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gojonanami · 8 months ago

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❝ 𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN TWO YAKUZA HEIRS ARE FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO MARRY YOU ?? ❞

✧ pairing: yakuza!satoru gojo x f!reader x yakuza!suguru geto

✧ summary: you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, inspired / dialogue / scene concepts taken from the manga “yakuza fiance,” (which the fic is named after), reader's age is ambiguous, but all are 20s+, violence (as expected from mafia / yakuza stories), blood, stsg have tattoos, implied satosugu (just a passing mention of dating briefly), stsg have sadomasochistic tendencies, a little ooc, switch! gojo (very sub gojo), switch! geto, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), double penetration, sex (p in v), creampie, poly relationship implied ending,

✧ wc: 18,476

“I don’t want to marry either of you,”

And your statement is met with confused stares — and normally stares like this wouldn’t be terrifying to the average person, but these were not average men you were dealing with.

Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were anything but average — in many ways.

Both were incredibly handsome — Satoru was blessed with a piercing blue gaze of the heavens and snow white locks that could stun any person into silence, and Suguru was no slouch either — with long inky black locks tied into a neat bun and his sharp features and his almost all too alluring smile — the two of them looked like they belonged to a modeling agency. Both were also brilliant, attending one of the best high schools in Tokyo, before going to the best university, leading in their respective specialities (Satoru studying physics, while Suguru chose literature).

And, the two were both the heirs to two of the most dangerous Yakuza families in all of Japan.

But right now, they are your biggest problems, personified.

Their families were both vying for your hand in marriage — thanks to your meddling grandfather who shipped you off to Tokyo to get a would-be Yakuza husband — your yakuza family hoping to broker peace after decades upon decades of fighting with one of the other two biggest yakuza families around — the Gojo and Geto families respectively.

“Excuse me?” Suguru speaks first, a single eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his crisp white button up.

“I’m not here for this yakuza bullshit. I’m trying to live my own life — and I’m not in the mood to get swept along in my grandfather’s wishes for me to get married,” your hand is in your bag, fingers curled around your collapsible metal pole, “and I don’t care to know either of you, I don’t really care to stick around you — especially because all its earned me is the disdain of all the other students who have crushes on you — so how about we simply tolerate each other for this year?”

Satoru whistles, “how disappointing,” his eyes raking over you from head to toe, “you’re worse than your reputation — we heard you were a stuck-up, spoiled rich girl that would do anything to get her way, but turns out you’re just normal,” he sticks out his tongue and makes a gagging noise, “how boring,”

“Truly tiresome,” Suguru hums, his bangs falling in his dark gaze, “I was looking forward to a woman who could match up to us — maybe fuck me up, punish me, and strip away my dignity — type of girl who’d ruin my life, do you understand?”

You stare at him, lips parted, brow furrowed, “What?”

“In other words, we were hoping you were much more interesting than you were — as you are now, you’re just useless,” Satoru sighs dramatically, his pink lips curled in a smile, “bor-inggggg,”

“You might as well go back to Osaka, or wherever it was you came from,” Suguru shrugs, hands in his pockets, as he pulls a cigarette and a lighter, “you could stay, but as it stands, you would be better off back home — maybe it would even start a war — that could be fun, Satoru,” he remarks, his grin growing more sinister by the minute, as he places the cigarette between his lips, and lighting it.

“Let’s actually not be so hasty, Suguru. She could have some use,” he holds out his fingers to frame you between them, “could be worth something if we have her work at one of our families clubs — selling her body. She could make some use for us,” he says cruelly, “Otherwise, go back home, and let them know we’re the ones not interested in you,” he says, brushing past you along with Suguru.

And you couldn’t decide which one of their smiles were the most bone chilling — and why you couldn’t quite find your voice in that moment. And you didn’t — not until you finally reached home, your phone ringing.

“How’s it going, dear granddaughter?” you could hear the grin of the old coot even over the phone — and how could you tell him you wanted to go home now? You had hoped to go there to give two rejections — not earn two of your own. You hoped to stick out the year before leaving this place behind, if only to appease your grandfather.

“I’m fine, but I think…I think I’m homesick,” you sit on the edge of your bed, hunched over, hand holding your head up, propped against your knee.

“Why’s that? Did something happen?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“You’re not coming back home,” and your hopes fall, “one year, you have to stay one year no matter what. Don’t care if you have to fight with every bone in your body and fiber of your being — last a year,”

“But why—”

“Make those boys fall for you, and then break their hearts, heh — your grandfather is a heartbreaker and I know you can do the same,” and you know his lips are curled in a smile not too dissimilar to the two men you met today, “don’t forget where you come from — and what you’re worth,” and he cuts the line, as you stare at your phone, before tossing it away and lying back.

Well, you know what you had to do.

~~~

“Morning,” you know where’d they be — the only free period they had together that they spent in the dining hall with their entourage — including some girls who had been harassing you about how you knew the pair — ones you had suspected in fucking with your locker, smearing mud all over your shoes. A small retaliation for capturing their precious crushes’ attention.

The two heirs only stare for a moment — it had been two weeks since they had seen you, “thought I had gone home?”

“Surprised you didn’t,” Suguru remarks, utterly disinterested from the look in his eyes, despite the smile plastered on his lips, “guess I lost the bet, Satoru,”

You raise an eyebrow at Satoru, “you thought I’d stay?”

“Thought you'd stay to take me up on my offer to sell your body,” he holds out his hand as Suguru slaps a stack of bills in his palm, “did you?”

“I did actually,” your lips curl, as their gazes slide to one another, before you drop a bag on their table, “one kidney, 5,000,000 yen,” and you take delight in the smiles that slide off their expressions, as they stare at you, Satoru looking over the lip of the bag before you knocked it over and let the stacks of money spill over the table, “it took two weeks since it took a while to arrange and recover, but it was well worth it,”

The pair only can stare — expression unreadable and words seemingly stolen from their mouths, as you only smiled down at them, your gaze digging into their faces like daggers.

Suguru’s eyebrows knit together, “How did you—“

“Friend of a friend,” you shrug, “I’ll have to be on a low sodium diet and probably do blood work a little more frequently but you were right about one thing — I was being weak,” you lift up your shirt to show the bandage on your side, their eyes wide, as they can only stare, “I won’t be making that mistake again,”

And you place your foot up on their table, leaning in, as the mask slips from your face, and your anger surges forth, “listen here, you masochistic fuckers, I’m not scared of either one of you. I don’t care if I have to crawl home choking on my own blood, I’ll be sure you’re choking on each other’s as I drag you both to hell. I’m staying here, whether either of you like it or not,”

“You can’t talk to them like that—“ one of the girls pipes up, her lips twisted in a frown.

“I can talk to them however I want - do you know who I am? I come from a family just like there’s but we actually know how to cover up our crimes,” you chuckle, head tilting, “do you know how easy it’d be to get rid of you two?” Your gaze slides to the other girl, “it’d be all too simple — and trust me, I’d get my hands dirty if it’s the two of you,” your lips curl into a wide grin as you add, “after all, you guys did me the favor of dirtying my shoes already,”

And the two blanch white, all indignance replaced with genuine fear — and you had never known someone could look at you as someone to be feared.

And you didn’t know you would like it so much.

You staple the smile on your face again, as the two heirs still sit speechless in their seats, eyes glued to you, “Well that’s all,” you slide back, “I have to head to class—”

But then your wrists are caught — pulling you back, as you find yourself pinned on either side by the two heirs, your body tense, before your gaze slides between them, “What?”

“Marry me,” they both say simultaneously — and you gape at them.

You are pushing them back, palms pressed against their chests, but find yourself met with two immovable objects, instead trying to squirm out of their grips. “What?” And their grips loosen enough for you to take a step back, but their hands remain around your wrists.

“I have to have you,” Suguru presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, dark gaze lidded as he looks up at you, and a shiver climbs up your spine, “I’ve never been so terrified or turned on in my life — it must be love,”

Satoru is the same, mesmerized with eager words, “I want you to do what you promised, Princess — ruin my life,” Satoru’s lips curled in a wide grin, “want you to completely fuck me up, dominate my entire life — and there’s only one way to do that, marry me,”

Suguru only scowls at Satoru, “You know Satoru, it’s very rude to propose after your best friend does,” Suguru’s gaze slides to him, “she’s mine,” and his other hand finds your shoulder, pulling you against his chest, even as you struggle against their grips, “her family reached out to mine first,”

“Fuckers, I swear to god, let me go—“ but they act as if they can’t hear you, a current of possessiveness sweeping their thoughts away.

“So what? Her family decided to ask for my hand — looks like yours wasn’t good enough,” Satoru only grins, pulling you against him instead, his breath warming your flushed skin, as you grimace, “and I’d make her happier than you ever would.”

“Want to take this outside, Satoru?” Suguru’s glare sent chills down your spine, but Satoru’s lips split into a smile so wide, you were afraid his head would crack in two.

“Why? Feeling lonely? Go by yourself,”

And finally you stomp on Satoru’s foot before elbowing Suguru in the stomach, drawing groans from both boys, as you stumble away from them, whirling to face them, “Don’t treat me like your goddamn property or that I’m a prize to be won,” your words slip like venom from your lips, “don’t ever fucking touch me without asking,”

“Of course, we’re sorry,” Suguru only grins after, holding his stomach, but he still looks all too delighted, “you should reprimand us like the scum we are, isn’t that right Satoru?”

Satoru nods, pouting, “Yeah we deserve more of a punishment,” and your skin crawls at their eagerness.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you two, but I don’t want anything to do with it,” you walk away, hiding your dumbstruck expression, but the two only followed you.

“You can’t just walk away from us, you have to decide who you want,” Suguru calls after you, their long strides meant they caught up all too fast, and you’re armed with your collapsible pole now, pointing it at both of them.

“Two minutes ago, both of you thought I was normal and boring,” your eyes narrow — was this another plot to just sell you to some club?

“And I’m sorry about that sweetheart,” Satoru’s arm is around your waist again, while Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, “we were clearly wrong — and you have to take responsibility,”

You stare at them, “for what?”

And he’s leaning to whisper in your ear, “I’m so hard for you right now,” And you’re whirling on them with the pole, but they both expertly dodge your assault, before you’re hurrying away. But they let you go, watching after you with a grin.

“This is going to be fun,” Suguru remarks, looking at his best friend, “I can’t guarantee I won’t kill you for her hand,”

Satoru only smirks in reply, “You stole the words out of my mouth, Suguru.”

~~~

It had been a week — a week of you trying skillfully to evade the two yakuza heirs.

And you had failed. No matter how fast you left your classes, where you hid, where you sat — the two always found you. And now you have resorted to sitting outside to eat your lunch, being careful to avoid any stray glance of your presence. You sat, back against the building, as you held your head, bento box in your lap — how long until they would get the message? How long until they figured out you wanted nothing to do with them?

Your grandpa had told you to make them fall for you, but you didn’t think you had too much more to do with how the two were following you around, dogging your every step.

How would you last another year?

You opened your bento — at least for once, you could enjoy your lunch without one of them—

“There you are,” and your lunch nearly goes tumbling out of your lap, but you grasp it, keeping your food from spilling out of your bento, and you turn to meet the gaze of Suguru, leaning against the windowsill, “you’re a fast one, sweetheart,” his head tilted and lips curled in his signature smile.

“How the fuck did you find me so fast?” you stare at him, brow furrowed, “it’s barely been five minutes, and this campus is huge,”

“It’s the power of love, of course,” you cringe, and he laughs, bringing his knuckles to his lips, “oh rather, it’s the power of the tracking device I slipped in your bag,”

And you blink, “You what?”

He shrugs, “Well how else would I have found you so quickly? I’ll slip it in your shoe next time,” and he sighs, as you dig through your bag, before turning it upside down and letting your things spill out on the grass, “besides, there’s a good reason I’m tracking you,” and you find the tracker before stomping on it, digging your heel into it, crushing it into the dirt, “there’s been a kidnapping of another Yakuza heiress,”

And your eyes flit to him, and he’s still smiling at you, “Who?” you continue to collect your things, shaking out textbooks and examining your things for any other hidden trackers.

“You’ll learn tonight — come to the compound tonight — you’ve been formally invited by both my father and Satoru’s father,” and he’s hopping out of the window, fingers brushing yours as he hands you your pencil case, and he’s all too close now, his warm breath warming your lips.

“And if I refuse?” and his lips curl in a smirk.

“You’d be offending not only my family, but Satoru’s as well—” and he’s rising to his feet, offering you a hand, “and it might end in an all out war, but that would be just fine for us — would it for you?”

You glare at him, taking his hand reluctantly, as he helps you to your feet, and you brush the dirt from your skirt and legs, “Fine, what time?”

“After school, Satoru will be waiting by the gates for you,” he smiles, as he settles next to you, pulling out his own lunch, and you tilt your head, “oh are you curious about me? I have my own business to attend to,”

“Is that what the other bastard is up to?” and he chuckles at that, taking a bite of his food.

