#key word: choose

[outfoxt]

Ok, I get it that YOU don't like organized religion and YOU think that my rules are stupid and unnecessary and that YOU think my loopholes are dumb and stupid

But I think that my rules are interesting and that my loopholes are funky and fresh so take that

[leconcombrerit]

A warm hug to Non, or when are we going to stop demanding perfection from victims

It's been forever since I thought about making this post but I've finally decided to write the goddamn thing.

Three disclaimers : one, I haven't yet managed to get past the first third of episode 9, so this whole thing is based on episodes 1-8 at best. Two, I'll block on sight again if I see victim blaming on this post. Finally, I'm by no means an expert on the subject. It's complex, I might get things wrong and I'll have to oversimplify at times for clarity and brevity's sake, please don't kill me for it. It's probably gonna be long enough as it is. I've tried my best to organize my thoughts in a way that would make sense, but. Well. I hope it does.

Trigger warning for mention of suicide, bullying, grooming, sexual assault, rape

Non started as the poor little baby everyone wanted to protect -both the audience and Jin ; for all the shit he got after filming Non and Keng, there are a lot of parallels to draw between him and the audience. Then the dreaded episode 7 happened and all hell broke loose. I won't include screenshots of the disgusting things I read from some viewers about Non, but Jin's reaction is pretty telling already.

The easy explanation would be that he's mad Non isn't returning his feelings, but I think it has more to do with Non not fitting his 'good victim' role anymore. There's sadness on his face, but the dominants are anger and betrayal. Non tries to regain agency and gets crucified for it.

So what's a good victim ?

Non, basically

If you want an examplary blueprint of what society defines as a good victim and survivor, someone worth justice, defending and loving, just take a look at Non. I broke it down in four marks that need to be checked :

-Innocence : none of the person's action prompted the abuse -Moral high ground : the person has values and displays kindness -Helplessness : the person cannot do anything about the situation they're stuck in -Accepting to be saved : self-explanatory. The person has to accept the help that's offered to them, traditionally by a love interest

Non is abused for being poor, something he's not responsible for. He's hardworking, honest, passionate about the things he loves and commits to his engagements. He's kind when talking with Jin. He's resilient in the face of the gang's bullying. None of what he could do or say would make it stop, neither can he help owing Por for a camera he hasn't broken nor get out of Tee's pyramid scheme. His mental illness only increases this impression of vulnerability. Jin doesn't have all these elements, but he's got more than enough to paint a very similar picture of Non as the audience.

As for accepting help, Jin repeatedly offers some -and Non finally lets him in during their conversation on the rooftop. What Jin offers may be little but it's still help ; Non smiles and even gives Jin a shove -what I think is the only time he initiates contact with Jin at all.

"Thank you so much, Jin, for helping me all along." "It's alright, I'm glad to. I just want to see you smile again, Non."

The audience gets even more of Non being happy and grateful to be saved : he calls his "♥" contact for help multiple times, smiles at the reminder to take his meds and, later on, clings to Phee for dear life after trying to kill himself. He doesn't fight him, he doesn't reach for the scattered pills. Hell, even accepting Tee's offer to make money could count as Non agreeing to be saved by everyone around him.

Non checks all the marks. Everyone in the audience is rooting for him, the other boys can all go get impaled on a branch, and Jin looks at him like he hung and lit all the stars in the sky.

Speaking of the other boys...

Tee and Por victims as well but don't get the same amount of sympathy, if any. Tee isn't responsible for being stuck in a criminal environment and can't get out of it ; no one has offered help, so he gets a pass. But he's been shown to be selfish, opportunist, often cowardly and sometimes gratuitously cruel.

As for Por, it's even worse : every actions he takes seems to confirm his dad's opinion of him. The only mark he ticks is accepting to be saved by his mother, which looks very bad taken on its own. I made a post about Por not too long ago if you want more.

The only way for them to redeem themselves and go from 'horrible people who should die' to 'maybe they don't suck they're my poor little meow meows' is penitence. Take Por ; he's the archetype of the rich son who gets abused by his dad and suffers from having so much money. Just like Kang in Dangerous Romance, or Tanthai in Laws of Attraction. Tee ? I don't have names from the top of my head, but he's that hardened jaded guy stuck in a mafiosi network who has to learn to love and be loved again (enters White). Yet the audience learnt to root for these characters.

Basically, nothing is set in stone. Your status as a good or bad victim can shift depending on your actions and the way they're framed. The usual narrative is to get those characters to grow into the acceptable victim pattern. DFF however is going for reverse development (Non, Jin) or stagnation (Por, Tee, Fluke). It makes for gritty yet very realistic storylines ; and while I'm the first to yell that the masked figures should get their ass stat, I also recognize that there's much more complexity to them than this. Except Top. I have yet to come up with a good explanation for what they're doing with Top, but I will at some point.

How did Non fall from grace if he's such a good example ?

Three points : Phee, the paradox of the demand for Non to seek agency but not too much, and his inacceptable betrayal.

Phee as a magnifying factor

I love this kid to bits but Phee's appearance in the flashbacks concurs with Non's flawless image being torn to shreds for a reason. He's a good, strong and caring person who loves and tries to protect Non -something the audience has wanted to do for weeks ; so we all gathered behind Phee and made him our emissary, carrying out the impossible task outsiders to the series' world couldn't : saving Non.

Since Phee voices the questions and concerns of the audience, we are Phee to an extent. Betraying Phee means betraying the hope and love and care the audience has for Non. Phee is the series' moral compass by that point. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this. If not, consider it's a surprise tool that will help us later. When Phee gets hurt by Non or decides he'd be better off lost and dead.

For the record, in this poll Phee gets even fewer votes than White

Seek agency, but not too much

Discontent starts to rise with the helplessness point first as viewers start to question why Non doesn't ditch the group. Why he's putting himself through such trouble. Non changes from being subjected to others' action to being the subject in a grammatical sense. Yet Non has hiw own reasons to stay (how much does the movie mean to him ? How many hours and sleepless nights on the script ? How long would it take for him to find another chance to get enough funding ? How big of a dream is it for him ?). It's the first occurence of the audience claiming to know best what's good for Non.

Complaints quiet down when Non does try to leave for good only to be stopped by Jin. We saw him try, we saw him fail, he really couldn't leave so he's off the hook.

Jin also makes sure Non remains a perfect victim by bringing him back into the group. I'm not accusing Jin of trying to make Non suffer on purpose ; he's a good guy at heart, come fight me to death on this hill. But the only way for him to exist in Non's life is to remain a savior of sorts. If Non leaves, there's nothing to save him from. Which brings us to my next point.

Non must try to solve things by himself, sure. But not too much. Because when you thrash to regain control of your life, you might break a few things in the process. Especially if you have to wrest it away from well-intentioned but firm hands.

He rejected Jin's offers to help numerous times. He looked anything but thrilled when Phee put himself in danger to clear his name. He refused to change schools at first, only to begrudgingly agree when Phee insisted. This insistence is the heart of the matter : Phee is sure he knows best, so he bulldozes through Non's objections and hesitation : he doesn't consult him before asking his dad for help, he speaks in his place when Non doesn't answer his proposal, he puts the bracelet on his wrist. He asks him if he's taken his meds, just in case.

Phee has the audience's benediction in doing so. Part of it stems from our knowledge of future events : we know it's going to end bad for Non. We know he has to get the fuck out. We know whatever decision he makes will be a bad one. Kids and teenagers as a whole are often deemed unable, or not mature enough to make informed decisions anyway. Just look at Non's mother telling him to prioritize his studies so he can go abroad like his brother. Multiply it tenfold for people with mental illnesses ; they get babied on a daily basis. So Non cannot, I can't emphasize it enough, cannot do anything.

All of the above end with Phee getting his way. Non can't win against him, so he chooses to lie instead.

Aside from willing to be in charge of his own life, Non's refusal to let Phee help is also rooted in love and fear. While Phee would offer him an easy way out as he did for the bank accounts, it would most likely only be easy for Non and put Phee in danger. Both their survivals are held in that curt 'no'.

He's already straight up refused help, and now he loses the moral highground by lying (to his perfect holy savior Phee of all people). From here on out, any action he takes will be his -which is what Non wanted ; it's his life, and he won't be a bystander in it. But it also means that he jumped off the pedestal he'd been put on to land on thin ice.

And guess what, Non is a multi-dimentional character in a difficult situation who weighs more than a poor little damsel in distress. Of course said ice cracks. And the Non hate train gets started.

The betrayal

Lying and refusing help to go get it from the worst place he could have had was bad enough. But sleeping with his teacher while he had a boyfriend (Phee, for heaven's sake) ? Unforgivable. Cheating is the BL equivalent of every cardinal sin, the worst of the worst, and no matter the circumstances you'll get roasted for it.

And yet there are circumstances. One, especially, and it's called motherfucking grooming. I won't elaborate on this point cause I've done it over and over already, but Non was groomed by an adult. Does he see things that way ? Probably not. In his mind he's in control of the situation. He can lie to Phee about it because there's no reason for it to backfire. He does what he has to if he wants to save himself, using he one weapon he has : his body. It's cheating, but cheating in a game rigged for you to lose.

Society has two opinions about sex. It's either holy or gross. Take Jin, for instance.

See the look on his face. He's heartbroken, he's sad, he'll live through it. Witnessing Non having sex with his teacher when he has a boyfriend ? Now that's another story. That's a betrayal.

A betrayal of what, exactly ?

Of this goddamn image Jin had painted of Non. The same the audience was given to see prior to these events : Non was perfect and loveable and worth defending, an innocent, pure, helpless baby in need of saving. So when the illusion shatters in what society and especially BL culture hold as the worst action possible, people feel fooled. Stupid, if you will. And they turn their hatred to Non. Non lied to us ! He pretended to be good, dear god, to think I loved such filth ! My heart is so dirty now, ew.

But Non didn't lie. He lied to Phee, but that's it. Everything else was expectations and assumptions. Fail to meet them and suddenly everything is your fault. It's Non's fault for refusing to be dragged along in his own life anymore, Non's fault for lying in order to get some control, Non's fault for lying again not to lose Phee when caught by surprise, Non's fault for listening to Jin, Non's fault for resorting to use his only weapon to get out of a situation he was cornered in, Non's fault for being tricked into thinking any of the decisions he made regarding Keng were his own, Non's fault for everything.

He wanted to claim his life back and made a mistake, yes. He doubled-down on it when he realized it was too much for him to handle. He clung to it and did his best to keep it together. He dared not to be the perfect victim he was supposed to be ; to try when everyone knew he was bound to fail. And you know what, sometimes there's stuff that's someone's fault, consequences they didn't foresee, things they said, slips and falls, and they're still victims, just as much as they were before.

I believe that dealing with his debt himself is as important to Non as finishing the movie is. He's ready to be used and abused (by Keng in the former, the group for the latter) and to break his own heart, values, pride and sanity. He's the most resilient and dedicated character in the show to me.

But the world doesn't necessarily see it that way. So when Non realizes the mess he's made of everything, he fights Keng (who represents his desperate and violent search for complete independence) to reach for the bracelet he got from Phee. He wants help. He needs it. But he's not a victim anymore and any help is denied.

Both Phee and Jin later manage to reconcile their broken image of Non with the man he actually is. Too late to save him, but they still did. I have a hunch that things would have been different if Phee had beat up Keng and taken a crying Non in his arms, holding him tight while whispering none of it was his fault. But our moral compass fucked up, like the hurt kid he is.

What some people did by blaming and hating on Non is closer to the hateful comments he got on the video than Phee or Jin's reactions. They're far worse.

That's the big takeout. What if we stopped stigmatizing or idealizing sex ? What if we stopped demanding perfection and so-called purity for someone's trauma and status as a human being not to be negated ?

Anyway, here's a hug to Non and every victim who live in the paralyzing fear of a single slip. You can make mistakes just like the rest of us. You don't owe anyone perfection.

I'll end this rant on a bright, happy smile. I don't see a good ending for Non, but god knows he'd deserve it.

[wwerasliin-sideblog]

Jimmy continuing to show a little growth and maturity this week, in some aspects —

"We Are The Ones." - Roman. "Yea, but we're not though." - Jimmy. — Jimmy is starting to see things for what they truly are, he's seeing the here and now, reality, not living on past laid, power and accolades (as Roman mentions), he's being realistic about their situation, where they're at, right now. In this moment.

He sees they need help, he sees it for what it is, as it is. He's not got unrealistic expectations - he's had the opportunity to see it more *clearly*, from afar, being stuck at home, giving him some time and some clarity.

He's had time, time away; from being sucked into the epicenter of it, from the chaos mulling all around, at every turn, and every corner... It's given him the space and time to think, contemplate, reflect, learn and grow. He knows better now, he's more level-headed. At least, he seems to be for now.

He's got another thing coming though, if he thinks that Jey is going to drop everything and come running to them, just cause they ask nicely. Especially after what they BOTH did to him, hurting him and tormenting him, manipulating him and using him, playing with him, with his life like that; everything they put him through.. But, I will say, I'm glad to see Jimmy humble himself enough to acknowledge that they need help.

And I get that Jimmy has his own issues with Jey, but most of all, it comes from a place of hurt. He's only ever wanted to protect Jey, at least that's how it started out, but it slowly festered into something more nefarious, bitter and ugly..

But right now, there's a bigger problem to deal with. They may just have to put aside their issues, just for a moment to deal with this ridiculous monstrosity in front of them. They will surely have to circle back to and deal their own issues once they've dealt with this, this hideous and convoluted excuse they call the new Bloodline. Or, prove me wrong and sort fix yourselves first, before you try and sort fix something outside of yourselves.

There's a lot of healing to be had.

[elipheleh]

The truth is every queer person has the right to come out on their own terms, and on their own timeline. They also have the right to choose not to come out at all. The forced conformity of the closet can not be answered with the forced conformity in coming out of it.

-Alex, Red White & Royal Blue (2023)

i want to talk about this quote. full disclosure, it’s because i keep seeing some really frustrating takes (some of which veer into queerphobia) and i am getting a bit annoyed with people and rather than directly addressing it with them & appear to be picking a fight im going to make an analysis post in my space. (tbf. its mostly on twitter and i have a priv account so that limits me)

disclaimer; this is my interpretation, im not saying its the only interpretation just something to consider. i am queer & cognitively disabled - don’t assume malice and dont be cruel. i will ignore and block freely.

tl;dr/very simplified summary: it doesn’t mean “dont ever speculate about other people’s sexuality” but rather that ‘coming out’ in the way society understands it shouldn’t be a necessity for queer people to exist openly as queer. full context under the cut & self-exploration questions at the end.

so lets start with the context. alex is talking at a point in time when the world has read their emails and so knows both are queer (bi & gay, specifically), but neither alex/the white house or henry/the palace have commented. so more simply - alex and henry are known to be queer, but have not come out. alex uses the speech to come out as bi, and as being in love with henry. he also uses it to imply that he & henry should have the right to choose not to do this formal coming out alex is doing.

—

okay. lets get into the quote analysis.

The truth is every queer person has the right to come out on their own terms, and on their own timeline.

reasonably self explanatory. each queer person gets to decide their own timing for coming out, and the way that they want to address their sexuality.

They also have the right to choose not to come out at all.

this is where problems with interpretation have started to appear. fundamentally yes, this means people are allowed to not be openly queer/‘out’ if that is what their decision is. but it also means that they can be visibly queer - for example being in a visibly queer relationship; signalling with their aesthetic (e.g. someone being butch, someone who wears only ‘girl’ clothes despite that being at odds to their assigned gender); casually posting about queer things on social media etc - without addressing their own sexuality to others.

it does not mean that you should assume everyone is straight until they explicitly tell you otherwise. and quite frankly insisting that it does mean that is veering into homo-/bi-/queer-phobia because you are insinuating that being not-straight is a negative thing.

