! Mmm, Tojii, c-can't! 's too much!"

"'Shhh, 's okay, I got you," he slurs as he lifts his head from the crook of your neck. His hazy eyes find yours, paired with a boyish grin. His hand comes to lay along your temple, reaching to pat at the top of your head

" 'n-nd you wanna cum again, right? 'M gonna do that too, j-jus' lemme fuck you."

"O...okay," you nod as the bubbly string of tears begins to stream down your puffy cheeks.

Toji babies you with kisses, distracting you from the slow reel his hips haul. But he's taking away that infectious stretch that sedated your walls just for the moment, carefully driving himself to the hilt again. You gradually let him have his way, this time his cock sitting between your walls with grace.

"Think you're ready to take it?" he checks, planting a kiss at the corner of your quivering jaw.

"Y-Yeah, I can take it."

You said the words he needed to hear, Toji winding back this gracious for the last time tonight. You did say you were ready to take it—and that's exactly what fuels Toji's reckless symphony.

The barreling strength of Toji's hips snaps against your own, painting bruises you'll have to nurse when the time comes. It's all dizzying—the heat fanning across your inflamed skin the building pressure in your tummy, all of it sends your mind to places beyond reach.

He's not trying to do it, but every inch he bullies your pussy takes leaves your eyes to roll back into your head. He's just so big, but with each stride of his hips, you're taking him so much better, so much deeper than the last.

And Toji knows how well he's stuffing you too–why else would his ears be graced by the precious driveling babbles of your numbed mind? He knows, he knows—but do you know how much better you're fucking him back?

Not with your hips, but the fluttering grip you keep him under is almost too much. He's already flooding the strained condom with weeping tears of precum, but he can't envision the moment when he'd be swept into his nirvana.

And that's a scary fact he has to swallow.

"Mmhph, o-ooh...I-I can't...I can't do it!" his voice grunts, his hips fumbling to a shaky stop. Chills crackle all over his body, zapping away at his welled fervor. He fills your ear with nothing but hot pants— as if he's desperate to catch his breath.

"T-Toji, you okay?" You croak, raking your digits through his hair.

He doesn't respond.

"To–"

Instead of giving you an answer, Toji replies with another grueling drop of his hips.

And then another.

His hips swiftly fall back into the fiendish trance he donned earlier, draining your walls dry of resentment. He's drunk off you–your heat, the velvet bliss of your snug walls, the way your pussy clutches around him when he's working at your sweet spot.

All the things he couldn't afford to fall prey to.

"Y're gonna make me cum first. C-Can't have that," he whines in your ear as he reels back to rest on his haunches. He's keeping busy with sending the mind-breaking girth of his cock to replenish your aching walls. He clips one hand to your waist, the other confronting the sweaty locks of hair that obstruct his front-row seat of your undoing.

The pit of arousal rallies deep in your belly, the explosive burst being teased with each wet kiss Toji plants at your core. Your hand rushes to grasp at the thick of his arms, your nails digging into the flesh. It's not enough to subdue that raging flame flickering about your walls, not when Toji laid claim to your sweet spot the way he did.

"T-T-Toji, 'y're gonna—I'm..." you trail off as your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

"Huh? Can't hear you. Try again, Mama 'm here waiting," Toji taunts with a spiteful grin.

"I'm cu–mmmph-!"

A white, hot streak breaks over you, claiming your body as its victim. Your eyes screw shut and suddenly everything is washed as white. You can't think, can't spell, you can't do anything but revel in the arch-inducing high striking over you.

It's an overwhelming wash that rings chills down your spine. Everything within you stalled—only for a sob to spill from your lolling tongue. As you come down, all you can form is broken breaths, your lungs chasing after the sex-stained air.

Toji wants to make a slick comment about how cute you look with that fucked out face, but how can he when he's finally spilling thick ribbons of white to flush the condom in his salacious shade. It's taking so much out of him, so much that he's hunched over you, burying his lips against your skin to conceal the shameful moan seeping from his lips.

When he's finally drained of all that pent-up stress, his hazy eyes weigh heavy with sleep. He steals a glance down at you, just to see how you've curled up on your side without him.

Kissing his teeth, Toji swiftly pulls himself from your velvety walls, yanking the suffering choke of the condom from his length.

Just as he thought—bleached white, but not a tear in sight.

He ties a knot into the condom before reaching behind him to tuck the used covered back inside the foil.

"Toji?" your voice cracks softly.

"Hm?" He laments as he collapses beside you, draping his arm along your hip.

"Can you cook?"

"Huh?! I mean yeah, but why does—"

"Good, I'm expecting breakfast in the morning."

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