“Something like that.”

~~~~

“Took you long enough, pretty,” the Gojo heir’s eyes drag over you like spotlights as he leans against the gate outside, the other students staring as you two speak, whispering as they walk by, slowing down to either catch a longer glance at Satoru or hear a bit of your conversation, “with being so quick to leave for lunch, I thought you’d be just as quick leaving the building,” and he’s offering you a drink from the vending machine that you reluctantly take.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being a spectacle,” you grumble, as you power walk away from the burgeoning traffic jam that Satoru was causing, and he follows behind, “why do they all stare anyway? They know you're a yakuza, don’t they?”

“Part of the draw,” he shrugs, the hiss of his own soda filling the air as he pops it open, “everyone wants what they can’t have, but don’t worry, I only have eyes for you, sweetheart,” you grimace as he sips at his soda, raising an eyebrow, “so what can’t you have?”

You both finally reach the heart of the city, bustling with people left and right — the one thing you couldn’t get used to from the quieter life you led, “Some peace and quiet, apparently,” you adjust your bag on your shoulder in a tighter grip, if only you could lose him in this crowd and be done with all this shit, but it wasn’t that simple, and then it occurs to you, “did you put a tracker on me as well?”

“Nah, I just used Suguru’s,” he smiles, as he downs the rest of his drink with his head thrown back, before crushing the can in his hand and tossing it away in the recycling bin nearby, “plus, I didn’t have time, been busy with other things, unfortunately,”

“What things have you—”

And you’re suddenly tugged into an alleyway, an arm around your neck and a hand clamped over your mouth, “Don’t struggle, it will only make it more difficult for you,” the man whispers in your ear, as another two men draw closer to your sides, “we’ll kill you if you do,”

You can’t scream, but you don’t need to — because the man who grabbed you screams first.

“Who the fuck are—” and he screams, his hands slipping from your side, the thump of his body against the pavement making you flinch, as you slowly turn to find Gojo, as he only glares at the other men, before his gaze slides to you, softening with a smile.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, come here,” and you swallow, before taking shaky steps to his side, and he’s pulling you behind him, “wait here,”

It happens far too quickly.

Or maybe it’s just a blur now. Because now he’s beaten the three men into submission, their scarlet blood splattering against his uniform, the wet squelch of their flesh as he punches and kicks them, his shoe digging into their sides. He winds his fist back again.

“That’s enough,” you say hoarsely, swallowing thickly, “they’re barely alive,”

“More than they deserve,” he mutters, before sighing and grabbing one by his shirt, fabric straining against the dead weight of the man, and pulls him close, his hand connecting with his face as he slaps him awake, “You hear me? Listen,” he shakes him, until the man’s eyes blink open, bleary, “You see me? Don’t forget my face. You touch her again — and it’s the last thing you’ll see before the afterlife, got that?”

“Yes,” the man slurs.

“That’s my girl,” he jerks his head at you, “she’s mine and if you or any of your stupid friends or family see her, don’t talk or touch her, much less even look at her,” and his lips curl again, “or I promise my family and the Geto family will slaughter you — until there’s nothing left.” and he drops the man onto the ground, “let’s go,” he mutters, shaking the blood off his knuckles, before using the inside of his uniform jacket to wipe the rest off.

“Your uniform, it's—” and he glances at the blood seeping into the fabric of his jacket and crisp shirt, and you’re digging through your bag, “I have my hand towel and some—” and he’s shaking his head.

“I have a sweatshirt I can wear in my bag,” and he’s tugging off his uniform jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, and you can’t look away fast enough — not before seeing the tattoo littering his back.

A large lion against his back, seemingly roaring, against a backdrop of bamboo, stared back at you, as your breath catches in your throat — he wasn’t just a spoiled heir, he was a real yakuza. And what he did to those men — his eyes met yours again, as he tugged the sweatshirt on, lips still in that ridiculous smile — it was likely the least of what he could really do to them.

“Oh, sorry, guess I never told ya,” he pulls the orange sweatshirt down, pulling a pair of sunglasses on, and your horrified expression in the circular black rims stare back at you, “sorry for scaring you, sweetheart,”

“You’re really—” you cut off, heart caught in your throat. Yeah, you had spent too much of your life surrounded by men covered in tattoos, but these two — their auras — were on another level that was simply — terrifying.

“A yakuza?” he finishes, peering at you over the rim of his sunglasses, “Surprised it took you this long to figure out — thought you had that pieced together a while ago — what? I assume your family shielded you from that kind of violence — probably had guards on you 24/7 so no one would mess with you. Well you aren’t in Osaka anymore,” his fingers intertwined with yours, his larger hand engulfing yours as he tugs you along away from the alley, the faint groans of the men disappearing into the ambient noise of the city, “Stay close, princess.”

And you flushed, biting your lip. There was a lot you didn’t know, but you knew you better learn — you spare one glance back at the alley — and quick.

~~~

You both arrive back to the compound, as you’re funneled into a room, you get a glimpse of Suguru in an adjacent hallway, his clothes as bloodied as Satoru’s was, if not more. His dark eyes catch yours and his lips curl, as he holds his hand up as a greeting, mouthing, “Yo,”

You’re shepherded away to sit, and soon enough, Satoru and Suguru join you, as you fidget in the middle of the room, the three of you sit on cushions, while another cushion directly in front of you. Your fingers can't help but toy with the ribbon on the front of your uniform — what if this was just a ruse to sell you off? Maybe they even found out about you selling your kidney? Anxiety swirled in your mind, dragging down your body to even the tips of your toes, your body buzzing and stinging with thoughts.

“This really is just a talk to discuss the missing Yakuza heiress,” Suguru cuts through your thoughts, as you stare at him, slack jawed, and he only shrugs, leaning back against his hands flat on the floor, “you’re not hard to read, sweetheart,”

“Besides, if we wanted to kill you, why not let you die in that alleyway?” Satoru chimes in, ever so helpful, as you glare at him, before his gaze slides to Suguru, “did you take care of that like I asked, Suguru?” and he nods, and before you can ask a question, the door slides open.

Instead of the heads of the household, a yakuza comes in, sunglasses stare back at you, his dark brown hair slicked back, shaved on the sides of his head, as he stared down at the three of you, “The heads won’t be able to make it to this meeting — something has come up,”

“Yaga, good to see you,” Suguru chirps, while Satoru only sighs, hands behind his head.

“Glad to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed since you’ve been away, old man—“ and Satoru earns a fist to his head, “ow!”

“Keep it up and you’ll get something worse than a whack to the head,” Yaga grumbles, taking his seat, “you must be the girl,” he eyes you up and down, “I’ll get straight to the point — the Akazawa heiress is missing. She’s assumed to be kidnapped,” he hands you a photo of her — shoulder length black hair, her eyes look past the camera, her head tilted downwards, but her hazel eyes pierce through the picture.

“How long has she been gone?” Suguru asks, “any chance that she just ran off?”

“There’s a chance she’s been sold off for a couple hundred thou,” Satoru remarks, crossing his arms, “people would pay a premium for a yakuza heiress,” and his eyes slide to you, and you glare back.

“We don’t know — maybe she ran off, maybe she’s been sold, maybe there’ll be a ransom coming in at one point or another, or maybe she’s dead—” and you bite your lip, “but we can’t take the risk, especially since we have a similar heiress under our care now,” Yaga says, crossing his arms with a hefty sigh, “that being said, you’ll be staying at the compound until further notice— your things have already been brought here,“ you gape at him, mouth nearly hanging open, “and you’ll have Satoru or Suguru with you at all times — their schedules have been rearranged to have class with you,”

“But—“ and Yaga shoots a look at you that silences your protests.

“These orders came from the three heads, including your grandfather, would you like to defy them?” And your mouth clamps shut, your head falling.

“No, sir,” Yaga rises, leaving, but not before ordering the two heirs to show you where you’ll be staying, “and any real threats to you appear, and your classes will be made online and you will remain under guard in the compound,” Yaga adds before disappearing behind another door.

“It won’t be that bad, Princess,” Suguru grins, as they walk you to your room, “now we can really get to know each other before we’re married,”

“Don’t you mean before we’re married?” Satoru says, as Suguru only smiles back at him.

“I would rather not marry you, Satoru, dating you for a week was enough—“ and Satoru opens his mouth to reply.

“I’m not marrying either of you,” you rub your head, feeling the beginnings of a headache creeping on your temples — you barely could make it through the day with enduring the amount of insanity these two already inflicted, you were sure you’d murder one or both of them if you had to spend 24/7 with them, “we should be keeping a low profile from now on, not going out—”

“Except for the dates we have planned,” Satoru says, offering you the key to your room, and you unlock the door, stepping inside.

“Especially not for those.” And you slam the door shut and lock it.

Your eyes take in the boxes that surround you, full of the things from your apartment, and sigh.

Fuck, this really was your life now, wasn’t it?

~~~

“Why are you staring at me?” you can’t ignore Suguru’s stare in the subway, even when you refuse to meet it. The light from the windows flooded into the subway, flickering as the carts sped by, as the two of you hung onto the grab handles. Your usual peaceful ride to university was now impeded by Suguru who stood by your side, his eyes seemingly glued to you.

“I see that your left side is slower to respond than your right,” and you shift under his gaze, “that’s why your bag is always on your left side, so you can spot a threat easier and have a stronger grip, smart,”

You raise an eyebrow, “How did you figure that out?”

He shrugs, “From observation — I also move a little slower on my left — I even blink slower,” and you face him, staring into his eyes, trying to notice any difference between the two eyes. The only thing you could see is how pretty they really were — dark and lidded, not as bright or striking as Satoru’s, but just as mysterious.

“I can’t tell,” you tilt your head, and he only smiles.

“There isn’t a difference, but I got you to stare into my eyes, didn’t I?” and you glower at him, your remark cut off by the influx of people flooding into the cart. Fuck, you never had seen it this full before. You forced yourself not to cringe under the tight quarters — you could handle this, it wasn’t a big deal, even as the people sandwiched themselves all around you, anxiety biting at your nerves. And then you’re knocked around by the crowd as the cart jerks, but then, Suguru is pulling you lightly so your back is pressed against a wall and he’s caging you in, his body protecting you.

Your breath catches — he’s so close, “You don’t have to—” and your gazes meet again, your breath catching, your bag caught between your bodies. He’s nearly pressed against you, the heat from his form seeps into your own. And he smells good, despite the sticky heat of the summer lingering — something musky but sharp at the same time — what was that scent?

“You seemed uncomfortable,” he says, his hand holding onto the grab handle above, “this seemed like the easiest solution, especially so I can protect you — it would be much easier to shield you with my body this way,”

“Shut up,” you grumble, as he chuckles, before you’re sighing, “I’m not used to taking the subway — I used to have a car that took me back and forth,” you chew your lip, “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t take care of myself,”

“Makes sense to have you driven — as a yakuza heiress, they wanted precautions,” Suguru nods, his eyes sliding around the cart, “you never know,”

“Is that why your eyes keep scanning the subway cart?” you raise an eyebrow.

And his lips curl, “I did say I’d protect you with my life, didn’t I?”

“Did you mean that?”

A chuckle escaped his lips, a noise that makes your breath catch, as the cart jerks again, pressing you both even closer, “I never say anything that I don’t mean, princess.”

~~~

“Is following me around really necessary even after classes?” you hadn’t bothered to pull your usual disappearing act — it was counterproductive in multiple ways (the first being that either of them would find you and the second being you had to be glued to one of their sides at all times), “it’s not like someone is going jump from the shadows and kidnap me on campus.”

“You don’t know that for sure, do you, princess?” Satoru drawls lazily, as he twirls his dinner knife around his fingers with a skill that said he’d done it a million times before — probably instead of doing the thing he was supposed to be doing, “a man comes up behind you while you’re studying or shopping, presses a weapon or gun to your side, just out of view, and he’s got the perfect hostage,”

You raise an eyebrow, “You sound like you’ve done it before,” and the knife stops between his middle finger and pointer, the tip pointed at you, as he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Don’t get jealous, sweetheart, you’re the only girl I’d want to kidnap,” he leans forward and swipes a mochi from your plate — even though he had already ate his own — and you scoff, as you turn your attention back to your neglected dessert, choosing to use your brain cells to focus on your food instead of this psycho.

“How lucky,” you mutter, as you stab your remaining mochi instead of your escort, “do the two of you have to take shifts like this? I’m surprised the two of you aren’t glued to my sides 24/7 together,”

“We thought it was only fair the two of us split our time — and as much as I’d like to spend each and every hour with you, we both unfortunately have other responsibilities to tend to,” and he takes a bite of the mochi, “plus, this way, we get to spend time with you alone without the other interfering, and trust me, if I saw you with Suguru,” his lips curl, “I’d interfere,”

“Well you don’t have to be worried about that, because I don’t plan on being with either one of you,” you reply, “I’m here to finish school and go home as soon as I can,”

“You won’t be saying that once I make you fall for me,”

You get to your feet, as you pull out your wallet — but Satoru waves you off, already pulling out his card for the waiter, “You’d have a better chance making me fall for you if you tripped me,” you roll your eyes, as you round the booth, and quick as a light, you trip right into his arms, your body bumping against his chest as his arms steady you. A hand tilts your face up to meet cerulean eyes filled with mirth, “did you trip—”

And then you spot the chair leg you had tripped over oh-so-gratefully, “I don’t need to resort to those measures to make you fall for me, princess,” his finger traces your jaw with a featherlight touch, “I have plenty of other ways to do that,”

You get to your feet properly and shove him away, as he chuckled, as you rolled your eyes, “Maybe in your twisted dreams, but—” And Satoru is tugging you away from the booth — a tight arm around you waist, as you stammer, “what the fuck are you—”

“Guy’s been following you — just spotted him from a distance,” he murmurs, and your shoulders tense, resisting the urge to look back, “just keep walking with me, don’t worry,” his arm gently squeezed you, “won’t let anything happen to you, princess,”

“Don’t call me that,” you murmur, as he leads you back inside the closest building, “where are we—” and he’s pulling out his phone, texting several people.

“Getting us a ride in case I need to get you to safety, and letting Suguru know of the situation,” he offers you a small grin, “I could send you back, but that would be that and you will be on lockdown. Things might be getting a little more interesting from here — so it’s your choice, will you stay or go?”

You considered your choices — you could run away from this, go back to the compound, but going back was a guarantee that you would be stuck 24/7 in the compound and stuck there for the remainder of your time here. And these two would take full advantage of that. Plus, your mind wandered to the girl who had been taken — you wanted to know more about what happened to her and why you were being targeted next.

“Let’s go,” and his lips curl. The two of you round several street corners, Satoru’s arm remains tight around your waist, as he leads to a more and more secluded corner of the city, “is this the right move?” your hand wanders into your pocket, fingers around your collapsible pole.

He sighs dramatically, “Do you have such little faith in me, sweetheart?”

“Considering the two of you are insane, yes, I do,” and he clicks his tongue at you, “where—”

And someone punches you, fist connecting with your left cheek as you stumble sideways into the wall of a nearby building. You hear the cock of a gun, your eyes catch sight of the weapon pointed at Satoru. You caught a glimpse as your eyes flicker open, several men stand behind him, all bearing weapons of some sort.

Your ears ring, as you clutch at your head, as you struggle to get your balance, your vision in your left eye blurry from the impact, “Come with me, and your girlfriend won’t have to watch you die,” you feel something warm run down your nose, and you touch it — scarlet stains your fingers.

Fuck.

Your eyes flicker back to where Satoru stands, eyes flickering to you, a shiver running down your spine at his hard gaze — not a hint of euphoria left — his lips a thin line, and his fists clenched, “I’ll fucking kill you,” his words leave in a whispered hiss, and quick as lightning, the gun is knocked from his fingers, and Satoru’s got him pinned down, fist winding back to punch his head in. The other men don’t hesitate to join the fray, just as Satoru doesn’t hesitate to take them down, blood spilling from their bodies as they fall one by one.

You said you would be stronger — that you wouldn’t let this happen again. You weren’t some person who needed to be sheltered away. Your fingers clutched at the pole in your pocket, pulling it out, as you slowly uncollapsed it — you were a yakuza heir, just as much as these two were.

One of them got up to shaky feet, lifting up his knife to stab Satoru from behind, “DIE!” and you slam into his side, hitting over the head with the pole — a grisly crack as the pole nearly snaps against his skull.

“Fuck off and die!” the words leave your lips as you taste your own blood dripping from your nose. And you can feel Satoru turn to see you, eyes wide as he stares — your words burn as much as your head hurts, as you wipe the blood from your nose.

And the men are all down now, as Satoru walks over to you, and his fingers reach gently for your face, as he examines the blood dripping, “it’s just a nosebleed,” you say, and his gaze softens ever so slightly, before darkening, as a groan comes from the man that punched you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your heart flutters at his gentle touch, the calluses of his fingers against your cheek, as he pulls tissues from his pocket to wipe the blood from your nose.

And his eyes linger on your face for a moment, before he turns to the culprit, fingers clenched tightly around the napkin soaked in your blood.