The forced conformity of the closet can not be answered with the forced conformity in coming out of it.

some people seem to be interpreting this as ‘you shouldnt force people out of the closet’ and i don’t think thats quite to the nuance of what it means. yes, i do think that is part of it - in much the same way as the previous sentence - but it is not really the whole of it. in my opinion this is actually addressing - at least to some degree - the concept of ‘we should assume people are straight until they explicitly say otherwise’.

the ‘forced conformity of coming out’ addresses the idea that to be “out” you have to follow these steps; that you have to make a public statement that ‘this is my sexuality and i am [queer/bi/gay/pan/ace/etc]’. you are conforming to this precedent of “how to come out” that countless queer people have followed. there’s nothing inherently wrong with doing so, but actually there are different ways to be queer - and even being “out” as queer - that don’t involve following that playbook.

here’s a hypothetical to demonstrate my point. two men, who have never dated any women, live together & spend basically all their time together over 5-10 years. they holiday with each other’s family, they’re always together at events (e.g. weddings of non-mutual friends), but they’ve never told you/the public that they’re queer and/or dating each other. at what point does one start to assume they’re together? and does the answer change if its a man & a woman rather than two men? if a man & a woman did that, people would assume pretty early on they’re probably dating. but yet when it’s two men suddenly it’s invasive to speculate. this is where this concept of the forced conformity of coming out comes in - along with the veering into homophobia i referenced earlier - why must they say the words “i am gay” for it to then be ‘okay’ to consider that they’re together? (the homophobia comes into play because if you think being gay is morally neutral (which it is) then you shouldn’t have any issue with the speculation about people being together regardless of their genders.) the idea that straight is the default is where this forced conformity starts to really kick in.

—

i guess the main things i want people to ask themselves are these (and i have been asking myself these questions, there is no judgement or censure just self examination):

1. do you think people can be openly queer publicly without explicitly sharing that they are queer? (by this i mean in an announcement or in casual conversation. can you be openly queer without ever addressing it explicitly?)

2. if you do, why do you think that talking about the possibility someone is queer is something that should be hushed up? is it because there is an internalised concept that being queer is something abnormal and/or negative? if it was a straight couple would you feel the same way?

3. what does “coming out” mean to you? why does it mean that, what have you internalised to get to that conclusion & is it something that always works or are there other ways to be openly queer (or ‘out’ if you prefer)?

4. is it possible that there are queer people living openly and happily as themselves without explicitly addressing their sexuality to the wider world, who don’t want to address it publicly? does this make them closeted or ‘less’ queer to you? if so, what makes you think that?

[malleleothreesome]

YOUR MALLEUS POST IS JUST!!!!! AGDKFFLSVFL!!!! WHO KNOWS HOW MANY TIMES I RE-READ THAT THING BUT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT!!!! 😫😭👌🖤💚

I'm so late to this but thank you so much Knight!! 🖤💚🖤💚 I'm so happy you enjoyed Blindfolded Malleus... I was so excited for you to read it, and I'm very happy it lived up to the hype and anticipation!!! Truly, I am so honored and grateful that you would re-read something so long 🥹 it amazes me how supportive you are!! I hope I can continue to write things that you enjoy! One day in the [regretfully] far future I swear to you that I will put out an Idia fic just for you hehehe. I'm so overwhelmed by the amount of things I am excited to write, but I guess that is a wonderful problem to have! I only wish I had more time in the day to write, but alas, such is life. Why the fUCk am I writing so formal right now daiohssadoi;hdSAO not me saying BUT ALAS. SUCH IS LIFE????? It is so.

I'm actually taking a TWELVE DAY vacation from work starting on the 22nd so I might actually do a little request event where people can send me like kink prompts or something. I think that'll be fun!

Okay and FINE I'll do some fluff prompts too for the fluff people but please don't judge my fluff too harshly, I'm still learning!!! For some reason smut just comes naturally dhaDSAHIDDASijdsan I'll start gathering some prompts and we will do a little ask game or something.

📣 By the way FELLOW HONEST THIGH RIDING ANON if you SEE this first of all, ONCE AGAIN: I wish to express my undying devotion to you and your exceptional thought process. I am positively frothing at the mouth over your request and I am PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE I am finally making good progress and it WILL be out soon. We WILL make him cum in his pants. We WILL make him cry, whimper, and moan.

[edge-oftheworld]

help i'm listening to an orchestral arrangement of holiday by green day and i can't deal with it

[nightingaleatdawnwrites]

Find people who can handle your darkest truths, who don’t change the subject when you share your pain or try to make you feel bad for feeling bad. Find people who understand we all struggle, some of us more than others, and that there’s no weakness in admitting it. Find people who love you, for real, and accept you, for real. Just as you are. ~ Scott Stabile

[qualitygarbage]

The problem with the idea of "there is no "secret third thing". either you harass people over fiction (anti) or you don't (proship). that's it." is that even if someone has proship ideals, we can't force them to call themselves that or see it that way and it tends to cause a lot of unnecessary fighting to tell people they have to use the label or they have to have other people use the label.

I never said anybody needs to use any labels though. I really do think that there's a number of people who are committed to reading too far into that post. The post was simply a concise way to provide a clear definition of what proship actually means and also resonate with people who are annoyed by the constant misuse of the word. and it really seems that most people do understand my intent. the post was made in the context of the dichotomy in fandom that currently exists. it simply explains what the two sides are. if the post isn't for you, that's okay and you don't have to like it. I made it for people who already identify as proship. which is why I used the "proship community" and "proship positivity" tags and not like a general fandom wank tag. People who do not identify as proship were not the target audience for that post. And it's okay because nobody is required to make posts that cater to everyone.

Like I just. I just need people to understand that. It's really not that deep. it's not that deep I promise. As someone who doesn't even label their sexuality, I'm not making some sweeping claims here.

[kanerallels]

Honestly the first Reepicheep scene? Ten out of ten cinema you can't do better

[kittylordartfinity]

If you understand this reference then im keeping my eyeeeees on you <_<

[aquarri]

.

[blackvahana]

There's so much I don't talk about because I relegate it to being the business, chiefly, of the unincarnated selves... and yeah I do generally like to check with them anyway because talking about things is talking about both our businesses, plural. I won't get deep into it, but...

I'm really, really familiar with myself as a pink haze of psychosis inducing madness. And by that I mean (lull) would use me to fuck with people. I was used to poison people effectively. I've been used to create false realities, drive people fucking insane. I've had my own mind pried open like a lobster being cracked and displayed on its own exoskeleton so that others can be forced through me. I both know what they saw and don't know, I don't want to talk about it, I guess I half do want to talk about it because I'm talking

It's not an abstract fear I have of being dangerous. I was used as a slide show projector of trauma situations to filter through. So many things have happened I don't even remember, and you know, what I remember is already bad enough.

Talking as Dei, because that's who I am: on both sides of the selves I was used as power and control and a bunch of other things

I stand now feeling what I felt before: myself. I can't explain to an audience unless they already get it what it's like to come up against the energy and person who you've watched get effectively injected into people... You know when you smell a scent that was around when you went through trauma? Energy is like that. That's what I have to feel when I come up against myself because myself was there when people were making noises worse than screaming and as I was hooked into them watching what they saw because I was the experience itself.

The idea of being the dream is a messed up one, honestly, but it never had to be messed up. It still doesn't have to be.

[fleurdov]

this is like not a coherent analysis of the chapter at all! I just don’t have enough room in the tags for the things I usually say🤝🏾so first off THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE UPDATE??? IT WAS SO GOOD????????

can i just say the party scene had me stressed with okay like so obvious spoilers ahead but i waited a couple of days and it’s been clawing at my brain and i have to let out my thoughts how much Mc was drinking though like I was sweating thinking she was gonna miss the time to meet with San or somehow let it slip or something. I had to giggle when she was gonna go over to Jongho tho and her looking at Yunho is so real

Also the convo with hwa at the party where he said Mingi definitely wasn’t better off before hand, and how when we tried to leave he hasn’t been the same literally made me :( I know Seonghwa is like the worsttt but I trust him the most out of everyone here so it just makes me remember how this all started with Mingi, but also makes me think about that convo between San and him where Mingi says that he was never the target just a means to get to Mc and that makes me even more nervous. IM SO GLAD WE GOT TO TALK TO HIM THO, though it’s hard for me to trust his words too bc ya know Hongjoong.

“You might not think of me as your best friend anymore, but I value our friendship more than anything else in my life, (Y/n). More than Hongjoong, more than The Answer, more than all of this; you are what I thank God for everyday. If something happened to you, I don’t think I would survive it.”

nvm this had me on the floor sobbing like hello???? minus what he says about the insane man afterwards i choose to ignore that part but this convo was so sweet and i’m glad it was had bc I fear for him like everyday but also now that they are “made up” i’m even more scared

CAN I JUST SAY AS SOON AS SAN SAID HE HAD TO GO BACK MY STOMACH CURLED UP like I knew weren’t escaping but the idea of being alone????? it gave me ptsd to the corn fields like I actually went through it😭AND WHEN SEONGHWA KNOCKED ON THE WINDOW???? my soul left my body i had to literally take a moment before i continued because i knew things were about to not be good

“Why are you crying? Are you leaving?” He sounds so sad that your heart nearly shatters. You're leaving?” He asks again, “without me?” 

shutuoshutuoshutupshutupshutup drunk seonghwa is making me upset and uncomfortable and i wanna hug him but i know it’s a trap but it’s such a good trap. and the fact that he says he won’t tell and repeating that we’ll both be fine if I just come back ALL WHILE CRYING??? this scene is heart wrenching was your goal to hurt my feelings bc my feelings are hurt right now. All i can think of this those characters analysis you’ve posted for Seonghwa about the parallels between him and mc and just knowing that it hurts to see this scene go down even more to me. And the fact that Mc knew that there was so escape??? perfection my soul is rotting.

“You glance at Seonghwa, who still has his back turned to you. He seems to be shaking, but you find it hard to believe that, even in this scenario, he would cry for you. This has to be part of it, right? Part of making you feel guilty?”

STOP(if you haven’t noticed i’m like in love with seonghwa idc if he’s the worst i love him so much)

Can I just say the way you write Hongjoong is brilliant! The scene where he’s about to drag you back through the woods to the barn is I wasn’t scared? but it definitely still felt like waiting for him to snap and that felt even worse? Ooo and Joong calling Mc selfish for self preservation is crazy bc the moral greyness of it all. I’ve found myself being like i don’t want mc to get san or anyone else hurt but then I remembered hey! they got her hurt they brought her here! and when you’re in this i need to escape mode it’s definitely hard to think unselfishly so for her to be called out on it but the most selfish of them all to manipulate at her at one of her lowest is just wowwwww

and before i rant about the ending scene oh my gosh I just- I imagine Jongho just tryna have his alone time and seeing mc and being like 🫥i don’t get paid enough

SEE okay Hongjoong is so good at manipulating that I literally had to pause and be like “no San didn’t kill Hanseul right???” Like bro had me questioning myself he’s so SICK also San calling him a psycho had me giggling cause that definitely was not part of the script

I’m still like in circles that Hongjoong told San to make this escape plan bc like one hand when San first proposed the plan that’s exactly what I thought was going on bc San was so devoted to Hongjoong? But after seeing Sans pov(granted i’m not sure what’s accurate anymore) I’m not convinced of his loyalty to Hongjoong so I chose to believe that he was in a way loyal and looking out for Mc in the best way he knew how I mean the dude is a cult member at the end of the day??? But also I DONT TRUST ANYTHING HONGJOONG SAYS HE LIES FOR FUN THIS WHOLE CULT IS LITERALLY JUST HIM LYING FOR FUn so I’m like??? I don’t believe that San truly is betraying us like this!?? But maybe I’m just foolish and extremely stupid. Like San hasn’t been cruel to us?? and to instigate a conversation on what we would do after escape the cult would be so freaking cruel???? I just i’m fighting between wanting to have some faith left in San because if I don’t that means Hongjoong really is right and I hate a world where Hongjoong is right!!!(Ive also looked at Characters pinterest boards you’ve made more times than I care to admit👉🏾👈🏾and i take those into account so it’s just hard for me to fully believe in san betraying us like this) But again maybe I’m delusional and if that’s the case then me and Joong are like this 🫱🏾‍🫲🏼

Was not expecting Mc to launch herself and beat San tho! Like girl wait!!! But also these men have trapped you here so at the same time? Go girl? But hongjoong is obviously satisfied with this so I feel so much dread and uncomfortableness and I feel so horrible for San even though I know I shouldn’t???? But I definitely feel horrible for Mc and I just wanna give her a hug

“You’re sure that he’s planning on strangling you, there’s a sweet little look in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know.”

OOOO THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGGGG(mc and hwa) this is so horrible give me 12 more of them! no but actually the fact that mc is just baiting whoever she needs to bait into attempting to off her makes my heart clench this poor girl. I hate it so much she doesn’t deserve this!!!! What I wasn’t expecting was San to start going in on Hwa though! Like if anything solidified San has some sort of messed up love loyalty to Mc it’s this and I dont(do) like it!

“Doesn't this make you feel good? Seeing what San would do for you? Even after it’s all over?” He whispers so close that his breath tickles your ear. “It could always be like this. Everyone could love you like this.” 

“Love? This is love? Your ploy to upset Hongjoong by including Seonghwa failed. If there isn’t love lost between the two of them, then what on earth about this is love? Still, your heart skips a beat”

HONGjoong you’re a sick demented tiny man and i hate you and I hate that this is going according to your plan!

ALSO sEONGHWA AND SAN SOBBING IN THE BACKGROUND WHIKE HWA TURNS AWAY AND SLAPS HONGJOONG HAND AWAY?? Deserved on Hongjoong part but seonghwa baby boy please forgive me! But Then i have to remember that he is actually the worst!

and this man had the nerve to comfort and hug mc after everything. He is- He’s really good like in a way bc throughout this whole story mc has stayed strong in not giving him what he wants and not believing him but this scene just flipped ALL OF THAT?? And that is truly what’s so scary? Her finding his presence grounding and seeing that he’s right it makes me feel so much dread for the upcoming chapters. Like until this moment I never thought that Mc could be fully fully manipulated or turned by Hongjoong but now I fear it may be a possibility and now all of those warning from Seonghwa about the not ifs but when’s are starting to seem scarier now. WE LOVE A DOOMED NARRATIVE

OVERALL I LOVED THIS CHAPTER AND IM FLABBERGASTED!!!! Like I need to think more of the chapter and look make at my previous reblogs and interims to put together better thoughts but for now I just wanted to express how much I loved this!!!!!!!!!

san, seonghwa and joong at the end of the chapter

everyone read The Answer like immediately!

THE ANSWER: XXVIII

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

← previous || next → || masterlist chapter word count: 14,305 chapter warnings: alcohol consumption

Your month drags on. Despite the heightened activity around the farm, nothing much changes in your day-to-day schedule. You wake up at the same time, listen to Hongjoong ramble for the same amount of time, eat the same meals with the same people, and eventually sleep at the same time. Even book club is monotonous, barely even happening— but that might have more to do with the fact that Seonghwa (who conducts most of your lessons) seems even less enthused about having to spend an hour talking to you than you are. 

Which is strange— ish. Not that you expected much different from him, but you had thought that… or, well, at least, you weren’t feeling such a burning hatred for him anymore, so, maybe… 

But that’s silly. Of course Seonghwa still doesn’t give a rat's ass about you, why would he? All you’ve ever done is be a pain in his side. Even when he’s… comforted you in the past… its been to relieve his own discomfort or guilty conscious, not to actually help you. Probably.

You truly have no idea. Seonghwa is an enigma. 

In a way, though, you’re glad that he’s at least mostly off your case. Maybe due to your slight mental breakdown after seeing the… thing… Seonghwa seems to be less eager to poke fun at you. Not nice by any standards, but he’s certainly less devious around you. 

Which also means that he hasn’t been prying into your personal life. Thankfully. With the secret of your escape looming over your every thought, it would be just like you to accidentally slip-up in front of Seonghwa and blow the whole thing. 