He drags the man up by the collar, shaking him, a gurgled groan leaving his bloody lips, “You might want to go, sweetheart — I have to make sure I let this one die for ever laying a hand on my woman—“ and you clasp your hand on his shoulder, shaking your head.

“He’s half dead already — you don’t need to finish the job,” and he pouts, shaking the man again for good measure.

“You said he should die—“

You shrug, “People like this aren’t worth the trouble of killing. And you don’t need more problems on your hands — so if you’re doing this for me, don’t bother. Let’s just go,”

And you see his lips slowly curl into a grin, as he pulls you into a hug, arms around you waist, as he runs his fingers through your hair gingerly, “I didn’t realize you cared, sweetheart,” and you frown, “don’t want me getting in more trouble, huh? If it’s for you, I’ll oblige, but you owe me one,” and his fingers slide under your chin.

“Oi, is the party over without me?” A familiar voice calls, Suguru walks over, several other Yakuza in tow, his sleeves rolled up, as he takes a once over of the situation, seemingly uninterested in the scum, his eyes falling on you and Satoru, lingering on the blood that still was trickling from your nose. His eyes narrowed, “which one—”

“It’s already taken care of, Suguru,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, “but for your information,” he kicks the one who had punched you in his side, forcing him to roll over, a slight groan escaping his lips, “that’s the one who hurt her,”

Suguru nodded, stepping over the bodies as if it was nothing more than a spill that had been yet to be cleaned up, as his hand brushes over your chin softly, drawing close, a sharp gasp leaving your lips when his fingers decide to travel to your nose, “It’s not broken, just bleeding, but I should still get her checked out at the compound,”

“You?” Satoru furrows his brow, “you’re going to leave me—”

“To clean up your own mess? Yes, I am,” Suguru smiles, “because it’s my turn to keep watch,” as he shows his watch, already well past midnight, “and I should be getting her back to the compound,” the two glare at each other, a tension settling over the scene that you were far too done with.

You sigh, stepping past both of them, walking over the bodies splayed out on the floor, “Let me know when you both decide,” you yawn, hands in your pockets now, “I need sleep,” and Suguru follows behind, and you don’t see him turn to smirk at Satoru.

~~~~

You swore someone was watching you.

A presence loomed over you, hovering slightly, as you shifted in your sleep, a sigh parting your lips as you turned, still caught between in realms of deep sleep as you drifted in and out, eyes fluttering open a moment, and caught sight of a shadow.

No, it was nothing. It was nothing. And then you’d wake to sunlight filtering through your windows, eyes fluttering open, but you would still wake with the lingering touch of someone else against your face.

But each morning you’d check the locks, and it would be locked, with no signs of tampering — and you’d be left wondering if it was a dream or not.

It had been like this for the last week — you’d sense a presence, for a split second of what you thought was consciousness, and then it would be morning again.

And finally, you decided to stay awake, a knife you had pilfered away from the kitchen under your pillow. You let your eyes drift shut, drifting in and out of a half sleep, until you hear it.

The slow slide of the door opening, and the soft close of the door behind. The person takes nearly soundless steps towards you, before leaning above you and you feel the faint brush of hair against your skin, before leaning back with a quiet sigh.

Suguru?

And his fingers slide through your hair softly. He watches over you, quietly, until you turn to face him, eyes open.

“You know it’s really creepy to break into a woman’s room in the middle of the night,” and Suguru blinks, before his lips curl in a small smirk, “and it’s even weirder when you just sit there to watch her sleep,”

“Just trying to make sure you’re safe, sweetheart,”

“In a locked room?” And he shrugs.

“I broke in easily,” and you scoff, as he rakes his own fingers through his hair, “who else would keep an eye on you?”

You sit up, crossing your arms, “Surprised you and Satoru aren’t in here,”

“We take turns,” and you stare at him, as he leans back against the wall, “all we do is keep watch princess — would you have let us in otherwise?”

You open and shut your mouth, before you find words again amidst the haze of frustration, “I’m not so fucking helpless that you both need to sit here and watch me sleep,”

“We have been doing this since the threats began nearly and you only noticed recently,” he points out, his eyes catching the faint light of the moon, as cautious and patient as Suguru was — his expression as indiscernible as a new moon was, “and it’s only because Satoru had gotten sloppy,” he shrugs.

You rub at your temples, “you’re not the only one who is a yakuza—“

Suguru tilts his head, “Princess, you don’t know what it means to be one — not even your fingers have never been bloodied, and it should stay that way—“

Your fingers close around the handle of the knife as you lunge at him — you snapped. You were tired — tired of the men in your life running your life — your grandfather, these yakuza heads, and these two idiots — all of them treating you as if you were spineless.

And you weren’t.

His hand darts out — and it happens quickly. The knife clatters against the hardwood, and he’s pinned you underneath him.

You glare, embarrassment licks at your cheeks like flames — you had placed your fingers on the stovetop and what were you expecting other than to get burned? You can’t meet his gaze, and you’re expecting another lecture or sanctimonious attitude, but instead, his fingers skim your cheek, “You should pick your battles wisely, sweetheart — because not all of them will let you off the hook,” and he leans close, breath warming your lips, as your eyes can’t help but squeeze shut.

Only to wince after a sharp flick to your forehead.

And his weight leaves you at once, your head turning to find him examining the knife you had stolen, “You should also choose a better weapon than a kitchen knife — especially one as dull as this one,”

You scowl at him, “Well, how else will I defend myself?”

And he smiles, shrugging, “Isn’t it simple? Use the weapons already at your disposal,”

Your brow knots together, “What weapons?” And his hand is sliding the door open, as he casts one more glance over his shoulder, lips curled in that insufferable smile.

“The ones sworn to you.”

~~~~

“You’re staying home tomorrow from class,” the thermometer is plucked from between your lips, the white haired yakuza scrutinizing your room, cerulean eyes catching the pile of tissues you had failed to stuff properly in your trash bin, “how long have you had this, Princess?”

You lay bedridden and pouting as you draw the covers over your face — you had not been feeling well this whole weekend, but you developed a fever last night. You thought it would be gone by the morning, “Just since this morning,” and he’s tugging the covers away, his brow wrinkled, and then you see it, bandages on his forehead, “when did you get hit on the head?”

And he blink, fingers running through his hair, “This? It’s nothing,” and you raise an eyebrow, “if you must know, it’s just my punishment for taking you into the thick of things the other day,”

Your brow wrinkles, “Who—“

He waves you off, “It’s not important — the important thing is that you get better — can’t have my future wife succumbing to the flu, now can I?” And you scoff.

“I’m not your future wife,” you mumble, and you hear a small chuckle from him. And then your muscles begin to grow heavy, eyelids fluttering shut under the weight of exhaustion, and your skin feeling far too cold for your burning insides, “Gojo, I’m not—“

And you slip into darkness.

You can feel the world around you move, the sounds of wind brushing against your skin, and the flicker of lights in your eyes. Your lips part, a desert inside your mouth with no oasis in sight, “where—“

A voice quietly shushes you, fingers raking through your hair gently, lulling you back to sleep. Was it your grandfather? No, he never coddled you like this. Not even he had his yakuza to look after. You were expected to care for yourself —- you couldn’t show weakness.

Not as an heir — even if you were just a kid.

And when you do wake for a moment, it’s with some prodding, a voice whispering for you to open your mouth at the press of a medicine cap to your lips, and your eyes flutter open to catch a glimpse of blue eyes — so you do, swallowing it with water.

You fall into the arms of sleep again, only waking to your head slightly aching, and a distinct void in your stomach. You reach around blindly for your phone, and find that it’s still Sunday, nearly the evening. Your eyes adjust as your gaze spots the last glimmers of the sunset in the window.

How long have you slept? Like four hours? You sighed, slumping back into bed, as you stretched. Your fingers pressed to your forehead, still a slight fever, but it was definitely lower. Maybe you could sleep for a bit longer, and you turn on your side only to find a familiar, not-so familiar sight. Your lips can’t help but curl a little. Again there is someone in your room, but instead as your eyes flutter open you see that Satoru has dozed off.

You hold back a chuckle, as you slowly get up, drawing a little closer. His head was against the wall, slightly tilted, soft breaths leaving his lips, arms crossed. He had a prescription medicine next to him along with a water bottle. Your fingers reach for the medicine, and you glance it over — seeing that it was prescribed earlier today for you.

Your brows knit together, when did you—and then it comes back to you slowly — the lights, the sound of wind and cars — he drove you to a hospital. And his shoulder starts to slip

And then you reach for him, trying to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

That’s when he grabs you — his eyes fly open, as he grabs you by the wrist, pulling you close, his hard topaz gaze cuts through you, until it slowly fills with recognition. His fingers digging into your wrist loosen ever so slightly, as he blinks.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” but his fingers don’t leave your wrist, “are you feeling better?”

“I am,” you admit, as his other hand reaches up to brush against your forehead and then neck, sending hest crawling up your skin for a different reason.

“Looks like the medicine worked,” he sighs, leaning back, “guess I can scratch beating up that doctor off my list,” and you furrow your brow, “it was a joke, Princess,”

“Why did you take me?” You asked and he tilted his head, “I mean you could have had me looked at here, so why did you—“

“As much as my father pays for these services, they don’t work weekends, usually — we do have an on-call physician, but,” he shrugs, as his thumb brushed back and forth against your wrist, right where your pulse was, “I didn’t want to wait,”

And your eyes slide to the bandages around his head, “but you couldn’t get that checked out?”

“Worried about me? I’m touched, Princess,” and your fingers reach for the bandages and brush against his locks, “hey, you—“

“It’s coming loose,” you lean over and slide your hands until you find where it’s coming undone and tie it tighter, fingers brushing against his soft locks — noting the undercut you hadn’t noticed before, “there,”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as your eyes meet his and your breath catches, your face an inch or two from his. And he looks different in the dark of the room, illuminated by the last vestiges of sun that were quickly fading into the night — softer.

“Why did you take care of me?” And he blinks a moment, taken aback and he tilts his head, “someone else could have—“

“I wanted to,” he cuts you off gently, “why would I let someone else do it when I could? It was the least I could do,” and it was your turn to tilt your head, as he adds in a whisper, “I let you get hurt. I should have sent you home,”

“If you had tried, I would have stayed anyway,” and he chuckles.

“I know,” he murmurs, “and I know what it’s like to tough through things as if you’re invincible — as if nothing can touch you — and it’s only a matter of time until it does,” and your fingers brush against the bandages on his head, as you dare closer, less than a breath away.

“Maybe I should make you take your own advice,” you whisper, and his lips quirk upwards in a smirk.

“I’d love to see you try, Princess,” he adds with a grin, “you know I’d love to submit to you anyti—“

And you swallow the rest of his sentence with your lips, a chaste brush that leaves your entire body burning for more — a spark to kindling that you told yourself you wouldn’t start. But, your lips part his to see his soft gaze meeting your own, before finding your lips again, how could you not?

“I’m going to get you sick,” you manage between kisses, lips meeting and parting, as he chuckles against you, a vibration sending a shiver that definitely wasn’t from your fever.

“You’re worth it, Princess,” but he kisses you one last time, noses brushing, before your stomach rumbles loudly in the relative silence of both of your soft pants. You flush, and he can’t hold back his laugh, as you smack his shoulder.

“Shut up, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, thanks to someone,” and he’s still laughing as you try to smack him again, but he catches you by the wrist.

“Don’t forget, I really like it when you punish me,” his lips press to your wrist, your breath catching for a moment before you hit him again on the chest regardless. And he laughs, leaning on his hand, “oh what will I do with you, sweetheart?”

You scowl at him, rolling your eyes, “You can start by getting me dinner,” you grumble, and he repents, getting to his feet, “Satoru?” And he pauses, eyes flickering back, “thank you,” you manage, biting your lip all the whole, unable to meet his eyes or see the smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Princess.”

~~~~

You hadn’t seen Suguru or Satoru all week.

Once a sought after rarity l, but now a foreboding concern. Satoru had been away on business — you didn’t care to know what, but you knew he’d come back only more clingy than ever. You chewed on your lip — especially after the kiss.

Fuck. You kissed Satoru, you buried your face in your hands, what the fuck were you doing? Could you use the excuse that your fever had rendered you momentarily insane? No, Satoru would only crack a joke saying that he’s crazy for you too.

What was your plan? You were only trying to bide your time for a year — not become further entangled

You lay back on your bed, as you scroll through your phone — but Suguru was a different story. You heard from Satoru that he had returned. Yet now there was some random yakuza checking in each hour — and even worse, keeping you confined to the compound.

And a small part of you did worry for them as you tossed your phone aside — those fools may have death wishes but that didn’t mean you wished the same.

You leave your room, sighing as you explore the compound. You had done your fair share of exploring, but you had never wandered into Suguru or Satoru’s quarters. You had been told by each of them where their rooms were, only for you to glare at them for providing you the implication. But now…maybe it was useful.

You walked through the halls — seemed like most people were away at the moment. When Satoru had captured those people who had attacked you both, there was information learned about who was targeting you and of where that girl who was taken could possibly be. But it’s not like you were able to find that information out — unless you went looking yourself.

Satoru and Suguru’s rooms were close to each other’s — but Satoru’s room was locked, as you tugged at the door to no avail. You glared at the handle as if it was the white haired idiot itself, before turning to Suguru’s door.

You pressed your ear to the door, it was silent, not a single noise inside. You pull at the door and it opens. You step inside — the room is neat, a desk in the corner, along with a bed on the opposite side, but not much else. There were a few other things — a dresser with a few containers tucked beside it and a small bookcase against the wall near the desk lined with books on each shelf.

It wasn’t what you expected — though you didn’t know what to expect. You stepped into the room, glancing around, as you approached the desk first. You rifle through the papers, finding nothing relevant — only papers from class and a few scattered notes that had nothing but addresses and initials scribbled.

And then the door opens, you freeze, before you slowly turn to see Suguru, his clothes tattered, blood dripping from his arms and soaked through his white button up. His gaze is dark and heavy, until he finds your eyes, his brow wrinkled.

“What are you doing?” no ‘sweetheart’ or ‘Princess’ — just a question.

“I was looking—“ but you bite your lips, as you watch his shoulders slump, “what happened—“

And he draws closer, as you slowly take steps back, until he’s looming over you, his arm pressed above you, “Princess, you shouldn’t get involved in these things, unless you want to end up like this,” and the smell of death rolls off of him, the heaviness of his gaze could drag you down to the depths of hell — but you didn’t care.

“Sit down,” and he blinks, before you’re pressing him onto the bed, “I’m going to get a first aid kit and some bandages,”

“Sweetheart—“ but you’re already out of the room, returning with a first aid kit and bandages, “where did you—“

“Well after that first time Satoru and I got jumped by those people, I figured it would be good to stock up on things,” you pull out scissors and tape, and you dampen a washcloth you had stored in the kit with a water bottle you had grabbed. “Take off your shirt,” he hesitates, “getting shy?”

Suguru’s lips curl, before he sighs, unbuttoning his shirt, “You know I rather you hurt me than take care of me,” and you scoff, as you busy yourself with preparing the materials to tend to him.

“Well it looks like someone else already did that for you,” and your eyes meet with his bare chest, the red and black ink of his tattoos encroached onto his shoulders, but more than that — bruises bloomed on different parts of his body, scars from old wounds of various ages littered his skin, and dried and fresh scarlet clung to his skin from fresh cuts.

You take the washcloth, slowly starting to run it over his body, the white cloth marred with his blood, he doesn’t flinch even as it cleans his cuts or wounds.

“Why are you doing this?” And your eyes meet his, his amethyst eyes cut through you.

“Because you’re hurt,”

“Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean you have to help,” you sigh, as you urge him to turn so you can clean his back next, the sight of his tattoo on his back unsurprising now as you continue to clean it.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to either,” he gives a soft chuckle, “what’s your goal here sweetheart?” You urge him to turn again, as you begin to clean the blood from his arms.

“Do I need to have a goal?” And he turns to face you, leaning even closer, as his black locks fall in his eyes.

“Everyone has one — didn’t you have one for coming in here?” And your hesitation is all the answers he needs, “curious about what’s going on with those people after you, huh?”

There wasn’t any use lying now, “Wouldn’t you be?”

“I would be, but I wouldn’t get caught, now would I?” and you scoff, as his lips curl, “we have been tracking the group that we suspect has the heiress, and we have been interrogating the people that you and Satoru secured,” ‘secured’ — more like nearly murdered by the way Satoru acted.

“And where were you?”

He sighed, “Dealing with some loose ends — and some other business that my father had me deal with,” and he adds, “I had to make sure a message got out — so no one would ever attack you like that again,”

And why does your heart squeeze at the thought, “Why are you so willing to tell me?” And your hands begin to clean and wipe his palms. And you set the washcloth down, beginning to bandage some of the larger cuts and wounds, and his fingers intertwined with yours, as you glance up.

“Because you deserve the truth,” he shrugs, “and even if I lie, you’ll figure it out, so why not tell you to begin with?” And he leans even closer, fingers skimming your cheek, “plus I don’t keep secrets from my future wife,”

“I’m not marrying you,” but you don’t pull away, as he’s even closer now.

“Well, you said never before — and I’ve worn you down to a ‘not’ — it’s only a matter of time,” and his words make you want you to pull away, to scoff at his words and leave, but you don’t.

Why can’t you?

“And I thought Satoru was the one full of himself—“ and his lips find yours, his kiss was more insistent, his fingers find your jaw, featherlight before it finds purchase on the back of your neck. You could taste the faint taste of blood, lingering on his lips,

“And you also thought Satoru was a good kisser,” he smirks, as his lips ghost down your jaw, nose brushing against your cheek, as you pause — how did he— “well now you know what a good kisser is actually like,”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrects you, he tilts his head, his thumb cupping your chin, and your lips find the other’s, his forehead pressed to yours. Then his phone rings, and the moment’s broken. He pulls away just as fast, as he turns to answer his phone, “Hello?” he listens, a man’s voice on the other end, “I understand, okay.” and the call ends, as he offers a smile to you, “I have to deal with some business, but I’ll be back later. And then it looks like I’ll be your escort while Satoru is away.”

“What business—” but he’s brushing past you, going to his wardrobe to grab a fresh shirt, buttoning it swiftly, before pulling on another jacket, as he turns to glance at you over his shoulder.

“You know better than to ask me that,”

“But you said you would be honest,” and he shrugs his shoulders, a smirk on his lips, as he heads out of the room.

“I didn’t say when.”

~~~~

“We have to tell her,” Satoru stood, hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall of the compound. Suguru clicks his lighter again, flicking it on and off — he had quit a few months ago when you had told him that you hated the smell. And he didn’t miss it, but he still carried the lighter — old habits die hard, “the pictures we got — they are getting better at tracking her without us noticing. And these other fires we’re being sent out to deal with — it’s leaving us with less time to protect her,”

“Do you have to?” Suguru asked, flicking his lighter closer, the silver outside glinting in the low light of the moon, “isn’t it safer for her to stay in the dark for now?”

“Staying in the dark doesn’t mean she won’t put herself in danger one way or another without us knowing,” Satoru shrugs, “she said even if I had sent her home that day that those men were after her, she would have came after me,”

Suguru gives a terse chuckle, “I don’t doubt that she would,” he sighs, gaze towards the inky darkness of the sky, dotted with faint stars that he couldn’t see but knew were there — just as these threats were, “if she found out that her grandfather was threatened too? There’s no way she would wait,”

“So what do we do?” Satoru scratched the back of his head, “we could send her back home — she might be safer there than here,”

“Her grandfather told us—“

“I know, but what choice do we have, Suguru?” he sighs, and Suguru can’t help but quirk his lips.

“You know if we do this, we may have to fight her grandfather to stay engaged with her,” And Satoru smiles, shrugging.

“I know, but we can handle it, can’t we?” Satoru leans back, “we’ll just have to fight him on it. Why? Are you afraid?”

Suguru gives a short chuckle, “Since when have you known me to be afraid of anything?” And he turns his gaze towards the door, “so when should we tell her?”

But they don’t notice that you’re pressed against the door, your fists clenched. And they were right about one thing — you wouldn’t wait.

~~~~

CRACK!

Fuck, your eyes burned as you tried to open them, the sharp pain in the back of your head radiating all over, as your eyelids refused to open. What happened? You tried to hold your head, only to have your wrists strain against something rough — rope? The fibers dig into your wrists as you try to stand, only to find them bound to something else.

“Finally awake?” it was a woman’s voice — and your eyes still can’t quite open — fuck, this wasn’t part of your plan, “take your time, they said they wanted you in pristine condition so I can’t have you falling apart on me later on,” she scoffs, her footsteps receding away, and you could hear the quiet murmurs of other voices — men, by the baritone.

Your eyes burned as you adjusted to opening them, still fighting the urge to flutter them shut under the pain. The dim light swung overhead, a warehouse from the bare floors and even barer walls and ceilings overhead, barely illuminated in the flickering exposed lightbulbs hanging over the middle of the room.

“Where am I?” You choked out, voice wavering in a way that made you want to grit your teeth and chide yourself for the fear that seeped into your words.

The quiet click of heels came closer, “Don’t recognize me? Well I suppose you never did see my face in person,” and you knit your brows together as she stepped closer, leaning in far too near for your comfort, “I should thank you for your efforts in trying to find out what happened to me. It made it far easier to kidnap you,”

Her hazel eyes were even more startling in person.

“The Akawaza heiress,” you stare at her — her hair had grown a little past her shoulders now, ends slightly curling at them, “I thought—“

“I was missing? I was,” her lips curled, running her sharp lacquered nails through her black locks, “but it was my choice,” the screech of chair legs scraping against the floor makes you flinch ever so slightly, as she sits in front of you, her legs crossed, “I’m being rude — how is your grandfather?”

“Fuck off,” you spit, and she clicks her tongue.

“And here I thought you had manners, but I suppose the city’s changed you, little princess?” she hums, leaning back, wood of the chair creaking as she did, “or maybe your boyfriends did,” you say nothing, scoffing, as she sighs, “or knowing your grandfather, you probably didn’t have any to begin with,”

Rage fills your veins, lava bursting from them as the venom leaves your lips, “Don’t talk about my grandfather like that—”

“Why shouldn’t I? You never cared for the yakuza before, right? Is your grandfather not included in that equation? Or maybe it was because he kept what he did behind closed doors, and never bothered to tell you the truth,” and you’re not fast enough to stop your brow from furrowing, and she latches onto it, “Oh he didn’t tell you, did he?”

“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” you murmur, and she laughs at your remark, her nails clicking against the forearm of the chair — lacquer on wood that began to grate on your nerves, “can you get to the point of all this shit? Why the fuck am I here?”

“Because your grandfather is picking and choosing who he favors — and so I decided to take his heart, and I’ll only give her back if he gives me what I want — ” and then you see the way her lips curl and her jaw is cut, and it occurs to you.

Your grandfather had said he was a heartbreaker.

“You’re his granddaughter,” and she smirks, her nails falling still.

“Do you see the family resemblance?” she leans against her hand, elbow against the arm of her chair, “it would be nice to meet you — if I didn’t have to possibly kill you,”

“So you want to be the heiress? I never wanted to be one in the first place—”

“Do you think that matters?” she scoffs, “what matters is the choice your grandfather makes — and he’s chosen you — with no regard for the other children he has had,” her gaze falls downward, “do you know what it is like to watch your mother vye for the approval of someone who never truly cared for her in the first place?”

Your gaze falls downward, “I don’t know,” you admit, “but is all this worth this? What do you think he will even do for me?”

“He’ll meet my demands, and each hour he doesn’t, he’ll get another finger of yours,” she pulls a knife out, the blade glinting in the dim light, as she rises to her feet, your body straining back as she draws close to you, running the flat of the blade down your cheek, “should I start with your left hand or right?” she pulls the blade back, and you smile, “what—”

And you lean your head back and smash your head against her own. The crack of your skulls colliding rung in your ears, along with the knife clattering to the ground, as you felt warm droplets ran down your face, and she stumbles back, clutching at her forehead, scarlet staining her face and fingers, “It’s funny you think that I came to you without a plan — how do you think I found you?”

“It wasn’t on her own,” and a hand on her shoulder, before she’s pinned to the floor. Satoru’s eyes slide to you, a smile on his lips, as she’s struggling, trying to look for her men, “looking for your goons? Suguru has taken care of them by now, unless he needs my help,”

“Akari isn’t the only one who likes to hear herself talk,” Suguru runs his fingers through his hair, “Satoru, you haven’t even untied her,” his footsteps echoing as he approaches you, bending down to pick up Akari’s knife.

“A little busy at the moment, Suguru,” Gojo has Akari pinned with one hand, “unless you’d like her to get away,” and Suguru shrugs, as he slips the knife under your restraints and cuts them off, “are you doing alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine, just my head’s aching,” and Suguru pulls a cloth from his pocket, wiping the blood from your face, your eyes closing and nose wrinkling as he does, “did you call my grandfather?”

“Yeah, I don’t have a death wish,” Satoru replies as he hauls Akari up and hands her off to his associate to take her.

You get to shaky feet, “Hold on,” you walk over, grabbing Akari by the front of her blouse, silk wrinkling under your grasp, “fuck with me or my family again, and I won’t be so lenient,” you shove her off, and then you add, “but I’ll talk to my grandfather about some sort of possible arrangement for your mother,”

And then you wave the yakuza off and they take her away — assuredly to Kyoto to be dealt with by her grandfather.

“Are you really going to talk to your grandfather about her?” Suguru asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s the least he could do since he caused me to be targeted,” you grumble, rubbing your wrists, as Satoru takes his suit coat off and places it around your shoulders, before a smirk pulls at your lips.

Suguru tilts his head, smiling, “Well, how would he feel if he knew you got kidnapped on purpose?” And you shrug.

“He doesn’t need to know that.”

~~~

“I’m surprised you guys agreed to my plan,” you hiss as Satoru takes a damp cloth to clean the dried blood from your face, while Suguru is knelt, bandaging your ankles — their rough and bruised hands somehow still gentle, “I thought you would never let me wander into danger,”

“Well, we knew we had to do something when we realized you were listening to us, didn’t we, Princess?” Satoru snorted, and you could hear the smile gracing his features — even with your eyes shut — “and this was the best way to ensure you weren’t hurt,”

“Relatively,” Suguru adds, as he finishes bandaging one ankle, “did she do anything else to you?”

And Satoru’s hand pauses as they both wait for your answer, and you shake your head, “No,” and Satoru pulls the washcloth away, your eyes fluttering open to meet two skeptical gazes, “really, I’m fine,” your lips curl after the two of them look away, Satoru turning to grab a bag of ice for your forehead, while Suguru busied himself with bandaging your other ankle, “is this threat the reason my grandfather sent me to Tokyo?”

The timing had lined up — Akari had started the threats not a few months before — after she had reached legal age, the perfect age to contend for the position of successor to her grandfather. And by sending you here, your grandfather thought he was putting you out of immediate danger — but he didn’t know Akari would make her way to Tokyo.

“More or less,” Satoru sighed, as you flinched when he pressed the ice pack to your head, the condensation from the bag already clinging and dripping down your face, “the geezer wanted to find the source of the threats against you—and by sending you here, to your potential fiancés—“

“I would be safe protected twofold by two of the biggest families—“ and you blink, pulling the ice pack away from your face, “the engagements — that’s why they were leaked — it was to protect me,” you mumble, “so that means—“

“You can go home if you want, Princess,” Suguru says, looking up at you, expression as inscrutable as it always was, “the engagements were only pretense,”

“You both knew?” And Satoru sighs, scratching the back of his head, and why does it feel as if his nails are carving out a piece of your heart.

“The old coot swore us to secrecy, we didn’t have—“

“But, everything, the two of you…the engagement—it’s over,” you say slowly, gaze falling downward. You should be happy, relieved, thrilled — you could go home, what you wanted to do from the start. You could get your own apartment or transfer to a different university—and leave this behind, a bad dream washed away by the events of a new day. So why?

Why did it hurt?

“Don’t tell me you’ll actually miss us, sweetheart?” Satoru teased, a force more than anything — bittersweet worded coated in a sugary sarcasm, “because I very well may propose here and now,”

You almost scoff, but Suguru beats you to it.

“A proposal now? Seems like finishing early isn’t what you just do in bed, Satoru,” Suguru scoffs, as Satoru shoots a glare over his sunglasses, “she’s only eager to get home now isn’t she? "If she isn’t so eager,” he adds, “then she would stop the one she wants from leaving her room, wouldn’t she?”

And Suguru is slowly getting to his feet, while Satoru also turns to leave — and you don’t think—but you were sure that you truly hadn’t thought a single sane thought since you had arrived in Tokyo—

You grab at the fabric of both their shirts, fingers clutching at it, as your lips curled when they glanced back at you.