Instead, he keeps things very formal. He doesn’t put his hands on you, he doesn’t stare at your face with that scrunched-up look, he doesn’t ask questions about you or your day or San or anything else. He talks to you about The Answer and lets you leave after. 

Though the arrangement is a bit startling at first, you get used to it quickly. Hongjoong appears less and less at these meetings, not even making an appearance in the last two weeks of the month. You have no idea what he could possibly be so busy doing, but you’re not complaining. 

Over the course of the month, there were several more rituals, similar to the tune of the one that you had participated in. Luckily, you were not called to participate in any of them, and no more— and your hesitant to even give whatever happened a name, but— Guardians appear to confuse and scare the everliving fuck out of you. 

More and more, you find yourself absentmindedly reaching to touch the pins on the collar of your shirt, fiddling with them whenever your hands are free. You want to think that it has nothing to do with Hongjoong’s bullshit about the Sign protecting you… and it doesn’t! Not at all! That would be crazy! It’s just a habit. Like spinning a ring or twisting a necklace. 

… You’ll go with that, anyways. 

Occasionally, you still have nightmares about your encounter. What a horrible night that all was. Obviously, there still is nothing in you that can believe that Guardians are real. That would be silly. And insane. But it’s only natural that you’re still upset about the whole situation. Whatever had happened, it had scared the shit out of you. It affected you— it makes sense that your subconscious would be fixated on such a traumatic memory. 

Right…? Or maybe you’re still actively thinking about that night and what the fuck had happened. Could it have been what Hongjoong said? Could he be right? Or were you blitzed out on some mysterious drug and everyone else was just lying about what they saw? Could Hongjoong manage that?

He probably could. It couldn’t be that hard for him to convince the entire cult into gaslighting you into believing that they had all seen the thing, too. But San… He wouldn’t lie to you about it, right? You find that very hard to believe. 

Thinking on it, San had, of course, never outright said that he had seen the same thing as you— you had never spoken in detail with him about it… But he was disturbed enough to set your escape into motion, which must count for something. Maybe he had seen a Guardian and was terrified enough to run. 

These sorts of thoughts dominate your month. 

You had volunteered to help out with the harvest, almost pleading with San for something to do. You were sure that Wooyoung would take your help back in the kitchens, but Hongjoong denied you any opportunity that seemed to come your way. He wanted you with San, where he could see you. 

Which is stupid, in your opinion. Hongjoong has the Followers, all of whom are incredibly devoted to him; any of them would give you up in a heartbeat if they saw you trying anything that you shouldn’t. He could assign literally anyone to watch you while you did a task, and it would achieve the same thing as having San at your side. But no. You were forced to rot in your apartment, glancing over San’s shoulder to his laptop on occasion, hoping to see something that could brighten your mood (or give you more information). 

Most of the time, you watch out your window, hoping to snag another glance at Mingi. There are a few times when you can see him in the field, but the Followers make quick work of the harvest nearest the compound, and move farther and farther away as the month rolls onward. Sometimes, you swear you can see his hair in the distance, reflecting the sun so brightly. It gets harder and harder to remember why you fought. Why you were holding a grudge. Could you really blame him for having your best interests at heart?

Sure, he had been a little possessive and freaky, but, like, he was kind of telling the truth. And he was just trying to make sure that San wasn’t hurting you.

You’re probably just making excuses for him, now, as you miss his company. Here you were, a cult member, locked away in an apartment, all for him— and you don’t even have him. You can’t even speak with him freely. The irony isn’t lost on you. 

Anyways, it doesn’t come as much of a shock when Hongjoong announces that the harvest is complete. Though the month might have been one of the longest of your life, watching the field workers get farther and farther away everyday at least gave you a sense of time passing. When even their tractors were tiny specks that you could hardly see without squinting, it was clear that the work was almost finished. 

The announcement is met with much fanfare, though you’re not sure why. From what you make of it, Halloween is always the date on which the harvest celebration occurs. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that the harvest is over, especially with the date looming so soon, but the Followers all seem overjoyed. Maybe they’re all just ready to relax after a long, toiling month. 

That said, the day itself comes much faster than you anticipated. Hongjoong made the announcement of the end of the Harvest on the 25th of the month, leaving six days between the sermon for celebration and the actual ceremony itself. 

Which left you with six days to finish your mental preparations for your escape. 

San had refined your plan over the month, including making a timeline of the night and the places you should find yourself. He took over the entire plan, which you really couldn’t be more thankful for. His knowledge of the farm and the workings of the cult provided a level of security that you would have never been able to achieve on your own. 

In essence, the plan remained the same. When the ceremonial party began at 6pm, you would have nothing to worry about… besides socializing for the next nine hours. Just follow the vibes, and you would be okay. San was sure that you would have free reign during the party, that you’d be allowed to be away from a higher-ups side once the alcohol was flowing. At three, you would meet with San near the front doors, trying to not be seen, and make your way into the woods beyond the compound, where San will have stashed your car in the days leading up to the ceremony (it was as he was telling you this that he admitted to having the keys to your car in his office this entire time). 

Despite the simplicity of the plan, you figured that it would probably work. As long as you didn’t raise any suspicions in the coming days, and as long as everything went smoothly on Halloween, there was no reason to dwell on the possibility of it failing. 

Another failed escape attempt was unlikely to be something that you would survive, you knew this. Even with Hongjoong’s delusional belief that you are someone important to him and his religion, you weren’t sure he could tolerate this level of disobedience— at the very least, it would be disastrous if you failed. At worst, you would be leading San and yourself to early graves. 

Maybe Hongjoong’s twisted dependence on you would mean that he couldn’t kill you… But you weren’t going to count on it. He had threatened your life in the past, and you were quite certain that he meant it. He would be able to reason out a way that killing you made sense, if you pissed him off enough.

So. You simply had to make sure that you did not fail. Because you didn’t want to find out what Hongjoong would do with you if you did. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

Much like the rest of the month, the few days leading up to Halloween also fly by before you can appreciate the gravity of your situation. 

Your stomach churns all morning. You chalk it up to nerves, the most obvious explanation for an upset stomach, but part of you wonders if there wasn’t something wrong with your dinner last night. 

Hongjoong announces the party to be held that evening during the morning service, like San had said that he would. You wring your hands together at San’s side, avoiding Hongjoong’s eyes. There’s a small part of you that is so sure that he would be able to figure you out entirely if he got a glimpse into your eyes. You just try to focus on the activity at hand, listening to Hongjoong with an impassive look on your face. 

You must do an alright job, as Hongjoong allows you to leave the chapel with San at the conclusion of the service. You’re even able to eat breakfast in peace, which actually does surprise you. Though Hongjoong had been exceedingly busy over the month, he still typically made time to freak you out most days. 

But San and you are able to sneak away after breakfast, back to your apartment, without a word from anyone. 

As soon as San shuts and locks the door behind him, he asks, “Are you still feeling alright? Up to this?” 

You blink across the room at him, hardly needing a moment to assure him that you very much still are ready to make your escape. You ask if he’s feeling the same way, to which he agrees. 

“Just a little nervous, I guess,” he explains, shrugging. “That’s normal, right?” 

“Of course it is.” You’re sure that San is no stranger to Hongjoong’s wrath; you don’t need to wonder why he’s nervous. Once again, you’re struck by emotion as you realize what San is doing for you, what he’s risking and what he’s giving up. 

He smiles. “What should we do, after we’re out of here?” 

You sit down on the couch, thinking through your answer, “I think we should just show up on one of my friend’s doorsteps and freak the shit out of them.” 

San laughs, rolling his eyes. “I meant more long-term, but we can do that, too.” 

Oh… Long-term. You still hadn’t broached the subject about… well, blowing the whistle on this place again, ever since San flipped out when you suggested it. You certainly still planned on doing exactly that, and you really don’t think that you need San’s approval to do so, either. Like, if you escape and just let this be, aren’t you basically an accomplice to all of the crime? 

The last thing you plan to do with your life is go to prison for Hongjoong, so you’re very much resolved in what you have to do… whether San agrees with you or not. 

“Well,” you start, “when’s the last time you saw your parents? Where did you live before you came here?” 

San sighs dramatically, making his way to sit next to you. “Sheesh, don’t remind me. They’re gonna kill me.” 

“They’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure.” You think of your own parents, who will probably also be a little upset… but hopefully mostly pleased that you’re still alive. 

San agrees with you easily enough about his parents, before adding, “Is this a bad time to mention that the Followers have been paying your rent since you went missing?” He asks, “So everything should still be there.” 

You gape at him. “Are you serious? How?” 

You know for a fact that your rent could only be paid through a pain in the ass portal with a very specific and strange ID and password. 

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “You had the info saved in your phone… so…” 

Puzzled. You are puzzled. Why would they go to such lengths to just keep your shit in your apartment? You had long since assumed that your landlord had probably broken down the door and left your stuff on the curb. 

Well, you remind yourself, it actually hasn’t been that long. Though it feels like you’ve been on this farm for the better part of your life, it has really only been… what, two and a half months? Maybe your landlord would give you some leeway, but… no need to worry about it, you guess. 

But why would they even do that? It’s not like your rent was cheap. What would they gain from keeping your apartment intact? The illusion of life? 

That’s probably it, you realize. Just a front to make it look like you, in fact, weren’t a missing person. Part of you wants to freak out at San, realizing that he must be the person that orchestrated all of this, but you’re too far past that. If you start being mad at him for doing his job, you’re going to have to be mad about a lot of things. Things that you can look past for the fact of what he’s helping you do tonight. 

“Speaking of my phone, can I get that back?” 

San, relieved that you don’t seem mad, smiles. “I’ll grab it tonight.” 

“Can’t I have it now?” 

He hesitates at that, inclining his head in question, “any particular reason?” 

You shouldn’t need to give him a reason, so you shake your head. 

“It’s probably best to keep it where it is, in case someone goes looking for it.” 

… Ominous. Who would be looking for your phone? 

But he’s probably right. And it’s not like there would be much to do on it, anyways. You’re not going to call the cops now, not when your escape is looming closer and closer with each minute that passes. You can’t jeopardize it now. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

You’re a little surprised that dinner carries on as normal, without any extra fanfare. Though no one had mentioned one, you had kind of expected there to be another ceremony of sorts. But, no, dinner is normal. You sit with San and Wooyoung, the rest of the table almost awkwardly empty as the three of you eat in relative silence.

How is Wooyoung going to react when he wakes up tomorrow and you’re both gone? He’s going to be pissed. But, maybe, he’ll realize that you wouldn’t leave him here. Surely, after what he told you, he knows that you wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t have it in your heart to let him rot here, knowing what Hongjoong did to bend him to his will… or, at least, having an inkling of an idea. 

Before you know it, Hongjoong is standing at the head of the room, commanding the attention of the cafeteria. The room falls into a hush, no one speaks as Hongjoong starts his speech. 

“Everyone,” he addresses the room, “Loyal Followers of the Answer, it is with great joy that I officially conclude our harvest season.”

The room bursts into a polite applause, smiles shared around the tables as the Followers celebrate their leader’s message. 

“Despite a rocky start, we were very fortunate to remain safe for the duration of the month.” Hongjoong, for the first time that day, finds your eyes. “I put my thanks in the faith of our Followers, those who kept our protections strong all month long. Though it may seem that there was no danger at all, this is only thanks to their courage.” 

San reaches across the table to squeeze your hand, giving you a small smile. 

“As always, we will celebrate our safety and our bountiful harvest— which Jongho assures me will last us through the winter and beyond— tonight. Everyone of age shall participate; I do not expect anyone to hold back on anyone’s account, especially not my own. This success is as much yours as it is mine.

“Please, imbibe freely, socialize freely, celebrate your victory over evil. We start now, and we will not stop until dawn.” Hongjoong grabs his glass from the table behind him, saluting the room with it before downing the amber liquid. 

Again, the room applauds, though more raucously. Wooyoung excuses himself from your table, headed back to the kitchens. Soon after, Followers emerge with trays and trays of various specialty glassware, each filled with their respective (you assume) alcohols. Not long after, Wooyoung exits the kitchen with a rolling cart filled with, perhaps, more bottles of alcohol than you have ever seen in one place at one time (which was saying a lot, considering the bars you had frequented with Mingi in college). 

Without anyone’s encouragement, Followers begin congregating at the front of the room, helping themselves to the multitude of drinks available. You’re even surprised to see that someone brought out a case of Coke, presumably for mixing. When was the last time you saw coke? They must’ve made a run into town recently, you realize, though it couldn’t have had the same importance as when San went. 

You shrug it off. Not like it matters much, anyhow. San stands, offering his hand to you. You take it, graciously, prepared to get this night started. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

There is an attempt to pace yourself, considering that you’re going to need to be at least a little coherent later tonight, but… well… it’s been a long time. And you are well aware of the fact that you have, like, basically 10 hours. That’s enough time to get drunk and then sober, if you play your cards right. 

So play them, you do. San sticks to your side like glue for the first couple hours, watching you carefully as you put away more than your fair share of drinks. He drinks, as well, but nowhere near at the speed or quantity you do. You’re vaguely aware that you probably should slow down, but why would you, when you’re surrounded by… like, tons of dudes that would protect you, and you include Hongjoong in that count. 

By nine, you are positively drunk, blissfully unaware of the worries from the morning. What is there to worry about? You’re having the time of your life, do you even want to leave? Why would you leave? The thought makes you laugh, not surprisingly. 

You flit around the cafeteria, having lost San a while ago. Or maybe it was only a few minutes ago… It doesn’t matter. You talk to a lot of people, introducing yourself and smiling when they tell you they know who you are. It almost makes you feel a little guilty, but it mostly makes you happy. So many lovely people know your name and your face and they know that Hongjoong thinks you're so important. How amazing! Tomorrow, you probably wouldn’t be able to repeat a single one of their names, but that doesn’t matter. 

The time flies as you keep talking to new people, your mind completely distracted from the plans you have for later. You do slow down your drinking, eventually, though that’s more so due to the fact that you’re too far away from the bar table to bother going back to it than anything else. 

More than a few times, you find yourself staring at Mingi, and, more often than not, he’s staring at you, as well. Maybe he’s worried about you…? The thought makes you blush. Mingi… Oh, Mingi. He looks so handsome tonight, too. His hair is still red, still bright, and his outfit is beautifully fitted to his bulky body. Phew. You almost need to fan yourself. 

Eventually, sometime, you’re not sure what time, you end up talking with Yunho. He is clearly not even a little bit drunk, you might even say he was stone-cold sober if not for the glass in his hands. Though you thought that he hated your guts, he still seemed a little amused by your presence, a small smile on his face as he has to catch your forearm a couple times. The drunk part of you wonders if you could get away with feeling his biceps, he’s just so tall and so handsome, but even you know it would probably be wrong to feel him up. 

You couldn’t repeat a word of your conversation to anyone, not even seconds after it happened; not that you think it particularly matters. After Yunho, you find Wooyoung and Yeosang, and you can distinctly remember thanking Wooyoung for the incredible selection, but… yeah, that’s about it. 

While you’re about to go talk to Jongho, who looks like he could use some company, a hand wraps around your elbow, tugging you backwards. Not one to argue, you spin around, ready to follow whoever it is. Seonghwa stares down at you, an incredulous expression on his face. 

“Hi, Hwa,” you smile up at him, grabbing his free hand with yours. 

His expression morphs from confusion to disgust. “Do not call me that. How much have you had to drink?” 

You shrug, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. “Enough to have a good time. What about you?” 

“Certainly less than that,” he tugs you back toward the cafeteria tables that had, apparently, been mostly moved out of the way at one point. “Trust me, you don’t want to bother Jongho tonight.” 

You hadn’t planned on bothering him, just keeping him company, but you figured that Seonghwa wouldn’t see it the same way. 

“What time is it?” You ask him, only remembering that you’re wearing a watch after the words leave your mouth. 

“10:44. Got somewhere to be?” 

“Nope,” you pop the p sound, following his lead as he ushers for you to sit down at the table. 