“Who said either of you could leave?”

~~~

“You’re going to have to use your words,” you murmured, fingers ghosting Satoru’s jaw, a delightful shiver parting his lips as you smiled at him, sat spread at the edge of your bed, “what do you want?” You stepped closer, between his legs, daring even closer.

“Sweetheart, you know what I—“ and a low groan leaves his throat as your fingers slide to the nape of his neck to tug at his snowy locks, “please—“

“I know you love this,” you murmur, leaning to press a kiss to his throat, smiling against his skin, “you said you wanted me to hurt you, so it looks like you’re getting your wish,” your eyes slide to the other, sat in a chair, “I know you like to watch, Suguru, so you must be enjoying yourself,” and you’re further unbuttoning Satoru’s shirt all the same — crisp white button up definitely creased and wrinkled as it fell open, tugged out from his slacks.

Suguru’s fingers flexed against the grain of the wood of the armrests, his muscles taut, his lips a tight line that only matched the fabric of his slacks straining against his erection. The corner of his mouth twitches, and you smirk.

“I didn’t hear an answer, Suguru,” and you’re placing another kiss on Satoru’s neck, a whine leaving his throat, while your eyes find Suguru’s amethyst gaze darkened to nearly black, his knuckles white against the wood, as you lean down to lick a stripe up Satoru’s neck, who bites his bottom lip.

“I’d enjoy it even more if I could touch you, or me,” Suguru adds through gritted teeth, “Princess—“

And you click your tongue, “You had such patience when you were watching me sleep — so where’s that patience now?” Your fingers graze Satoru’s erection through his slacks, and his head is falling back, as Suguru shifts in his seat, not so subtly adjusting himself.

You undo Satoru’s belt, unbuckling it with ease, as his cock slaps against his stomach, and you didn’t know it was possible for a dick to be pretty, but Satoru’s was — a deep flush settled over it, pearly beads of precum dripping from the ruby tip. And a distinct heat begins to throb between your thighs.

“You can touch yourself,” you tell Suguru, his legs twitching to get up, “but you can’t cum until I tell you can,” you run a finger up Satoru’s cock, teasing the weeping tip, a groan leaving the snowy haired man’s lips, “strip, Suguru,”

And he does, you hear the click of his belt, the sound of fabric rustling, as your fingers tease the slit of Satoru’s cock, gathering precum on your fingers, drawing a grunt from his lips. You can hear the distinct sound of Suguru spitting in his palm, his hand beginning to work at his own cock.

“Both s’good for me,” you murmur, as you stroke Satoru’s cock in earnest, the quiet moans from both their mouths sending a ribbon of need to your already dripping cunt, “can’t wait to fuck you both, make you my toys,” and you’re pressing a kiss to Satoru’s tip, his pretty, pink lips parting, as his head rolls back again, “but you’d both like that wouldn’t you? Maybe I shouldn’t let either of you cum, make you beg me all night,” as your tongue traces his lovely vein up the side of his cock, “what do you think, Toru?” And your mouth finally closes around his dick, sucking hard that draws a hiss from his lips, fingers fisted in the sheets.

And Suguru isn’t doing much better, the sounds of his hand squelching and the moans leaving his lips growing louder and louder.

“Please, Princess, I’m close, I can’t—“ and you click your tongue, a pout on your lips, as you pull away your touch, “baby, I—“

“Can’t let either of you cum so fast,” your eyes slide to Suguru, his cheeks flushed a lovely pink that reaches even his ears, as his hand slows, his cock twitching in his fingers, “gotta make you earn it. It’s only right after all the shit you put me through right?”

It’s a cycle, a cycle of you bringing them both to the edge of orgasm, only to tell them to stop. Their sweat slicked brows wrinkled, as you worked them up once again and again and again — you had lost track of how many times.

“Please, please, sweetheart,” and you knew you could get Satoru to beg, but you didn’t think it would be this easy, and you let his dick brush against your throat, as you let him fuck your throat, hips jerking, “fuuuuck, I need to—”

And you’re pulling your lips from his cock with a pop, glancing at Suguru whose black locks are beginning to come loose from their neat bun, more of a mess now than he had been fighting yakuza earlier, and all because of you.

“Suguru? Wanna cum?” you ask, smirking as his gaze raises to meet yours, a desperate look that tells you everything you need to know, “be a good boy and tell me,”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, as pre drips down his knuckles, “fuck, Princess,” he’s shaking his head, “ I want to cum, please — I need—”

And your lips curl, “cum for me,” you murmur before you’re wrapping your lips around Satoru again, his tip brushing against your throat, sucking hard, his fingers finding purchase in your hair. And he’s cumming hard, his hot release slides down your throat, nails digging into your scalp, nearly never ending — even as you pull away, his cum paints your face and lips, and drips onto your clothes. His cerulean eyes glazed as he looked down at you between his legs, a string of spit and cum connecting you to his cock.

And Suguru was no better. He had cum hard all over his hand and the floor, his cock still somehow half hard, his body slumped back in the chair, as his chest heaved. His hair tie had long fallen away, his long black locks brushing against his shoulders.

You lick your lips clean of Satoru’s cum, wiping the rest away with the back of your hand, “Made such a mess,” you tsk, as you get to your feet, slipping off your shorts and shirt, before leaning down to kiss Satoru, and he’s still sensitive by the way he jolts against your touch, before melting into it, his tongue parted your lips with ease. And fuck, you hoped he couldn’t see how wet you were — nearly dripping down your thighs at this point.

And you’re pulling away, your thumb dragging down his lips, as his teeth try to catch the finger between them, but you’re too quick. You turn, a smile on your lips, you make your way over to Suguru.

You’re wiping up the mess on the floor with your shirt before kneeling, “made such a mess, Sugu,” and he’s staring at you through half lidded eyes, his fingers brushing your cheek, “did I say you could touch me?”

“You never said I couldn’t,” he murmurs, and god, his voice is far gone, raw and nearly guttural, as his fingers found purchase in your hair, “and I think I earned it after your little performance—“ and he hisses when you lean in, tip of your tongue teasing his slit and licking the dripping cum off his half hard cock, “fuck—“

“Not yet,” you smiled, as you started to lick his cock clean of his cum, “but maybe if you’re good,” he grunts as you sink is cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around his length, licking and sucking — and fuck, he was already twitching in your mouth.

And then he’s easing you off his dick with a tug of your hair, and you’re glancing up at him, a question on the tip of your tongue, but he’s swallowing it with a kiss, as his hands slip down your body to haul you nearly into his lap. Calloused palms find their way to your hips, squeezing lightly, as he pulls away, cupping your chin with his thumb.

“Suguru—” and you yelp as he picks you up with ease, placing you in Satoru’s lap whose hands wind their way around your waist, his fingers already beginning to tease your hardened buds through your bra, a gasp leaving your lips, as Suguru placed his on your neck with a smirk as he murmurs:

“Let me show you how good we can be, sweetheart.”

~~~~

“Tell us what you want, princess,” Satoru murmured in your ear, his warm breath doing nothing to help the needy heat between your thighs, the one that Suguru was knelt between, his large palms spreading you before him, “is she as wet as I think, Suguru?”

And Suguru catches your gaze, a wicked smile on his lips as he replies, “Wetter, she’s a mess, aren’t you?” you bite your lip to stop a whimper from leaving your lips as his fingers graze the growing wet patch on your panties. And your squirming only makes Satoru grunt, his erection pressed against you, the friction doing little to help either of you.

“Fuckers,” and Satoru clicks his tongue, a smile on his lips as he turns your head.

“Think I have a better use for that mouth of yours, sweetheart,” and his lips find yours, right as Suguru toys with the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, Satoru swallows the small noise that escapes your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as it does.

And god, you already can’t even think straight.

Satoru’s fingers are pushing up your bra, teasing your nipples, as Suguru pressing a kiss to your dripping cunt through your soaked underwear.

“So pretty,” Suguru murmurs, and Satoru’s lips part from yours, gaze darkening as he drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, and he tugs your drenched panties down, “and your cunt is even prettier, isn’t it princess?”

And you were — your gorgeous pussy was glossy with your pre, dripping all over his fingers when he parts your messy folds, “Bet she’s even tighter, isn’t she?” Satoru murmurs, as his dick twitches against your ass, “

You whine as his words warm your aching pussy, your eyes flickering downwards, as Suguru’s lips graze your inner thigh, and you already know Satoru’s pouting.

“You’re taking your goddamn time, Suguru, when do I get my chance?” He grumbles, nose brushing against your neck, as you can’t help but chuckle.

“You got your turn, and now it’s time for you to watch,” and your giggle turns to a soft gasp when his lips press a kiss to your clit, “and sweetheart, can’t wait to see how you’ll punish me for this later — because I’m not stopping until you beg me to,”

Your lips part with a reply, but he pulls a moan from your lips instead as his tongue drags up the length of your weeping entrance. God, fuck, how did you taste this good? His tongue flicked against your puffy clit, drawing lazy circles, your slick already drenching his chin and lips.

“So fucking good, baby, s’good f’me,” and your fingers are threading their way into his dark locks, pulling him even closer, his lips closing around your clit to suck, “could live in this pretty cunt,” he grunts, the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance.

Your head falls against Satoru’s shoulders, a groan fell from his lips as his cock dragged against your ass, your slick drenching his thighs and cock alike, “can’t wait to sink my cock into you, fuck,” Satoru murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt rang in his ears, and he could imagine how wet and warm you’d be once he sunk into you, inch by inch.

And he couldn’t wait — he needed to do something.

Satoru’s fingers found their way down your body, tweaking your nipple before one large palm dragged slowly down your front, until he found your clit right above Suguru’s face.

“Toru,” you gasp, as his fingers pinch your clit and Suguru glares, pulling his lips away for a moment, only to sink a finger back in insteas, drawing a moan from your lips, “Sugu—fuck—“

And it’s too much, one more touch and you’re cumming, body falling back into Satoru, as Suguru fucks you through your orgasm. Your release runs down their fingers, as Satoru lifts his hand a moment to lick his fingers clean.

God, you’re too pretty for your own good, Satoru’s eyes drag over you — your kiss ruined lips, skin shiny from your sweat, and the way your eyes were lost in an endless pool of lust.

“Suguru was right, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” Satoru grin, gently turning your head, and you’re panting, nose wrinkling ever so slightly at his words, and he tuts, “don’t believe me? Well I can fix that,” and his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, swallowing your moans, as Suguru continued to finger fuck you.

Suguru’s finger stretches you open, fluttering, knuckle deep, as your precum drips down his fingers.

“Remember who’s fucking this cunt, sweetheart,” and Suguru is, another finger parting your needy folds, and between Satoru rubbing your clit and Suguru’s fingers curling to find that one spot, drags against your insides, “fuck, how are we going to fit, Satoru? She’s still so tight,” Suguru grunts.

You pull your lips from Satoru’s, a whine leaving your lips, “More, please, I need—“ and a third finger joins the other two — but it’s not Suguru’s.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking soft,” Satoru groans, pressing soft kisses to your skin, only serving to make you keen at their touch, and your walls flutter around their fingers.

“Fuck, we’re trying to fuck her open and she just keeps getting tighter,” Suguru grunts, while Satoru’s lips find your earlobe, sucking, just as he adds another finger, a moan escaping your lips again.

Suguru’s fingers fuck at a steady pace, fucking deeper and deeper, while Satoru’s are faster, pistoning in and out while dragging against your walls — and it’s not long until they are working you up to a second orgasm, it’s too fucking good — and they both find that spot in you that has you seeing stars.

“I’m g’nna—” and Satoru finds your lips in a sloppy kiss, saliva slipping from the corner of your mouth. And you cum, even harder, your swollen folds clamping down on their fingers as they continue to fuck you unendingly through your orgasm. Your lips pull away, only to moan their names, again and again, until they finally slow down.

“Good girl,” Suguru murmurs, pressing sweet kisses to your thighs, while you come down from your high, walls flutter around nothing at the praise, while Satoru nips at your neck right above your racing pulse. And your eyes find Suguru lazily palming his weeping erection, as you lift your bare foot to rub against it, making him hiss, while you rub against Satoru teasingly.

“Don’t forget who’s in control,” you kiss Satoru again, before biting his bottom lip, and he’s melting into your touch, “and, you were good,” your foot rubs against Suguru’s cock again, drawing another pretty groan from his lips, “but now it’s time to be obedient.”

And they are — as you have Satoru sit back against the pillow lined headboard, because if it was anything you knew now — Satoru loved to be controlled, while Suguru liked the illusion of control, even if he didn’t have even a bit of it. So you have Suguru kneeling behind you, as you climb into Satoru’s lap, a small groan leaving his lips as your cunt grazes his hard cock.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you, Toru?” your fingers run through his hair — and god, his undercut was so fucking hot, as your fingers found his cock, letting the tip tease your soaked folds, as you line yourself up, “tell me what you want,”

“Fuck, princess, y’know what I want,” and a whine leaves his throat when you let his tip sink into you, only to pull out.

“Come on, nothing else to say? You always love running that mouth, don’t you? You wanted this, wanted me to ruin you, didn’t you? Well here we are,” you hum, as you press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth, “beg me,”

And his dick twitches, painfully hard, and the words spill from his lips, “Please, please, sweetheart, use me, use my cock as a toy, want you to fuck me so bad, make me yours—” and you’re sinking onto his cock, his length parting your folds, as moans fall from both of your lips. And he bottoms out, your hips meeting his as you do, and you can feel every vein, every ridge, every inch notched inside your walls.

“Toru, fuck, s’good, s’big,” it feels too fucking good, and he’s so long — god, he was brushing against places you never even dreamed of reaching. And your pussy clenched at the thought of how deep he would go when he would start thrusting.

“Sure you have space for me, Princess?” Suguru leans back over to press kisses all over your face, before finding your lips in a heated kiss, “might be too tight of a fit,” his nose brushing against your cheek.

“I’ll make you fit,” you murmur against his lips, your hands against Satoru’s chest, as you shift to cup his chin, “get behind me, Sugu,”

Suguru smirks, slipping behind you, pressing himself against your back, dragging his cock teasingly against you, “So needy — you’re worse than Satoru,” and Satoru makes a noise of protest, but your walls flutter, making his back arch, “want me inside you, sweetheart?” And his tip teases at your entrance, brushing against Satoru’s cock, causing all three of you to moan, “tell me how much you want us to fuck you, how much you want both of us inside you,”

“Fucker, I swear to god,” you turn your head, your glare undercut by the desperation on your face, “just fuck me—

And Suguru sinks into you, your head falling back against him, as both of their cocks stretch your cunt out. You were so fucking full. And the way your walls clenched around them was nearly enough to make them cum. Their groans come in unison.

“Fuck, Princess, you don’t have to break our dicks off — we’ll fuck you again,” Suguru grunts, his rough palms sliding to your hips to squeeze them.

“S’good, sweetheart, so fucking right for us,” and you can’t think straight with the two of them inside of you, and you’re moaning.

“Please, move—“ and they oblige, beginning to fuck you. You moved against Satoru, riding him as best you can, while Suguru fucked you from behind, his balls slapping against your ass.

Suguru drives into you at a steady pace, causing you to rock against Satoru, your hips pressed against his, as they both drive deeper and deeper into your wet cunt.

“S’good, so pretty,” Suguru presses sweet kisses to your neck, while Satoru’s eyes flutter open to meet yours, “I’m close, Satoru—“

“Me too,” Satoru manages, and his hips begin to meet your thrusts, “you gonna cum for us princess?” And he finds your gaze, the fucked out expression enough to nearly make him cum right there.

A whine leaves your lips, as they continue to fuck you, and you know you’re so close. And then they find that spot in you again, and you’re falling apart, lips parted in a moan, both their names on your lips. You clamp down on them, toes curling as you cum, and neither of them can last. Their hips stutter as they give sloppy thrusts, until they both cum,

They groan your name as they spurt their thick cum inside, notching themselves as deep as they could, continuing to fuck their cum inside you with messy thrusts.

A whimper escapes your lips between pants, as your arms and legs shake from your position, utterly fucked out. You three stay like that for a moment, both of their sweet nothings they murmur to you falling on deaf ears.