Time continues to fly by, though Seonghwa isn’t as good of a conversation partner as the other people you’ve been spending your time with. He also doesn’t let you drink anymore, instead insisting that you drink water, refilling your glass every time you empty it. Lame. 

As the minutes pass, though, you can feel yourself coming back to reality. You definitely aren’t sober, very far from sober, but the lights stop being bright and you stop being amused by everything that Seonghwa says and does pretty quickly. You also excuse yourself to the restroom more than a few times, though you dutifully return to the same table each time. 

The night progresses, and you find yourself making eye contact with Mingi more and more. Like, seriously, basically everytime that you happen to look at him, he’s already looking at you. Besides the one time you look over and see him engaged in conversation with Hongjoong, you appear to have his rapt attention. 

You try to look around the room for San, but there are so many Followers and it’s kind of dark and you’re still not in your right mind, so you give up pretty quickly. You have no idea what it is that he could be doing, besides preparing for your escape, so you just let it be. Better to not ask after him and then have the others asking the same questions. 

Though he had stopped you from drinking, Seonghwa had not stopped himself. He paces himself much better than you had, but he keeps drinking as the night wears on, eventually starting to open up a bit more with you. He also lets you get another drink, which you happily allow yourself, as you start to feel much too aware of your situation once more. 

“You know,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning closer to you, “this is, essentially, Hongjoong’s birthday party.”

You pull away from him, confusion evident on your face. “It’s his birthday?” 

“In a week.” He sips his drink, grimacing at the taste. “But he doesn’t make a big deal of it on the actual day, so here we are.” 

You’re actually rather surprised to hear this, and from Seonghwa no less. It’s strange that Hongjoong doesn’t want his birthday to be a huge thing considering his, you know, enormous ego and narcissism issue. Maybe he doesn’t like everyone knowing how old he is. Kind of takes away the appeal, knowing that he’s… how old is he? He can’t be much older than you, just given what you know about him and Seonghwa (who you know to be the same age). You’d ask Seonghwa, but it kind of seems like he wants you to ask, so you’re not going to. 

Instead, you sip your own drink, trying to look like you’re thoughtfully processing and tucking this information away for later. Why would you ever need to remember Hongjoong’s birthday, especially after tonight? Your stomach rolls over as you have this thought, the reminder of your plan being truly nauseating. 

“When's your birthday?” You ask instead, propping your elbow onto the table. 

Seonghwa looks momentarily taken aback, but responds easily enough, “April third.” 

“Far away, then,” you frown. Another realization hits you. “You’re older than Hongjoong.” 

He shrugs, “Believe it or not.” 

For whatever reason, this is, in fact, slightly disconcerting. 

But you ignore that feeling, opting to look around the crowded room. Hongjoong himself is mingling with Yeosang and Wooyoung, both of whom look incredibly pleased to have their leader's attention. Wooyoung is not shy with his hands, clutching the Hongjoong’s arm close to his chest as they speak. Vaguely, you wonder if he’s feeling okay. You’re still not sure how he can be so loyal to someone that apparently had him… what? Tortured? Who even knows. Stockholm syndrome is a real thing, you guess. For once, Hongjoong doesn't sense your gaze, staying completely unaware until your eyes shift away. 

Immediately, perhaps unsurprisingly, at this point, you make eye contact with Mingi. You hold it this time, tilting your head in question as if asking him if he needs something. He’s certainly acting like it, with all this staring, but he looks away from you, resuming his conversation with a Follower you haven't met before. Like everyone else, he still sports a drink in his hand, dutifully sipping it every lull. 

“Princess, can I ask you a question?” Seonghwa speaks across from you, calling your attention back to him. You incline your head in the affirmative, and he asks, “Why did it take you so long to come after him?” 

The question takes you off guard, probably for the fact that you wonder it yourself. You take another drink, looking down at the wood grain on the table. 

“Too personal? I figured.” Seonghwa takes your silence as an unwillingness to respond.

“No,” you're quick to deny him, “it's not that. I just don't know the answer.” 

As horrible as it sounds, the real answer to the question is simply… you were busy. Life happened. You didn’t have any reason to suspect that he disappeared due to malicious circumstances. Finishing university was your top priority— plenty of your friendships fell to the wayside as you wrapped up your degree. And, by the time you graduated, it didn’t seem pertinent. You always figured that, if you reached out, he would answer. Hell, his mom told you where he was, if she knew about this place, at least to some extent, you couldn’t blame yourself for not knowing what it would end up being. 

If you had known the truth, you think, you would’ve come sooner. Of course you would have. There is no universe where you let Mingi go through this terror alone… though that’s essentially what’s happened since your argument and the rift in your relationship. 

Whatever the case, it seems silly to worry about now. You're here. There were a few months where Mingi was here alone, and the idea of those few months horrifies you. Knowing that Mingi went through a Choosing ceremony without any kind of internal support system makes you feel sick… but, you have to admit, he did pretty alright. Sure, he's traumatized and changed and brainwashed, but at least he has friends and a purpose and, well, he seems happy… ish. There's nothing you could've done if you had been here earlier, so it's no use dreading on it. You still would've been kept apart, and there still would've been the same circumstances. 

You take a look at your watch, sighing as it informs you that the time is 11:52 p.m., not nearly as late as you were hoping that it would be. 

Seonghwa huffs at your non-answer, tucking his hair away from his face to stare at you harder. “Sometimes I feel like I can hear your thoughts just from watching your expression change. Mingi wasn’t better off before you got here, if that is what you were thinking.” 

It wasn’t, but, like, that’s kind of close. 

You shake your head, sliding your drink across the table between your hands. “It’s not that I think he was better off… Just that he did alright for himself in the meantime.” 

His face twists, though you’re not sure what emotion he’s trying to convey. “Do you even remember what happened when you tried to leave?” 

Your eyes meet his. 

“He had you back for, what, two days, and then completely broke down.” Seonghwa glances back over at Mingi. “I don’t think he’s been the same since you did that.” 

“You can’t guilt trip me into forgetting my need for self-preservation,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray any sense of, well, guilt. 

He rolls his eyes, looking back at you. “In case you haven’t noticed, Princess, you are very much still alive.” He mutters something else under his breath as he picks up his drink, taking quite a few consecutive swallows. 

You mirror his actions. Hopefully, you can keep it that way.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

In a stroke of luck, Seonghwa let you keep drinking until you found yourself teetering between tipsy and drunk, again. He kept drinking, but he didn’t really keep entertaining you, instead wandering off to do his own socializing. You do try to keep yourself under control, though considering that it’s almost time. 

You take a look at your watch, surprised to see that it’s already 2:15. Blinking through the haze of your tipsiness, it sure seems like 2:15 is an okay time to get a move on, right? Like, surely no one will notice if you slip out now instead of in, like, twenty minutes or whenever you and San had agreed he would grab you. 

Plus, if anyone did notice, you could just say that you needed some air. It wouldn’t be hard to believe, looking at the state of you. You would quite enjoy a nice breath of fresh air. You could always come back inside if it felt like it was too early, or if you got a bad feeling. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sneak off for just a moment. 

In a brief look around the room, you don’t find anyone paying any particular attention to yourself. In fact, you can see Hongjoong and Seonghwa engrossed in conversation, about as far away as could be. Seonghwa’s hand rests on Hongjoong’s shoulder, a demure smile on his face as he listens to Hongjoong speak. Most of the other Followers in the room all seem significantly more drunk than yourself, with hardly a person meeting your eyes for any longer than a second. 

No one will notice, you’re positive. 

As you begin your attempt to shuffle your way through the crowd toward the hall, a hand grasps your elbow, stopping you in place, for the second time that night. 

Despite the looks that he had been giving you all night, you’re still a bit surprised to see Mingi looking down at you when you spin around to see who the hand belongs to. Your plans to go get a breath of fresh air fall out the window at the sight of him. Why would you need fresh air when Mingi is standing in front of you? He has just about the same effect on you. 

At first, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say, but, if you know anything about Mingi, it’s that he yaps when he’s drunk. And he clearly is, judging from the rosy tinge of his face and the awkward smile he wears as he looks at you, a smile that sends you straight back to college. It’s as if he’s completely forgotten everything that’s happened in the past couple months, forgotten the arguments and the anger and the time that has passed. 

“Hey,” he greets you, having to raise his voice over the din of the party. 

“Hey,” you greet him in turn, politely waiting for him to continue. 

“Can I—” he stops, opting to lean his head closer to yours so that he can talk into your ear. His hand stays on your elbow, locking you in place (not that you would’ve moved away from him, anyways, being tipsy and all). “Can we talk in private?” He asks, his voice deep in a way that you had almost forgotten. 

Nodding, you allow him to retract himself and lead you away, toward the hall that you had originally been aiming for. When the door shuts behind the two of you, the party sounds fade; the two of you isolated from the rest of the world. 

Well, the two of you and a few other Followers that linger in the hall, but close enough. Mingi doesn’t seem bothered by their presence, and you really aren’t either. You’re sure that you haven’t had a truly private conversation with Mingi since before he went missing, given that he apparently seeks Hongjoong’s advice for everything. Anyways, the presence of a few stragglers doesn’t worry you. 

Mingi drops your arm, awkwardly smoothing his dress shirt. “You look nice. Pretty.” 

“Thanks,” you smile, leaning your back against the wall— partly in an effort to keep your balance.  “What did you wanna talk about?” 

He shrugs, observing the hallway like he had never seen it before. “Just wanted to talk. We haven’t talked in a looooooonnngggggggggg time.” 

Part of you wants to ask him who’s fault that is, but that would be cruel, so you don’t. “It has been a while now.” You agree instead, glancing at your watch. 2:22… which is basically 2:25, which is basically 2:30… already. Nerves wash over you again as you clench your hands in front of you. 

“If I’m being honest— and I always want to be honest with you, you know— Hongjoong said that I should talk to you because he thought it would be good for you to hear my thoughts about the situation and also because he said that he thought that you seemed bummed out that we haven’t been talking and that made me sad so I’m taking his advice and talking to you.” Mingi says after taking one deep breath, not stopping for a moment. “Also Yunho said that you still seemed kind of mad and I can’t take the thought of you being mad at me anymore so basically what I wanted to say was that I’m sorry.” 

Blinking, a pout forms on your face at his explanation. He had been worrying about you and your relationship. You could’ve reached out to him at any point in the last month, but hadn’t out of fear that he was still upset with you. And here he was, apologizing. 

“Mingi,” you wring your hands harder together, “it really isn’t important anymore. I stopped being angry a long time ago.” 

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “It is important, (Y/n), I don’t want this to go unsaid. I’m sorry for confronting you and acting like a douchebag, I’m sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry for questioning you about San, which was absolutely none of my business, I’m sorry for yelling and fighting him and ignoring you for weeks and sending San dirty looks whenever I saw him.” He pauses. “You probably didn’t know about that last one, but, still, I’m sorry.” 

Your frown only grows deeper with each apology, your eyes starting to sting. You don’t want to cry, not when you’re sure that this night will steal plenty of tears already, but Mingi is making it hard. If you had known that he was beating himself up equally as hard as you had been, you would’ve apologized a long, long time ago. If you had known… isn’t that just the statement of your life? 

“When you were attacked at the start of the month, I was terrified.” He swallows. “I wanted to be at your side, but Hongjoong wouldn’t allow it, and I was sure that you would be pissed if you woke up and I was there, so I left. But that solitude left me a lot of time to think, to think about who you are and what you mean to me.

“You might not think of me as your best friend anymore, but I value our friendship more than anything else in my life, (Y/n). More than Hongjoong, more than The Answer, more than all of this; you are what I thank God for everyday. If something happened to you, I don’t think I would survive it.” Mingi swallows again, harder, tearing up himself. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I know you still are on the fence about Hongjoong, but I need you to trust me when I say that he loves us and he lives to make us better people.” 

Finally, you allow a few stray tears to spill onto your cheeks. Mingi’s confession is touching, truly, making your stomach do all sorts of gymnastics, but Hongjoong. How does he weasel his way into absolutely everything? Again, you’re struck by the thought that Mingi will be plagued by Hongjoong for the rest of his life. This… grip he has on Mingi won’t disappear overnight. 

Thankful for the wall behind you, considering your dizziness, you lift a hand to wipe at your cheeks before responding. “Mingi, no matter what happens or how much we fight or if I’m here or not, you’ll always be my best friend.” You smile weakly, hoping that he doesn’t read too deeply into your words. “Nothing can come between us for long.” 

Mingi wipes at his own tears, sniffling. “Can I hug you?” 

Before you can fully nod your head yes, Mingi is pulling you away from the wall and into his arms, crushing you to his chest. You’re quick to reciprocate, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, savoring the feeling. You hadn’t been able to hug him in ages, but his arms feel just like you remember them— if not a little bit more muscled. Inhaling deeply, you rub your face against his shirt, probably ruining the crisp-ness that he had been trying to preserve. His tears wet your scalp, but you don’t mind as you only squeeze him tighter. 

The moment could not be more perfect; reconciling with Mingi fills your heart with such a certainty that you’re doing the right thing. Knowing that he isn’t upset with you, isn’t harboring any ill-will any longer reassures you that it will all be okay. He knows that you wouldn’t just leave him behind— he’ll know that you’re coming back for him (if he ever even finds out that you’ve left). 

That is, of course, ignoring the bit of his speech where he encouraged you to stay and adapt to Hongjoong, but, like, whatever. It’ll be irrelevant in a few hours, now. He’ll be thankful, eventually. 

But no moment can be perfect and last forever. 

A throat clearing from behind Mingi calls your attention back to the world. The two of you separate, though Mingi puts a hand on your cheek as you pull away, wiping away your tears with a tight smile. 

San looks behind Mingi’s shoulder, his face hard as he watches the two of you. You could almost chuckle at his jealousy, but the seriousness of the situation suddenly rises into your awareness once again. 

“I'm sorry, Mingi, you'll have to excuse us,” San says, despite the fact that Mingi hasn't acknowledged his presence. 

Mingi leans close to press a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he says, quietly enough so that you're the only one who hears. 

Nodding, you untangle yourself from his arms, taking a few steps towards San before offering your hand to him. 

He takes it, offering no final remarks to Mingi as he pulls you further away from the cafeteria. Further away from Hongjoong and Seonghwa and Mingi and the rest of them. Closer to the forest and your car and freedom. 

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest again. Had you lost track of time talking with Mingi? Were you running behind? Why does it seem like San is in such a rush to get you away? It’s almost hard to keep up with his stride, your boots feeling heavier with each step that you take. 

Vaguely, you find yourself worrying over if Mingi will get in trouble for being the last one to speak to you. Surely not… How would he know what you were planning? There wouldn’t be a way for him to… unless they suspected that you had confided your plans to him. 

Which you hadn’t done, but if they were desperate enough to need a scapegoat… No. Hongjoong wouldn’t go that far. He may never even find out that you had the conversation in the first place. Mingi might mention it, but he probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to in the chaos that is sure to ensue when your absence was realized. 

They were bound to figure out what had happened easily enough; they wouldn’t have to interrogate your friends to come to the most obvious conclusion: that you and San had run away in the night, without outside help. 

Before you know it, San is opening the front door, ushering you into the night. 

As you had suspected, the cool air does feel amazing on your skin. Lacking a coat, you know that you’ll grow colder the longer that you’re outside. It’s almost November, now, the air is almost strikingly cold after the stuffiness of the cafeteria. Even the hallway had hardly felt relieving compared to this. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you allow San to continue wordlessly leading you forward. If you weren’t still rather tipsy, maybe you would question his silence. But it doesn’t bother you very much, if you’re being honest. He probably just doesn’t want to risk drawing any unnecessary attention…

He had assured you that there would be absolutely no one outside of the compound at this point in the night, though… 

But, still, he has his reasons, you’re sure. Instead of continuing to walk in front of the building, he veers dramatically to the right, walking the distance until you both turn the corner to round to the side and eventually the back.