And then finally they are shifting you onto the bed, pressing soft kisses to your face and neck, as your eyes flutter shut. There’s shifting on the bed, as one of them leaves for a moment, and you make a noise, only to be reassured that he’ll be right back.

Your eyes finally flutter open to find Satoru and Suguru cleaning you up with a wet washcloth, and your gaze finds both of their own. Your lips curl at the sight of them, their gentle gaze enough to make your heart ache.

“Come back,” you whine, and they both chuckle, as they begin to finish drying you off, before tossing the washcloth into the wastebasket, and crawling back beside you. They help you pull a shirt on, before settling in.

“So needy,” Satoru murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, even as he buries his face in your chest, his warm breath tickling you as you run your fingers softly through his white locks. And Suguru presses himself to your back, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his arm around your waist, and yours resting on top of his.

“What will we do with her?” Suguru mutters, and you can hear the smirk in his tone.

“Shut up,” you mumble, your eyes beginning to feel heavy, as you give into the warmth that enveloped you from their bodies, as it lulled you to sleep. And your lips curled into a smile, a smile that had you wondering right before you slipped into sleep—

When was it that you fell for them?

~~~~

You couldn’t do this. Not to them.

That’s what you had decided come morning — waking up between entangled limbs and soft breaths against your skin — how could you? You felt Satoru shift closer to you, as you leaned into his touch, running your fingers through Suguru’s black locks. You were addicted to their touch only after one night, and now you had to spend the rest of your life without it.

It was the only way.

This whole thing was ridiculous to begin with — you never cared to be involved in the yakuza to begin with. You wanted a normal life — or at least as normal of a life you could have with who your grandfather was. You had never expected to end up wrapped up in all of this — and in both of them.

But you didn’t know if you could choose between them — and you knew, you had to. It wasn’t fair to either of them — not when they had asked you to choose last night and they had indulged you in both of them. And now, you didn’t want to let either of them go.

So you had to let both of them go.

You shifted slowly to sit up, Your fingers traced Satoru’s cheek lightly, as you toyed with a strand of Suguru’s hair. They both still stayed fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the early morning, deep in the embrace of sleep after the events of last night and the last few weeks. You didn’t want to be someone like your grandfather — you didn’t know what you wanted and that was enough of an answer wasn’t it?

The two shift in their sleep, and your body grows heavy, your back still aching from last night, as you lie back down beside them, running your fingers over both of their arms.

Even if you had your answer, you didn’t have to face it for another few hours. And their bodies shifted, Satoru burying his face in the nape of your neck, while you rested against Suguru’s chest. This was enough — enough to last you a lifetime, wasn’t it? Your eyes fluttered shut, sinking slowly back to sleep. You had told your grandfather you’d break their hearts —

—but you didn’t know you would be breaking yours as well.

~~~

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Satoru narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, as Suguru stepped aside to show the empty room you had left behind — a bare husk with nothing left behind, not even a note.

It had been a day.

When Satoru had woken up beside you, he could have sworn he was still dreaming, even as he grazed your skin gently with the back of his knuckles, he still couldn’t quite believe it. And when he spotted Suguru pressing kisses to your cheek, he knew it was real.

“How long have you been awake?” Satoru raised an eyebrow, “it’s not fair to have your fun while we were asleep,”

And Suguru rolled his eyes, as he rubbed the back of his knuckles gently against her cheek, “I just woke up, and all I did was kiss her, you idiot,”

“Not fair, that means I have to kiss her too,” Satoru murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and cheek, and one even to your nose. Your nose wrinkles in your sleep, and Satoru’s lips quirk upwards, “she’s so exhausted from last night still,”

“She is,” Suguru hums, as he tilts his head, “what are we going to do about last night?”

Satoru pauses a moment to consider, “Well, what is there to discuss? She chose us both, didn’t she?” Satoru leaned close to you, to press a kiss to your head.

“She did,” Suguru props himself up with his elbow on his side, “I thought you weren’t one to share,”

And Satoru shrugged — he wasn’t one to share, he wanted what was his to be his alone, but with you — the more people to protect you, the better, “If it’s what makes her happy, I don’t mind,” and he adds, “and I don’t mind if it’s you that I’m sharing with,”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, a chuckle on his lips, “Is that so? Well, good,” as he runs a finger through your hair, “because I feel the same.”

But Satoru supposed you didn’t.

“When did she—“

“My father told me she contacted her grandfather this morning, and let them know she was leaving — and her single request was to send us away on business so we wouldn’t be able to stop her,” and Satoru gives a bitter chuckle.

“So that’s it?” Satoru crosses his arms, “why did she—“ and he cuts himself off, “have you tried to call—“

“I’m blocked, I assume you are too,” Suguru shook his head, a silence settling over the two of them that Satoru chose to break.

“Do we go after her?” And Suguru pauses, his brow wrinkling a moment, before he sighs, shaking his head.

“If she comes back, it has to be her choice,” Suguru slid his hands into his pockets, “otherwise, we’re back to square one,” and he adds, “and I don’t think I can go back after last night.”

Suguru steps away, heading back down the hallway, and Satoru follows.

No, Satoru thinks, sparing one glance at the empty room, before pulling the door shut, neither could he.

~~~

“Why did you come back?” You set another box down, wiping the sweat from your brow, your grandfather simply watching as you brought your things back into your room.

“What a warm welcome,” you scoff, as you head back out to pick up another — the other staff had offered to help, but you had waved them off, lifting another box, your back still aching — and now you were starting to regret it. But you knew if you didn’t do something to distract yourself — your phone taunting you on the top of your desk — you’d do something you’d regret.

And you’d already filled your quota for the next six months at least.

“Don’t get me wrong, kid,” the geezer sighed, as he watched you bring the last of the boxes in, “I’m glad you’re back and the matters are all settled — but,” he tilts his head, “you seem more miserable than before,”

“I’m just tired,” you reply, but his furrowed brow says he’s unconvinced, as you grab a box cutter and begin to open up the boxes, beginning to sort through your things, “and still trying to wrap my head around the fact you lied to me,”

And he sighs, “this isn’t about me right now — it’s about you—“

“How convenient,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” And you can’t help but freeze for a moment, until you force yourself to continue unpacking, pulling out some of your clothes from the box, “which one is it?”

The question stabs between your ribs like a well thrust sword between the ribs, finding the center of the problem — along with your heart.

“Gramps—”

“So it’s both of them?” and you whirl on him, your eyes narrowing, and he chuckles, holding up his hand, “I didn’t spy — I just took a guess,” he sighed, as he pulled out your desk chair and took a seat in it, “and it looks like I was right,”

You swallow, your eyes falling to the floor, “I didn’t cheat, if that’s what—”

He laughs, “I know you aren’t like me, little one,” he leans back in the chair, hands folded in his lap, “you aren’t one to lie — because I know there’s more you hate than liars,” and his gaze grows a little sadder, “And I’m sorry I had to become one of them,”

You grit your teeth, “I’m not mad at you — I’m just—” you choose your words carefully — because you’re angry, you were upset — upset that he felt as if he couldn’t trust you, “wondering why you didn’t tell me the truth,”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “My past isn’t something I’m proud of, and I wanted to deal with it without involving you,” he sighed, “after everything with our family — I didn’t want to give you another reason to distance yourself from me,”

“Lying to me isn’t a better option than that,” he rubs the back of his head, “you have to make it right for Akari and her mother — as well as if you have any other kids—I don’t need to know,” you add, when he opens his mouth, “it isn’t fair to them,” and it would be no fairer to not choose between Satoru and Suguru.

“You’re right,” he raises a brow, “is that the problem? You can’t choose between the two of them, eh?” and your gaze refuses to meet his, “have you talked to them about it?” and your silence serves as an answer, “then I think you should take your own advice and talk to them about it,”

“What will that do?” you murmur, “they still will want me to choose—”

“Do you know that for a fact?” he crosses his arms, “I think you owe it to them and to yourself to talk to them, and to your grandfather who can’t stand to see you this miserable at home,”

“Do you think it will change anything?” and he shrugs.

“Maybe it will or maybe it won’t,” he tilts his head, as he pulls out his phone to call you a car, “but if it’s a chance for you to be happy, isn’t it worth taking?”

~~~~

“I want to marry you both,”

And again, your statement is met with confused stares, as you had all but pulled up to their compound and entered to find them seated together discussing business in a side room — and their stares were still anything but average — but to you now, they meant so much more.

“Not marry you right now, but maybe eventually,” adrenaline was surely pumping through your system, right? That’s probably why your hands were shaking and your mouth was dry, but even so you knew you needed to say it before they spoke, “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I told myself after we first met I wouldn’t be a coward, but I was when I ran away, and I don’t have any excuse,” you swallowed, “but I know what I want — and I want both of you, as selfish as that feels,” guilt crawled up your throat at the statement of that sentence, as if begging you to swallow the words that spilled from your lips back up, “and I don’t know how either of you feel — but if we were to do this, I would want us to be honest and—”

And the screech of their chairs takes you aback, and you felt your cheeks burn, was this it?

But instead of brushing past you, they stand in front of you, one of them tilting your head upwards to meet their gazes.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart,” Satoru’s lips curled, his hand cupping your cheek, “I know we said we wanted you to hurt us, but not like that,”

“Sent us away just to ghost us,” Suguru clicked his tongue, his fingers still under your chin, “I’ll have to plant a tracker on you again,”

You shake your head, “Wait, what? Are you both okay—”

“We did say we’d kill the other for your hand, but,” Suguru presses a kiss to your forehead, “But now we realize the more eyes watching you, the better, and,” he shrugs, “we don’t mind sharing if it’s just with the other,”

“And I know you’ll prefer me sooner or later,” Satoru adds, earning a glare from Suguru, as you only chuckle, “Suguru is always so grumpy—ow!” Suguru smacks on the back of the head, as the black haired yakuza wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his front.

“And you are always too busy running your mouth,” Suguru replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “sure you can handle both of us in your life?” and you pull Satoru close too, letting his lips brush yours, before turning and pressing a kiss to Suguru.

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourselves that?” you say, as the two of them wrap an arm around you, “I am supposed to ruin your lives after all.”

✧ a/n: so this has been a longtime coming. i was supposed to be working on prof geto (5) + my nanami celebration fic but this took over my life and wouldn't let go until i finished. so i hope you guys enjoy!! and this is my reminder why i don't write multi partner scenes like this often because its....difficult. thank you to @gaylatteart for reading and putting up with me <333

✧ taglist: @midmourn, @whore-for-hawks, @ekaterinatepes, @satoryaa, @mandysfanfics, @sodoney, @sukunasfavoritehole, @kazbrkker, @satorugirlie, @itsbokutosjuicyass, @santos4, @levanadragoneel, @talkativetranscendant, @abiiebibie, @simply-a-s1mp, @jolynelovesrain, @deegausserr, @xxemmarldxx, @biancaness, @satoniko, @ackermanbby, @rintoriss, @kentocalls, @marionettte, @bear-likes-mushrooms, @forest-hashira, @catsgomurp, @k1t0u, @rat-loves, @forest-fruits-jam, @wishingforanother, @roseified, @spider-fan72, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @gojolvrr34, @chosobun, @chuuyasboots, @nanamis-baker, @hanxyy,

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #gojo satoru smut #stsg x reader #satosugu x reader #satoru gojo x you #suguru geto x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto fanfiction #gojo fanfiction

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who-is-there · 7 months ago

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I just started watching Dimension 20’s Fantasy high, halfway through sophomore year, and I do want a fic where people realise just how used to being part of a group the bad kids are. For example-

-I fully believe every single one of them is used to Riz climbing them so he can see better. It’s usually Gorgug, but it’s happened to all of them at some point. They might hold out their arm for him to jump onto a counter, or so he can pin a clue to his board. Before they all sit at a table, at least one of them makes sure their 4’4 friend can jump onto the table.

-Every single one of them has also caught Adaine after she had a vision. Sometimes she can just shake them off, but the big ones make her falter in what she’s doing, which can be dangerous. It happened once in a fight, and now the people standing closest to her are always ready.

-Fabian doesn’t really recognise he has a blind spot with his eye injury, because the others immediately clocked it. But this also means they walk in between him and the road, in case some idiot mounts the curb. They keep an eye on anything to his right, shifting drinks and pushing chairs if they can tell his depth perception is a little off.

-Fig usually stands in the middle of the group to intimidate people into not messing with them, so it’s sort of become habit to just crowd around her. After the battle, if no one’s seriously hurt or anything, everyone just wanders over to Fig. At this point, Fig is always the first one to yell out after a fight, just so they can regroup.

-Gorgug is the go-to for lap-sits, leaning, anything to do with being physically supported by another persons body. His hoodie is soft, and his headphones are loud enough that you can kind of hear it if you’re leaning on him. His parents weren’t great with nonchalant physical contact, in case he was already upset, so he takes great joy in his friends not being scared to hug him for fun.

-Kristin has left her staff at every single house she could with the bad kids. She leaves her bag in classrooms, the library, the cafeteria. Whenever the group leave somewhere, they do a full scan, because Kristin has probably left something and they grab it for her. No one has any clue who her bag actually belongs to, because all of the bad kids have been seen carrying it around school several times.

The school at large know who the bad kids are, and the town recognise them, but they still don’t know why all of them double check a room before leaving, or collectively carry a small stool around with them. One student with a fantasy iron deficiency faints in class and Kristin catches her before she hits the ground. Once, Fig isn’t in school for a day and all the bad kids have this restless energy about them. It is not uncommon to see them on the field during lunch, curled up in a pile on Gorgug. One guy tries to surprise Fabian from the right and gets body checked by Adaine before it even registers.

It’s sort of uncomfortable for everyone to see any of them without the others, because it means a) the rest of them committed a crime, b) the rest of them are committing a crime, or c) the rest of them are about to run in and start planning to commit a crime. And no one wants to lose their plausible deniability here.

#fantasy high #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #figeroth faeth #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #dimension 20 #the bad kids

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katszumi · 5 months ago

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“have you seen the abs on that man?” hagakure sat across of you. “sexy on a stick, i swear!” she giggles. she was going on and on about the guy that starred in the superman movie you girls put on last night. henry cavill was his name.

mina agrees with her statement with a nod. “he’s the hottest white man i’ve ever seen before.”

“sure, he was hot, but are we forgetting the misogynist comments he’s made? sexy is one thing, but being controversial is a whole ‘nother thing.” uraraka inserted her input.

“oh, please. i’d cook and clean for him anyday he asks.” mina retorted. both uraraka and yaoyorozu shake their head in shame.

“speaking of controversial.” uraraka murmurs under her breath, you peer over your shoulder, wondering the intent of her statement.

you notice bakugou making his way over to your desk, his eyes planted on you and you only. you shift uncomfortably. why the hell would he be coming to you? did you do something?

once he makes his way to your desk, you look up at him with a half smile.

“hey, bakugou. what’s up?”

his eyes analyze the other girls before looking back down on you.

“my pencil?”

you flutter your lashes at him. “pencil..?” you repeated in a trance of confusion.

he groans. “the fuckin’ pencil i gave you last week. i need it back.”

now it all clicks. you nod, laughing nervously because of your stupidity. you reach in your backpack and grab the black mechanical pencil that you forgot to lend back to bakugou.

your arm extends to the male in front of you, waiting for him to snatch it back.