Though you had never seen the woods at the back of the compound directly, you had known it was there. The ancient, old-growth trees loomed from behind the building, their leaves able to be seen from a far distance, even from the road. To actually be in front of them was a new sensation, a new emotion. The sight of their trunks startled you into realization.

This is real. You’re doing this. You’re running. You’re getting out of here. 

San stops at the edge of the trees, finally turning to address you in a low voice, “You still want to do this?” 

Nodding, you squeeze his hand in yours, bringing your free hand to grip your joined hands as well. 

He looks at the dirt, kicking a loose pebble at his feet. “Don’t look too hard at anything you might see in these trees, (Y/n).” 

However foreboding that is, you agree with his request, “I won’t take my eyes off of you.” 

San allows himself a small smile, squeezing your hands back. 

Whatever it is that San doesn’t want you seeing, you don’t think you ever had any hope of being able to see in the trees, anyways. It’s pitch black outside, the moon doing little to help you as you walk deeper and deeper. 

You’re almost kind of amazed that he’s able to lead you so confidently. He must not have consumed anywhere near the same quantity of alcohol as everyone else. Which actually makes quite a bit of sense, considering you hadn’t seen him very much at all following dinner. What had he been up to? Was Hongjoong not suspicious of his absence? He must’ve made something up… explained it away… 

More than a few times, you stumble over a tree root or loose brush, twigs snapping underfoot with each step that you take. San holds you steady, slowing his pace when you need it. 

After what feels like forever, but is probably more like a couple minutes, you reach a clearing. At first, you think that you spot your car right away… but then you realize that you can’t be sure. In the clearing, there’s no fewer than twenty vehicles, of all makes and models and sizes. Some look like they haven’t run in years, a thick, dusty coat over their windshields that you can even see in the dark. 

San doesn’t pause to let you take in the clearing for very long, however. He quickly pulls you along with him, between a row of cars, before you’re able to find your own. It looks just as you remember it, albeit a bit dirty. Your heart leaps as you realize what this means.

You’re at your car. Your car. It’s right here, right in front of you. You’re going to fucking get out of here. Holy shit. 

San lets go of your hand, fishing into his pocket before pulling out the keys and handing them to you. “We don’t lock the cars, but…” 

Clutching the keys in your hands, you can’t help but smile. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

He awkwardly mirrors your smile, glancing behind you before pointing it out. You turn to look, not all that surprised to see that the clearing opens to a dirt road, leading back off into the trees. “We’ll go that way. It meets up with the main road after a couple miles.” 

Nodding, you turn back to your car, almost giddy as you approach the passenger’s side door. Gently, you pull on the handle, hoping the door doesn’t creak too loud as you do so. Thankfully, it’s no louder than normal, and you eagerly sit yourself down in the seat. San stands in the door, his hands resting on either side of the opening. “Ready, then?” He chuckles as you settle yourself into the seat, adjusting the recline to lay back. 

“Let’s go.” 

He gives you a thumbs up, pushing himself off of the car before patting at his pockets. 

His smile falls, his face paling. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, “What is it?” You ask, sitting back up. “Is something wrong?” 

San blinks, twisting to look back the way that you came. “I have to go back.” 

“What?” You almost shout, “Are you crazy? You can’t go back!” 

He shakes his head, leaning down toward you. He grips both of your shoulders tight in his hands, looking in your eyes, “It’ll be fine. I will be right back, I promise.” 

“San, no,” you gape at him, “what could possibly be so important?” 

San closes his eyes, shaking his head at your question. “It’s hard to explain, I— Just, I,” his eyes open as he squeezes you one last time before dropping your shoulders. “I’ll be back, I swear.” 

“Let me come with you,” you plead, attempting to grab one of his hands as he pulls away. “Don’t leave me here, alone, please, San.” 

Shushing you, he shakes his head again. “You’ll slow me down. I swear, (Y/n), it will be fine. I’ll see you in a minute.” 

He takes a step back, shutting the door before you can come up with a response. You’re too dumbfounded to even attempt to open the door again, too confused to try and follow. What could possibly be so important to him? What if someone finds you here? How are you going to explain that, huh? 

But the possibility of that is so remote. No one knows that you’re out here, how could they? Even if someone notices your absence at the party, they’ll just assume that you’ve retired to your room, right? And even if they feel inclined to check, that’ll take a few minutes, in which time San should return to you and get a move on. 

Still, you find it very hard to swallow your panic. 

What if this is it? What if you die because San had to go back for something that he wouldn’t even tell you about? Your breathing grows shallow with each new terrible thought that invades your mind. You can see it now, Hongjoong walking into the clearing, rage in his eyes, knife in his hands. Making you grovel and beg and plead with him only to end it right then and there, anyways. San would come back and find your still-warm body, soon to join you in death. 

You try to blink away the images that flit across your mind, realizing that your eyes burn as if you’d been crying. Your hand flies to your cheek, unsurprised to find it wet. Taking a deep breath, you do anything you can think of to distract yourself. 

The air in your car is so stale, your months old air-freshener doing little to help the dry, bitter smell. You fumble with the glove box, pulling it open while praying that there is anything in it that can distract you from the horror of the moment. 

Papers spill out as you indiscriminately pull everything out, ushering it onto your lap. You throw aside the car manuals and your outdated insurance, searching for just one thing, anything that could remind you of what you were enduring these terrors for. 

A brochure for The Bean slides out, your own face smiling from behind the coffee bar. Adam can be seen in the background. It almost makes you sick, that horrible reminder of the life that you had been forced to give up. You keep sliding the papers around, cutting your finger in your desperation. 

Sucking your paper cut into your mouth, you realize that you're not going to find anything in the glove box. You make a half hearted attempt to shove everything back inside before deciding that it's not worth it. 

Tears still pouring down your face, you reach for the driver's side sun visor, flicking it down to reveal the photos you kept in the sunglass clip. 

On top is a picture of Jungeun and yourself, embracing with your faces pressed together. You quickly slide it back, knowing for certain that you have a picture of Mingi in the stack. 

Seeing the picture will wake you up, you're certain. It will give you the courage to keep going. 

Finally, a polaroid emerges. It's the first picture you had clipped to the visor, a testament to how much time had passed before you started looking for Mingi. How had you waited so long? You pry the polaroid free, it having stuck to the metal after so long. 

Though your hands shake, you don't really need to see the photo in detail to appreciate it. Mingi stands in the center, a peace sign next to his eyes. He's not smiling, rather giving you a sour look. He wasn't pleased to be the first test subject of his gift to you. The second photo was of yourself, taken by him, you remember. The third was a selfie of the both of you. 

You don't have either of the other photos, but you have this one. Something compels you to protect the picture, to keep it on you, so you slide it into your waistline and pray that your pants don't distort it too much. 

A knock on the window almost kills you on the spot, with the way your heart leaps into your throat.

The shock of who you see through the window makes you gag. 

No sooner after seeing his face does he open the door, falling onto his knees next to the car to be eye level with you. 

Seonghwa is drunk, much more drunk than he had been when you were with him earlier, you realize this very quickly with the way his voice wavers as he asks, “What are you doing?”

You have no response. You open and close your mouth a few times, but only choked sounds of fear come out. 

He grabs your hands, holding them in your lap. “Why are you crying? Are you leaving?” 

He sounds so sad that your heart nearly shatters. Your heart should shatter, now, knowing that escape is impossible. But you can only focus on Seonghwa, on his knees, in front of you. 

His bangs brush his eyelids. “You're leaving?” He asks again, “without me?” 

Seonghwa hiccups, frowning. The question is so absurd you can't pay any mind to it. Why would you bring Seonghwa with you? His forehead comes to rest on your thigh. 

“Seonghwa, go back to the party,” you manage to get out, clearing your throat after. 

“I can't,” he pouts, “Hongjoong is mad at me. I can't tell why.” 

You think Hongjoong always seems a little mad at Seonghwa, but you're not going to say that to him now.

“Please, Seonghwa, go.” 

He shifts his face and blinks up at you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight so prettily it almost hurts. “Come with me, then.” 

Seonghwa gets to his feet, but he doesn't release your hands. They dangle between the two of you, the height different causing yours to float up. “We can fix this. Just come with me,” he says. 

You're shaking your head before you realize it. “I can't go back. I can't do this anymore.” 

Seonghwa bites his lip, looking around. “This isn't going to end well; please,” he looks back at you, “just come back with me. I won't say anything, Hongjoong will never know, we'll both be fine. We'll be fine. Nothing has to change.” 

“I can't go back.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest, you can feel its thrum. When San returns, what will he do about Seonghwa? How will he possibly get past him? Seonghwa won't let you leave, but you have to. To what length would San go to get you free? 

You don't want Seonghwa hurt. You realize now, staring up at him, that you care about him. More than you would've ever thought you would. Who is Seonghwa if not the ultimate victim? Is he not just a reflection of yourself?

“Get in the car, Seonghwa.”

He frowns again, pouting his lower lip. “I can't leave Hongjoong.” 

“Yes, you can. Get in the car.”

You don't give a second thought to your proposition, nodding your head toward the back seat.

“I won't leave Hongjoong.” Seonghwa clarifies, dropping your hands. They smack down onto your thighs, stinging. 

You'd question him, start yelling at him if you could. But you can hardly form a coherent thought and every word feels like risking the contents of your stomach coming up. Instead, you frown, looking down at your lap rather than at his confused face. 

“You can't leave Hongjoong, either,” he says. “Even if you run, he'll find you, always. You'd come back on your own, you won't know how to live without him anymore.” He tells you this eerily flat. “Just come back with me, he doesn't have to know about this.” 

Seonghwa is speaking nonsense. Even your flurried mind understands this.

“Please.” He begs. “(Y/n), please.” 

You shake your head. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as singular tears run down his cheeks. “I'm sorry. I tried to help you, I did.” 

Seonghwa turns away from the car as the sinking feeling in your stomach solidifies into a rock of dread. 

Of course, you knew what it meant to see Seonghwa out here. There was never any chance, not after he had found you. If he knew where you were, Hongjoong did, too. Surely, he wouldn’t risk you getting away. He would drag the moment on, though. Making Seonghwa come here, making him plead with you, what sort of torture was that? What was the point? Isn’t he just going to kill you, now? 

Why is it that, when Hongjoong enters the clearing, you aren’t scared? You hardly feel anything. You knew this was coming. You knew that this would happen, didn’t you? There wasn’t any other possible ending to this night. You wanted to believe that it was possible, that you could escape, but it was futile. It was never a possibility. Even with San’s help. You knew it, deep down. 

Like Seongwha said, there is no getting away from Hongjoong. You were foolish to think that you could, and you know it, now. 

Instead of watching Hongjoong approach, you watch Seonghwa slink away. He doesn’t go far, stopping to rest his head against the roof of a car a few down from your own. You can imagine how good the cool metal must feel. 

You snivel, wiping at your eyes as Hongjoong stops in front of you, standing where San had stood, where Seonghwa kneeled. He’s silent. You don’t look up at him, instead focusing on his hands as they hang at his sides. They’re empty, though clenched into tight fists. 

“You have ignored every. Single. Opportunity. I have given you.” He emphasizes each word. “Chances I gave you to make the right decision.” 

It’s not even worth your energy to respond, is it? Obviously, you should’ve known that the various conversations you had over the night were warnings. How else would everyone manage to bring up something that would make you want to stay? And Seonghwa… 

How humiliating. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” Hongjoong says, and it’s so much worse than if he had been screaming and violent. “I thought you were starting to fit in.” 

You glance at Seonghwa, who still has his back turned to you. He seems to be shaking, but you find it hard to believe that, even in this scenario, he would cry for you. This has to be part of it, right? Part of making you feel guilty? 

Looking at him is a mistake, though. Hongjoong harshly grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

You still have no idea what to say to him. It all seems so stupid, in retrospect. 

It's only as you look up at Hongjoong that you start to wonder where San is. If you asked, you'd surely get your ass handed to you. But the terrible feeling in your stomach only gets worse. What if he comes back to this scene? How will he react? Poor San, he was so desperate for you. How will he feel, with the plan destroyed? Does Hongjoong know the depth of his involvement? 

So, you break your silence. It couldn’t get much worse, could it? “Where is San?” You ask. 

Hongjoong lets go of your face, but only to bury a hand in your hair, yanking you into standing. Instinctively you bring your hands to his, crying out in pain. He only smirks, releasing his grasp on you. 

You collapse onto your knees, catching yourself with your hands at his feet. Your nice pants, they're dirty, now, you catch yourself thinking. Like that's the biggest issue right now. 

“Where is San?” He repeats your question, spitting the words out like they leave a vile taste in his mouth. 

Reduced to a heap at his feet, you can't bring yourself to look up at him. This night has turned up just as your last failure had. You're not all that surprised when Hongjoong's boot comes down on your hand, though not hard enough to hurt. “Look at me.” 

You do. From even further beneath him, he looks more Biblical than ever. 

“Who do you think told me where you were?” 

Ah. 

Of course. 

That makes sense. 

Your face contorts, though with what emotion, you’re not sure. 

You want to think that there might be an explanation, one that doesn’t involve San betraying you to a homicidal maniac, but you know that there isn’t. Instantly, you know. 

He never meant to help you. He never cared about you. He had laid a pretty trap for you, at Hongjoong’s request, and had sprung it just as planned.

And he couldn’t even be here to see the fruits of his labor. Pathetic. Your mind swims with everything you had told him, everything you confessed to him, the times you had been warned about him. You fought with Mingi over him, you defended him to Mingi. 

“Yes,” Hongjoong smiles down at you. “All of this has been planned since the day I made you live with him.” 

You nod up at him, realizing that he must want something else from you. 

“You must understand, (Y/n), that I control everything. You can’t trust in anything besides this fact.” Hongjoong kneels to meet your eye line, inadvertently crushing your hand under his foot as his weight shifts. 

Gritting your teeth, you suck in any sound of pain that threatens to escape. The last thing you plan on doing tonight is letting Hongjoong realize the depths of your pain. 

He tilts his head in question. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” 

Even in your haze of emotions, you can hardly resist spitting a few choice curses at him. “Fuck you.” 

He grimaces, though he’s clearly not actually affected. “Not what I was thinking, Princess, but I’ll give you a pass.”

His hands are suddenly gripping into your shirt at the shoulders, yanking you onto your feet. He hardly allows you to catch yourself before he begins dragging you across the clearing, away from your car, into the trees, away from your last shred of dignity. 

There isn’t a single thing on your mind as he pulls you through the trees and eventually back around to the front of the compound. He’s groveling under his breath, probably cursing you out in any and every way that he knows how. And you deserve it. You deserve every stumble of your feet, every tear burning your cheeks, every horrible thing that Hongjoong can fling at you. 

You failed. Not only yourself, but everyone stuck here in this cult. You’ve utterly failed. No one is going to be rescued, no one is going to be saved. You cling onto Hongjoong’s blazer as he guides you to the barns, having no idea what could be waiting for you there.

Maybe this is it, huh? Maybe he has finally realized that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. For a second there, it had looked like he was going to keep you alive, but maybe not. That was probably just wishful thinking. He’s probably delivering you to Jongho, too disgusted to even deal with you himself. 

Hongjoong releases you to throw open the barn doors. You have to catch yourself on the siding to remain standing, but Hongjoong quickly returns his grip on you, hauling you further inside the barn. 

It’s the animal barn. He walks you into the center aisle, dropping you unceremoniously. You fall into a heap at his feet. Again.

You can hardly hear Hongjoong over the general animal sounds, but especially over the oinking of the pigs. “I’m going to leave you here,” he starts, glaring down at you. “When I come back, you’re going to still be in this building.”

Sniffling, you nod in agreement. 

He scoffs. “You’re lucky, (Y/n), very lucky. If you had made it even an inch down that road, what do you think would’ve happened to you? To Mingi? Haseul?”

There isn’t anything for you to say. The pigs fill the silence. 

“Selfish. Utterly, disgustingly, selfish.” Hongjoong spits. “Stay here— before you try and lure anyone else to their certain deaths.” 

With that, he turns on his heel and exits the barn, shutting the door behind him. The overhead lights remained on, but you barely even found yourself capable of caring. The dark wouldn’t make any difference. You failed.

And Hongjoong was right. You are selfish. Even though you knew the truth about San’s intentions now, you hadn’t known before. You had thought he was risking his life to help you, and you had been fine with it. What was wrong with you? Why is this just occurring to you now? Had you really been so desperate as to involve another person? What’s the matter with you? Have you no shame? No consideration? Were you such a narcissist that you would put your freedom above someone’s life?

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you wipe your cheeks with your hands. The sensation is calming, allowing you to take a few deep breaths as you collect your bearings. As hard as it is, you should try to keep your head on straight… there’s still no telling how the night will end, and something tells you that it’s far from over. 

One thing you know for certain, though, is that you cannot do this again. You can’t. No matter what. Something else will have to give. There is no more escape. There is no more saving yourself. How the fuck could you, after this? 

Standing, you brush your hands off on your pants. Hongjoong hadn’t said anything about not moving from the spot. Might as well look at the animals. Animals can be calming, right? Therapeutic? Maybe?

Wishful thinking. 

Your tears keep flowing, but you find your breathing to be coming back to your control. You stumble with your first step, but quickly regain your balance, tottering over to the nearest animal pen— which happens to be the pigs.

This is where you had confronted Jongho about Haneul. How long ago was that, now? That horrible confrontation lingers as you grip the metal fencing keeping the pigs in place. The bar is cooling, demanding your attention. You realize now that the air itself, though warmed by the animals' presence, is getting rather chilly, as well. 

Tugging your sleeves lower over your hands, you peer down at the animals. Some of them are sleeping, but most of them aren’t. Each sow is separated from the next, in neat, orderly rows. Last time you had seen them, there weren’t individual pens. Jongho had been feeding them in one huge, disorderly mess. It had been rather disgusting. 

You had also fought with Mingi, that day. About so many things that just seem stupid, now. What was there to even be mad about? Mingi is just Mingi. You can’t fault him for being a victim.

And the fact that he was just looking out for you, and, in fact, turned out to be absolutely correct. 

As you turn to walk to a different pen, the feeling of the polaroid at your waist recaptures your attention. Stopping in place, you fish it out of your waistline, cupping it in your hands. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be damaged. You stare down at it once more. It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since you had put it in your pants, and, yet, here you are. Completely changed. 

Mingi’s face frowns up at you, but your eyes catch on something outside of the photo. Your own expression melts into a frown as you lower your hands, shoving the picture back into your pants. 

Wiping your tears again, you kneel down to the ground next to the pen. 

What had caught your attention was a scrap of white, so starkly bright against the packed dirt floor of the barn. 

You reach out to grab it, suddenly overcome with an even worse feeling of dread. Your scalp goes cold, a shiver spreading across your body as you touch the… fabric. 

Fabric. 

Blinking your tears away as fast as you can manage, you pull, feeling your stomach drop as the piece grows into a cuff. Buttons and all. A white cuff. 

There’s nothing that you can do to stop yourself from thinking the thoughts that come— attacking you at nearly instantaneous moments. 

It’s Haseul’s. This is from Haseul’s shirt. What did Hongjoong say would happen? About the pigs? The pigs? Haseul? This is Haseul’s shirt? It can’t be. She’s in her room. She’s been in her room this whole time. This could belong to anyone. This could’ve been cut off of anyone’s shirt. It doesn’t have to be hers. It could be anyone’s. Why would it be hers? It isn’t possible. San said she was fine. He failed, but she was fine. Hongjoong said she was fine. Mingi said— what did he say? Did he say something? Anything? It doesn’t matter. San said—

“You shouldn’t be in here,” a familiar voice calls from behind you. 

You fall onto your butt, forgoing your pants. They were ruined, anyway. Clutching the cuff in your hand, you don’t even reply to Jongho’s warning. Your breathing is out of control, again. Each breath you take is tighter, harder, less satisfying, more panic inducing. The fabric in your hand burns with the tightness of your grip. 

Jongho grabs your shoulder. “Can you even hear me?” 

A fully-fledged sob leaves you as you look up at him. 

His eyebrows furrow in some emotion— probably disgust— as he frowns at you. “Get out of here.”

Shaking your head, you try to say even a single word about Hongjoong telling you to stay here, but you can’t get anything out. If anything, you cry harder, shaking your head back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, shutting your eyes as tightly as you can. 

This cannot be real. This can’t be happening. It can’t be Haseul’s shirt. Even if it is, it doesn’t mean that she’s—

No, you won’t even think it. You just keep shaking your head. It can’t be. It cannot be. 

Jongho’s hand leaves your shoulder.

“This is your punishment, (Y/n).” Hongjoong’s voice booms from behind you. It’s so shocking that you open your eyes, spinning around in the dirt to face him. He’s not alone. Seonghwa and San are with him, both of them looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

Seeing San doesn’t relieve you at all. Seonghwa’s face is puffy, his clothing disheveled and dirty. Neither of them look at you, instead looking at the ground in front of them. Jongho remains at your side, seemingly caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

You don’t know what Hongjoong means, though. Or, rather, your mind completely refuses to see what is in front of it until it is irrefutable. There is still hope, now. There is hope. The cuff doesn’t mean anything until Hongjoong says that it does. There is nothing in you that can accept this until… 

“Haseul is dead.” Hongjoong says. “And San killed her.” 

The wind is completely knocked out of your lungs as you fall onto your hands, heaving. 

Though you can’t see San, you can hear him. His protests are immediate, “What? Hongjoong, why would you say that? I didn’t do that. I didn’t even touch her. I swear, (Y/n), why would I lie—”

“Not to mention that he orchestrated your entire escape attempt at my request,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through San’s pleas to be heard. 

The reminder calls you back into your body. Hongjoong had to say it in front of San, you realize, he had to make sure San knew that you knew of his betrayal. You look up at the three men in front of you as you gasp for air. The cuff lays in the dirt before you, momentarily forgotten. 

San is gaping at Hongjoong, his hands outstretched as if he was in the middle of trying to reach for you. “Are you fucking crazy?” San barely squeezes out in his apparent anger. 

“I am, in fact.” Hongjoong replies, though he doesn’t bother to address San. He smiles down at you instead, watching your facial expression change from one of despair to one of hatred. 

Your eye twitches as you stare at San, who starts to plead for you to hear him out once more. 

“I swear, (Y/n), it wasn’t like that! You heard him! He’s crazy! He only has something to gain if you don’t trust me, right? Why would I ever do that? I love you, you kno—” 

San had been crouching down to your level as he made this speech, which was probably a horrible idea. Using your hands as your leverage, you launch yourself at him, toppling him over into the dirt. 

Pinning him to the ground with your weight, you stare down at his (very surprised) face. 

It takes you all of five seconds to realize what you couldn’t in the past month. 

Hongjoong is right. Again. 

Your tears drip down onto his own face. San tries to speak, but evidently can’t think of anything to say to you. 

Hongjoong laughs at your side. 

You pull your hand back, bringing it back down and slapping San as hard as you can muster across his face. The smack rings through the barn, your hand stinging all the way up your forearm. 

San tries to clutch his cheek, but your knees keep his arms at his sides, and he instead looks up at you, stunned. 

“Say something.” You demand, finding your voice. 

He opens and closes his mouth, grasping for anything to say. “He’s lying to you— I swear it, I had nothing to do with Haseul, and I would never set you up, I would never, you can’t trust him, can’t trust anything that he says, (Y/n), really—” 

You hit him again. This time, he exclaims in pain as you feel your hand go numb. Seonghwa flinches in your peripheral vision and Hongjoong laughs once more.

“Fuck you.” You blink, more tears falling. “Fuck you.” You lean back, freeing his arms, which immediately come up to rest on your waist. “Hit me.” 

San’s face contorts, confused, “why would I hit you?” 

Absurdly, you smile. You smile wide. “Hit me. Do it.” You hit him in the chest, though lighter than you had his face. “What? Are you a coward? You can kill my best friend, but you can’t hit me?” Your voice raises, reaching a shrilling quality. “Come on! Hit me! Do anything!” 

San’s hands remain holding your waist, not moving. 

“Hit me so that I don’t fucking kill you! Hit me to show you at least think your miserable life is worth living! Hit me! Hit me! Hit me! Hi—”

“That’s really enough, (Y/n),” Seonghwa’s voice cuts in as he grabs your arm, keeping you from landing another blow to San’s chest. “You’re being childish.” 

You scoff, but it devolves into a laugh. “Childish? I’m being CHILDISH?” You wrench your hand out of Seonghwa’s grip. “Tell me, Seonghwa, please, how is someone supposed to react in this situation? What is the normal reaction? Enlighten me, please!” 

When Seonghwa doesn’t respond, you stand, turning your full attention to him. San’s hands easily slide off of you, though you remain hovering over him. He finally starts cradling his red cheeks. 

Seonghwa looms over you, his back to Hongjoong as he stares over his shoulder at you. You feel guilty for lashing out at Seonghwa, somehow, but it doesn’t stop you from fanning the flames. There’s nothing that could stop you, not in this moment, from bringing anyone else to your level. 

You make eye contact with Hongjoong, who has his arms crossed nonchalantly, an enormous smile on his face. You imagine that this night is just going peachy for him. Just how he wanted it to. Maybe, just maybe, you can ruin his fun. 

At Seonghwa’s expense. You hardly feel bad about it, though, as your eyes snap back to Seonghwa’s. 

“Without turning around, take a guess. Is Hongjoong watching you, his perfect little whore, or me, the spoiled brat who doesn’t behave?” 

Seonghwa sneers, a small laugh escaping him. Of course, he plays right into your hands. He exhales one shaky breath before grabbing your shoulders, using the grip to shove you as hard as he can, sending you falling back to the floor. You practically land on top of San, your legs resting over his waist, but you can only laugh. 

Seonghwa falls onto his knees in front of you, crawling until he can reach your legs. He grabs you by your calves, pulling you off of San until you’re practically underneath himself. You’re sure that he’s planning on strangling you, there’s a sweet little look in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know.

And you’re excited, you want him to kill you, you realize. Your laughing becomes intermixed with your sobbing as Seonghwa puts his weight on your stomach, the fury in his eyes blazing harder with each sound you make. 

Before you can truly get your way, though, San is grabbing Seonghwa by the back of his shirt, using all of his strength to pull him off of you. You hear the fabric rip as Seonghwa sprawls onto his back in front of you, and San takes the same position that Seonghwa had just had on you. 

You can’t find it in yourself to sit up, so you opt to just turn your head until you can see San. Vaguely, you can hear the sound of him hitting Seonghwa as you had just pleaded with him to do to you, and this only makes you cry harder. 

You turn your head in the opposite direction, and you’re greeted with the image of Hongjoong, still sitting contentedly. He glances down at you, but he doesn’t betray anything.

“Can’t you just kill me?” You whisper to him, hoping the others can’t hear it, “won’t you please just kill me?” 

Hongjoong frowns, then, slowly rising to his feet to come to your side. He holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it. 

You don’t at first, opting to continue looking pathetically up at him. From this angle, with the blurriness of your tears and the extreme perspective, Hongjoong really does look… ethereal. Angelic. Godly. Whatever the word is. You take his hand, allowing him to heave you into a sitting position just in time to see San land the punch that you’re sure breaks Seonghwa’s nose. 

It’s only in this moment that you realize San is screaming at Seonghwa, mostly incomprehensible phrases of anger. Seonghwa is trying to fight back, his hands clenching onto San’s shirt, slapping at his shoulders and face, thrashing underneath him, but San is too pissed to let any of it stop him. 

Hongjoong squats at your side, resting one of his knees on the floor. He doesn’t drop your hand, instead using it to pull you closer to him. He puts his face next to yours, making sure you’re watching the scene unfolding in front of you. 

“Doesn't this make you feel good? Seeing what San would do for you? Even after it’s all over?” He whispers so close that his breath tickles your ear. “It could always be like this. Everyone could love you like this.” 

Love? This is love? Your ploy to upset Hongjoong by including Seonghwa failed. If there isn’t love lost between the two of them, then what on earth about this is love?

Still, your heart skips a beat. 

You had completely forgotten (or, maybe, ignored) Jongho’s presence until Hongjoong turns to give him some sort of look that must tell him to stop whatever is going on. In the next moment, Jongho is resting a hand on San’s shoulder, barely having to pull at him to get him to cease his movements. 

Seonghwa turns his face toward you and Hongjoong, blood pouring from his nose and split lips. 

A sob escapes him, this time, before he turns to face the other direction. 

You really hadn’t meant for Seonghwa to get hurt from this. You just wanted to goad someone into giving you what you wanted, and he was easiest. You avert your eyes from him, wanting to give him the privacy he clearly desires. 

Hongjoong doesn’t care. He drops your hand, standing to go to Seonghwa. 

You look at San and Jongho. San is also sobbing, his knuckles torn to shreds in his lap. 

You don’t feel bad for him. You don’t feel anything for him. You’re sure the upset will come in the next few days. The bomb will drop, the emotions will explode, but now, in this moment, you couldn���t care less if he lived or died. 

Frankly, you couldn’t even care less about your own life. Haseul is dead. She’s dead. And she’s never coming back. You’ll never see her smile again, never text her that you’re bored at work, never hear her complain about her parents arguing again. Her parents. Her own parents. They’ll never see her again, and it’s your fault. Entirely. 

You look back at Seonghwa and Hongjoong just in time to see Seonghwa slap Hongjoong’s hand away from him, groaning as he turns his body to fully face away from his God. 

That can’t be a good sign. 

Hongjoong sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before turning on his heel to come back to you. 

Great. Just what you wanted. 

“Is she really dead?” You can’t help the question, squeezing your eyes shut as they fill with more tears. 

Hongjoong sits beside you, taking both of your hands in his this time. “She is.” 

“For how long?” You don’t open your eyes.

He takes a few seconds to answer, as if contemplating whether you should hear the truth or not. “She died the day she arrived.” 

You’re not sure if this is the best or the worst news that he could’ve given you. You’d believed lies for weeks, but at least she hadn’t been suffering the entire time, like you pictured. 

“Was it really San?” You still had a hard time believing it. Could San kill? Had you really shared a bed with him for over a month, not knowing that he had killed Haseul himself, believing that he hadn’t?

“No,” He admits, letting go of one of your hands, using his newly freed hand to rest on your cheek. You open your eyes, feeling your lips quivering with… every emotion on this goddamn planet. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Whatever. “Jongho killed her, and humanely at that. But San helped with the mess. I didn’t want it to be like this, (Y/n), I warned you.” 

And what could you say. He warned you. Very plainly. And you had disobeyed him. And look at what it cost. 

Hongjoong moves his hand away from your face, using it to wrap around you and pull you back into a hug. 

There's nothing to do anymore. Nothing to say. You cry into his shoulder, finally wrapping your own arms around him in acceptance. 

He rocks you, there, on the ground. “It might be hard to understand now, (Y/n), but everything I do, I do for you.” 

You nod. “Please don't make me see him again.” 

Hongjoong knows who. He strokes your head, smoothing your hair, “Of course, love. Of course.” 

Though you know that this is all because of Hongjoong, you still find his words comforting, his embrace grounding. You squeeze him tighter to you, appreciating the feeling of having at least one person on your side. He’s right, he’s so right, you can’t trust anyone else, not when this is how it turns out. 

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[sophieebridgerton]

somehow none of my eras tour videos had my voice clearly in them but allllllllll the ones from tonight you completely can

[satorena]

( P*SSY GOT ) P☆WER !?

bad ☆ summary. converting a loser into a munch wasn’t on your yearly bingo card ( or was it ? )

content ★ warnings. explicit content. mdni. foul language. situationship!gojo. college au. cunningulus. frōtting. premature ejaculātion. fīngering. eventual smut. gojo pines for like 99% of the fic. he also studies in pornology. reader is kinda bratty. mention of death lightheartedly. a lot of italicized words. lowkey gojo centric? 6.4k words (bye).

rena’s ☆ note. SATORENA COMEBACK … sorta (・・?)