“sorry.”

he gently grasped onto the pencil, his hand brushing against your fingers for a small moment.

“it’s whatever. just rather not be the one to find you after i lent you something.” he shoved the pencil in his pants pockets, leaving his hands in there. “that’s one of the last pencils i have.”

you shoot your eyebrows up in defense, quickly lowering them after. your eyes falling down to your desk for comfort.

“well, hope you take care of that one.” it was a half-joke. a lame one, might you add. you were just unsure on what to say. especially since it seemed like bakugou was lingering around your desk. as if he didn’t want to return to his seat just yet.

“so, what’d you score on your test?”

“ah…it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible.”

“well?” was he really desperate to know that bad? you knew bakugou was smart, so he probably only wanted to know so it could boost his ego.

you rubbed your arm out of shame. “a seventy-nine.” you stared at his face to recognize any humility or laughter, but there was none.

he shrugged. “should’ve asked for my help if you needed it.”

right. you almost forgot that bakugou offered to help you study and go over notes with him for the next test. it was such an out-of-bakugou thing to do that you nearly didn’t take him serious.

you nodded slowly, processing his information.

“i was planning on making it up, so maybe for that.”

“fine.” his short one-worded response was dull. but what else did you really expect? “next time, don’t steal my pencil.” was his last comment before leaving your presence.

you sat in your thoughts, reeling the conversation back in your mind. what the hell just happened? it was the most simple yet confusing conversation you’ve ever had. was bakugou joking with you or was he seriously irritated with the pencil situation?

regardless, you made a mental note that bakugou was very protective over his mechanical pencils.

once bakugou returned to his seat, he unzipped his backpack, secretly opening his pencil box. within the box were a collection of pencils. there were so many pencils that he could give one to all of class 1a and 1b and still have few left.

aside sat denki who was clearly peeking inside of bakugou’s bag.

“damn, bakubro. you saving up pencils for a potential pencil outage or something?” it’s denki. of course, he never used his inside voice.

“i will literally blow you out this fuckin’ window and across the lot.” bakugou turns his head immediately, a faint pink blush spreading across the apples of his cheek.

bakugou just didn’t want you to know that the pencil was obviously an excuse to talk to you.

pt 2 of the study sesh

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likeumeanit9497 · 5 months ago

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like a pornstar | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: when y/n, chris' best friend, confesses that she has never finished during sex, he decides to change that

warnings: smut; oral (fem receiving); unprotected p in v; dirty talk; established friendship; squirting; 18+

notes: back again with a friends with benefits smut (shh im manifesting). i hope the chris girlies enjoy, and matt girlies don't worry my next one shot is for u ;) love y'all <33333

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

“Hey! You’re gonna eat all the popcorn! Give me some.” I exclaimed before snatching the half eaten bag of popcorn from Chris’ grasp. He tried to say something in a rebuttal, but all he got through his mouthful of popcorn was garbled words and a slight spray of kernels. “Oh god, you’re foul.” I said jokingly before wrapping my leg around his to lighten my words. “Just hush, I can’t hear the show.”

Chris and I had been best friends since elementary school, and had always had a bond like no other. When he had moved out to California a few years ago, I had really struggled with the loss of seeing him practically everyday. But since then, I had been able to come out and visit him multiple times, and it was so exciting to have him show me the new life that him and his brothers had built for themselves on the other side of the country.

In the past, each time I had visited him in Los Angeles the weather had been amazing, so I had forced Chris to explore all over the city with me. However, this visit had been nothing but rain, so him and I had done little more than what we were doing right now: curling up under the covers with some snacks and a couple joints, binge watching all of our favourite shows from high school. We were currently re-watching Euphoria — one of my all time favourite shows — as a light trickle of rain acted as background noise.

As we worked through our snacks, the scene where Maddy and Nate’s relationship dynamic is described played. I popped a handful of popcorn in my mouth, relishing in the nostalgic feeling that the show brought me, as the scene continued on to describe how Maddy watched porn to study how she should look and sound during sex. As the character arched her back on her bed, her eyes plastered to a device playing porn, I let out a small chuckle.

“What?” Chris turned to me with a confused smile. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” I replied, shaking my head and shoving more popcorn into my mouth to stifle my ridiculous laughter. “Brooo, tell me.” He whined, grabbing my shoulder and shaking it jokingly. I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. “Oh my god, fine! I was just laughing because I used to do that.” I finally responded, and Chris turned to me and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Wait, what?” He brought a fistful of candy to his mouth. “I used to study porn too, not to get off on it or anything, just to like know what I was supposed to do.” I admitted, feeling my cheeks grow warm as Chris just stared blankly at me.

Finally, Chris blinked a few times, pulling himself out of his blank stare to resume eating snacks. “I don’t understand that honestly,” He began, reaching his hand into the popcorn bag between my legs, “I feel like when you’re in the moment all of those sounds and movements and stuff come naturally, don’t they?” I shrugged before responding. “Not for me, to be honest. I’ve never really had any sort of sexual interaction that made me feel good enough to act and sound like a porn star.” I chuckled, keeping the conversation lighthearted. This wasn’t the first time Chris and I had talked about our sexual experiences, so I felt comfortable being honest with him.

But when I fixed my gaze back onto him, I was met with a confused expression. “So does that mean you’ve never…” He dragged out his sentence, seemingly too afraid to complete it, so I saved him the trouble and answered his unfinished question with a solemn shake of my head. At this, his eyebrows shot up in what seemed to be total shock, complete with a dropped jaw. “You’re not serious, Y/n.” He said simply, and I once again shrugged my shoulders. “I mean it’s pretty common for girls to not be able to finish during sex, you know that.” I replied, to which he titled his head to the side and looked off into the distance.

“I guess so, but I’ve personally never ran into that problem before.” He replied, a cheeky smile taking over his face, and I rolled my eyes. “Oh Jesus, well too bad not all men are the Christopher Sturniolo.” I joked, unintentionally stroking his ego before refocusing my gaze on the show. The room was silent for a brief moment, both of us back to watching the show, before Chris spoke up again. “I just think that’s really fucked up. Sex should make both people involved feel good.” I wrapped my leg tighter around his. “Well aren’t you a crowd pleaser.” I joked. Turning to once again face him, I was expecting to be met with his classic grin. But instead, his face was serious; his mouth was set in a straight line and his blue eyes had darkened.

His expression was one I rarely saw, but it made my stomach tighten subconsciously. My throat suddenly felt extremely dry, and I couldn’t speak. My breath hitched when Chris brought a hand under the covers and placed it gently on my bare thigh, rubbing small circles into the skin. And my head began to spin when he shifted his body so that he was completely facing me. “You know, I bet I could make you sound like a porn star.” His poker face was finally replaced with a smirk, this one much more sinister than the one that I usually saw cross his face. He used his hand on my thigh to guide my legs open before brushing a finger just barely against my clothed heat; causing me to gasp. He leaned closer to my frame, already quivering in anticipation, and nibbled gently at my earlobe before whispering.

“Let me make you feel good, Y/n.”

He kept his mouth right there against my ear as he waited for a response, and I could feel his rapid breaths against my skin. My brain was in shambles, and I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Chris and I had been best friends for so long, but not once had things turned sexual. This was completely uncharted territory for me, and I couldn’t imagine it ending well. But, his hand that was resting in between my trembling thighs and his whispered proposition had already caused my panties to grow damp, so I threw all of my sensibility away by grabbing his jaw, drawing his face to mine, and crashing my lips onto his.

Immediately, Chris worked his lips against mine. They moved in sync as his tongue slipped into my mouth with ease; dancing around my own and filling me with more desire. He brought his other hand under the covers to grab onto my other thigh, where he squeezed harshly before using his grip to pull me up on top of him. Still attacking my mouth with his, he rubbed his hands up and down my body as I straddled him, taking care to focus his attention on my more sensitive parts.

He broke the kiss briefly to pull my oversized t-shirt over my head, before taking a moment to admire my bare chest in his direct line of sight. Without hesitation, he attached his mouth to one of my tits, nibbling and swirling his tongue around my sensitive nipples; causing my body to break out in goosebumps from the sensation. After he took his time on the first, he moved his mouth onto the second, and the new contact caused me to subconsciously grind my pelvis against his thigh; eliciting a moan from me. My erotic sound caused his eyes to shoot open, looking up at my face, before he detached his mouth from my tit to speak. “Real moan?” He asked, his lips swollen, and I nodded my head before grinding my hips against him once more. “F-feels good.” I mumbled, and at that he readjusted himself so that he was sitting up against the headboard; giving me more stability.

“Then keep doing that. Wanna see you feeling good.” He replied, shifting my body so that my core could press right up against the highest point of his thigh. I didn’t hesitate long before resuming my movements, this time moving at a much faster pace; losing myself to the sheer pleasure that the friction of his pants granted me. Chris’ mouth reattached to my nipples, but his eyes never left mine as he took in all of my contorted facial expressions and soft moans. He allowed his lips to travel along my chest up to my neck, where he suckled gently before muttering. “I don’t want you to fake anything, baby, just want you to tell me when it feels good and when it doesn’t. Okay?” I nodded my head frantically, squinting my eyes from the overwhelming pleasure I was feeling.

I looked down to where my body was writhing against him, and even through my shorts and panties I had left a dark patch from my arousal against his grey sweats. Rolling my eyes to the back of my head in bliss, I had never before grown that wet during sex before. I felt my legs begin to weaken around his thigh, and an overwhelming feeling begin to bubble up inside of me. I knew it was my orgasm approaching, but I was hit with a sudden wave of nervousness that was preventing me from reaching it.

“C-Chris, I can’t,” I panted out, and his eyes were immediately on mine. “You can’t what?” He replied, gripping my ass with both hands and helping me grind myself against him. “C-can’t finish.” I replied honestly, feeling my eyes well up with frustrated tears. I had never felt this good in bed with someone before, and still, I couldn’t get myself to cum. “Hey hey, it’s okay,” Chris used his grip on me to stop my movements completely, “It’s an overwhelming feeling, it’s sometimes hard to give in to it.” He brought a hand up to my cheek and stroked it affectionately. “Lie down here.” He patted the space in the bed where I had previously been, and I obliged, resting my head against the pillow.

Once I settled myself, Chris crawled on top of me, resting his weight on one arm. He began kissing me again, this time much slower than the first, and once my heart rate began to slow I took it upon myself to deepen the kiss; pulling his bottom lip gently with my teeth. This elicited a deep moan from Chris, and I felt him grind his clothed member against my core before dragging his mouth down my jaw and neck; leaving harsh kisses in its trail. I watched through droopy eyelids as Chris’ body traveled down my own, and my breathing increased once again when he reached the waistband of my shorts. He toyed with the band for a moment, slipping two fingers under the material before looking back up at me.

“I just want you to relax, lay there, and tell me when you feel good. Can you do that Y/n?” His voice was soft, but it was the unmistakable undertone of gruff arousal laced through it that caused my stomach to flip. I nodded quickly, bringing a hand to his forehead and brushing a few stray hairs back. “Okay.” I replied, causing him to smirk before slowly pulling my shorts and thong down my legs. Once my clothing was completely discarded, Chris encouraged my knees to bend and spread my legs open; exposing my dripping heat completely. “Hmm, so pretty Y/n.” He said lowly, taking in the glistening folds just centimetres from his face.

I watched as he dropped soft kisses along my outer folds before using his hands to spread me open slightly. His mouth inched closer and closer to my aching core, and when he finally connected to it I released a shaky moan. Immediately, he used his tongue to expertly manipulate my clit, causing me to see stars almost instantly. It was clear by his movements that he knew what he was doing, and I had to grip onto his messy curls in order to keep myself in place as he continued. “Is that good baby?” He asked against my bundle of nerves, moving one of his hands from my folds down to my entrance, teasing it in circles as he waited for a response.

“S-so good Chrissy.” I managed to get out before he reattached his lips, this time slowly plunging a digit into me as he continued; causing my hips to buck. “Shh, stay still honey.” He mumbled, still working his tongue and fingers in sync against my heat. The combination of his tongue against my clit and his finger plunging up into my g-spot was staggering, and I was once again feeling the undeniable signs of an upcoming orgasm. Every inch of my skin felt like it was being set on fire, and the pressure in my lower stomach was so intense, it felt like I was going to pee.

I had reached orgasms on my own before, but none had ever had a build up as intense as the one I was currently feeling with Chris. I felt like I could explode, but still, I was struggling to let go once again. “C-Chris, I d-don’t think I — I don’t think I c-can do it.” I cried out, gripping onto his hair like my life depended on it. At this, Chris added a second finger and increased his speed. “Yes you can baby, I know you can. Just breathe and let your body do what it knows to do.” I squeezed my eyes shut from the pressure, and did as he said and released shaky breaths. His movements had the same level of intensity as before, but there was an unspoken level of desperation to them now; clear indication that he wanted to get me there.

Even though it seemed impossible, the pressure inside of me kept getting stronger and stronger. My legs were shaking on either side of his head, and my breaths came out as guttural moans. I felt my body detach from my brain, and I knew I had lost all control over what was going to happen. Just then, the strongest orgasm I had ever felt completely engulfed me, and I could do nothing but cry out in pleasure. My back arched off of the bed, overwhelmed by the extreme sensation. Feverish, strings of erotic notes fell from my mouth, and they could barely be heard over the ringing in my ears.

Mouth agape, I watched in awe as the pressure in my stomach was finally relieved by a rush of fluid shooting from my core. At this, Chris murmured “Oh fuck.” before detaching his lips from my clit and swiftly rubbing it; spraying my fluid all over his face and exposed tongue. My orgasm rippled through me like a tsunami, and left me in a figurative and literal puddle once it died down. Once he drank up all my juices, Chris planted a soft kiss against my clit before dragging his body up mine.

Once he was face to face with me, he gave me a deep kiss. “How was that?” He whispered with a grin on his wet face. Still catching my breath, all I could do was nod. He played with my hair for a moment, tranquility clear on his face, before he suddenly shifted his weight and began climbing off of me. “W-wait.” I said, grabbing hold of his waistband and stopping his movements. He looked down at me with a confused expression, and I wordlessly moved my hand to his crotch, where I was met with what seemed like a painfully hard member. “You’re not gonna fuck me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes innocently as I watched his taken aback expression.

In the blink of an eye, his face darkened once again and he returned to his position above me. “You want me to?” He asked, his face buried in my neck where he peppered it with soft kisses. “Mhmm.” I hummed, using my hand to palm him through his sweats. At that, Chris didn’t hesitate to pull his pants down, leaving his cock exposed. I gasped at its size that had been somewhat disguised when it was still concealed in his sweats, but began pumping my hand up and down as he shuddered in pleasure.

Attaching his lips back onto mine, Chris grabbed onto his shaft and lined it up with my opening. He slid it up and down my folds a few times to collect whatever was left of my previous orgasm, before slowly sliding into me. I gasped at the feeling of my walls stretching around his impressive girth, and we both moaned in unison once he bottomed out. He stayed still for a moment, allowing me to adjust to him, before he began slamming his hips into me.