“gimme a kiss.”

your face scrunches before the words can express your distaste. with your hand on the handle of his car’s door, your fingers tighten around the metal bar, half tempted to leave the man at your left— rosy lips puckered into an obnoxious smooch.

his eyelids are shut tight as his brows furrow to the centre of his forehead, face leaned in. you chuckle at his theatrics, lifting your free hand to press your digits at his pucker. his eyelids open as his brows now loosen, “gojo, bye.”

you feel his hands wrap around your wrist, gently lifting your hand off his mouth, though your fingers hover over his lips still, “girl.” he tilts his head to the side, emitting an aura of sass you’ve yet to understand, “it’s satoru to you— i can’t even have a little one? haven’t i been good all day?”

you click your tongue, “you been runnin’ your mouth all day long actually,” and before your mind can even process your following words, you focus on the way his plump lips fall into another one of his childish pouts. cute. however he chooses to take your invitation is all up to him. your eyes dart to the rosy flesh as you hum, “mhm, if only you ate pussy as good as you talk shit.”

you feel the hold on your wrist drop, as his frown switches to a blank stare. you cock a brow, watching as the hand his steering wheel tightens.

he gulps, eyes narrowing before glancing over to the leather wheel, “i, uh, don’t eat pussy.”

oh. . . oh.

the slam of the car door speaks the rest for you.

“woah— hey!” gojo yells after you, though your figure seems to get smaller with the steps you take. in your hold is your purse, bouquet of flowers he’d bought earlier and house keys. “baby, hold on— this damn window,” he cusses, removing the barrier between you and him angrily. you hadn’t even hesitated to exit the car, as if he’d said the world’s most vile comment.

you’re not listening, and for some reason gojo feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. what the fuck had he said that made you all upset with him?

he watches helplessly as you insert your key into the hole. the chiming sounds of your keys serve as a reminder that he was definitely in trouble. that and he wasn’t getting his damn goodbye kiss.

he sighs instead, albeit defeatedly. “am i at least gonna see you soon?”

the front door opens and you look back over your shoulder, and god— he really thought he had it. his lips threaten to pull into a smile, ready for your little mood to be over with.

you grin and as does he. you even give him a cute wave, thank fuck, “have yourself a nice life, baby.”

and the front door closes. damn.

☆ ☆

“you said what?!”

gojo groans into the phone, sprawling himself on his king sized mattress that suddenly feels way to big for him alone. where were you when he needed you? oh that’s right, “she ghosted me! i’m blocked on all socials— can you believe that?”

he tried reaching out to you through texts to make sure you were feeling okay, but the shade of green told him everything he needed to know— especially as an apple user. he then proceeded to go through your social media, to double check his suspicions and there it was, user not found.

“uh, duh?” geto is as judgemental as ever, and gojo doesn’t try to suppress the roll of his eyes. “bro, you just told the girl you’re talkin’ to that you don’t give head. the fuck d’you think was gonna happen?”

“it’s not even a big deal!” he argues because his pride in on the line, and he ignores the groan geto gives him across the phone. rude. his fingers pinch at the top of his nose bridge, “was it really necessary to block me? literally just tell me to kill myself at this point.”

“pretty sure that’s what she blocked you for.” geto snickers, and gojo realizes he’s lucky they aren’t in person because he would have blocked him. instead he whines, pressing the speaker button before stuffing his face in his pillow. he’s probably insane but he swears there’s a hint of your scent there, and now he’s whining louder.

“quit bitchin’. you brought this upon yourself,” and out of spite, gojo whines louder. if his legs kick against his mattress childishly, it’s nobody’s business but his own. the love of his life just walked out of his life— give him a break. “and dude, no shade but do you really not eat pussy? are you gay or somethin’?”

“i am not—” he cuts himself off once the sound of his own voice echoes loudly in his lonely room. geto winces and gojo bites down on his tongue before sighing. “i’m not gay. i love women only. seriously. how does not eating pussy make me gay?”

the line goes quiet, and gojo can tell geto’s making that face he makes whenever he’s finding the right words to say without offending gojo. it ticks him off. “alright, lemme counter that question with one of my own. why don’t you eat pussy?”

gojo pauses. he tightens his fingers around his pillow as the question ponders. he thinks about having received head in the back of his car once, the other time in the bathroom of some frat party, and another in some girl’s bedroom. from all memories, he draws a similar conclusion— they always come onto him first.

“i dunno.” his lips fall into a pout, tracing patterns into his pillowcase with his index. “they never really ask, so i never bothered. that can’t be weird, right? all of my hookups have consisted of them pulling my pants down. why would i refuse? i get my nut and that’s that.”

and because geto is genuinely never on his side, “satoru . . . eugh.” some kind of best friend is he.

“what?!” he hisses in retaliation, glaring at his phone as if it would solve his issues. there’s nothing he hates more than feeling judged. “you fucking asked!”

“calm the fuck down,” he hears geto rolling his eyes. the white haired man huffs, the blow of air pushing his bangs up before they fall back down. okay, maybe he should calm down. whatever. “so essentially what you’re saying is you’ve never been put in a position where you could eat pussy?”

something like that, “sure.” gojo nods, and he doesn’t understand why geto sighs.

“why do i even bother?” though the answer is clear, he’s pretty sure geto was talking to himself. gojo clicks his tongue, ready to bark back but geto beats him to it. “so tell her just that— it’s not that you won’t give head, it’s just that you haven’t given head. which still blows me, but whatever.”

“how? remember she blocked me on everything?” the thought makes gojo whine again, throwing his limbs all over his bed. he hits his phone, then opts to grab it. “is that not entitlement? i have to bend my back all over the damn place just to get her to talk to me again?”

“satoru, you’ve literally done the same thing. don’t act like you’re above it,” geto chuckles and gojo hears shuffling in the background. the ravenette sighs in relief, and he assumes he’s now in his own bed. “besides, you fuckin’ love women who give you challenges.”

and fuck, he’s really not wrong. “yeahhh, you know me so well.” he wipes a fake tear from his eye. he rolls over onto his back, “welp, i’m gonna log into your insta to stalk her account. i miss her so much i’m literally gonna die.”

“satoru.” geto warns him, but gojo is quicker than that. he’s already typing your name into the search bar, username memorized as if it were his cellphone number.“i swear to god if you accidentally like her shit—”

“thanks bestie, love ya lots!” and he hangs up the phone. and with a shit eating grin, he giggles, “time to start lurking.”

☆ ☆

so it’s been months (read: four days) since he last seen you. he’s thankful you’re at least in two of his courses, so he has some sort of opportunity to reach you. he’d spent the last months (hours) stalking your page, viewing your stories to see if there’d been any indicator that you missed him as badly as he missed you.

and all he’s gotten so far is that you spent friday out to dinner (with him) (it was just a mirror pic of your outfit but an outfit you wore on a date with him) (you love him so bad), you had a girls’ night on saturday with shoko and utahime (he barely registered they were in the selfie) and sunday was a study sesh you had at the cafe across the college. he had to screenshot and zoom in to ensure there were no signs of living souls in the same booth as you.

he was still in the clear. whew.

and so monday morning falls, and he’s actually rushing to get to class for once (late but as expected). the one of two classes he shares with you. he hopes he’ll find you sitting in your habitual seat, not too far up close yet not too far back, and he might pull the fire alarm if he spots anybody next to you.

he’s a man on a mission— he’s going to talk to you today. he needs to be back in your good graces. there were many things he wanted to yap to you about, many places he thought of taking you over the weekend, many moments he wanted your soft lips back on his and your gentle hand back in his own.

he misses you, damn it.

there you sit, in all your glory, shining so bright in the middle of this depressing ass psychology course in the early hours of the butt fuck morning. he sees you twirling your pen in between your fingers, your cheek leaned into the palm of your hand— and nobody by your side.

if he rushes and trips over his feet momentarily to get to you in time, it’s nobody’s business but his own (and the girl who’s backpack laid useless on the floor. hazard much.)

he so much as plops into the seat as he does actually sit in it, and he watches as you jerk in surprise. though, the look of surprise is quickly replaced by aloofness. you feel different— not entirely closed off but not as welcoming as you usually are. you’re probably still done with him.

well it’s too damn bad he’s not done with you, “good morning, princess.”

you blink at him, before nodding your head curtly. “morning, gojo.” and you turn your focus back onto the professor. just like that, you shut down another conversation.

he doesn’t like that, and so he pokes at your side and chews at his strawberry gum. “you blocked me on everything.”

“i did.” you answer shortly, though your eyes never leave the professor. he cannot be that interesting, who actually gives a fuck about cognitive dissonance?

“seen this new bakery shop down the street.” he tries again. “wanted to take you but that was impossible because somebody blocked me.”

“i mean, you know where i live.” you shrug, writing whatever the fuck the professor had mentioned in your notebook. wait, what? you turn your head to see him gaping at you in confusion, and you smirk at his silence.

“cat got your tongue?” you quip, amused by his stillness. your eyes sparkle mischievously, though your smile isn’t entirely full. don’t tell him, you’ve been— “too bad it’s not mine, though.”

ohhh, you cheeky brat.

“so. . . you were never really mad at me?” gojo blinks, his mind running miles a second. nothing was adding up, he was positively certain you were cutting ties with him. “this whole time. you weren’t mad about the pussy eating comment?”

“don’t get it twisted,” you raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. you lift a finger in the air before pointing at him, “you,” and then pointing at yourself “and i are done. we can still be cool but i’m not wasting my time with no bitch—respectfully.”

“so you are mad?” he asks again, disregarding the bitch comment. he knows what he’s supposed to say— to clarify the situation, to make it known that it’s not like he’s repulsed by the idea of giving head— but you make it so hard to stay on track when you’re acting defiant.

suguru was right— he does love a challenge.

“mad?” you giggle, and gojo leans back in his seat. damn, you’re confusing. stone cold one minute but all giggly the next. it’s cool, he’ll figure you out. “i ain’t trippin’ baby— if you don’t wanna eat it then don’t. another man definitely will.”

huh, “oh?” his eyes narrow just slightly, though the smirk on his lips never falter. he ignores the way his stomach just dropped to his ass at your implication— there is no way in hell is he letting another man have you. not when he’s still alive and breathing. “if you think i’m letting that happen, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“everything seems to be coming but me,” you bat your lashes, and damn he fell right into that one. you drop your pen down, giving him one last smile before redirecting your focus to the professor before you. “the real question is what do you plan on doing ‘bout that?”

you give him no time to respond, and it’s not like he thinks he would be able to, as you begin to pack your belongings into your tote bag. you’re leaving and he barely got to say what he’d been memorizing all weekend. oh well, at least he now knows you haven’t entirely cut him off.

if he doesn’t knows better, it feels like you want him to chase after you.

god, he thinks he’s in love.

☆ ☆

gojo satoru is amazing at everything. there truly isn’t something he can do that won’t come out spectacular. he’s gifted, that he knows much, and it’s difficult to stay humble when he’s constantly reminded of so.

“i can easily do this shit.” he mumbles to himself, cerulean eyes narrowing into focus at the bright lit screen of his ipad. his airpods are in, and he’s gonna be completely honest— the pornstar’s screaming is starting to get on his nerve. however, he’s always been an exceptional student and when it’s time to lock in, it’s time to lock in.

his legs feel as though they’ve fallen asleep in the criss-cross position he’s been sat in on his bed for the past two hours. irrelevant, he decides as he picks at his bottom lip with his fingers. his device is running hot with how long it’s been since it last caught a break, but he had bigger issues to worry about. so, basically all he has to do is spread open her lips and go to town until she squirts? sounds simple enough.

he watches as the guy begins motorboating into the girl’s pussy and— “damn, that looks like it hurts.” a grimace creeps onto his face as the guy repeatedly goes ham on swollen red lips. he’s got half a mind telling him that the moans the girl’s letting out are entirely out of agony and not pleasure.

“aaaalrighty,” gojo speaks up, though to himself. “next video, that shit was ass. pussy hurts just thinkin’ bout it, eugh.”

he finds an amateur video, and the thumbnail seemed intimate enough. after an agonizing ad of ‘want a quick break from the ads?’, the video begins. the upper half of the woman’s body is cut out of frame, but she’s laid onto her side, her backside in view. her top leg lifted just slightly, the man lays on his stomach and spreads them apart further and begins to lick.

he dives his tongue inside her cunt, not too sloppy, and gently works his way in. his thumb is caressing at her puckered forbidden zone, always gently, as his tongue glides up and down her labia.

gojo gulps. the girl makes soft sounds, hand coming down to play her the man’s hair, and he proceeds eat her out skillfully. her back arches, she whines and begs for more, and he never loses control. at some point, the hand that focused on her asshole moves up to grip at her cheeks, thus spreading her pussy lips further. she’s already wet from a mixture of fluids, and the sound it creates is so damn obscene.

gojo gulps again, and his sweats feel tight.

before his mind can even allow it, he’s thinking of you. he thinks of you on your side, legs spread open for his disposition as he brings you this same pleasure. as he lays himself on his stomach, munching at your pussy in ways that’ll have you squirming all over his bed, squeezing your plush thighs around his head and begging for him to give you more.

he thinks of how good you’d smell— how good you’d taste. he thinks of how nice you smell whenever you wrap your arms around his neck and he follows suit around your waist. he thinks of how sweet your lips taste when you’re straddling his thighs and slipping your tongue in his mouth.

pheromones are a crazy thing. your scent lingering in his car alone drives him insane. he’s so prone to boners around you, it’s like he’s a dog you’ve trained.

and now he’s thinking he wants you in this very bed at this very instance, ipad be damned, pussy spread open so he can feast. so he can relish the sounds you make as you call out his name, enamoured by the way his tongue would flick at your clit and break open that dam of water right onto his face.

“shit.” he chucks his ipad onto the floor, cradling his head into the palms of his hands. how had he not ever wanted to do this before?

☆ ☆

he doesn’t expect you to pick up. it’s far past two in the morning on a thursday night, and he’s missing you. badly. he misses you and your sweet smile. he misses you and your smart mouth. he misses you and the way your lips move so fluidly against his own, as if they were made for one another.

he really doesn’t expect you to pick up.

it’s around the fifth ring that he hears your honeyed voice, “hi.” his eyes widen as he sits up from his bed in a hurry. talk about a damn surprise.

“hey.” he says back lamely, because of course he does. he feels the corner of his lips tugging into a smile and his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage. “didn’t think you’d answer.”

“mhm. so what’d you call me for?” you sound tired, and he wonders if you’d been sleeping when he called. somehow, the thought makes his stomach churn at the implication you cut off hours of sleep for him.

“just wanted to hear your voice.” gojo answers as honestly as he can, leaning down to rest his back back into the mattress of his bed. he shuts his eyes and imagines his arm falling asleep underneath your head, using him as a pillow. “been missin’ you.”

“you literally see me every other day at school,” he’s graced with the harmonious sounds of your giggles, and he can already picture the way your shoulders shake as dimples curve into your cheeks. “y’re so fuckin’ clingy.”

he supposes he is, can’t even find it in him to disagree. you’ve been plaguing his mind since you cut him off (question mark) last week. he wasn’t sure what kind of ban you were putting on him, but he’s been tiptoeing around his relationship with you for too long. the absence of your presence in the way he craves is driving him nuts. he misses you, damn it.

a longing sigh rips from his throat, “can’t help that i miss that ass,” he jokes instead because talking about feelings and vulnerability is wrong. “you still owe me a goodbye kiss, y’know? just left a poor guy hangin’, rude.”

“hmm,” you hum lazily and he isn’t sure what to expect. he’s just talking out of his ass, wants to restore that playful banter you guys had prior to this whole pussy eating mess— which he’d gladly now get on his knees and rock your fucking world. “like i said already, you know where i live.”

“you got one more time to say that before i show up at your doorstep for real,” gojo tests the waters, and swings his legs off his bed. he’s waiting for a sign, confirmation, anything to ensure you were being serious. late night be damned, he will show up to your door and flip your shit right then and there.