With his forehead resting against mine, he watched me as I contorted my face into expressions of pleasure, relishing in the feeling of being filled by him. His gruff breathing and occasional deep moans were like music to my ears, and I dug my nails into his bare shoulders to keep him close. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good around me. Not gonna last long.” He groaned, using one of his arms to wrap my leg around his waist. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, and I felt his member slam into my g-spot repeatedly; causing my stomach to fill with that familiar sensation. “Oh god Chris, you’re s-so big.” My voice was coming out squeaky as he continued to pound into me, and he released a harsh moan in response.

I lost myself in the waves of pleasure as they hit me, growing closer to my second orgasm with each of his powerful thrusts. Chris’ gaze on me was so full of lust — clenched jaw, droopy eyes, lower lip trapped in between his teeth — I would have collapsed from its magnitude if I wasn’t already lying down. His motion suddenly shifted from one that was hard and fast to one that was deep and slow, and I couldn’t help but release sharp gasps on each thrusts.

I could tell that I was close to my second orgasm, but he was closer. His breathing was growing more and more rapid, his pace was sloppier, and beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead. As if he was reading my mind, he moaned out. “I-I’m close, want you to cum with me.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head, his words already getting me closer to my high, but I knew I needed to get there faster.

Reaching between us, I found my clit and began rubbing it vigorously. Chris’ eyes followed my hand, and when he realized what I was doing he smirked proudly. “Atta girl.” My action seemed to give him a bit more energy, as his movements began picking up the pace once again; and I found myself on the edge of another orgasm. “Ah fuck, Chris, gonna cum again.” I cried out through my gasps for air just before my second orgasm hit me like a freight train. I felt my walls contract around his swollen member, and that was enough for him to reach his high as well.

Gripping tightly onto my shoulder, Chris plunged his twitching cock in and out of me; driving both of us through our orgasms. I gasped when I felt his fluid shoot deep into me, and savoured the verbal confirmation of his pleasure in my ear. Our moans flew from our mouths in harmony, and it was only once his body stilled above me that I removed my hand from my clit.

We stayed in that position for what could have been hours, catching our breath and falling into the lethargic temperament that always came after sex. Finally, Chris lifted his weight off of me and slid his softening dick out from my core, offering me an apprehensive smile. He stood up and walked into his washroom, coming back over to the bed with a towel to help clean up the mess in between my legs before doing the same to his member. Once I no longer felt like a bowl of jello, I sat up on the bed beside him.

“Well?” He asked, his tone playful as he wiggled his eyebrows awaiting my response. I rolled my eyes before grabbing my top and throwing it over my head. “Would you believe me if I said I faked all of that?” I asked, unable to keep the smile that was toying with the corners of my mouth at bay. He blew air out of his mouth and looked up at the ceiling. “Absolutely not.” He replied, and I laughed. “I hate to gas you up like this, but that really was amazing.” I finally said honestly, resting my head on his bare shoulder.

He chuckled before grabbing my hand and stroking it gently. “Glad to be of service.” He replied, removing his hand from mine and instead wrapping his arm around me completely. “You turned into my little porn star there for a minute.” He followed it up by making high pitched moan sounds, mocking me and breaking the wave of silence that had followed his last comment. I laughed, lifting my head off of his shoulder and coming face-to-face with his goofy smile. “You ever use that against me in the future and I will bite your head off.” I replied, shoving his shoulder gently. “I won’t, swear. But you can use me again in the future if you wish. Y’know, in case you ever want to cum like that again.”

My jaw dropped at his filthy words, but I couldn’t help but feel heat flood to my core once again. Smirking, I raised one quizzical eyebrow. “One more?” I asked, and watched as his face was overtaken by a smirk that mirrored my own. “Lay down and put your legs on my shoulders.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets

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oooohno · 2 years ago

Text

There are not enough words to describe how much I enjoyed reading this!!!

GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn’t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,” you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

#please tell me there’s an emotional support group for this story #bc I desperately need one!#I’m consumed by an immense need to be chosen as a monster’s one true mate 😭#when he called reader ‘but you are my little human. my mate.’ -> I will never recover from this scene!!!#ALSO the Tarzan - Jane moment where they touched their open hands should have indicated reader that they were in love LMAO #also I really liked how parts of his canon personality shone through #like the coffee jelly & that he saved a hurt peryton fawn #also the cocooning with his wings remind me of him sleeping/ hiding in his sleeping bag #also I think it’s so funny that he kinda played reader the entire time LMAO #like not showing certain sides & playing this role of the monster so reader would keep paying attention to him 😈#AND don’t get me started on the sex!!!!!#him chittering reader’s name the entire time made my heart stop for a moment #like I could feel it skip a beat before going into overdrive #I was already obsessed with your cat-hybrid aizawa & your merman aizawa & this is just any other perfect story 💗#nana’s bookclub ☕️#ALSO I cackled when I read the author’s notes #‘*slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn’ is so funny

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screampied · 6 months ago

Note

just need a oneshot where toji being so extremely soft with his pregnant wife.😔

៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, toji's a big softie, calls reader 'mama' + 'baby' & 'darlin'

wc. 2.0k

toji rubs his eyes, pure static forming into his irises for a bit as he’d awaken up from his nap. with a quick glance at the clock, it read two thirty. in the background played the intro from some old western movie that was on repeat. ah, ever since you’ve gotten pregnant he’s always been staying up with you, ruining his sleep schedule in the process. not that he necessarily minded, you were his wife and he’d do anything for you,

his ears twitch a bit as he hears a sudden ruffling noise of feet — verdant eyes of his focus on you and it’s you trodding towards him and he smiles. “heyy,” he murmurs in a drowsy tone, he figured you’d be awake. toji stares at you so lovingly, the cute baby blue nightgown you wore, winnie the pooh slippers that dragged across the fleecy carpet. with a yawn, he pats his lap for you to take your seat. “y’er lil waddle never stops bein’ cute, mama.”

“stop.” you frown with a pouty look, he’d always tease whenever you do your cute little walk. he grows to adore it, the cute rounded bump on your belly only getting larger. pretty soon, you were about to reach your second trimester. time flew by so fast, it was almost like before you could blink, you’d be meeting your beloved new baby. you slowly make your way onto toji’s lap and he slings an arm around you. he smells good, you were a bit tired already from that ten second walk, cute..

“sorry baby,” toji utters in a soft voice, kissing the back of your head as you relax into his embrace, leaning back. “was gonna wake ya up but ya looked so peaceful,” and he brings a kiss near the inner crevice of your neck. “miss me already?”

you still remain with the cute glowering expression. with a sigh, you shrug. “yes, actually. missed you a lot.”

“awww,” toji caresses against your thighs, his touch was delicate and gentle. as he spoke in a gruff voice, he nips a few more kisses toward the corner of your neck as you faced the other direction. “missed you more. ‘n i missed our girl too,” and that catches you by surprise, he’d always refer to the baby’s gender as a girl. as if he could read your mind, he chuckles before leaning his head against your shoulder. “whaaat? got a feelin’ ‘s gonna be a girl.”

“i think it’s gonna be a boy,” you mumble, feeling your heart flutter a bit. oh, it was always like this between the two of you. the constant banter of the gender, toji just knew it was gonna be a girl while you thought otherwise. he’d be happy with either or though. you, likewise. toji watches with half-lidded eyes as you turn your body a bit to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. you plant a kiss on his chin, lips brushing against his stubble and he hums in amusement. “did you get any sleep at all? you have eye bags, ‘toj.”

“ah, ‘m fine,” he grins at your concern, the scar slashed near the right side of his lip twinging in response. you were so cute—the pregnancy glow you had bestowed on you, he could stare at you all day. toji leans in to kiss your nose, yet he notices your deadpan. with a grunt, he surrenders.

“okay okay, the most i got was maybe four-ish hours,” and the look of worry on your face made his heart twist. toji pats your head, smoothening his tone. “don’t worry, baby. it was for a good cause. was up all night readin’ that book you bought like last week.”

with your brows furrowing in confusion, your lips part at your abrupt realization. “oh— the pregnancy fact book?” and then you giggle. “really? i thought you said books were boring, toji.”

“trust, they are,” he sulks, bringing his wrist to rub his eyes. you take a brief glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday. despite it being unable to tell time anymore, he still flaunts it, all because it was a gift from you. with a low sigh, toji moves a few strands out of your face. “but, ‘m willing to try new things for you—er, for us. and it’s quite informative, it told me about y’er strange cravings ‘n it checks out.”

you frown. “what’s wrong with my cravings? you told me you like them.”

“well, darlin’ i love you a lot okay,” and he paints a wet kiss against your cheek. “but if i have to eat another peanut butter pickle sandwich with you, ‘m gonna lose it.”

“it’s not that bad,” you protest, bringing a palm near your stomach to rub it. the bump was easily growing as the weeks progressed—you couldn’t help but be excited once the week of forty rolled around. “you just have a bland appetite.”

toji rolls his eyes. “peanut butter and pickles, baby. not jelly, pickles. pickles?” and you look at him, he’s gently holding both of your shoulders before you giggle. “and i thought nothin’ could top the toast ‘n ice cream.”

you deadpan again. “okay now you’re just being dramatic.”

“i love you,” he boops your nose. “i love you and y’er weird food cravings,” and toji’s eyes trail down toward your tummy. so cute and round, he gingerly moves the fabric of your gown up to reveal your skin, a palm ghosting against your belly. “any cramps today? pain i should know about?”

“no,” you hum, immediately relaxing from his touch. the warmth of his hand made your breathing slow a bit. he moves it around in a smooth circular rotation before brushing a thumb against your belly button. “kinda scared toji.”

leafy, viridescent eyes meet its way back up to yours before his face softens. “what for, darlin’? good scared or bad scared?”

in a sweet, timid tone, you puff out a single shaky breath. “like … both i guess? i’m excited of course but ‘m kinda scared. we’re having a baby, toji. pretty soon i’ll be on my third trimester,” and he’s so attentive as you’re talking, quite literally getting lost in your eyes. who knew that you could turn this man into such a soft sap, he adored you. as you continue to rant, toji strokes your cheek with a warmhearted simper. “i watched lots of videos about birthing and it looks scary.”

“not gonna lie to you, baby. ‘s gonna be scary, but y’know what? ‘m gonna be right there with you,” and he strokes a thumb against the enlarging stretch marks growing against your belly. he’s gentle, tracing a finger against each one before his eyes avert back up to you. “i’ll be right beside you. holdin’ y’er hand ‘n all,” and he kisses the crown of your head. “y’er gonna be the prettiest mommy. our girl’s lucky to have you. i’m lucky to have you.”

for some reason, those last few words struck right through the veins of your heart. mentally, you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry—

but alas, your eyes start to swell up, bottom lip quivering and toji notices immensely at your change of body language.

“awww, was that too much?” he purrs, bringing you towards his chest. you sniffle, your nose digging into his neck and an arm of his cradles you. toji starts to rock you, he presses another kiss against the top of your head before humming. “didn’t mean ‘ta make ya cry, darlin’ but ‘s true. ya don’t gotta worry that pretty little head, ‘m gonna be right here for anything..”

a solid tear drops against his tank top before your chin rests against his chest. you slowly look up at him with that familiar pouty expression before he swipes a thumb against your eyes. “cutie,” he takes your tears away, your lashes all damp and long. “y’er even more emotional because of the baby too. hormones, aw yeah i know these facts by heart.”

“you’re such a dork,” you wipe your face with a laugh, the mood suddenly light again. toji was gonna be spewing out pregnancy facts at you all day, you knew that now. whilst you sat up, trying to re-collect yourself, you speak in a soft voice. “but really, thank you toji. i love you,” and you grab ahold of his hand. your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing it tight. “you’ll be a great daddy.”

“heyy girl, don’t make me cry now,” he teases, a thumb of his running across the softness of your hand.

toji’s face relaxes, the more he stares into your eyes, the more he falls more and more in love.

toji was just as excited as you, maybe even more.

he couldn’t wait to start this new milestone, this new journey with you. a baby, the two of you would be proud new parents. the thought of it alone brings a soft smile to his face before he leans in to kiss you.

you return the gesture,

closing your eyes while feeling his warm lips mash against your own. toji was so weak for you, happily so.

life was worth living for him again now that he had you and the growing baby in your stomach. once you met him, he thought he’d never move on. he was a broken man who came to the mere conclusion that he had no purpose— all until you came along. toji didn’t believe in second chances, but maybe he’d start. you were his everything, and he couldn’t have been anymore grateful to have you in his arms at this right particular moment.

after a while, the kiss departs and toji smears a thumb against your glossed lips. “you drive me crazy,” he whispers, soft jade like irises peering into yours for about fourteen seconds before he sneaks a kiss near your jaw. “oh, you just reminded me. i ordered somethin’ the other day.”

with your interest piqued, you watch as he grabs out his phone— toji opens some shopping app, swiping a thumb near the check out section before showing it to you. what you were staring at was a cute huge pink sticker for cars that displayed the words of, ‘BABY ON BOARD!’

“you’re so cute,” you lean in to hug him, finding his enthusiasm adorable. a hand of his strums against your back before he leans against the couch. “you’re really set on it being a girl though, huh?”

“yeah,” he presses his nose against yours. “or if it’s a boy, we can name ‘em toji. such a manly name.”

your eye twitches. “one of you is enough,” and he smirks, feeling your thumb play against his scar. “but toji, ‘s like the afternoon. you should go back to sleep.”

“not tired,” he shakes his head, wrapping two arms around your sweet frame. your scent had him always wanting more of you, so sweet. toji pats your back gently before his face buries into your neck. “i’d rather stay up ‘n talk with you.”

“but i was gonna go back to sleep,” you pout.

toji huffs with a smile, kissing the shell of your ear. “oh, you want me back in bed, ‘s that it? darlin’ you could have just asked.”

you blankly stare at him and he guffaws, standing up and pulling you with him. “ah, c’mon. let’s go sleep for another fifteen hours i guess,” he teases, and he helps you walk. toji gawks at your cute waddle. so cute, you felt like you had so much water stored in you. entirely full, your heels slide against the floor before you hold onto your husband’s bicep. “there we go, one step at a time.”

“i’m not a baby, toji.” you mutter, secretly feeling yourself get hot from his doting affection. he’s holding onto you and you’re holding on to him.

“y’er my baby,” he corrects, and once the two of you reach the empty bedroom filled with infant supplies and boxes of baby furniture, you take a seat on the edge of the mattress. toji towers above you as you sit, cupping your face with a sly smile. “wife,” he coos in a gentle voice, two thumbs fondling against both sides of your temples. “i love you. never forget it, yeah?”

“i .. love you too toji.”

he hums. “heh, before we sleep though. how about some pickles?” and your face lights up.

#★vegasbaby.#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #female reader

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 months ago

Text

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel. You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home. The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off.

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

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#my writing #ghosts #second person #it's spooky season #long post

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