“the fuck i gotta repeat myself for?” you sigh, and gojo’s slipping his shoes on. he’s wasting no more time, he wants you right now. “if you really missed me you would have been come see me. you’re all talk.”

“so when i yell at your doorstep to lemme eat it, don’t start lookin’ at me crazy—i’m warning ya.” and with that he hangs up. he’s not leaving any more room for debates, enough’s enough. and shit, when the fuck had he gotten bricked?

he grabs his keys and slams his door close.

☆ ☆

you’re looking at him like he grew an extra head on his shoulders overnight. he’s looking at you like the tee you have on your body decimated his entire bloodline. there’s a heavy silence between you both, as if either one of you are expecting the other to make the first move.

“you actually came.” you blink in mild shock, neck craning up to look him dead in the eye. he’s panting heavily, he might’ve ran here the second he could, but how could he not have?

“enough games, baby.” gojo answers instead and takes a step into your apartment. you back up in retaliation, and he takes another close step. you stay still this time. his hands sneak below the hem of your shirt and slide up to your bare waist, grabbing onto the plush flesh. you feel jolts of electricity imbedded into your skin with every lingering touch. “lemme eat it, come on. please?”

“oh?” you cock an eyebrow, raising a hand to press your palm flat against the plane of his chest. you feel his heartbeat thudding wildly. “and here i thought you were too good to stoop as low as giving women head.”

gojo clicks his tongue and tightens his hold on you. “i never said that.”

“you basically did.” you bite back, tilting your head to the side. you see his nostrils flare a bit, “or does that rule apply with just me?”

“if it did, would i be here at three in the morning begging to eat your pussy?” gojo rolls his eyes. you open your mouth but snap it back shut and gojo decides you conceded. he lifts you from the ground and places you on his shoulder, ignoring your ‘put me down!’ and opts to shut you up with a firm slap on your ass.

your cheeks jiggle from the impact, and his dick twitches in his briefs. as he suspected, you’ve got no bottoms on— just a cute pair of pink lace panties he wants to tear apart with his teeth. animalistic is what you make him.

“so. . . which one is your room?” he finds himself in the corridor, arm wrapped around the back of your knees. you fall limp in his hold, defeatedly as your arm lifts to point at the door at the end of the hall. he smirks and rubs at your booty, “atta girl. look at ya bein’ all obedient and shit.”

“shut up.” you huff, and he would bet a million dollars you’ve got that adorable pout on your lips. the one you make whenever you don’t get something done the way you planned.

your bedroom is everything he expected from you, fits your personality just about right. but—respectfully, fuck your bedroom. he’s got bigger issues to address, and that can only be done with your panties on the floor and a mouth full of your cunt. his dick is twitching uncontrollably at the thought of it alone.

“if you drop me on this bed, i swear i’m gonna kill you.” tilting your head, you warn him once he stands next to the edge of your bed frame. though a moot point, because if you know gojo as well as you think you do, you’re about to meet your duvets face first.

“mhm, what was that?” cupping a hand behind his ear, he pretends innocence then proceeds to do exactly what you warned him not to do. him and his long ass limbs, manhandling you all over the damn place as if its in his birthright. and no, it does not make your cunt clench, despite your thighs rubbing one against another. “sorry shortie, think i missed what you said.”

when you’re finally able to gain composure, you sit up on your elbows and furrow your brows in the nastiest scowl you can muster. he stands right above you, his frame so large it both annoys and turns you on. “gojo, you stupid fucking—”

you want to slap the smile off his face. “yeah, yeah.” he cuts you off, before leaning down to hover over you. his arms are pinned at your side, upper body pressing against yours. you feel the weight of his hips pressing into your legs, and so you widen the space. he fits in just as perfectly as you’d imagined he would. the tip of his nose brushes yours, biceps flexing in your peripherals. you feel his breath fanning at your cupid’s bow, warm yet it leaves shivers creeping at your spine.

“think you owe me somethin’, princess.” his voice comes out in a low growl, from the depths of his chest. his presence is so dominating— his bulge pressed right up against your aching cunt, the feel of his heartbeat right against yours. it all feels dizzying, the scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils and clouding any better sense of judgement.

he’s teasing you— leans in, brushes his soft lips against yours and watches as you lean forward to capture them but pulls away just in nick of time. he loves every one of your facial expressions, especially that adorable scowl of yours. he can’t wait to see the faces you make when you’re in absolute bliss.

he tilts his head just slightly, practically mouthing the words into your parted mouth. and with a low chuckle, he speaks, “if you want it, take it.”

you might’ve folded first, but he kisses you back just as eagerly, lips moulding into one another. you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you’d relieved him of all stresses weighing on his shoulders. you lift a hand to cup at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching at the undercut at his nape.

gojo shudders beneath your touch, rolling his hips deeper into yours and relishes in the way you moan softly into his mouth. he wants to drink up every single sound you make, wants to discover your body’s sensitive spots and maneuver them into making a mess out of you.

your neck soon begins to ache, and almost as if he can read your mind, pushing deeper into you as you fall back onto your bed. he never takes his lips off of yours— not when the hold in his hair lowers in favour to grip at his biceps or stroke his back, not even when your legs wrap tightly at his waist. at a particular grind, you moan louder than any other sound you’d made all night, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“gojo,” you whine into his mouth, fingers clawing at his compression tee. he continues to roll his bulge into your clothed cunt, aiming at that spot that has you arching your back off the bed and into him. he grips a hand tightly at your plush thigh, his hold so hard you’re certain he’ll leave bruises. “you said y-you’d eat it. be a man of your, ngh, word.”

“yeah, that’s right,” he pulls away finally, a thin string of saliva connecting both your lips. he pecks at your kiss bitten lips, the dazed look in your eyes igniting a fire deep in his gut. “gotta keep my promise— can’t keep my baby waitin’ too long,” you feel his lips trail from the corner of your lips to the slope of your jaw, “she gets all cranky an’ pissy.” from the column on your neck to your collarbone, “starts gettin’ all mean with me.”

“oh my gosh, shut up!” you complain, though your hold on him tightens. you feel the vibrations of his chuckles at your jugular, followed by a deep plunge on his teeth at the thin layer of skin and another agonizingly slow grind against your clit. “fuckin’— shit— hurry up already!”

“tsk, see what i mean?” gojo tuts, hands sliding down the curves at your torso. you feel his large fingers play with the material of your panties, rolling the lace between forefingers. the contrast of the coolness of his rings against your heated skin adds a strange stimulation to your senses. “so mouthy, ‘m gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

“i’m mouthy?” you squawk, watching as he lifts your tee up from your body. he taps wordlessly at your waist and you understand to remove the article of clothing. you chuck the tee across the room, before redirecting your focus on the man peppering wet kisses all over your stomach. it leaves butterflies rattling inside. “you literally cannot shut the fuck up— what’s the hold up? awe, don’t tell me you can’t walk the talk?”

he pauses for a bit. he doesn’t let himself fall bait for your words. you’re just being bratty— all hot and bothered and can’t properly ask for what you need. you don’t have to worry, he’s here entirely for your pleasure. he isn’t even thinking about the way his cock throbs painfully in his boxers, doesn’t even attempt to relieve it at all.

and so, he kneels at the edge of the bed. with two large hands cupping at your hips, he pulls you closer to him and rests your thighs on his shoulders. he watches as your chest rises up and down, and you prop yourself back onto your elbows.

your eyes are misty, your lips swollen and wet, your hair a mess and your neck littered in marks that scream gojo. you already look fucked out and he hadn’t done shit. god, he can’t wait to stuff his face between your thighs.

“i got you baby,” he drags his index finger right in the center of your cunt. he can both feel and see the material dampen with your arousal, your hips squirming as you chase for more. he licks his lips as he narrows in on the treasure, he swears he hears his stomach growling. “promise i do. just relax for me, yeah?”

“whatever.” you mumble, and comply to his order. he calls you a good girl, before stroking at your clit some more. the reactions you give will forever be imprinted in his mind, fleeting touches already granting him the opportunity to hear your delicate voice once more. you may be impatient but gojo is worse, and he decides that he wants to see your cunt now. he pushes your panties to the side, and the sight he’s rewarded with nearly— nearly, had him cumming right on two knees.

gojo gulps. “holy shit,” he feels his voice waver in excitement, eyes widened as he stares dead on. your cunt clenches around nothing from the switch of temperature, oozing more of your arousal down to your sheets. your pussy lips are puffy, clit sitting atop so prettily and damn, he wants to hump something.

he isn’t sure why but you try to close your thighs together, rude much, though gojo is much stronger. he keeps them spread wide, and shoots you a look. “do not.”

“tsk.” you click your tongue, looking away. and, oh, are you shy? “stop staring, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

he’s too far enamoured by the slick dribbling from your tiny hole down the crack of your ass. it trickles so tauntingly, that he finds himself nearly jealous. he wishes he could be there— oh wait, “just appreciatin’ my meal before i eat, sue me.”

the pad of his thumb collects your juices before popping it into his mouth. “wow,” he mumbles, more so to himself, at your taste bursting onto his taste buds. it’s so undoubtedly you, a raw and truthful you, and he gives you no warning before diving right in.

“fuckkk,” you throw your head back, hand flying to grab at the nearest thing in your vicinity— which so happens to be tousled, fluffy hair.

so, first time for everything right? but gojo maneuvers his way into your pussy as if he’d done this before. he starts off with kitten licks, teasing you some more before flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down your lips. he swallows and moans into your cunt, fingers digging deep into the back of your thighs.

he’s practically making out with your pussy. he doesn’t neglect any area, not even the clit surprisingly, as he latches his lips to the bundle of nerves and lightly nibbles. now that has your back arching and pushing his head deeper into you. if there was a way to go in life, he’d gladly take this death.

he’s so painfully hard it hurts, unable to control the way his hips grind against the bed frame. your scent is driving him feral, the way you tug on his hair harshly has his balls tightening and the way you cry out his name makes him want to imprint his name inside of you.

“s-satoru!” oh god, you’ve done it. you finally said his first name and he’s this close to painting his briefs white in shame. he continues to flick his tongue inside your hole and similar strokes to his humping. “you’re doin’ s’gooddd baby, shit!”

keep praising him and he’s gonna bust. he lifts himself away from your pussy, eyeing the gooey center almost offensively, “why the fuck do you taste so good?” he lands a wad of spit down, as he brings two digits to properly rub his saliva into your essence. the sounds it produces are so wet, it’s damn near filthy. he clicks his tongue, “seriously. ‘s makin’ me mad almost.” he slaps at your cunt twice, watching how your spray down his wrist.

“you s-sure this is your first, hnng, time?” you accuse, to the best of your abilities, as you feel him slip a finger in. you’re so lubricated, the slip inside was easy. pushing past that first ring of muscle, he’s pumping in and out of your cunt with precision, curling his digit as if he’s aiming to find a specific area. “y’know too much— mmph, fuckin’ liar.”

when he thrusts into a specific angle, your thighs tremble terribly around his head. he smirks, found it. “watched a lotta porn.” and he isn’t lying, he thinks back to how he studied the arts of cunningulus, and recalls the double combo. he has to try it, so he’s back to sucking and nibbling at your clit while adding an extra finger inside.

“oh my goddd,” you whine, feeling your limbs liquify in heat from every extremity. he pushes your knee further into your chest, and so you grab ahold of both your thighs. he hums approvingly, dragging his free hand along the soft skin of your legs. “don’t— don’t stop, please don’t stop,”

your toes are curled, back off the mattress and the pain in his scalp is shooting straight down to his cock. he’s rutting and rutting into the wooden frame, the flat surface painfully teasing though it does do the job. or maybe he has you to blame.

he feels saliva dripping down his chin, the way his tongue slides into your folds and feels his knuckles in there. his fingers move in scissoring motions, rotating circles, in and out— all the while repeatedly attacking your golden spot.

you severely underestimated him, and can barely process the orgasm that rips through you when he presses a hand onto your lower belly, “‘m cumming, fuck, ngh, don’t stop—” and you wail, fingernails clawing intensely into his tresses, torn between pushing him away and pulling him in closer. he decides to make that decision for you, stuffing himself as deep as possible to not miss a single drop, and your thighs clench against his ears.

so, gojo satoru is a shameless man. as you flood into his mouth and onto his face, grinding out your orgasm and using him as nothing but a toy for your own high— somewhere along the lines, he feels his briefs are sticky. he moans sluttily into your pussy, hips twitching incessantly as his cock shoots loads of nut into his boxers.

it feels like an eternity yet simultaneously a second when you’ve come down from your high, body twitching as gojo slows down his movements, his finger pumps gradually lessening in intensity and the kitten licks on your abused clit coming to a halt.

his face is soaked. his skin feels moist and damp, a thick air of humidity beginning to grow in the room, but he genuinely couldn’t care less. his eyes are stuck on you, limbs sprawled out limply against your bed, your chest heaving, tiny breaths coming out of your mouth.

he slides out his aching fingers, and pops them back in his mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits so eagerly, basking in your taste once more. absolutely divine,

“christ, i’d make a nasty pornstar.”

gojo won the poll. . . everybody act surprised (°_°)

[tonycries]

Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what. 

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court. 

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.  

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching. 

Waiting. 

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you. 

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were. 

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue. 

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit. 

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped. 

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom. 

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you. 

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet. 

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed. 

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure. 

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again. 

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing. 

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family. 

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale. 

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond. 

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?” 

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature. 

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind. 

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him. 

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic. 

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals. 

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library. 

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. 

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it. 

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette. 

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never. 

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up. 

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off. 

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are. 

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck. 

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it. 

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe. 

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table. 

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating. 

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember. 

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in. 

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room. 

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.” 

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak. 

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice? 

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep? 

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway. 

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull. 

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for. 

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband. 

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction. 

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted. 

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again? 

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting. 

Satoru - blindfold and all.  

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep. 

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same. 

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.” 

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.” 

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless. 

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before. 

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes. 

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler. 

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye. 

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you. 

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul. 

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod. 

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well. 

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle. 

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either. 

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom. 

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life. 

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night. 

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes” 

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else. 

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic. 

Powerful. 

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question. 

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it. 

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all. 

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder. 

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange. 

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next. 

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding. 

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-” 

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was. 

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too. 

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still. 

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom. 

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that. 

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you. 

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers. 

One. 

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly. 

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king. 

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough. 

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over. 

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower. 

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet. 

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either. 

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either. 

Satoru. 

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.” 

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric. 

Blue. 

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later. 

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue. 

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body. 

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window. 

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind. 

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna. 

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready. 

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne. 

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step. 

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man. 

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow. 

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?” 

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially,  “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper. 

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra. 

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks. 

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall. 

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel. 

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could. 

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him. 

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging. 

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling. 

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy. 

And then, he opens his eyes. 

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue. 

That crystal blue. 

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life. 

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul. 

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. 

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew. 

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now. 

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.” 

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’” 

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library. 

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily.  “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years. 

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful. 

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was. 

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster. 

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers,  just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me. 

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized. 

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping. 

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark. 

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before. 

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you. 

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You. 

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown. 

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-” 

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?” 

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life. 

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words. 

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle. 

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song. 

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist. 

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to. 

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh. 

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length. 

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.” 

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you. 

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy. 

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.” 

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers. 

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted. 

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering. 

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft. 

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?” 

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white. 

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock. 

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.” 

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection. 

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off. 

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering. 

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt. 

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts. 

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart. 

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh. 

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily. 

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was. 

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve. 

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again. 

“Oh- oh.” 

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you. 

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is. 

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt. 

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more. 

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you. 

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out. 

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need. 

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly. 

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same. 

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel. 

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much. 

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body. 

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth. 

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving. 

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more. 

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips. 

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell. 

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.